#i think this is the best I’ve managed to depict their leg so far

[kinkshame-the-courier]

After a long day

[a-lying-elysium]

“A Fascination”

[James Potter x Lily Evans]

[Greek Mythology AU]

I got this idea from this post (this is my 2nd account)

Summary: In an era when gods and mortals walked the same earth, a god becomes fascinated with a mortal healer...

Warnings: Mild depictions of injury, themes of deception(disguise), slow-burn, inaccuracies, not proofread, angst, fluff, happy ending, kinda rushed ending though

Word Count: 6189 words

A/N: this is the longest fic I've written and the most research I've done. The ending might be a bit shit but I don't care at this point man it's like 4 AM here when I finish this. And I hate myself. And I hate this. I'm tired.

In the age of the gods, Olympus gleamed in the heavens. Gods and goddesses moved like whispers among it. Among them was Joveas, the god of bravery and youthful exuberance, a deity revered for his boundless energy and heart of gold.

The God of Valor and Lighthearted Mischief had always been fascinated by the mortal realm. Unlike many of his fellow gods, who regarded mortals with indifference or disdain, he found their lives full of wonder.

He admired their resilience, their ability to love and laugh, even in the face of hardship. Often, he would descend from Olympus in disguise, wandering among them to observe their lives firsthand.

It was during one of these visits that he first saw her—the mortal with the long, red hair that cascaded down her back in waves like fire, and the green eyes that seemed to hold the depth of an endless forest. The healer with the sharp tongue, but compassion that ran so deep it could bloom flowers.

She was perfect. In every way, he could think of. And he thought about it.

A lot.

He met her for the first time disguised as a traveler. She was walking to the forest with a basket when he 'stumbled' upon her, 'injured'.

Are you all right?" she asked, her voice a blend of professional calm and genuine worry.

Joveas groaned theatrically, managing to muster a pained expression. "I seem to have twisted my leg. I could use some help."

Lily set down her basket and knelt beside him, her hands moving with practiced precision as she examined his leg. Her touch was gentle but firm, and Joveas couldn't help but notice the careful attention she gave to every movement.

What's your name?" As she started getting bandages for the 'injury'.

He had a name that he gave when he asked, but that was fake. He didn't want her to know him by it, So the god gave her a special name, a forgotten one. "James. James Potter."

"Well, James Potter, let's take you to my infirmary. It’s not far from here, and I can tend to your injury properly," Lily said, her voice firm as she secured the bandage around his leg.

Joveas—now James—nodded, smug that his ruse had worked. He could feel the warmth of her touch through the bandages, and it sent a thrill through him.

Lily helped him to his feet, and together they began the short walk to the infirmary. The forest around them was alive with the sounds of nature, but James focused entirely on the woman beside him.

As they walked, James took in every detail he could—the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on her hair, the light scent of herbs that clung to her skin, the quiet confidence in her stride. She wasn’t like anyone he had ever met, mortal or divine.

"So, James," Lily began, breaking the comfortable silence, "what brings you here?"

He had prepared for her questions. "I'm a traveler. I’ve always been drawn to the more remote parts of the world. There’s something peaceful about being surrounded by nature, away from the noise of the cities."

Lily glanced at him, her green eyes narrowing slightly as if she didn't quite believe it. "And yet, you managed to injure yourself out here. A bit of bad luck for a seasoned traveler, wouldn’t you say?"

James chuckled more to cover his nervousness than anything else. "Yes, well, even the best of us have our moments of clumsiness. Maybe I was too distracted by the beauty of the forest. And the person in it."

Lily arched an eyebrow at that. "Flattery won’t get you far with me, James Potter. But I suppose I can’t fault you for appreciating the scenery."

They soon arrived at her infirmary, a quaint, charming structure nestled at the edge of the forest.

Lily guided him inside and helped him onto a sturdy wooden chair near the hearth. The interior was cozy, filled with the earthy scent of dried herbs and the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of potions, bundles of dried plants, and books.

"Sit tight," Lily instructed as she began gathering more supplies. "I’ll brew something to help with the pain and swelling."

James watched her move around the room with practiced ease, feeling a pang of guilt for deceiving her, even if it was only to get close to her.

"So, you’re a healer," James said, trying to keep the conversation going. "You must see a lot of interesting cases."

Lily smiled slightly as she prepared the brew, her hands deftly mixing herbs and ingredients. "Interesting isn’t always the word I’d use. But yes, I see a fair share of wounds, illnesses, and the like. It’s challenging, but it’s rewarding work. I like knowing that I can make a difference, even if it’s just a small one."

James nodded, his admiration for her growing with every word."

As she finished preparing the brew, Lily handed him a steaming cup. "Drink this. It’ll help with the pain."

James took the cup, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment, sending a jolt of warmth through him. He sipped the brew, surprised by the pleasant, soothing taste. "Thank you. You’re very kind."

Lily shook her head. "I’m just doing my job, James. But you’re welcome."

His eyes lingered on Lily, watching her as she moved about the infirmary with a grace that was both natural and captivating.

"Just doing your job, huh?" James mused aloud, his voice smooth. "Well, I’m certainly grateful. But I must admit, I didn’t expect my healer to be so… enchanting."

Lily glanced over at him, her expression flat. "Enchanting? That’s a bit much for someone who just bandaged your leg, don’t you think?"

James is unfazed by her lack of reaction. "Maybe. But it’s true. There’s something about you, Lily—like there’s a spark in you that could light up even the darkest of places."

She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You don’t even know me."

"That’s why I’m intrigued," he said, leaning back in his chair, flashing her a confident grin. "I want to know more."

Lily didn’t even pause in her work, moving efficiently around the room as she gathered herbs and prepared more remedies. "I’m just a healer, James. Not some mystery to unravel."

"Everyone’s a mystery," he countered smoothly. "And you—well, you’re a particularly intriguing one."

She turned to face him, arms crossed. "Is this how you usually talk to people? Charm your way into getting what you want?"

James shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe. But with you, it’s different. I’m not just throwing around compliments—I genuinely want to know you."

Lily’s gaze didn’t waver, but there was a hint of skepticism in her eyes. "And why should I believe that? I’ve met enough people like you to know the pattern."

James leaned forward, his expression softening slightly. "Maybe I’ve followed that pattern before, but it doesn’t mean I always will. Sometimes, you find a reason to stay."

Lily gave a short, dry laugh, shaking her head. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when I find something worth pursuing," he replied, his tone earnest but still carrying that playful edge.

Lily sighed, going back to her work, her back to him. "Well, you might be in for a disappointment. I’m not interested in being pursued. I have work to do, and people to help. That’s what matters to me."

James watched her silently for a moment, the usual charm dampened by her clear disinterest. Still, something in her words struck a chord. He realized that getting close to her wouldn’t be as simple as he’d initially thought.

"Fair enough," he said after a moment. "I respect that, Lily. But I’d still like to get to know you, even if it’s just as a friend."

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening just a fraction. "Friends, huh? Well, that’s a start, I suppose. But don’t think flattery is going to get you anywhere with me, James Potter."

James held up his hands in mock surrender. "No flattery. Just genuine interest in the person who saved me from my clumsiness."

Lily shook her head with a small smile, finally letting amusement show. "We’ll see how long that lasts."

---

Weeks passed since James first stumbled into Lily's life, and their interactions settled into a rhythm. James would often find reasons to visit her infirmary, sometimes with a fresh "injury" or just a vague excuse to chat. The healer would always patch him up or have a conversation, but she never bought into his flirting.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, James appeared at the door of Lily's infirmary. This time, he carried a small bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors mirroring the sunset.

"For the healer who's saved me more times than I can count," James said with a playful grin, holding out the bouquet.

Lily looked at the flowers, then back at James, eyebrows raised. "You do realize that bringing flowers to someone who spends her days surrounded by plants is a bit redundant, right?"

James chuckled, not missing a beat. "True, but these aren't just any flowers. I picked them because they reminded me of you. Strong, beautiful, and a little bit wild."

She scoffs but takes the bouquet anyway, setting it on a table. "You never quit, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you," James replied, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze steady on her. "There's something about you, Lily. I can't help but be drawn to you."

She sighed, shaking her head. "You say that now, but I've seen how this works. Travelers come and go, and so do their words. They're charming when they're here, and then they leave without a second thought."

James sensed the truth in her words. He stepped closer, his tone more serious. "I'm not like them. know you don't believe me, but I'm not here just to pass the time. You've made me see things differently."

Lily crossed her arms, her skepticism still evident. "And what happens when the next adventure calls? When the road beckons you away from this little village? What then, James?"

He hesitated, for the first time unsure of how to answer. The truth was, he didn't know. His life as Joveas had always been filled with movement, excitement, and the thrill of new experiences. But now, standing before her, he felt something he hadn't before—a desire to stay, to be a part of something more grounded, more real.

"I don't have all the answers, Lily," his usual bravado gone. "But I do know that right now, there's nowhere else I want to be."

Lily's expression didn't soften. She was still skeptical, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Right now is easy to say. But what happens when you get bored? When you start longing for the next thrill?"

James took a deep breath, considering her words carefully. He had always been a god of action, of movement and thrill. Staying still, committing to one place, one person—it was new territory for him. But the thought of leaving Lily behind, of her thinking he was just another fleeting fancy, made his chest tighten in a way he hadn't expected.

Lily's unwavering gaze bore into him, and for the first time, James—Joveas—felt truly vulnerable. The god who had faced countless challenges, who had leaped into the heart of storms and wrestled beasts of legend, now stood before a mortal woman, uncertain of how to bridge the chasm between them.

"I've never met anyone like you," he began, his voice more earnest. "You see right through me, past the charm and the bravado. And that terrifies me."

Lily blinked, caught off guard by his admission. She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued before she could.

"But it also excites me in a way that nothing else has. The adventures, the thrills—they all pale in comparison to this, to you. I don't know what the future holds, and I can't promise that I'll never want to wander again. But I can promise that I'll be honest with you, that I'll try to be someone worthy of your trust."

Lily studied him for a long moment, her green eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. She found none, only the sincerity of what she thought was a man who was stepping into unfamiliar territory.

Lily sighed. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"Take all the time you need," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

She looked at him, and for the first time, there was a hint of something warmer in her gaze. "We'll see."

---

As the days turned into weeks, James found himself spending more and more time in the small village, his once restless spirit now content to linger in Lily’s presence. He had all but abandoned his usual disguises, choosing instead to maintain the persona of James Potter, a humble traveler. But as his visits grew more frequent, whispers began to spread among the villagers.

They were protective of Lily, the woman who had healed their wounds and soothed their ailments, and they were wary of the stranger who had suddenly become a fixture in her life.

Lily, ever perceptive, noticed the murmurs but paid them no mind. She had grown used to James's presence, even if she would never admit it out loud. There was something comforting about his easy smile and the way he would bring her wildflowers—an endearing habit that, despite herself, she had come to look forward to.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and gold, Lily and James sat together outside the infirmary. The day had been long, and the air was heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine. They sat in companionable silence, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

"You’ve been quiet tonight," James observed, glancing at Lily. "Something on your mind?"

Lily sighed softly, her gaze fixed on the darkening sky. "I’ve been thinking about you."

James’s heart skipped a beat at her words, but he kept his voice light. "All good things, I hope?"

She gave him a small smile, but there was a hint of something deeper in her eyes. "I’ve been wondering why you’re really here, James. You say you’re a traveler, but you’ve stayed longer than any traveler I’ve ever known."

James shifted uncomfortably. He knew this question would come eventually, but he wasn’t sure how to answer it without revealing his true identity. "Maybe I found something worth staying for," he said softly, his eyes searching hers for a reaction.

Lily’s gaze didn’t waver. "And what happens when the road calls you again? Will you just leave without a second thought?"

Her words cut deep, reminding James of the delicate balance he was trying to maintain. He was Joveas, a god who could never truly belong in the mortal world, yet here he was, longing to stay. "Lily, I…"

But before he could continue, a voice interrupted them. "Lily? Are you here?"

James and Lily turned to see a tall, rugged man approaching from the path, his face etched with concern. The stranger's presence was both sudden and intrusive, breaking the quiet, introspective moment they had shared.

Lily stood up, her expression shifting to one of surprise and mild irritation. "Oh, it’s you, Remus. What’s the matter?"

Remus, in weather-worn clothing, looked between Lily and James, his gaze scrutinizing. "I was looking for you. There’s a young boy in town who’s taken a bad fall. I thought you’d want to know."

Lily’s demeanor immediately changed to one of professional concern. She turned to James with a quick, apologetic smile. "It seems duty calls. I’ll need to tend to the boy. I’ll be back as soon as I can."

James nodded, though the sudden shift in their conversation left him unsettled. "Of course. Take care of the boy. I’ll be here."

As Lily hurried off, James watched her retreating figure, a swirl of emotions tugging at him. He had wanted to have a conversation with her about his feelings and his true identity, but the intrusion had shattered the moment.

While Lily was away, James paced the small area outside the infirmary, his mind racing. He knew he couldn’t keep up the charade of being a mere traveler forever, but he was caught between his divine nature and his desire for the red-headed mortal. His usual confidence seemed to falter in the face of this new reality.

Hours later, Lily returned, her face tired but resolute. The worry lines on her brow had softened, and she wore a small smile of satisfaction. "The boy will be fine. Just a few bruises and a sprained ankle. Nothing too serious."

James approached her, relieved to see her safe and well. "I’m glad to hear he’s okay.

Lily looked at him carefully. "There’s something about you that I can’t quite figure out."

James’s heart thudded in his chest. "What do you mean?"

She glanced at him, her eyes searching. "You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met. There’s something… otherworldly about you."

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Had she somehow seen through his disguise? "Lily, I…"

Before he could finish, Lily shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Don’t worry, James. I’m not accusing you of being a god or anything. But there’s something about you that feels… out of place here. Like you belong somewhere else."

James forced a smile, though his mind was racing. "Maybe I just have a restless spirit."

"James, I don’t know what brought you here, but I want you to know that you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’ll understand."

Her words were soft, but they cut through him like a knife. James knew she was giving him an out, a way to leave without breaking her heart. But the thought of leaving her, of never seeing her smile or hearing her laugh again, was unbearable. He was selfish, but that was the reputation of the gods.

"Lily," he began, his voice hoarse with emotion. "There’s so much I want to tell you, but I can’t. Not yet."

She nodded slowly as if she had expected that answer. "I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me the truth, James. Whatever it is."

With that, she turned and went inside, leaving James standing alone in the night, the weight of his secret pressing down on him like never before.

---

The days that followed were tense, each interaction between James and Lily tinged with the unspoken truths between them. James continued to visit her, unable to stay away, but the ease of their earlier conversations was gone, replaced by a cautious distance that neither could quite bridge.

One evening, after another quiet day spent at the infirmary, James wandered alone into the forest. He needed space to think, to clear his mind of the confusion that had settled over him like a fog. The trees loomed tall and silent around him, their branches swaying gently in the evening breeze.

As he walked deeper into the forest, the sound of rustling leaves caught his attention. He turned, half-expecting to see a deer or another creature, but instead, he was met with the sight of a tall, imposing figure emerging from the shadows.

It was a man, or at least, he appeared to be a man. But James recognized him immediately—his broad shoulders, the gleam of his eyes that reflected the light of the stars above. This was no ordinary mortal.

"Ares," James said, his voice low and tense. "What are you doing here?"

The god of war smirked, his presence commanding and filled with barely restrained power.

"Joveas," he greeted, his tone mocking. "Or should I say, James Potter? You've been playing the mortal for quite some time now."

James’s heart raced as he faced the god. He had hoped to keep his true identity hidden from the other gods, but it seemed that his time was running out. "What do you want, Ares?"

Ares stepped closer, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "The others have noticed your absence, Joveas. Zeus is growing impatient, wondering where the god of bravery has gone. I’m here to remind you of your duties."

James clenched his fists, his mind flashing to Lily, to the life he had built in the village. "I haven’t abandoned my duties."

"Really?" Ares raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing house with a mortal woman, completely forgetting who you are."

James bristled at the accusation. "You don’t understand. It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" Ares’s eyes narrowed. "What do you think will happen when she finds out the truth? When she learns that you’ve been lying to her this whole time? Mortals don’t take kindly to being deceived by gods, Joveas."

The words struck a nerve, and James felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He knew Ares was right, but the thought of losing Lily, of hurting her, was too much to bear. "She doesn’t have to know."

Ares shook his head, his expression hardening. "You can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, the truth will come out, and when it does, it will destroy her. You’re a fool if you think otherwise."

James looked away, his mind in turmoil. He had known from the start that this couldn’t last, that his love for Lily was doomed from the beginning. But now, hearing it spoken aloud by Ares, the reality of it hit him like a hammer.

"You have to choose," Ares said, his voice cold and unforgiving. "Either you return to Olympus and fulfill your duties, or you stay here and face the consequences of your actions. But know this, Joveas: if you choose to stay, you’ll bring nothing but pain to that mortal."

James closed his eyes, the weight of the decision crushing him. He had never felt so torn, so lost. On one hand, he had his duty as a god, a role he had played for centuries. But on the other, he had Lily, the woman who had captured his heart in a way he had never imagined.

When he opened his eyes, Ares was gone, leaving him alone in the darkening forest. James stood there for a long time, the silence pressing in on him as he struggled with the choice before him.

Finally, he turned and made his way back to the village, his steps slow and heavy. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of it filled him with dread.

The night seemed endless as James walked back to the village, his mind in turmoil. The weight of Ares’s words lingered, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest, once a place of solace, now seemed to mock him with its quiet.

As he neared Lily’s infirmary, the sky above was painted with dark hues, the stars obscured by clouds. His heart pounded with the burden of the decision he had yet to make. The reality of leaving Lily, of possibly hurting her beyond repair, was a cruel contrast to the duty he was supposed to uphold.

Entering the village, he could see the warm glow of the infirmary windows, a stark reminder of what he stood to lose. He hesitated outside the door, the emotional weight almost physically pushing him back. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, the familiar scents of herbs and firewood greeting him.

Lily was at her desk, her back to him as she finished organizing supplies. The peaceful scene was a sharp contrast to the storm raging inside him. He could tell she was exhausted, yet there was a quiet strength in her posture.

"Lily," he said softly, stepping inside.

She turned, her expression immediately shifting from tired to guarded. "James. You’re back. I thought you were taking a walk."

"I was," he replied, struggling to find the right words. "But something came up."

Her eyes narrowed. "Something came up? You look like you’ve been wrestling with a storm. What’s wrong?"

James hesitated, but the words of Ares echoed in his mind. He could see the truth in Lily’s eyes, the way she saw through facades and pretense. He couldn’t hide from her any longer.

"I need to talk to you," he said finally, his voice trembling slightly.

Lily set down the vial she was holding and crossed her arms, her gaze piercing. "This sounds serious. What’s going on?"

James took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Lily, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you. Something important."

Her eyes widened, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. "What do you mean?"

"I’m not who I’ve said I am," James started, his voice heavy. "I’m not just a traveler. I’m… I’m Joveas, a god from Olympus."

The words hung in the air between them, and Lily’s expression shifted from confusion to anger in a heartbeat. She took a step back, her eyes flashing with disbelief.

"A god?" she repeated, her voice rising.

As James's words settled in the room, the silence between them seemed to stretch endlessly. Lily's eyes widened her expression a mixture of shock and anger.

"A god?" she repeated, her voice trembling with disbelief. She took a step back, her eyes darting around the room as if trying to make sense of what she had just heard. "You’re telling me you’ve been lying to me this whole time? That you’re not who you said you were?"

James nodded slowly, his heart aching at the sight of her distress. "Yes, I’m Joveas. I’ve been living among mortals, using the name James Potter as a disguise."

Lily shook her head, her hands trembling as she tried to process the revelation. "But why? Why would you lie to me like this? Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done… it was all a lie?"

"No," James said quickly, stepping closer, though he could see her pulling away. "It wasn’t all a lie. My feelings for you are real. My interest in your life, and your work, is all genuine. I never meant to hurt you."

She looked at him, her green eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Genuine? How can anything you’ve said or done be genuine when you’ve been hiding who you really are? How can I believe anything you’ve told me now?"

James winced at the hurt in her voice. "I didn’t mean to deceive you. I was fascinated by you, by your kindness and strength. I wanted to be near you, but I never meant for it to go this far."

Lily’s face was a mix of hurt and fury. "You think you can just waltz in here, pretending to be someone you’re not, and then tell me the truth like it’s nothing? You’ve been playing games with my life!"

James reached out to her, but she recoiled, her face filled with hurt and anger. "Lily, please, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I'm sorry. I never wanted to fall in love with you, but I couldn’t help it."

"Love?" she spat, her voice shaking with emotion. "Love is what you call this? You think a few months of playing at being human is enough to justify lying to me? To make me believe in something that wasn't real?"

James felt a sharp pang of guilt, knowing that she was right. He had deceived her, and now he was paying the price. "I’m sorry," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "I never wanted to hurt you."

But she wasn't done. "Did you think that if you pretended to be a simple traveler, it would somehow erase your godhood? That it would make this deception any less painful?" Lily’s voice was a blend of frustration and hurt. "You came here, pretending to be someone else, and now you expect me to just accept that it was all for the sake of ‘love’?"

James clenched his fists, struggling to find the right words. "I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I could show you who I really am, if you could see beyond the god and see me, you might understand-"

Lily shook her head. "You’ve taken away any chance we had of ever being real together. How can I trust you now? How can I believe that anything you said or did was genuine?"

James’s shoulders sagged, the weight of her words crashing over him like a wave. "I know I’ve ruined everything. I can’t undo the past, and I can’t change what’s happened. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness, though I know I don’t deserve it."

Lily turned away, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Just... just go, James. I can't look at you right now."

The words cut through him like a knife, but he knew he couldn't argue. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with the consequences.

With a heavy heart, James turned and walked away, leaving Lily standing alone in the darkness, the sound of her quiet sobs echoing in his ears. As he disappeared into the night, tears slipped down his cheek, the first he had shed in centuries. He had made his choice, but it felt like he had lost everything.

The days that followed were agonizing for both James and Lily. James retreated to the edges of the forest, unable to leave but unwilling to face Lily after the pain he had caused. He watched from a distance as she went about her life, her smile gone, replaced by a haunted expression that broke his heart every time he saw it.

Lily, for her part, tried to continue as if nothing had changed, but the weight of James’s betrayal was too much to bear. She had fallen in love with him, only to find out that he wasn’t even who he claimed to be. The man she had opened her heart to was a lie, a god playing at being mortal.

She couldn’t understand why he had done it, why he had chosen to deceive her. But no matter how much she tried to forget him, her heart wouldn’t let her. She missed him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Every time she saw the wildflowers he used to bring her, her heart ached with the memory of what they had shared.

One evening, as Lily sat alone in the infirmary, tending to her herbs, a soft knock at the door startled her. She looked up, her heart leaping with hope, but when she opened the door, it wasn’t James standing there.

Instead, it was a man with a rugged look, his face marked by the passage of time but his eyes still sharp and full of intensity. He wore a slightly worn leather jacket and had an air of both casualness and seriousness. "Lily Evans?" he asked, his voice carrying a rough, yet warm tone.

"Yes, that’s me," Lily replied, her curiosity piqued by the stranger’s sudden appearance.

The man stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on Lily. "I’m here to talk to you about James."

Lily’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. "What about him?"

The man’s expression turned somber, a shadow of sadness passing over his face. "I heard you’ve been hurt by him. By the truth of who he is?"

Lily nodded slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. "I thought I knew him, but it turns out I didn’t know him at all."

The man rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable but determined. "Yeah, well, James—he’s not exactly who you thought he was. He’s… well, he’s a god. It’s complicated."

Lily blinked in confusion, struggling to grasp his words. "Why lie to me? Why pretend to be someone he’s not?"

The man shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. "Look, gods live a really long time and carry a lot of baggage. When James met you, he was scared—scared of what loving a mortal would mean, of losing you. So he hid behind a lie, thinking it would keep him safe."

Lily shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "But he hurt me. He broke my heart."

"I know," the man said gently, his voice softening. "But he’s been hurting too. He’s been watching over you, too ashamed to come near."

Lily looked down, torn between the pain of betrayal and the lingering love she still felt. "What should I do?"

The man gave her a sympathetic look. "That’s up to you. But remember, love is always a risk. Sometimes it’s worth taking a chance, even if you’ve been hurt."

With that, the man turned and left, leaving Lily alone in the quiet of the infirmary, her thoughts a tumultuous mix of emotions.

That night, Lily lay awake in bed, her mind racing with everything the woman had said. She couldn’t deny that she still loved James—Joveas—despite the pain he had caused. But could she forgive him? Could she trust him again?

As dawn approached, Lily made her decision. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she couldn’t let fear hold her back. She had to know if their love was real if it could survive the truth.

The next day, Lily ventured to the edge of the forest, the place where she knew James had been staying. The air was crisp and cool, and the forest seemed unusually silent as if holding its breath. She found him sitting on a fallen log, his posture slumped, his head buried in his hands. He looked more lost and broken than she had ever seen him, a stark contrast to the confident, enigmatic figure she once knew.

“James,” she called softly, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and trepidation.

He looked up slowly, his eyes widening in surprise and a flicker of hope as he saw her standing there. “Lily…” His voice was barely a whisper, filled with both longing and regret.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. “I need to know something. Did you ever truly love me, or was it all just a game to you?”

James stood up abruptly, his heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage. “Lily, it was never a game. I love you more than anything. That’s the truth, the one thing I couldn’t lie about.”

Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes, and she fought to keep her composure. “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I was afraid,” James admitted. “Afraid that if you knew the truth, you would hate me. That you would see me as just another god who thinks he can toy with mortal lives. But I was wrong. I see that now.”

Lily stepped closer, her heart aching with a tumultuous mix of emotions. The anger and pain she had felt were still there, but now they were mingled with something softer, something hopeful. “You did hurt me, James. But I... I love you. And if you’re willing to be honest with me, to trust me, then maybe we can make this work.”

James felt his heart swelling with love for the woman standing before him. Her willingness to consider a future together despite everything gave him strength. “Lily, I swear I’ll never lie to you again. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust. I’ve been a fool, but I promise I’ll change.”

Lily searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them, the raw vulnerability that he had been hiding. His gaze was open and earnest, a stark contrast to the guarded demeanor he had maintained. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that there would be challenges ahead, but she was willing to try. Because despite everything, she loved him, and she believed that their love was worth fighting for.

“Then let’s take it one step at a time,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “No more secrets, no more lies. Just us, facing whatever comes together. We’ll face the challenges, whatever they may be, together.”

James squeezed her hand gently, a smile breaking through the sorrow that had clouded his heart. “Together,” he agreed, his voice filled with a newfound determination. For the first time in a long while, he felt as though he had found something worth fighting for, worth risking everything for.

As they stood there, hand in hand, the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, casting a warm, golden light over them. It felt like a new beginning, a chance to build something real, something lasting. The world seemed to hold its breath as if acknowledging the significance of the moment.

Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away. Lily’s breath caught in her throat as James’s eyes softened with an emotion so deep, it seemed to transcend words. Slowly, almost as if drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in closer. Lily felt her heart race, her nerves tingling with anticipation.

When their lips finally met, it was a tender, hesitant kiss, filled with the weight of everything unspoken and the promise of what could be. James’s touch was gentle, his lips moving against hers with a reverent delicacy. Lily responded with equal tenderness, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as she savored the sweetness of their reunion.

The kiss deepened, becoming more fervent as if they were trying to make up for all the lost time, all the pain and misunderstandings. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of healing, and of a shared hope for the future.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, they both breathed heavily, eyes locked in a shared, silent vow. They were no longer two separate beings navigating their paths; they were partners, united in their quest to build a future together.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[youryanderedaddy]

Imagine a yandere ghost who is cursed is trapped in the doll, so one day a family came to live in his house, but what the ghost did not expect is to fall in love with the couple's eldest daughter. Maybe this yandere ghost (doll) use the younger brother to get closer to his beloved...

I didn't really include the doll, but the overall idea is here ;)

Tw: nsfw, non - con, underage sex? (The reader is meant to be around 18, her brother is 16 - 17, but the ghost is 100+ so idk), (technically) incest, ghosts, possession, possessive/obsessive behavior, slight parental neglect ig

You knew it was a mistake moving into the old house up the hill. You tried arguing with your parents so many times about the mansion being hidden in the woods, so far away from any civilization, bringing up the fact it hadn't been bought for the last 8 years despite the insanely low price or the news about the previous owners dying in their sleep just like that, from "natural causes" even though they were an young energetic couple. But of course your worries had been discarded so easily since your younger siblings were ecstatic, constantly talking about finally living in a castle, which was obviously pushing it too far, but kids will be kids.

Your family was big, consisting of your mother, father, two younger sisters and a brother currently in his late teens. Your siblings managed to take all the nice bright rooms on the second floor so you were forced to sleep in the attic. At first it didn't seem so bad, yes, the place was dark and dusty, the space was limited, but it was a quiet spot and there were many interesting things left there to explore and discover.

The first week you discovered a huge box full of old books, medals, notebooks and different souvenirs from all over the world. The second week you found a few paintings covered by a thin disheveled cloak, most of them depicting a pretty young boy with golden locks and sad green eyes, dresses in an expensive silky clothing resembling what was nowadays considered an elegant suit. You didn't pay it much mind yet the miserable longing gaze of the kid haunted your dreams in the following days.

During the third week you noticed that things were going missing one by one. First it was your favorite lipstick, then your new dress, and suddenly your favorite items were gone just like that. On top of all, almost as if fate was tickling your paranoia, you could hear certain sounds at night that were too distorted be natural and too human to belong to an animal. There were sobs, loud and tormented, sometimes you could make up a few words in a language no one spoke anymore. You slept less and less each night, you could swear you felt someone's lingering touch on your shoulders, them gently stroking your hair and even pressing their cold unmoving lips on yours. This was usually the point when you opened your eyes and screamed in fear only to realize you were alone in the room. There was nobody there.

Still you decided to speak with your parents about the creepy events taking place in the attic. Much to your dismay they brushed your concerns off once again, laughing softly and calling you a scaredy - cat, going as far as to joke around about your "oh so creative" imagination getting the best of you just like it did in your childhood. But this time you insisted on holding your ground, almost begging them to take action and help you. At the end your mother decided to let you sleep in your brother's room for a while until you calm down, and as embarrassing it was to share a room with a hormonal teen, it was better than constantly being on the edge and losing sleep. Or so you thought.

The first night you slept in Steve's room nothing out of the ordinary happened and for the first time in weeks you actually managed to rest. The second night was blissfully peaceful as well and you quickly fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

The third night started well, just like the previous two. Your brother was tired from studying all day and went to bed early, giving you the freedom to relax a little bit before following his example. You could read a book or try to revise for your exam tomorrow, maybe even call your bestfriend and finally let her know all about your new classmates and just how boring life in the village was. But in that moment all these suggestion sounded annoying, nothing was interesting enough to hold your interest for more than a minute. Thinking about what to do next, you suddenly became aware that your body was tense and tired, but your mind was restless. After all you hadn't had time for self - care between the paranoia episodes and the fear, maybe it was finally time to do something nice and therapeutic for yourself.

You snatched a quick look at Steve and he was sleeping soundly, snoring from time to time, his usually angry face now calm and childlike. Making sure there was no one in the room awake, you finally slipped a hand down your pajama bottom until you felt the soft fabric of your panties. You closed your eyes and run a finger up and down your clothed sex, following the line of your slit. Your pussy throbbed at the sudden contact, the lack of pleasure in the last few weeks making it sensitive to the touch. You pushed your underwear lower so it hanged around your legs, and shoved one finger into your warm hole, enjoy the way your walls clenched around the digit. You flicked your clit gently, feeling it swell from the arousal, rubbing slow circles and pressing on your sweet spot every once in a while.

Your free hand went to your breasts, bare under the comfy oversized shirt, and awoke the cherry nipples with subtle pinches causing them to harden. You couldn't help but moan quietly as you decreased the pace of which you teased your hole and added a second finger in your pussy, fucking yourself on it. You were so focused on chasing your pleasure you didn't even notice the hand on your thigh pulling your own away from your excited throbbing core and replacing it with a big hard cock. Only once its head reached your tight entrance and pressed on it did your mind register the atrocious size difference. Your words stilled in your throat, the sudden panic rising in your chest, making your vision blurry and your cheeks rosy pink. You finally opened your eyes, your heart racing at the image of your younger brother towering above you with his member so close to entering your heat.

"Steve, what are you doing?" You whispered as you tried to squirm away from the boy, but he was quicker in pinning your wrists above your head in a deadlock. When did the male become so strong? Just yesterday he would ask you to open up his water bottle and help him with his math homework and now he was doing this...

"My name is Henry, my love." The voice was different from your brother's, lower and huskier, gentler in a way. You narrowed your eyes and observed the teenager's face, gasping as you noticed that his eyes had changed from black to green, yet all his other features had stayed stayed the same. You wanted to ask so many questions - who is Henry, why were your sibling's eyes and voice different from before - but you were quickly shut by one stern gaze. "I used to live here 80 years ago." The stranger started off with an unexpectedly soft tone as his grip on your wrists loosened. "I'm a ghost. I possessed your brother." He confessed calmly while you watched his pink lips part slightly with each breath as if you were in a trance before you found the strength to break your silence.

"Why are doing this to me? Why did you take my brother's body?" You questioned him manically, feeling like a confused little lamb sent to the slaughter, trembling and stuttering in front of a knife. Henry simply chuckled at your adorable dumbfounded expression and lowered his torso until his face was mere inches away from yours and you could feel his ice - cold breath on your warm red cheek. "Because I love you, darling." The ghost replied with a confident smirk that looked so weird and unnatural on the younger boy's face you almost gagged. Before you had the chance to say anything, he continued. "I've been wanting you for a while now, little girl. And with this body I can finally have you all to myself." You opened your mouth in a protest but your screams were easily muffled by a harsh kiss and a wet tongue down your throat. Next thing you knew the man had pushed your brother's manhood into your wet sloppy cunt in one sharp thurst and in your despair you had yelled for help once again, the ghost taking your whimpers greedily and shushing them away. Struggling was pointless.

In the next hour you were reduced to a sweaty whimpering mess of pain and arousal, fear and pleasure. The ghost was fucking you in a fast brutal pace while his free hand was playing with your clit, bringing you so damn close but never enough to send you over the edge. You were crying and your whole body was aching, your tits red from the rough manhandlind, your lips bruised and swollen from the rough kisses and bites. There were purple hickeys adorning your neck, belly and thighs and you went quiet in embarrassment every time you wondered how you would be able to hide them the next day.

"Please, whoever you are, let me come, I'm begging you." You pleaded desperately as you arched your back to meet the next couple of deep thrusts. Your cheeks were wet with tears and you could even taste the bitter salty flavor in your mouth mixed with your own drool and saliva. Upon hearing your meek pleas the man mercifully started hitting your cervix with each shove until his moves became sharp and quick, targeting your g-spot. You were so close you could feel your abdomen clench and tighten from the tingling sensitations. "Please..." You uttered weakly again, making doe eyes at your brother.

"Say you love me. Tie your soul to mine forever and I'll give you exactly what you want, beloved." Henry basically growled in your ear as he groped your breasts, squizing lightly the soft flesh. Your mind was so hazy and clouded you weren't sure how to respond so you just repeated the words easiest to grasp. "Love... you... forever, ngggh..." You muttered under your breath before moaning wantonly when the forceful thrusts finally sent you over the edge and your pussy clamped down in a big, satisfying orgasm. Your bliss was short - lived because soon the ghost was pounding into you again and again, keeping you too tired to move, struggle or even speak properly besides whimpering every once in a while. The rest of the night was a blur but eventually you fell asleep from the exhausting and the pleasure.

You woke up sore, your eyes red and puffy, your muscles tense and unnatentive. You rushed to look at your brother, but the teenager was sleeping just as peacefully as he did eight hours ago. One side of you was more than glad to know everything that had happened was simply a bad, terrible dream, while the other one still felt extremely uncomfortable and uneasy. You couldn't bear staying in the room any longer so you got dressed and went into the hall. Everyone else was still asleep and you felt as restless as if you hadn't caught a blink at all. You finally gave in to your paranoia and climbed the stars leading to the third floor.

You knelt on the ground where you had found the beautiful paintings. Those green eyes from your dream seemed way too familiar for it to be a coincidence. When you finally got a hold of your favorite piece, the one with the sad young boy, you had to cover your mouth to suppress the shock. There wasn't an aristocrat with golden locks on the picture anymore.

Now the one trapped in the painting was none other than you own brother, Steve. Instead of misery and pain in mysterious blue eyes, there was only terror in his tormented black ones. You screamed for the last time before you dropped the picture on the ground and ran away from the attic, the tears streaming down your face, but unfortunately, there was no escape from the restless dead souls.

[mrs-gucci]

I’m going to try come up with other ideas lol but these jumped out at me. I would absolutely use these for something! I’m saving them too because I just might!

But if you feel like it, these combined scenarios could be really fun for a sarcastic, grouchy ass Flip or Kylo AU. It could be anything from enemies to antagonists to the guy being in trouble with you currently from doing stupid shit and trying to make up with you! Anything you think!

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

The Longest Knight {Sir Kylo Ren x Reader}

author's notes: hello, hello! shannon, dear, you always seem to know what I'm in need of when you send requests in. I've been dying for an excuse to write some medieval/knight Kylo, and this fits in perfectly with that AU, so thank you! <3

**THERE ARE SOME DARK(ER) THEMES IN THIS STORY, BUT ONLY AT THE VERY BEGINNING (there’s an indicator of when the dark content ends, in bold, you can’t miss it). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TW’S BEFORE PROCEEDING!**

warnings: some angst. some gore. some fluff. smut. enemies-with-benefits. sex w/o feelings. kylo is a huge douche (but in, like, a lowkey sexy way). 

tw's: (at the very beginning): dead bodies & blood, vivid depictions of wounds/injuries, brief depictions of battle, implied (battle-related) murder. mentions of sex work (later on in the story, not relating to the reader character).

word count: 4.4k

terms to know: loincloth: groin-covering cloth tied around the waist (literally just underwear). bedswerver: “adulterer” (an insult). mamillare: medieval breast band (bra).

When the sounds of marching footfall, deep cries of manly battle, and shod hooves pounding on the drought-hardened ground had ceased from the air, you saddle your horse and ride out to the far field of your property. 

The putrid smell of rotting flesh hits you before any bodies are even in view. Your prized stallion slows his trot, nostrils flaring and ears perked forward as the scene of battle presents itself to both of you.

He begins to snort and whinny in acute panic at the sight of so many corpses, both human and horse. Your stomach begins to churn, and you can barely bring yourself to look upon the scene as your heel encourages him onward, wanting to make sure there aren’t any surviving soldiers. 

Both sides seem to have suffered great loss, although you’re unsure which corpses belong to which side. The conflict betwixt Alderaan and Naboo has been dragging on much too long, and at the end of the day, is any conflict truly worth all of the lives lost?

You certainly didn’t think so, but perhaps you’re just too close to this war, incapable of having an unbiased opinion due to the loss of your beloved husband at the hands of Sir Kylo Ren, the Alderaanean calvary general and the most feared man across all five kingdoms. 

As you make your rounds to check for survivors, much to the dismay of your steed, you quickly lose almost all hope that anyone laid here ended up surviving the brutality apparently brought down upon them during the fight. 

Suddenly, your horse lifts himself up on hinds legs ever so slightly, jogging in place as a barely-audible groan comes from one of the men. His hand moves ever so slightly, and you quickly rush over to him, dismounting with a small first aid bag.

His helmet is that of a high-ranking official, but on which side he belongs, it’s too hard to tell. Not that it truly matters, you’d take just about any man with the courage to fight these battles.

“Sir?” You say, kneeling down beside the large man. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

He grunts lowly, winter-chapped lips opening in an attempt to speak. “S-Stomach.”

Once your mind registers his husky words, you look down at his abdomen and see that his armor seems to have been compromised in a spot right on the side of his stomach. Fresh blood seeps from the deep wound, and you cringe, grabbing one of the towels from your pack to gently wipe away some of the blood, but the tear in flesh is so deep, it’s impossible to do with just one towel. **dark content warnings ENDS**

“My estate is just a short ride from here. I cannot hold your weight myself, but if you can mount my horse, I will take you back and mend your wounds to the best of my ability.”

The mask nods softly, slowly but surely lifting himself up off the ground, wobbling towards your horse, who snorts nervously. He seemingly understands the severity of the situation, though, and stands still as the knight sits himself on his back. 

From there, he lays back, breath catching in his throat as his injuries are tweaked with each of the horses’ strides. You hold onto the reins, leading your stallion back to the house. 

After quite a bit of maneuvering and a lot of quarreling with the injured knight, you finally manage to set him up the cot in your spare bedroom. He sits down on the chair as you do so, mumbling and grumbling about his pain. You found it quite annoying, really, but you can’t really blame him for acting in such a way.

“You’ll need to remove your armor, sir. I cannot treat your wounds with it on.”

“By God’s bones.” He curses under his breath in annoyance, but stands and removes his body armor nonetheless.

Piece by piece is peeled from his body, his physically intimidating figure revealed slowly to your curious eyes. Only his under-layers were left, soon enough, and you found it a bit odd that he hadn’t taken his helmet off first. You would think that would be a great relief to have the proper air exposure on your face, but you’re not really in a place to make assumptions about that sort of thing.

His brilliantly alabaster skin is severely bloodied, bruised, and badly butchered. He would require quite some time to heal and recover, but if you learned anything from being married to an army man, it’s that they’re all stubborn bastards who never take the proper time to allow time for their bodies to properly heal.

He’s soon fully exposed to you, minus his helmet and threadbare loincloth, and you have to look away quickly as your cheeks heat up. The small garment left very little to the imagination, and this knight was...well endowed, to put it kindly.

Putting your own personal feelings aside for the betterment of the patient, you look back up at him with a small smile. “You may remove your helmet now, good sir.”

“I cannot reach up to grab it from my head.” He says in a flat, unamused voice.

“Of course.” You scold yourself for not thinking of that. “Well, if you lay down on the cot, I shall remove it for you.”

Instead of protest, which is what you expected, he complied with your instructions and laid down on the cot. He grunts satisfyingly at the comfort of a mattress, most likely used to sleeping on the ground.

When you reach for the bottoms of his helmet to pull it off, he suddenly snatches your wrist, stopping you instantly.

“If you need touch me, ask before doing so.” His voice is nothing more than a growl.

You almost roll your eyes, starting to truly become annoyed with this knight. You invited him into your home and you’re willing to be his bedside nurse...and he has the audacity to request something like this.

Again you’re forced to put your personal feelings aside for the sake of your patient and for the maintenance of your bedside manner, forcing a smile onto your face. “With all due respect, sir, I’m your nurse for the time being. I will be needing to touch you quite often. Am I really expected to ask each and every time?”

“Yes.” He replies.

Your jaw clenches and you wish nothing more in this moment than to smack this man right across the face.

“Fine. May I please remove your helmet?”

Sparing you the assurance of a vocal reply, the mask simply nods, and you pull it over his head. When the face of your patient is revealed to your eyes, you’re appalled.

It’s Sir Kylo Ren...the man that murdered your husband.

You drop the helmet onto the ground, metal clattering as it rocks back and forth once it’s settled in one spot on the hardwood. This can’t be real.

He snarls. “Why are you looking upon me with that expression? Have you never seen a man before? I have wounds that need tended to, girl, and I’d like to be out of here before sundown.”

Anger begins to boil your blood, tears burning in your eyes as you look down at the man before you.

“You bastard.” Your hand raises, ready to strike him clean against the cheek. He catches your fist in his hand before you can, though.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Kylo warns, squeezing your fist. “I’ll have to have you beheaded for hitting an army man, and your head is much too pretty to be put to such waste.”

You snort, yanking yourself from his grip, teeth gritting as you walk out to fetch all the medical supplies. He’s wearing a cocky expression when you walk back in.

“I recognize you.” He says.

You huff, unamused. “How could you possibly recognize me? We’ve never met.”

His lips curl up into a devious smirk. “You’re right, we haven’t met before, but I recognize you from your husband’s description. I asked him what you looked like, since he was babbling on and on about you.”

You freeze up, bottom lip beginning to quiver as Sir Kylo continues.

“Then I drove my blade straight through his pathetic chest, and later that night, I touched myself as I thought of you.”

He chuckles deviously.

“Bedswerver!” You yell, cocking your fists once more and lunging at him, ready to strike once more. But then, you stop yourself, knowing the consequences you’d surely face should you actually hit him. 

Your fists lower and you simply say nothing, preparing the cloths in the warm water. The tears run down your cheeks on their own volition, but you quickly wipe them away before turning back towards him. 

“He wasn’t worthy of your company, Y/N.” Kylo says as you begin to clean the wounds on his stomach. “And he clearly didn’t satisfy you in the way you needed, considering the manner in which you looked over my body when I took my armor off.”

His hand reaches around and squeezes your ass, making you jump. 

“How long has it been, little lamb? A young woman like you shouldn’t have to live without a man to satisfy her aching need.”

You can’t pretend that you’re not aroused by his words, by his touch. But you’d never let him have you, not in a thousand years. So, you quickly swat his hand away and continue cleaning his wounds. “That’s none of your concern, Sir Kylo. I am perfectly content without a man and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I bet you’re aching right now, just from my words and my simple touch.”

Before he can touch you further, you back away, limbs trembling with anger and frustration. You dunk the bloody rag back into the bowl of water, ring it out a bit, then throw it onto his chest.

“Clean the wounds yourself, since you can obviously move your hands and arms perfectly fine.” You say, wiping your own on a dry cloth. “I’ll be back to bandage you in a bit.”

“Don’t think of me too much, lamb. You’ll release too quickly.” He snickers as you slam the door shut behind you, bursting into tears the moment you step foot into your bedroom.

You sob quietly, the freshly-healed stitches of your heart popping open one at a time, the grief and pain of losing your beloved consuming you once more. 

And now you’re here, mending his killer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes everything you have, every ounce of willpower, to wake up and face Sir Kylo every single day. You know you’re doing the right thing by helping him, but that doesn’t make dealing with him any easier.

He’s impossibly stubborn, arrogant beyond comprehension, and increasingly grumpy. But, you just have to keep going, keep pushing through, reminding yourself that each day brings you closer and closer to his inevitable departure.

You’ve all but blocked out his inappropriate and antagonizing comments or remarks, just getting his bandages replaced and then leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Today, though, he’s achieved a new level of jackassery, a thing you thought impossible until he did it. And boy, did he do it.

“I’ve made arrangements for a few whores to come and provide me some...company.”

Your fist tightens around the bandage in your hand. He smirks.

“You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of me to go around, little lamb. You’ll get your turn.”

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather stab myself with a sword.” You reply, beginning to switch out his bandages. “You’re lucky I’m even allowing it to occur in my house.”

He just chuckles. “You’d probably be bad, anyway.”

You suddenly rip the bandage off of his skin, causing him to cry out in pain. He looks at you, and you glare down at him. “Just...can you please just stop talking for once in your life? Must you always berate me when all I’ve done over the past few weeks is take care of you? Is this what kindness, genuine kindness, gets me?”

He suddenly seems to sober up, to let what he’s done to you sink in. It doesn’t last long, but you still see it. Perhaps he does have the capability to feel at least some sense of remorse.

Kylo stays quiet for the rest of the time you tend to his wounds, and when you turn to leave, the two words you’ve been convinced are not in his vocabulary, come from the behind you.

“Thank you.”

This sliver of empathy is short lived, especially after the girls from the local brothel make their way up to his room. 

“Oh! Oh! Sir Kylo!”

You shake your head, attempting to read in the study, which is located on the other side of house from the guest bedroom. Yet, their screams, cries and the various other lewd noises still manage to make their way to your ears.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” “Take it, whore, take it!” “Kyloooooooo!”

The temptation to go up there and kick the girls out is increasing by the second, but you don’t. Maybe this will help mellow him out a bit, make him more manageable.  Plus, you’re pretty sure that you’d have to carve your eyes out after walking in on whatever they’re doing up behind that closed door.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes progressively more difficult to focus on your book as the burn between your thighs intensifies. It’s been almost two years since your husband was murdered, which means that it’s been a little over that since you were last intimate with someone.

Normally, and up until Sir Kylo entered your household, you were more than fine subduing your sexual desires. You haven’t once touched yourself, not that you’d really know how to anyway, and you certainly weren’t about to start now.

You cross your legs, hoping that’ll quell some of the burning, but it only makes it worse. Another half an hour passes and your hand now rests on your thigh, slowly inching down towards your soaked and quivering pussy.

Just a quick touch won’t hurt...he doesn’t have to know...

Luckily, a knock at the door brings your motions to a stop. You sigh in relief, walking over to open the door. When you do, you’re met with a bandaged bare torso, a very muscular bare torso. His skin glistens with sweat and the smell of sex radiates from his essence. 

He’s still breathing heavily as he stands in the doorway, looking down at you.

“We’re finished upstairs.” He says breathily. “I’m due for my afternoon bandage change, whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him saunter away, admiring the way his muscles stretch and tense with each stride. You’re burning up by now, both your skin and your arousal, and you wonder how you’re going to get through this next bandage change. 

When you enter the room, the musk of sex is thick in the air, humidity at a suffocating level. You try to ignore it, try not to let it get to you, but it’s just surrounding you. 

Your skin begins to glisten, brow furrowed as you focus on trying to change these bandages as quickly as possible. Kylo seems to take notice of your hurry, your sudden perspiring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks you, biting back a smirk. “You seem flustered.”

Nodding, you continue on with the bandaging.  “I’m fine, just a bit warm is all.”

Kylo hums, reaching down to grab your wrist as you reach up to re-bandage the wound on his chest. He brings your fingers up to his lips, sucking the tips into his mouth gently, tongue swiping over the pads of your digits.

You try to pull away, to leave before you do something you regret, but his hold on you is firm. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t actually want him to stop.

Oh lord, this is bad. It’s so wrong. You shouldn’t want this. He murdered your husband, the man you loved. He’s so smug and cocky and yet...it’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, the thing you’ve tried to suppress, to not let yourself want.

But now, everything else be damned, you want this. You need this. And damnit, you’re gonna have it.

His lips release your fingertips with a lewd pop! sound, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t tried to pull away or tell me off in a minute or two. Is everything alright?”

You huff. “Just do it.”

He raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little. “Do what? What do you want me to do, little lamb?”

“You know what I want.”

“Oh yes, I’m fully aware of what you want.” He smirks. “But I want to hear you say it out loud.”

You cross your arms on your chest, trying to ignore the twang of guilt that shoots through you as you prepare to say the words aloud.

“Fine. I want you to f-fuck me.”

“That’s right. I knew you wanted it.” Kylo takes your hand and trails it down his muscular abdomen, stopping just above where his loincloth sits on his hips.

“Take it off.”

You’re chewing your lip numb as you reach down and undo the tie holding the garment on. Your breath hitches as you slide it off, exposing his member, which is hardening steadily.

“Instead of staring, perhaps you’d like to try touching it?” He smirks.

You shoot him a glare. “Stop talking, for once in your life, please spare my ears the sound of your constant squabble.”

Kylo chuckles, putting his hands behind his head.

Your hand wraps around the base of his length, and he grunts softly. It’s your turn to wear a smirk.

“Oh, do you like that, Sir Kylo?”

He huffs. “Every man likes their cock being touched. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

You squeeze his shaft, drawing a deep grunt from his lips and small buck of his hips. He looks away, jaw clenched in an attempt to prevent any further noises. 

This fact only makes you more determined, hand pumping his cock with more vigor, alternating between different paces and pressures to really drive him crazy.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, drinking in the sight of him trying his absolute hardest not to react to the touches that so obviously arouse him. You tease him even more, using your fingers to touch certain parts of his length. 

Well, it’s fun for the few minutes it lasts, but suddenly, you find yourself in his position, laid back on the cot. He’s on top of you, now, pushing the skirts of your dress up, fingers yanking the laces on your bodice.

He quickly pulls it off, followed by your skirts, leaving you in only your mamillare and your loincloth. His eyes roam your newly exposed skin for a moment before his hand slips down between your thighs, fingers pressing up against the fabric.

“I knew it. Were you listening, little lamb? Were you listening to me fuck those whores and wishing it was you?”

Your breath hitches. “Well, it was sort of hard not to listen when the girls were screaming.”

His fingers wrap around the waist tie, pulling them down to fully expose your wet heat. He smirks, rubbing around until he finds that one spot that has your back arching and a gasp escaping your lips.

Before he can even say anything, you reiterate his words in a mocking tone. “Every woman likes being touched there. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

He huffs, rubbing you harder.

“Tell me how wet you got when you heard me fucking those whores. Tell me that you wanted a turn on my cock, wondered how good I’d feel inside you.”

“N-No.” You say, a stern expression on your face. “I’ll never say that to you.”

His jaw clenches as he bends down, lips next to your ear. “You'll be screaming it once I’m done with you.”

Your eyes widen when his fingers slowly press up into your entrance. 

“Kylo...” You’ve never been touched in this way before. It’s...different, and not necessarily unpleasant.

He sees your hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

And you did.

His digits begin moving in and out of you, curling up occasionally to stimulate a certain tender spot inside you. You’re biting down on your lip, surely hard enough to break the skin, trying your darndest not to give him the privilege of hearing your noises.

As you did to him, seeing you suppress your noises only spurs him on more, movements becoming quicker, swifter. Your orgasm draws closer with each skilled stroke, but just before you reach your peak, he pulls out.

You thought you wanted to hit him before; now, you kind of want to pop some of his abdomen stitches. 

“Why did you do that?”

He laughs devilishly, reaching down to pump his cock, slicking it with the juices of your arousal. “You didn’t think I’d actually let you get off that easily, did you?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping...”

You’re brought to silence when he crawls on top of you, trapping you beneath his massive form. His mushroom head swirls around your entrance, collecting some of your slick before pressing it inside of you.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve had anyone, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone of his size before, so you gasp softly as he presses forth. Soon, his entire length is seated in you, stretching and filling you to the brim.

His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he tries to remain still in order to allow you an adjustment period. Once you’ve had some time, he begins moving his hips, rolling them at a steady pace. 

“Knew you’d have a nice little cunt,” He growls, teeth baring. “So wet and tight for me, little lamb.”

You bite your numbing lip in an attempt to prevent any of the desperate moans or cries that want to escape. He’s doing something similar, jaw clenched tightly. 

Only the wet squelch and sharp snapping of skin colliding can be heard between the two of you, minus the occasional grunt or sharp inhale from either of you, which is quickly shut down almost as soon as it slips out.

Soon, you feel your climax begin to appear on the horizon, walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. He takes notice, quickly speeding his rhythm up, exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils.

He’s getting close, too, balls pulling up as his body prepares itself for orgasm. The energy between you two, as well as your physical movements, quickly turn desperate. 

“Don’t release inside me.”

“I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to.” He says, smugly.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “I see that even the throws of passion and ecstasy is still not enough to tamper your unbearable attitude.”

“There is nothing that can stop me from taking the opportunity to get a rise out of you, milady.” He smirks before his brows knit in the center of his forehead. “If you’re gonna cum, I suggest you do it s-soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips attempting to lift up off the mattress, wanting him to hit that certain spot inside you. As soon as you find the right angle, a choked sob leaves your lips as you’re quickly brought and tossed over the edge.

Kylo groans softly, thrusting rapidly before pulling out at the last minute, spilling his seed all over your abdomen.

Both of you are breathless as you ride out your climaxes, basking in the peaceful bliss that washes over your body, basking in the luxury of his utter and complete silence. It was a welcome change, a much-needed reprieve from the past few weeks of dealing with him.

He eventually flops down onto the mattress beside you, grabbing and re-securing his loincloth around his hips. You’re already a bit sore from being stretched for the first time in two years.

“May I just sleep here tonight, Sir Kylo? Unless you’d like to carry me back over to my bedroom.”

The side-eye he gives you is incredibly humorous, but you contain your laughter, not wanting to add oil to the flame.

“I won’t be a bother. I will stay on this side of the cot; you’ll barely even know I’m here.”

“Are you truly incapable of walking yourself back to your bedroom after one session of fucking? Was I really that amazing that I’ve left you unable to move about the house?” He laughs.

"And suddenly, the pain of walking over to my room seems less painful than staying here and listening to your vexing squabble.”

Kylo huffs. “If you stay here for the night, you may not breach the center of the mattress. I will kick you out if you even come close to bumping into me or making any sort of physical contact.”

Mocking his words from earlier, you smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to touch you.”

“Very funny.” He says, flatly, rolling over to face away from you. “Just stay on your fucking side of the bed.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up to braid your hair for bed before fluffing the goose-feather pillow beneath your head, settling down for the night. Soon, Sir Kylo’s obnoxious snores bounce off the walls and you put your pillow over your head, hoping to muffle the noise.

God, even his snores are arrogant.

-

The next morning, when your eyes flutter open at the first sign of light through the window, you find the sheets next to you vacant.

You sit up, eyebrows furrowed as you look around the room, ears open to listen for any noise anywhere in the house. You don’t hear anything.

Then, you see a piece of rolled up parchment on his pillow along with a small satchel. When you open the pouch, you’re shocked to see a pile of shiny coins. You unrolled the note, reading the sloppy script.

For the medical supplies and for your trouble. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.

-Kylo

As you read the very brief and to-the-point note, you can practically hear his snide voice in your head reciting it. The cold, cocky tone of his words shone through the parchment and ink, incredibly so. You huff, tossing the note back onto the pillow before getting up to begin the day. 

Well...at least you’ll never have to see him again.

[brockadoodles]

Snow doesn’t fall in scottsdale - a. matthews

AN: Uhh just ignore the text in the gif since it’s obviously not relevant to the story. (even though Ema is the best) But here’s what might be the last Christmas fic in my eight weeks of Christmas series. I’ve been finding myself inspired for other stuff, and there’s so much wonderful Christmas content out there that I’m sure you don’t need 47837584 more from me. So enjoy this one, a nice anon requested more Auston content, so that’s why I wrote it. But, I really liked it and hope you do too. 

This is also for @broadstbroskis​ who I love to send things at absolutely inappropriate times for her so, I hope this hits you at a bad time ;) 

Word Count: 4628

Warnings: None, it’s floofy. 

Auston felt himself sigh as he looked at you. You were sitting out on the roof and holding an old mug of tea. He noticed the way you held the mug close to your chest and looked out at the skyline. The sun was just beginning to set, the deep orange and purple hues and the hot dry air  were some of his favorite things about where he was from and lived during the offseason. But as he carefully looked at the somber expression coming from his limited view of your face, he could tell that you missed Toronto.

You were the type of person who had a firm belief that Christmas wasn’t really Christmas without the snow, and Scottsdale, Arizona might have felt cold at 20 degrees celsius to those that lived there, but to you all it was, was a dry desert with fake Christmas trees and a painful lack of snow covering the ground. Your favorite memories included carrying a small sled down the street while holding your mom’s hand, or sitting on your dad’s shoulders at the Christmas market every year, snow piling onto your beanie as you stuck your tongue out hoping to catch flakes. Those were your favorite memories of the holiday and even if the view was stunning, the palm trees simply didn’t hold a match to the thick, evergreens covered in snow. But you were thankful to have Auston, and his family, who had been nothing but accommodating to you. So you kept your homesickness away from them, plastering on a smile that faded as soon as you came out to the roof to take a moment to yourself. 

You didn’t want to complain, because you were genuinely grateful that Auston had invited you to spend the holiday with him. Before you could contemplate the weight of the question, or think about how spending Christmas with your friend who always felt like something more would only entangle your heart further into the mess of feelings that it was already nestled in, you said yes. The decision didn’t phase you until you were waiting for a flight, your thigh brushing his and his head resting on your shoulder, that maybe this was only going to end up hurting you in the long run because of your own harbored feelings for one of your closest friends.

You’d liked Auston for almost as long as you’ve known him, having met in a chance run in when he bumped into you on a night out with your friends, spilling your drink all down your dress. He offered you a new one, and soon you found yourself tumbling into a dangerous friendship with him that your heart always wanted to pull more out of. It was a bad idea, going home with him. It was something that was debatably far too intimate for two people who were supposed to be just friends. But you didn’t know that Auston harbored feelings of his own, and you didn’t know just how much he’d do to make your Christmas special. 

Auston watched carefully as you set the mug down and snapped a picture, one that would later end up on Instagram for the world to see, captioned “there’s no snow but the view is great.” You flipped your phone back over, presumably hiding any potential interruptions from your time up on the roof. He took your pause as his moment to make his presence known, and he carefully opened the tall glass sliding door and stepped out onto the roof. You looked over at him before curling your feet underneath your legs to make space for him to sit. 

“Are you okay?” He tentatively asked. You simply nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder, causing him to instinctively pull you closer into his body. It was almost terrifying how well he knew your mannerisms, each breath you took or movement gave away everything about how you were feeling. It scared him how well he could read you, but he paid attention because he cared. Auston knew this was about Christmas, and while didn’t know how to pull any of it off, he'd drive to Colorado and back if it meant bringing you a dusting of snow to the desert in December.

----------

The following afternoon, your mood had improved and the melancholic moment shared between you was nearly forgotten as you sat across from him at the small coffee shop. Auston had this ability to know your every emotion. He knew when you wanted to talk about what was bothering you and when you didn’t, and you appreciated that when you woke up the next day, he offered nothing other than a soft smile and asked if you’d like to check out this new small coffee place with him. 

“I can’t believe you managed to get this much time off this season, normally you don’t even go home.” You hummed as you sipped on your drink. Auston held the door open for you as you walked out, the heat hitting your skin almost instantly as the loss of air conditioning from the shop became more apparent. 

“I know, but it’s good.” He shrugged, offering no indication that there was any deeper meaning to that statement as he followed you out of the shop. The truth was that the extra time was much needed, as it gave him the perfect opportunity for an impulsive trip out of town that just might lift the mood you were so desperately trying to conceal. 

You handed Auston your iced coffee for a moment so that you could toss up your hair. The sun was starting to beat down, heating up your skin and causing a light sweat. 

“It’s too hot, how can you even be wearing that?” You gestured to his outfit, which in contrast to some of the clothes he normally wore, was relatively relaxed and normal. He was wearing black joggers and a dark t-shirt, with a light flannel on top. You were sweating just looking at it in comparison to the oversized Nike t-shirt you had stolen from him that morning, and your soft shorts. You couldn’t deny that it looked good on him though, and if it wasn’t so hot and you lived in a reality where you could act on your feelings, you wouldn’t mind tucking yourself right into his chest.   

“Ah well, that’s because we’re not staying here.” He shrugged, shaking you out of your daydream and tugging you back toward his car. He laced his fingers in yours and it sent fluttering right to your chest. The simple display of affection was something that you were likely reading entirely too much into. But you didn’t care, because your brain was communicating chemicals of fondness that were being sent straight to your heart with the simple gesture, and you were going to let yourself enjoy it even if it ultimately didn’t actually mean anything substantial. 

“What? Where are we going?” You asked. Auston just smiled nervously at you as he unlocked the car. He untangled his fingers from yours and walked to the driver’s side door, a sensation that you subtly frowned at. 

“Uh, well I hope you don’t mind but…” His voice was muffled as he got into the driver's seat. 

“But what, Auston?” You pressed. 

“We may be going on a road trip.” He bit his lip slightly as your eyes went wide. He knew this was spontaneous, and maybe too much. But all he wanted was to see a smile on your face and if he had to spend all night looking up weather reports and finding a town that had a substantial amount of snow and drive you there, that was a task he was more than willing to do. 

“To where? And why?” You laughed. Auston smirked at you as he started the car.

“This small town in the mountains in Colorado. We have a cabin, we’re bringing Felix, and there’s a ton of snow right now.” He smiled at you, watching out of the corner of his eye to see your reaction as you took in what he was saying. Your eyes widened and your heart rate quickened. You reached over the center console and grabbed his hand and slid your fingers through his once more.

“Thank you.” You whispered, hoping that the simple words could accurately depict just how appreciative you were of him. He pulled your hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and smiling at you once again. The adoration in his eyes was more than what a friend should show, but this entire trip was more than friendly, and you didn’t really care that you were setting your heart up for the inevitable disappointment you might face by the end of it, because you at least somewhat had Auston. He may have not been your boyfriend, you couldn’t kiss him whenever you wanted, or hold him beyond small gestures but he cared about you, probably more than he cared about most of his friends, and that was enough. So you packed a bag, loaded Felix into the car, and drove just over eight hours with him to spend a few days in the snow before Christmas.

----------

The first night you got there, the two of you were exhausted. You were so tired that you couldn’t even register the lines you were crossing as you climbed into bed next to him, Felix tucked securely under your feet. You were so tired that you didn’t question it when his arm came around your waist and slid just underneath the waist of the sweatshirt you were wearing. He was warm, and you felt safe, so you let yourself drift off to sleep without thinking of the emotional consequences of the romanticization of all of this. 

The second night, Auston had insisted on another surprise for you. One that he was tight lipped about, but swore that you would love. All he told you was that you needed to dress warm and be ready to walk around. So, you threw on more layers than was probably necessary and let him lead you into town. 

You grabbed onto his arm to not lose him. The crowd was larger than you’d expect for the small mountain town he had brought you to. Auston just pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you safe and secure into his side. It was another simple gesture, adding to the annoying list in the back of your mind of things that Auston Matthews could do that caused a flutter in your stomach and slight heartache in your chest. But it was cold, and the gesture was one that made you feel calm and content as he led you further into the town. 

The small town was quant, and reminded you of some picturesque stereotypical German town that went all out for the holidays. The Bavarian style cottages and buildings were all decorated with lights, and the snow on the roofs was a sight that made you smile even more as you kept walking. You were about to ask Auston where you were headed when suddenly the lights came into view. Your eyes went wide as you looked at the giant tree in the center of the town square, it was lit up with white lights and shiny, multicolored ornaments. Snow was settled into the branches and littered on the ground. You nearly cried when you realized where he had brought you. 

“I can’t make it snow in Arizona, I can’t replicate the tree, but I found this place and thought it was pretty close.” He looked down as you with a subtle smile on his lips. You reached a hand up to his cheek, running your thumb along the stubble from where his beard was growing in, feeling his cheeks shift into a larger smile. He wrapped an arm further around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Auston looked at you like you were his entire world and his heart lurched in his chest at yet another grip you were securing on it. He wanted to lean down and kiss you. He wanted to walk through the door to your soul that he had been waiting behind for so long because for the first time, standing there with your hand on his cheek and you looking at him the way that you were, it felt like it was finally opening for him. 

But the moment was fleeting and as your eyes scattered away from his and you stepped back, his heart dropped. Because in that moment he could almost see the intricate parts of your mind racing, probably regretting getting so close to him in the first place. He didn’t get to kiss you that night, but as you threw on his sweatshirt and crawled into bed next to him, letting your head fall onto his chest, he let himself wander back to the idea of your feelings being reciprocated. It was that feeling that left him softly smiling as he fell asleep. 

----------

“I have one last surprise for this trip.” Auston came out into the kitchen. He stood behind you and reached an arm around to grab a mug, resting his other hand on your waist as he did so. You were growing almost too accustomed to the subtle touches shared on this trip, to falling asleep in his arms. You were in your own almost blissful world, and there was a part of you that had been thinking about taking the leap and kissing him. Because in this blissful world, reality didn’t exist. You weren’t going back to Arizona tomorrow, and you weren’t ultimately going back to Toronto to your separate apartments. In this reality, you could stay with Auston forever, without the pressures of everything that real life brought both of you. 

“Do enlighten me on the latest Auston Matthews surprise experience, because I must say that I am enjoying it.” You teased, passing him the coffee pot that was in front of you. You spun around to face him and his smile grew. There was a soft glow to his smile and his eyes that had your heart racing even faster than it already was previously, and you bit your lip as you waited for a response. 

“We’re going skating.” He grinned, a satisfactory laugh coming from him as he watched your eyes go wide and mouth hang open just slightly. You had only skated once in your life, and it was when you were seven. Your older brother had shoved you onto the ice and you tumbled, breaking your arm in the process. Ever since then, skating was the one fear you had, which was slightly ironic considering the person you were essentially in love with did it for a living. 

“Auston… you know I don’t know how to skate.” You glanced over at him, his hand reassuringly came to rest on your hip, a soft squeeze that sent shivers running through your body at the contact. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and you nearly fell over. The line that the two of you were balancing on felt like it had been crossed with the intimacy of the kiss. It was a simple, quick, but tender kiss to the forehead, and it was rushing into your heart, causing it to react and demand more from him. 

“Time to learn, babe.” He patted your hip and walked out of the kitchen. The disconnect from his body no longer pressed almost against yours was almost excruciating. You stood there in the kitchen for what felt like hours just replaying the moment in your mind. You were so focussed on how badly you wanted him that you didn’t even register the fear that you normally felt when it came to the idea of skating. 

Later that afternoon, after resolving yourself to the fact that you were definitely not getting out of this surprise, and realizing that he even bought new skates for you, Auston led you through a snow-covered pathway on your way to the frozen lake. The walk was quiet, the only sounds coming from your feet crunching in the snow. As you got closer and the lake came into view, you were regretting leaving Felix at the cabin because he could have been a great excuse to use to get out of this. 

Auston spotted a small bench and instructed you to sit down on it. He sat down beside you and lifted a leg into your lap, sliding the skate on and beginning to tie it securely for you. You watched as his hands moved, tightening the laces. When he was done with both skates, his hand slid up your shin, a soft reassuring smile on his face as he tapped your leg indicating that you needed to move so he could put on his own skates. You were starting to get more and more nervous as he finished lacing his up and grabbed your hands, helping you stand on the edge of the lake. Auston took a few steps backwards, guiding you to the very edge of the frozen lake. Your stomach dropped when he stepped out, the sound of skates hitting the ice shocking you back into the reality of what you were doing. 

“No railing baby, you’ve got to hold onto me or accept that you might fall.” Auston teased as you stood at the edge of the lake. This felt like a disaster waiting to happen, a tragic ending to what would have been the cute cheesy skating scene in one of those terrible lifetime Christmas movies. You felt slightly ridiculous out there, but Auston didn’t see it that way. He saw this as another opportunity to help you have the best possible Christmas even if you were away from your family. 

“You know.. what if I just sit here and watch you?” You offered, biting your lip as he skated to the edge of the lake. He positioned himself right in front of you and took your gloves hands in his, guiding you slowly onto the ice. 

“I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall, okay?” He reassured you. If only he knew that falling on the ice was the least of your concerns when it came to the meaning of that word. Auston reached for your hand, silently lacing his fingers with yours as he guided you into taking your first step. You crashed into him, hands flailing into his chest as he laughed softly at you. 

“It’s not funny!” You whined, grasping onto him as tightly as you could. Auston didn’t mind the contact, he wanted to be with you all the time, his heart carefully locked in your possession to keep, whether you knew it or not. If anyone told him that he’d have gone through all of this for a person who he wasn’t even dating, he would have laughed in their face. But you were different, and no matter how hard he tried to pretend you were just a friend, he knew he was potentially setting himself up for a shattered soul if you didn’t feel the same way that he did. 

You let Auston guide you around the ice, his hands secure on your body to prevent you from falling. When he guided you off the ice, you sat straight down onto the same bench you had previously. Auston leaned in front of you, grabbing the back of the bench with his hands on either side of you. For a moment you let your mind drift, thinking about what it would be like to reach out and grab the strings tauntingly hanging from his sweatshirt and pulling him into you from where he was standing. You thought about how you could press your lips softly to his, reaching your hand through his hair to pull him closer into you. You felt your stomach in knots as you thought about kissing him, something you’d been wanting to do for a while, but never had the courage to, and it wasn’t until he waved a hand in front of your face that you realized you weren’t kissing him, it was just an image projected from your imagination as you sat there, wishing your feelings away so that you wouldn’t constantly be rejected in your own head. 

----------

The two of you set off on the drive back to Scottsdale the next day, leaving behind the bliss of being unplugged and away from everyone for just a few days. The whole experience almost felt like a melatonin induced dream, the last three days spent with him. But as you settled back into the guest room in his Arizona house on Christmas Eve, your bed felt cold and empty without him. 

Christmas day had come and was nearly over, and you smiled more than you thought that you would. It was weird how the short trip had changed your perspective over the whole holiday. You weren’t nearly as homesick as you had been. You were genuinely enjoying yourself, and felt like you belonged right where you were as you helped Ema in the kitchen with Christmas dinner. You felt a sense of ease finally about Auston, clarity slowly drifting from your heart to your brain about how you felt about him. 

You had excused yourself after dinner to go up to the roof once more, just taking some time to let all of your feelings settle. The reality of going back to Toronto was starting to creep back in. Soon you would be home and back in the routine of the second half of the hockey season. Auston would go back to being gone all of the time, and you would go back to work, the fleeting feelings you were experiencing would pass, and you’d get back to the place that you had been before where you were content with him just being your friend. 

Auston however, had different hopes for the last few hours of this short escape from Toronto. He loved his job, he loved his teammates and the city, but he’d be lying to everyone and himself if he didn’t admit that you were one of his favorite parts of the whole thing. He lit up whenever he’d see you in the crowd, the same old Maple Leafs beanie you had since your high school days adorned on your head. You fit seamlessly into his life in every single way except for the most important one, and he had enough of it. This week spent with you had shown him that he needed to be honest. He needed to release his heart from the weight of his own growing feelings for you, and there were moments where he truly thought that you were going to catch it. He needed to take the chance, he might explode if he didn’t. 

The gift was entirely too much, it was too sentimental, too heartfelt, too every other adjective in the dictionary for the word much, and Auston knew that. He knew that this gift sealed any chance at keeping his feelings opaque, the transparency of the glass felt like a metaphor for a window into his own heart. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care that it was too much, all he wanted was for the horribly wrapped confession to somehow be enough for you. Auston took a deep breath as he held the box, the one that Bre had helped him wrap just the night previously. You were up on the roof, sitting peacefully as you watched the sunset over the skyline. The palm trees and dry terrain are vastly different than what you were used to in December. It was almost like you had a sixth sense he was behind you because he swore he felt his heart drop into his stomach when you turned your head just enough, showing a warm and soft smile as he tentatively stepped toward you. 

You were in one of his sweatshirts and your hair was up, a look that in all your years of knowing each other he never got tired of. You were everything to him, and he had been so sure about how he felt about you right from the beginning. But, you weren’t ready. At the time you had just had a bad breakup, your heart was tucked in a locked box in your chest, no hope of it being unlocked by anyone else for a long time. But, a long time had been coming, and now that you were here, in Arizona, in his sweatshirt, smiling at him, he could only hope that you would at least consider giving your heart to him. 

Auston stepped out onto the roof again, a familiar feeling settling into his chest from just a few days prior. You lifted your eyes up to meet his, this time a genuine smile adorning your lips as the moon and small patio light lit up your face. He sat down next to you once again, handing you the small, wrapped gift that he had been holding.

“I have one last surprise for you.” He quietly spoke. 

You took the box in your hands and you slowly unwrapped the gift.  You set the paper down under your thigh and pulled out the small snow globe, letting it feel heavy in your hands. Your fingers traced over the details, the fetched mountains in the glass and the hint of green pointing through the white snow. It was a simple gift, something plucked straight out of a bad holiday movie, but you didn’t care because it came from him, and the thought behind it was better than any tangible gift he could have bought for you.

“Turns out, snow is very hard to come by around here.” He smiled down at you. You looked at Auston with a new perspective filling your mind, you noticed all of the things about him that you were blissfully ignoring before for the sake of guarding your own heart and hiding your own feelings. You knew his eyes softened when he looked at you, you just chose not to see it until now. 

“Auston-“ you started, but his eyes shifted as he spoke. His entire speech was tossed off the side of the roof, he was going with his gut here. He was going to tell you how he felt, because he simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“This is probably the worst time for this. And you deserve better than some shitty rooftop confession on Christmas. But, I like you. I like you so much, I have probably since shortly after we met, and I know I didn’t make snow fall like I promised, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. How badly I want to kiss you, how badly I want to just say that I love you all the time.”

“Auston, you talk too much.” You smiled at him. Everything felt warm, and it wasn’t just because of the slight heat in the air, or his body closely hovering above yours. You were warm because you loved him, a concept that you weren’t expecting yet somehow ended up prepared for. 

“Well, I’ll shut up and kiss you, then.” He teased, smiling into a soft kiss. Your hand tangled in his hair, and your eyes fluttered closed as you melted into him. 

“Oh, and I love you too.” You smiled as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Sure it wasn’t Toronto. It wasn’t that blissful three days in the mountains. There weren’t lights or trees or snow or anything that you’d traditionally associate with December 25th, but you had Auston in exactly the way that you had wanted him for a long time, and somehow that was better than all of it combined. 

[nanaminokanojo]

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 4/8

CHARACTERS: Nanami Kento X You (fem!reader | PLEASE READ THE NOTES BELOW*) | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Utahime Iori | other JJK Characters CHAPTER COUNT: 4/8 WORD COUNT: 3,900+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | smut | ooc depictions | female reader with described appearance* | modern au | rich people au | aged up characters CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | age gap | strong/mature/suggestive language | mentions and use of drugs | smut/mature sexual content SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

Nanami let out a deep breath, feeling the stiffness on his back. Pulling the almost dried up towel that was draped over his eyes. He doesn’t remember putting it there although he recalled resting on the couch on the study to rest for a bit some time at dawn, thinking he would wake up in time to move to the bedroom. As it turned out, he wasn’t able to manage that anymore and slept on that same spot until morning.

Sitting up, he saw that his files had been tidied up and there was a note on top which said, “You work too much,” in a familiar handwriting. He smiled to himself, realizing who it was from. There was no mistaking that ugly handwriting – one of your supposed flaws yet he found it very endearing that you were highly dexterous in giving life to still scenes but never really gotten around making your writing legible.

How you stumbled upon him in the dead of night when you were supposedly out camping in the woods with your pals was something beyond him, but he was thankful, holding onto the towel that you had left for him a little while longer before he started with his morning routine. He had every plan to stay indoors for the rest of the morning, probably catch up on some sleep, but while he was dressing up, he happened to catch a glimpse of you by the lakeshore, partly concealed by the trees.

Sleep could wait, he thought, hurriedly throwing on a round-neck, navy blue shirt to match his dark sweats and setting out despite his blond locks still damp from the shower. He jogged his way down the hill, looking for the exact spot where he saw you from the manor, finding you by the clearing near the massive oak tree with low-hanging branches that extended over the crystal water of the lake.

There you were, standing in front of a canvass ensconced on an easel. You appeared like a nymph under newly-risen sun with your long, white tresses braided to the side and hanging over your right shoulder. Breathtaking. There wasn’t another word that would describe how you looked like even with your back to him, dressed in a white, halter, crop top and a long, hippie skirt of the same color that had a slit going up your thigh, exposing the length of your legs.

Nanami had to consciously slow his steps towards you and tell himself to be still when he was near enough, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his pants to stop himself from recklessly reaching out and touching you for fear that the mirage before him will disappear. Except that you were real, existing in the same domain he was in, so near yet also so far.

You acknowledged his presence with a succinct nod, but your focus was on your work. For a while, he just stood behind you, watching the canvass fill with color, reflecting the orange and pink marmalade splashes of light in the morning sky. It was like watching a slow replay of what the heavens had been as the colors dissipated faster in reality while you immortalized it in oil paint, each detail prominent and not a single brush stroke amiss.

You were beautiful and you created beautiful things. And he wanted you. He wanted you so badly, but he didn’t have the heart to wrench you away from what you were doing.

"Why are you up so early?" you asked without turning around to look at him, your hand stopping mid-stroke with your paintbrush suspended from the canvass by a few millimeters. "You should be getting some shut eye after working so late."

God, he loved your voice, the sound cutting through the stillness like windchimes. Nanami distanced himself, satisfying himself with your divided attention and sat on the grass just under the ancient tree, leaning his back on the rough trunk. You were right about that. He was sleep-deprived, but he couldn't seem to rest easy without seeing you first thing in the morning. He closed his eyes, evening his breath out. "Since when were you so strict about sleep schedules?" he teased, knowing how you had such irregular schedules where proper rest was concerned.

"Since I found you still dressed up with your shoes on, sleeping on the goddamn couch at three in the morning," you sallied. “How you have energy to be walking around the grounds at this hour is just plain bizarre.”

He scoffed. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart. I don’t understand how you are up and about, painting no less, when you’ve been prowling around the study at dawn.”

At that, you laughed, leaning close to the canvass as you painted in more details into your picture. “I wasn’t prowling around as you’ve put it. It got all smoky around our campsite when the fire went out so we decided to sleep in the house instead.” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “I just happened to see that the study lights were still on and found you.”

Nanami met your gaze although it was short-lived since you turned back to your work. “Thank you.”

“I should have woken you up. Your back must hurt from sleeping like that.” You placed your brush on the cup hanging on the easel in time to see him eyeing you quizzically about your statement. “You tend to lean in favor of your left shoulder when your back is bothering you.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your response. “I have to give it to you and Satoru. Your observation skills are beyond normal.”

“It’s annoying at best when you’re programmed to see every little thing,” you stated, walking over to the edge of the water to dip a washcloth which you then used to wipe paint off of your hands. “But it also plays to our advantage, I guess. For instance, it’s easy to read through you when I notice everything like that.”

“You mean it’s easier to play your games with me when you observe me like you do?”

“Hey now, I’m being genuinely concerned here for once.” You snickered, tossing the washcloth on the pile underneath your easel before walking up to him and bending down slightly to his seated form. “Go back to the manor and get some sleep.”

Nanami clucked his tongue, inhaling the air slowly, savoring your smell as it entered his lungs, intoxicating him. “I find it hard to go back to bed the moment I’ve decided to leave it. I won’t be able to sleep much anyway.”

You pouted at that. “Then just take a nap if you can’t sleep much.”

He grinned at you then. “I’ll take a nap now if you’ll do it with me.”

“I’m not sleepy, but I’ll stay –”

“Then no.”

You shot him a disparaging look. “Are you being serious right now?”

Nanami had to suppress the laughter bubbling in his throat at the look of disbelief on your face, and before you could recover, he hooked a muscular arm over your waist, pulling you down so that you were seated between his outstretched legs with your back against his chest. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Seeing as you didn’t have any choice about that matter, you adjusted your position, fiddling with your skirt so it was shielding your bare skin from the grass. Nanami reveled at the fact that you did not seem bothered that he had his arm around your torso, the warmth of your skin directly touching his. You even went as far as leaning against him, your form slotting onto his perfectly like a puzzle piece.

He closed his eyes, pulling you closer as he leaned against the tree, letting his senses be filled with everything that was you from the feel of your warmth crashing against him to the smell of your hair and your even breaths, seemingly in sync with his. He knew he could live a life with no regrets if he gets to hold you like that every single day.

Giving in to his exhaustion, he breathed out, letting the gentle wind and the soft sounds of nature lull him to sleep. He didn’t know for how long he stayed that way with you, but it was already bright when he opened his eyes, coming to consciousness when he felt smaller fingers threading between his, followed by the faint sound of a giggle. Another hand reached over, landing on the side of his face. Unconsciously, he leaned against your palm, luxuriating in its supple smoothness against his cheek.

“Awake already?” you asked.

He looked down over your bare shoulder, feeling himself stir alive from the inside at the sight of your intertwined hands sitting on your lap. It was like a spark lit a fire in him, radiating from his chest and spreading wildly and searing every fiber of his being. Placing a hand over your hand which was touching his face, he started planting butterfly kisses onto your palm, your wrist.

A gasp left your lips when he lowered his head against your shoulder, nuzzling your bare skin in slow progression until he got to the junction of your neck where he latched his mouth, his gentle ministrations turning possessive and urgent as he peppered your shoulder and neck with kisses. He smiled against your skin when you felt your breath hitch while your grip on his hand tightened.

His other hand made its way up your chin, making you turn your head so he could look into your eyes, letting their blue depths consume him, finding his cue when they flicked to his waiting mouth. You weren’t fighting him, and in your own accord, you leaned in and met his lips with yours, kissing him with ardor, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer to you. Your chest heaved, your breasts rising with the action, only restricted by your tight top, tempting his hands.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured into the kiss. “God, I want you.” He let go of your lips, opting to place open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, lingering on the hollow of throat. “Tell me you want it as much as I do,” he rasped, biting onto your collarbone.

“Yes,” you keened, releasing your grip on his hand. “Touch me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed, swooping down once more to claim your lips with his while his large hands leisurely caressed their way up your waist, tracing the contours of your sides, your flesh pliant under the pressure of his touches as the clouds were submissive to the wind. They made their way up to the full swells of your breasts, coveting the succulent flesh from over the fabric of your top, gently squeezing.

Nanami let out an unsteady breath when you moaned softly in his ear, still unable to believe that you were there with him, openly accepting him and melting under his touch. He couldn’t remember the way he saw you before, the fact that you were his best friend’s younger sister, that at one point, he also viewed you the same way, as your lips melded and your tongues mingled. At that moment, you were your own person, the one kissing him back and awakening the heat in his flesh, the one he has his mouth and hands on in outright intimacy…the woman he is utterly and immutably in love with.

He continued to shower attention to your lips while his other hand, slid down to your thighs, finding the slit of your skirt, blindly pushing the garment aside. His rough palm brushed against the inner flesh of your thigh, tenderly stroking. He took possession of your knee, gently lifting your leg so that is was hanging over his, making you spread open.

You pulled away from him, startled when you felt his hand sliding up your thigh. “Nanamin…” you panted, eyes wide as you regarded him, trying to grope for words but none came out.

He hooked a finger onto your lace underwear, leaning close to you as he whispered, “Kento. Call me Kento,” his breath hot and wet on the shell of your ear.

“K-kento,” you repeated. “What –” Your intended question was cut short by a sharp moan when he snaked his hand into your panties, and inserted his finger into you, the action made easy by the slick that had pooled at the apex of your thighs, causing you to arch your back, fingers tangling with the fabric of his sweats.

“You were saying?” he asked with a chuckle before placing kisses on your shoulders again, your hips bucking upwards when he started rubbing your sensitive nub with his thumb while he added yet another one of his fingers to thrust inside you, their length finding your sweet spot repeatedly until all you could think of was him pleasuring you, his ministrations making you see stars.

“Oh god…Ken…” you let out breathily, your hand finding purchase on the grass beside his thigh. “Right there.”

He hummed in response and curled his fingers inside you when he felt your walls clench around them. He started moving at a faster pace. “That’s it, my love. Cum for me.” His tongue lapped on your neck, making you shudder as you reached your high, making beautiful sounds for him as your juices dripped out into his hand. He pulled his fingers from between your legs, glistening with your essence which he licked off with his tongue, eventually placing his fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean.

“You taste so fucking good,” he said, bending down so he could kiss you again.

You were a shivering, panting mess when Nanami finally let go, your chest heaving up and down as you slowed your breath, leaning against him. A thin sheen of perspiration covered your exposed skin, glimmering under the rays of light that shone through the canopy of leaves above you. Nanami marveled at the hazy look about your eyes as you looked back at him in wonder as if he was the only one you could perceive at the moment, your flushed cheeks and your pink lips, raw and slightly parted as you respired.

Unable to help himself, he held you tight against him, resting his chin on your shoulder, just watching you come down from your high, the high he brought you to. If this was what he would see every single time he made love to you, he didn’t think he would ever come to terms of ever letting you go or getting enough of you.

When you finally composed yourself, you started chuckling, closing your eyes and placing a hand over them.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, fingers tracing patterns on the back of your hand.

“Us?”

“Hmm? Why is that?”

You finally opened your eyes and looked at him. “I mean this. You, me. I mean, am I imagining –”

Nanami rolled his eyes and cut you short, kissing you briefly. “Did that feel imagined to you?”

“No,” you answered promptly, stopping him when he leaned close again, causing him to laugh, the action reverberating on his solid chest. You sat up, putting distance between them, cradling your head between your hands. “Seriously, quit frying my brain so early in the morning.”

He squeezed you on the hips, making you yelp and motion to stand up, but he didn’t let you. “So,” he grinned cheekily at you, “I fry your brain now?”

“You know you do.” It was your turn to catch him off guard by kissing him on the cheek before you finally stood up. He was such a sucker for the small things you do to him. You cocked your head to the direction of the lake, hands proffered for him to take. “Take a dip with me?”

Nanami took your hand, standing up as well. How can he resist? “Okay.”

**

My, my. Geto Suguru glanced at Gojo. The groom-to-be was seated opposite him at the balcony that overlooked the gardens and most of the estate grounds, his back to the view. He was completely oblivious to what was going on around him, that much the former has figured. The estate was always refreshing and breathtaking, probably more of a home than any of the houses he owned, but it wasn’t as interesting as what he was witnessing unfold down the hill.

He just arrived, his head hurting from jetlag. Honestly, he was looking forward to resting after meeting Gojo and the family. He was particularly looking forward to meeting you as someone whom he shared a close relationship with, but lunch had come and gone and you haven’t showed up yet. He was told that Nanami was most likely sleeping in after working late, fucking workaholic, he thought, but now, it was evident that his host didn’t know shit about what he was saying where the other male was concerned.

From the walkway going up the hill, he saw you with none other than Nanami Kento. You two of you were walking on the grass, your respective shoes on your hands. You were carrying a covered canvass, a leather bag slung across your shoulder which Geto figured were your art implements while your companion was carrying your easel. By the looks of it, the pair of you came from the lake, took a swim judging from your damp hair and clothes. Definitely a spur-of-the-moment decision considering the glaring lack of the usual bath stuff that the family and guests alike brought to the lake on the occasion that they went for a dip.

It was puzzling to see Nanami being carefree enough to actually be engaging in a spontaneous activity. And was the bastard laughing? Geto scoffed, chuckling at the sight before him. Gojo was still clueless, but Shoko, who had a clear view of you, was nodding her head as she exchanged looks with Geto. “It’s happening,” she murmured.

“Yes, it is.” He grinned. “This will be fun.”

“What is?” Gojo asked, narrowing his eyes at his best friend.

Geto removed his sunglasses, arching a brow at Gojo. “Are you sure I’m the one who had been overseas all this time?”

Utahime snickered, already aware of what they were talking about, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “What are you talking about?”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of your laughter echoed from the main hall, evidently in the middle of a playful banter with Nanami who was evidently running out patience as he countered your every statement with clipped responses. At odds to that, however, was the fact that, when you were within view of the others through the glass doors, you were holding onto his hand above you as you twirled, your smile wide while Nanami looked on in open amusement.

He was the first one to notice the four pairs of eyes who were on the two of you, holding onto your shoulder to stop you from continuing on your way deeper into the mansion.

“What?” you asked him, turning and taking a step back so you were standing less than a foot away from him. Too close to anyone who was seeing you interact, the psychological space between you obviously gone.

“Hi, princess,” Geto called out, noticing how everyone was eyeing you both, their jaws slack, even Shoko who has always been in the know where you and their friend were involved.

You turned your head towards him, the surprise on your face turning into full-blown delight at the sight of him. “Suguru!”

Ah, he thought. Just the greeting he was looking forward to hearing. Mirroring your expressions, he opened his arms wide, waiting for you to come to him, and as expected, you bolted from where you were standing beside Nanami, throwing all your limbs around Geto, hugging him tightly.

“Hello, beautiful. It’s been a while,” he said, returning the gesture with as much fervor, one of his hands coming up your thigh to support your weight. He prided himself with the fact that he was the closest to you apart from Yuuji, and that he was the only one among your brother’s friends who could elicit such a profound, unfiltered reaction from you.

It was further proven by the fact that Gojo had a sulky look while Nanami was pretty much breaking at the seams as he pointedly stared at Geto’s hands on you.

“I missed you!” Your fondness for the man was unmistakable and he reveled in it. “You could always bet I missed you more, baby girl. You’ve gotten prettier since the last time I saw you.” He put you down on the ground and immediately took possession of your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You think so?” You were positively glowing at the compliment.

Geto smirked. He was also the only one whose compliments you were not immune to. “Satoru better be guarding you well enough to keep your admirers at bay.” He tucked your hair behind your ear before straightening up and looking at Nanami who was standing behind you. He may be a few a steps away from you but the possessive stance he had as he looked at Geto radiated from him.

“Oi, Kento. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” He greeted, clapping said male on the shoulder.

The blond just nodded. “I was free for the whole week.”

Gojo butted in, his eyes momentarily lingering on you, but he regarded Geto in disdain. “You’ve got guts showing up here three days later than Kento and acting all lovey-dovey with my baby sister!”

“You know why. I’m here now, darling, so shut it.” He always used the sarcastic endearment for Gojo whenever he was sulking like a brat.

He lunged at Geto, placing him in a headlock, giving him no choice but to let go of you although he wanted to annoy Nanami further. He still had tricks up his sleeve to rile the blond though. "Let's catch up later, baby girl. Your baby brother wants attention."

"You're stealing my sister from me. She doesn't even say she misses me."

"I can hear you, Satoru," you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes.

"See! You've corrupted her against me."

Geto chuckled, turning tables on him. "You're the only one who's ruining your image to your own sister."

“Cut it out, you two,” you stated then turned towards Nanami, and to everyone’s stupefaction, you said, “I’m going to shower. You coming?”

“What do you need Kento in the shower for?!” Gojo, overacting as always, demanded from you.

Shoko laughed, unable to suppress it while Geto whistled.

You flashed Gojo a scathing look then. “For someone who’s supposed to be my brother, you’re kind of a moron. You know what I mean.”

“You’re gonna shower together,” Geto chimed in, adding fuel to the fire.

“I need someone to scrub my back for me, right?”

Gojo looked horrified. “Are you crazy?”

You shrugged, dragging Nanami with you. “Yeah, maybe. Wanna join?”

“Don’t even think about it, Kento!” Gojo warned.

Nanami didn’t say anything, following behind you.

Geto could just smile slyly as he watched the pair disappear into the house again. He has just arrived but things were already taking an interesting turn. It will be a fun week indeed.

-end of part 4-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S “JUJUTSU KAISEN.” [20210724]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[alirhi]

Loki ranting

Okay. I had this thought in my head of like just compiling links of all the Loki shit I've posted/reblogged so far so that when I get into a conversation about the show and how it fucking disgusted me, I can just be like "here. here's this masterlist post, go read all this shit. This is my entire argument, and not only mine, but a lot of stuff posted by people far more intelligent and level-headed and eloquent than I am, whom I happen to agree with." Because the alternative is constantly getting fired up all over again, and that is exhausting.

BUT! I'm stupid and don't know how tumblr works. Apparently I can't just be like "give me all the Loki-tagged shit I've got" I can only search all the Loki-tagged shit on all of tumblr. And I'm not scrolling back through all of my posts. I talk too fucking much for that shit 😂

So, I'll try to remember all of my grievances with how the MCU has treated Loki, and all of the excellent posts made by other, equally upset fans, and put it all together here under this nice, neat little cut for everyone else's sanity and scrolling convenience...

For people who actually read my shit fairly regularly - bless you, you crazy, patient people. I love you! - this is going to be a lot of repetition of shit you've already read. Probably at least twice. I'm passionate and I have a terrible memory lol. Sorry.

Anyway, first, for those who don't know me and haven't been following my explosions of rage for the past couple of months, some quick background: I do not read comic books, so Loki's Marvel comic canon means nothing to me. I know almost nothing about it. The reason I'm so in love with the character in the MCU is because I am an eclectic witch and the deity I've actively loved and worshiped the longest in my life (literally for as long as I can remember) is Loki. So when he was mentioned in The Mask, I squeed. When they named Matt Damon's character after him in Dogma, I cheered.

When Thor came out in 2011, I just about died from happiness. I was hungry for any representation of this underappreciated god, no matter what it was. I didn't even bitch about how underpowered he was, because at least he was there. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

I can hear anyone reading this going "Why Loki? Isn't he, like, evil? Like basically the Norse version of The Devil?" Because I heard all this shit irl all the fucking time. And no. So let me give you a quick rundown of who Loki actually is.

Loki is a Trickster God. He's often referred to as the God of Mischief. He is not and never was evil, simply chaotic and hedonistic. Loki Laufeyjarson was the son of Laufey (that's mama; they changed her to a man for some reason in the movie) and Fárbauti. Right from the start, from his name, we get a sign of how Loki goes against traditional norms of the time, because in Norse culture, families were patrilineal, and surnames were "son/daughter of father" (which would have made him Loki Fárbautitason), not the mother. But Loki's surname is matrilineal. Feminist icon woo! lol

Though he's a Jotunn, Loki is counted among the Gods (Aesir) in Norse tradition. Depending on his mood, he is alternately helpful or disruptive to the other Gods. I'm not gonna sit and teach a whole text class on him lol but I'll use my favorite example of Misunderstood Loki - the conception of Sleipnir!

So, get this shit. This is also part of why I DO NOT follow Odin and never fucking will (a very small part, but still part of the reason). So, the other Norse Gods are petty motherfuckers, and they wanted some shit built but didn't want to pay the dude doing the building. So they were like "okay, if you can get it done in X amount of time, we'll pay you, but if you can't manage it NO MATTER WHAT, this whole thing is free." And they made sure he had NO help, nothing but him, his materials, and his Very Good Horsey. And this guy and his horse were fucking BAMFs. So it was looking like he was definitely gonna get it done in time, and Odin was like "nah, fuck that shit. I'm cheap." and so he sent Loki to distract the work horse. Loki transformed into a mare and lured the horse away, got fucked, got pregnant, gave birth to the 8-legged (for some reason) horse Sleipnir. Odin rides Loki's son into battle. Um. Kay.

So Loki helped Odin be a petty mf, and Odin got himself a new pet out of the deal.

Oh, also, because he's smart af and a shapeshifter and a master magician and genderfluid, Loki "fails" to fit the super fucking toxic and narrow Norse/Aesir view of "a real man". He prefers intelligence and manipulation to solve problems rather than violence, he's not afraid to behave like a clown if it gets shit done, and that grosses the Aesir out, so they constantly ridicule him for being "less than a man".

Loki is the God of the outcast and the misunderstood. The marginalized people from all walks of life. He is the God of the LGBT community. In modern terms, he's pansexual, polyamorous (married to Sigyn and they are deeply in love, but boy gets around and I've never seen any indication that Sigyn gives a shit) and genderfluid.

Okay. Focus, Ali. This is part of why I usually post multiple rants instead of one big long one XD The longer I ramble, the more I get sidetracked and forget the original point.

So. Loki's awesome, and being a Trickster, is powerful as all fucking hell. There's not much he can't do.

And now we come to Thor (the movie, not the deity). Loki's there! 24-year-old Ali is spazzing! All is right with the world!

Oh lord, they've actually done him justice?! Amazing! He's complex and nuanced and emotional, just like the real Loki! I loved this movie. Loved. It. The climactic thing with trying to blow up Jotunheim never really made much sense to me until someone made an excellent point the other day about Loki being raised in a racist society that was racist against his own race, he just didn't know it yet, poor child. Baby Thor was never corrected when he pledged to commit mass genocide, so Baby Loki probably absorbed the lesson then that Jotunns=evil and killing them all will win his father's love. Anyway, 2011 Loki was a beautiful, heartbreaking portrayal of the God I've loved all my life and spent 24 years longing to see depicted on the big screen.

Then The Avengers happened. And I saw another Loki very close to Norse mythology - mainly, how he's treated. In the beginning of the movie, he's sick, exhausted, and in pain. He can hardly stand, he stumbles and needs help when he walks. He was very obviously tortured, and the sickly blue light of the scepter's control is in his eyes. That gets less and less pronounced as the movie goes on, showing Loki working his way free of it, but in the beginning, he's a mess. Because he was tortured and used by Thanos. Marvel directly confirmed this, and that he was under the scepter's/Mind Stone's control. Loki's actions are not his own in The Avengers. He's under both threat and Thanos' direct control. The movie actually shows The Other directly threatening him to keep him on task, because this is not Loki's plan. It is not what he wants. He's being used and villainized... Just like in real life. It hurt to see this done to him, but the accuracy was too beautiful to ignore.

Thor: The Dark World comes out. I've heard people complain that this movie is the weak link in the Thor trilogy. I disagree. I think that's Ragnarok, for a bunch of reasons, but we'll get there. (And for the record, I loved Ragnarok, too. It was a funny movie. Infinity War and the Disney+ series are the only portrayals of Loki in the MCU that I truly fucking hated.) Anyway, good, fun movie. Had its faults, as all movies do, but it still followed Loki's real-life arc in a way. How? By having Loki dragged back to Asgard in chains and imprisoned underground. Again, not super happy that this happened to my love, and having to see it on screen was painful, but at least in the MCU he's not chained to a rock with venom dripping on his face for eternity, so there's that. (poor Sigyn. how tired do her arms get, holding up that bowl? best wife ever, amirite?)

In TDW, we're shown Loki's love for Frigga, who favored him and taught him magic as a child. We see his bravado; his attempts to mask his true feelings, especially grief. We see him slowly coming back to himself after the events of The Avengers, and slowly mending his relationship with his brother. He accepts that Odin will likely never love him, but Thor just might, because they were close when they were young. "I didn't do it for him." No, no my sweet, you did it for your brother, and a little out of guilt for what happened to your mother.

At the end, Loki fakes his death and escapes, taking the throne, and I have mixed feelings about this. Not the writer's choices here; I love that completely! A natural progression in Loki's story. But my joy is tainted by how closely they're following the Eddas now. Because Loki's escape from his prison heralds the beginning of Ragnarok. And Loki will die in Ragnarok. I don't want to see that play out in front of my face. I won't be able to handle the grief (spoiler alert! IW broke me. I almost walked out of the theater. Loki's death was legitimately fucking traumatic for me. I don't even care how pathetic that is. That grief was real, it was intense, and I still shake and cry when I think about it.)

Marvel announces that Thor 3 will be called Ragnarok. The internet treats this as a shocking revelation. I roll my eyes and mumble "duh" to myself and move on XD

Then they say Ragnarok will be a buddy comedy. I throw up a little in my mouth and no longer want to live on this planet. If they're going to make something called Ragnarok, could they at least treat it with even a fraction of the respect they've shown these characters thusfar? Jfc. I mean, I'll see it anyway, because I'm a whore for Tom Hiddleston lol. But come on, people!

I hated that they made Hel the long-lost older sister and Fenrir her fucking pet/attack dog. Those are my favorites of Loki's children! Hel is such an incredible badass that the early Christians named their dimension of eternal torture after her! They were terrified of her, to the point of naming the place that terrified them most after her. That's awesome! And Fenrir's just the best. I love wolves. Those two details, and Odin's retcon of "we're not Gods! ...lol, except your sister. she's totally a Goddess. and def gonna kill literally everything, so... good luck! byyyeeeee" pissed me off royally.

The rest was great. I genuinely liked this movie. Still do. And they finally used The Immigrant Song! That was pretty cool. If they'd thrown in Bring the Hammer Down and Thunderstruck, I might've called this movie perfect. XD

I wasn't totally in love with their portrayal of Loki in Ragnarok. Yes, the falling for 30 minutes line was funny, as was "I have to get off this planet" and "YES! That's how it feels!" And "Get Help" was funny as hell. But also, like... There is no way Loki would have been the dumb one in that first encounter with Hela. Also, he can teleport and project copies of himself and shit, so... He would not have been that desperate to go straight back to Asgard and bring her right along with them. Loki's not stupid. But whatever. Movie's gotta movie.

What I did love was seeing the slow mending of his relationship with Thor continuing, and the badass fighting on the bridge. I also loved that, like Real Loki, Movie Loki helped when help was needed, was quick and clever, and while he was carrying out the main plan, he was also planning ahead and grabbing the Tesseract. Yes, that drew Thanos right to them, but that's a whole other thing. Loki never would have left that thing on Asgard to be destroyed or lost.

And now Infinity War. Hooooly fucking shit. You know what? No. I'm not going into this. He was killed, years of character growth were erased forever, my heart fucking shattered. The end.

Endgame. IW hurt me so bad I didn't see Endgame until this year. I actually watched Civil War first (for context: I had actively avoided all Cap movies until this year because I fucking hate Steve Rogers. I find him insufferable. Did not realize what I was denying myself until I watched CW and finally saw the charms of Bucky. When he appeared in IW, I was so lost. XD I was like "...who dis? Murder Jesus?" also I just... didn't care. I was numb by then from crying through most of the movie over Loki)

So, anyway. Endgame. Loki picks up the Tesseract in alternate 2012, escapes, fans go "yay! he didn't actually die!" I go "yes he fucking did. Five years of his life, gone. Five years of growth and change, erased. Loki is dead. This will not be the same."

I was more right than I could have predicted. Now we come to the point of this rant. Sorry it took so long, but you were warned lol.

The Loki series makes me so angry I actually get sick to my stomach. It was fucking TRASH. When I praised Marvel for following Norse mythology so faithfully earlier? Yeah. I DID NOT MEAN TREAT HIM THE WAY THE OTHER GODS DID. I did not mean paint him as a pitiful clown, a joke, a caricature of who he truly was, with his pain and suffering played for LAUGHS.

This is supposed to be 2012 Loki, newly freed from Thanos' control. The Loki we saw in the beginning of TDW - snarky, exhausted, nihilistic. The Loki who rolled his eyes and said "get on with it" expecting to be killed.

The bumbling clown flipping on a dime from posturing to calling himself weak is not 2012 Loki. That is not ANY Loki. That is Tom Hiddleston in a black wig doing what he's told by a shitty writer who had no fucking idea what he was doing and was salty about his (bad) original script (for something totally fucking unrelated) getting killed.

In Episode 1, Loki is mocked, imprisoned, stripped against his will, tormented, belittled, and given a flippant summary of all the trauma Actual MCU Loki suffered that this one skipped out on, with no context, no acknowledgement of the trauma he's already lived quite fucking recently, and with the narrative twisted to not only erase all the abuse he's suffered, but to make it all his fault. And this is supposed to make him want to help these people?

And worse, IT FUCKING WORKS. WHAT?! I CAN'T- FUCKING WHAT?! Remember when I said LOKI IS NOT FUCKING STUPID?! So why is he STUPID?

Episode 2, he's a child. Mentally, this Loki is a fucking child. Now we've erased all the growth and development of his entire adult life. He's dopey, impatient, impulsive, desperate for a pat on the back and actually shows it. Yes, abused and neglected children crave the positive attention we never received, and we often grow up to be a bit emotionally stunted. But not all of us, and not Loki. Not as we've seen him EVER in the rest of the MCU. Playful and a bit callous at times? Absolutely! But not a big dumb fucking puppy.

Episode 3, a ray of hope, despite Sylvie! (I hate Sylvie) Loki casually admits he's pan/bi; labels never come up, but he admits to being with both men and women! He sings! Not really relevant to whether I approve of his portrayal or not lol but Tom has a beautiful voice, Norwegian ("Asgardian" lol) is a gorgeous, entrancing language, and I could watch that one bit on loop for eternity and never get bored. And then, finally, we see a glimpse - a glimpse - of Loki's power! He stops a falling building and pushes it right back up! Are we finally getting to see what he can really do? Will the next episode bring us Loki in all his glory?

Nope. 4 and 5 we see him mocked and pushed around and utterly irrelevant. Again. We see tiny reflections of what he could maybe theoretically do in other random Loki variants, but the "main" (lawl. main. it was the Sylvie and Mobius show. Loki was never the main anything.) Loki? Nothing. He wears his heart on his sleeve for no reason, bonds with the man who imprisoned, taunted, and gaslit him, is killed, and continues to be a moron and a joke. Always the clown. Always the dumb one. The one with the bad ideas. The inferior Loki.

Don't even get me started on that finale. I can't. This already took so much out of me. Fuck Marvel. Fuck this fucking show. I just... I'm done.

[morganaspendragonss]

Hi, I love your writing and I wondered if you’d possibly write something where TK kills in self defence and struggles in the aftermath so Carlos takes care of him? If you’re not comfortable with this kind of thing, no worries at all!! xxx

holly's august extravaganza day 2: out, damned spot

thank you for the prompt! sorry it's taken a while but i hope you see this and i hope you like it!

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: rage against the reflection

fandom: 9-1-1: lone star

ao3 | 1.3k | semi-graphic depictions of violence, (very) minor character death, self-harm, panic attacks, hurt/comfort

TK can’t breathe.

The man’s hand is around his neck, crushing his airways, choking him, and he can’t fucking breathe. His vision swims, something wet and warm—blood?—running down his face, so he kicks out blindly, desperate to get free.

His foot connects with something and the man attacking him cries out in pain, his grip loosening and allowing TK to wriggle away. He falls to the floor, heaving in painful gasps of air, but he’s barely given a second before his attacker’s hands are on him again, hauling him up, reaching for him, and this time—

This time, TK shoves with all his might, and it’s enough to make the man falter. A few more thrashes and the hands are gone, TK falling to all fours as the darkness threatens to close around him. He blinks it back as best he can; he’s not out of danger yet, so he starts crawling forward hesitantly, frowning when his hand lands in a pool of something viscous.

He stares uncomprehendingly at the black stain on his palm, then follows the trail along the loose gravel of the alleyway to—

Oh, god.

TK’s eyes meet those of his attacker, except the other man’s stare back without acknowledgement, blank in a way he’s seen far too many times in the field. He’s dead, unmistakably so, and TK… TK caused it.

He did this. He killed him.

TK gags, any breath he’d managed to regain fleeing from him. And when the darkness comes for him again, he goes into it gratefully.

*

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

Except it wasn’t ‘just’ anything. TK did do those things. The bruises around his neck and the cut to his temple may have healed but it doesn’t matter; that night is burned into his memory, the dead man’s eyes watching him constantly. In a frenzy, he turns the taps on full blast, scrubbing and scrubbing until his hands are redredred, sore and stinging.

He glances up, catching a glimpse of his reflection, and it gives him pause. He looks a mess, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes wild and red-rimmed, his face ghostly pale. Pale as a corpse, perhaps, except TK isn’t the corpse in this situation, and a sudden flash of rage fills him.

Pain explodes across his knuckles before TK even knows he’s moved, and it takes a second to connect it to the sound of shattering and the spider-web cracks across the mirror. He watches his blood run in rivulets down his hand and wrist, feeling a measure of satisfaction at the sight.

Until, all of a sudden, reality sets in.

The bathroom’s fluorescent lighting throws what he’s done into sharp relief, and TK realises what it is. Another mess for Carlos to deal with, to fix, as if he didn’t have enough on his plate without his basket-case of a boyfriend going nuts every other night. TK’s legs tremble and give out, glass shards crunching as he collapses onto them, but he barely feels it. He barely feels anything; barely hears anything save for the harsh sound of his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears.

Even the crash as the bathroom door bursts open is muted, as are Carlos’s shouts; the only reason TK knows he’s saying anything is the sight of his lips moving. Carlos carefully reaches out for him again, and this time TK doesn’t fight back.

He allows himself to be eased upright, allows Carlos to sit him down on the toilet and clean and dress his wounds. They mustn’t be too bad, as he’s just taken back to bed rather than the hospital. TK lies down on top of the sheets and clutches onto the pillow, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

He doesn’t move again until long after the sun has risen, and only then because Carlos walks in with toast and a glass of water.

TK takes the water gratefully, avoiding Carlos’s eyes as he sips. Setting the glass on the nightstand, he shifts into a cross-legged position, staring down at his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Carlos says, because of course he does. That’s been their routine these past two months—an endless cycle of apologies and rebuttals.

“I’m sorry about the mirror,” he clarifies.

Carlos’s frown is audible. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

“You’re not?”

“TK, baby, no.” Carlos’s hand appears in his vision, hesitating; TK turns his own palm up in invitation, and Carlos takes it. “Mirrors can be replaced.”

“People can’t,” TK whispers, that familiar guilt settling heavy in his stomach.

Carlos’s fingers are gentle as he tilts TK’s head towards him, his eyes even gentler. “Ty, listen to me,” he says. “I’ve told you this before and I’m going to tell it to you as many times as it takes, even if that’s every day for the rest of my life. It was not your fault. You were just protecting yourself; there was no way you could have known what would happen.”

Carlos pauses, searching his face, then moves his fingers to brush them down TK’s cheek. “Do you know something else? I’m so fucking glad you fought. It means that I still get to have you here, in my life. I wish things hadn’t turned out like they did, but that’s only because I hate to see you suffering, sweetheart. I promise you, if it came to a choice between this and losing you forever, I would choose this every single time.”

TK swallows against the sobs building in his throat. He looks away from Carlos again, taking a bite of the toast for something to do. It tastes like cardboard on his tongue and sticks uncomfortably in his throat, but he forces it down, ignoring the way his stomach churns.

“How can you say that?” he mumbles, dropping the rest of the toast back on the plate with a sigh. “How can you say that and mean it?”

“TK.”

“I’m a fucking mess, Carlos,” he says bitterly. “I can barely stand to go outside, I can’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time—I feel like I’m going insane because everywhere I turn, I see his eyes and his blood and no matter what you say, I killed him. I broke your fucking mirror last night, and I don’t even know why! I just… I don’t recognise myself anymore.”

This last admission is little more than a whisper as TK finally loses the battle against his tears. He squeezes his eyes shut and does nothing to wipe them away. “Sometimes I think I did die that night,” he admits quietly. “I’m not who I was before then; I don’t know who I am and I don’t know how to get back to who I was. I don’t even know if I can.”

A pause, then he’s being pulled into Carlos’s side and wrapped in a strong embrace. TK stiffens, but quickly melts into it, letting loose his cries into Carlos’s shirt.

Carlos presses a kiss to the top of his head, his lips barely straying when he whispers, “You’re Tyler Kennedy Strand. You’re the man I love more than anything else in this world, and that will never change no matter what. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way; trust in that. If nothing else, trust in me. We’ll get through this, Ty, together. I swear it.”

TK sniffs and burrows further into Carlos, tightening his own arms around him. It’s a thank you and an I trust you and an I love you all rolled into one.

It’s a promise.

It’s hope.

[ezrasarm]

Before You Go

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: After a mission goes sideways you and Poe find yourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Warnings: Depictions of blood and wounds, medical inaccuracies I’m sure, lil’ bit of angst, fluff, one (1) smooch, I think it’s gender neutral... I think (let me know if I’ve missed something though!)

A/n: At long last this is my first Poe fic and I have to say it’s been incredibly fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think, I’m new to writing his character and will take all the feedback I can get! Also a massive thank you to @andriecastana AKA @im-poe-dameron for beta reading!

[Masterlist]

“Skipper- Skipper, c’mon we don’t have time for this.”

“How- what are you doing here-” You mumbled as you came to. The words didn’t hold much force with the way your loss of consciousness still hung like a heavy fog over your head, or perhaps that was the smoke spewing from the engines which had been shot down to throw you into a spin. All sensations seemed far too overwhelming but the more awareness you managed to gain, the more urgency you began to realize filled Poe’s voice as he jostled your shoulders and moved to chuck your helmet off and unstrap you from the cockpit.

“Saving your ass, now c’mon!” He exclaimed, practically dragging you out of the beached and smouldering ship. “Up we get, down we go.” He said as though you were a child, probably because in your daze that’s all you seemed to have the mental capacity of. You’d hardly managed to gain your balance before a blaster shot tore past your shoulder and in a split second Poe had taken a vice grip on your wrist and your feet had no choice but to stumble after him as he tugged you through the thicket of deep green undergrowth until you couldn’t help but match his sprint.

The most you were capable of was keeping your eyes ahead of you so as not to run face-first into a tree. Your heart was racing at the hail of blaster bolts raining down around you and in the one moment you allowed yourself to look over your shoulder to see what exactly it was you were running from you felt a sharp pain rip through your side.

“Stick with me, Skipper,” Poe called over his shoulder, a tight squeeze to your hand to urge you on as he felt your pace falter behind him. And so you did. You ran with him until all you knew was the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. Until you could hardly breathe. Until the searing pain in your side became so unbearable you could feel your legs giving way to jello beneath you.

“Poe,” You gasped out, “Poe, slow down,” You choked but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Just a little further! I think we’ve almost lost them!” He threw back at you with that same desperate optimism that always made people follow him. That made him the brilliant, impulsive, stubborn, leader he was. But this time, no matter how much you wanted to do good by him, you couldn’t.

You would have told him so but the unmistakable whir of a speeder cutting through the trees hit your ear and you knew there was no chance of either you or him out running that. So you made a quick decision, the type of thing that got you into this mess in the first place, and with the last remaining ounce of energy in your body, you threw yourself at him and used all the force you could muster to tackle him over the ledge you had been running along side and to the ground, concealed only by the projection of earth above you and the thick brush of greenery around you.

The landing was by no means graceful. You had to choke back the wail of pain when he fell on top of you. His hand which you supposed had come to brace you, pressed into the wound just below your rib cage and instead of shoving him off of you as every nerve in your body was screaming at you to do, you locked your legs around him and planted your palm over his mouth.

Your entire body tensed, back and shoulders ridged and neck strained as you listened for the speeder which had been tailing you, it’s hum growing louder and louder until it was practically on top of you, and then it stopped. It couldn’t have been two meters away from you when the trooper hopped off of it. You winced at the sound of boots crunching on the dead and dry leaves over your heads, unconsciously holding Poe a little tighter to you as you struggled to hold your breath, and just when you thought there was no way you were making it out of this alive, that there was no way the mangle of plants you had rolled yourself behind could conceal the neon orange of your flight suits, a staticky voice killed the silence–

“I’ve lost them.”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve lost them’?” Another voice emerged from the comms on the trooper.

“I mean they’re not here.” The stormtrooper spoke, throwing a leg over the speeder before turning back in the direction from which he came.

It was only when the speeder had made its way out of earshot that you let your head fall back to the ground with a long-awaited hiss of the breath you had been holding in. Your voice caught in your throat in a silent sob when Poe shifted his weight above you and it was only now, as you shoved him off of you with shaking hands, that he began to clue into the way you had stumbled behind him as you ran, the desperation in your voice when you’d told him to slow down, the reason you, someone he could rely on to follow him through anything, had just about refused to. The warm, damp sensation on his palm made sense now when he looked down at the deep crimson stain on your flight suit where it had rested.

“Shit.” He let out, looking between you and the wound on your side. “Shit, they hit you? Why didn’t you tell me?!” The panic in his voice coming out more aggravated than he had intended and making you wince.

“We were a little preoccupied!” You huffed out, gesturing in the direction you had come from as if the situation were somehow the slightest bit funny despite the pain that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.

“You were shot!” He exclaimed, mind racing for the next step, for a way out of this.

“It’s not that bad.” You lied, clearly not fooling anyone with the waiver to your breath. “Just gotta get my hands on a medkit and I’ll be good as new.” You say, trying your best to play this off as nothing despite the sinking feeling in your gut that it was considerably more than that. “You have a medkit right?” You ask, only allowing the reality of the situation to hit you when Poe’s face scrunched up and he smoothed a hand over his features.

“No. It’s back on the ship I crashed trying to keep you from getting yourself killed.” He groaned in frustration.

“One hell of a rescue mission, huh?” You grumble out.

“I don’t seem to recall you fairing much better. At least I got my landing gear down!” He exclaimed, “What the hell were you thinking, getting down that low?” And here it came, the ‘I’m your commanding officer, you’re supposed to listen to what I say’ card. The one play you couldn’t rebuttal to no matter how close to him you thought you were, or how much you thought you could get away with.

“I was thinking I had a clear shot to take out their fuel reserves in one go if I got close enough.”

“Yeah, a little too close, don’tcha think?” He throws back at you.

“Remind me how you got here again?” You quip, managing to render him speechless for at least a couple of seconds. A deep exhale escapes him, his head falling in resignation with a slight shake before he speaks again.

“Can you sit up?” He asks, tone flat, and it’s now that the remorse begins to ween its way back into your head.

“I think so-” You start but the hiss you let out when you attempt it proves otherwise and Poe is quick to shift around you and prop you up in his lap so he can help you shoulder the top of your flight suit down around your hips. The throbbing in your side doesn’t allow you much room to relish in the way his hands feel on your bare skin when he pushes your undershirt up so he can take a look at the angry wound on your waist but the warmth is welcome.

“What was that you said about it not being that bad?” He asks, trying to mask the panic rising in his chest at the depth of the wound.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you try to defend yourself but he’s already brushing off the answer.

“Yeah, well I’m gonna worry anyway, aren’t I?” He says and you’re not quite sure why that makes this hurt so much more, and not just from the way he’s balled up the sleeve of your flight suit to press into the wound and try to slow some of the bleeding. A heavy silence hangs in the air as you let his words stew before attempting to speak.

“I’m sorry about what I said- for all of this.” You say quietly, “I’m glad you came for me, I’d be dead already if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t say that-“ He tries to push the thought aside but you had hardly been conscious when he found you, you knew there was no way you would have even made it out of your ship let alone outrun those ground forces without his help.

“I should‘ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have come down here at all, I just thought…” You cut yourself off before you even have the chance to say too much, worrying your lip between your teeth as he brings a hand to cradle your head, his thumb brushing soothing patterns along your jaw line as you force your breathing into control.

“What?” He whispers and you’re not sure what it is that possesses you to finish your sentence, the gentleness to his tone or the overall circumstances but you tell him.

“...I wanted you to be proud of me, Poe,” are the shaky words that slip past your lips and to your surprise and probably his too, his face light up.

“Are you kidding me? I’m always proud of you, Skipper.” You scoff weakly at the nickname as he brushes some of the sweat dampened hair off your forehead. “I’m not kidding, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve zoned out just watching you fly. Every twist and turn you make is so natural, so graceful, it’s like the ship is an extension of your own body and it’s mesmerizing.” He explains, a hint of wonderment to his tone that causes the butterflies in your stomach to stir before the corners of his lips drop. “It also makes it all the more tragic to watch you spin out of control.” He says and the guilt hits you like a truck all over again. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” You huff out, glancing down at the place where he was still holding firm pressure to your wound, and it’s clear the humor to the comment is lost on him.

“Hey, we’re not going there!” He retorts, not sure if it's more of a comfort for you or for him at this point. “The resistance knows where we are. They’re gonna come for us.” He assures you and you see that same unwavering hope glint in his eye but there's something else there too. A slight mist making his eyes glisten and at this point you’re sure that even he knows without getting proper medical attention soon your odds are dwindling. He’s only reminded of that more when your grip tightens on his forearm.

“Poe,” The first hint of fear makes its way into your voice when you speak, your head feeling heavier in his lap, “It’s c-cold.” You stutter out, and he notices the way your teeth are chattering slightly when he shifts as gently as possible to wrap himself snuggly around you.

“It’s okay,” he lies more to himself than to you, “you’re going into shock. Just stay with me, keep talking. You’re doing so well.” He says, finding it harder and harder to keep his voice even with each word.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmur. At this point in the cheesy holos you would watch back on base the handsome protagonist would have said ‘yes, anything,’ and it would be followed by a deep heartfelt confession but Poe wasn’t like that.

“Depends on what you’re asking.” He smirks and you shake your head. You’d have shoved him in the arm playfully if it didn’t take all of your concentration just to keep your eyes open right now.

“Seriously? Even in death you won’t tell me what happened on Dagobah?”

“You’re not dying!” He protests a little harsher than intended and you bite back your fading smile when you refocus on the question you had meant to ask him.

“Why do you still call me Skipper?” You rasp out and his head tilts fondly towards you. You and he both knew you’d been promoted ages ago yet the moniker had stuck. He had never taken the time to consider if you liked it or not.

“Because you hadn’t even made it out of training in that first battle on D’Quar but you stepped up to the plate when we needed you and were the best FO I’ve ever had.” He explained. “You’ll always be my right hand man.” He said quieter this time and with the way his forehead was practically pressed to yours and the closeness he held you to him with you had to wonder if he meant it in a couple more ways than one. You think he’s about to say more but you’re distracted when your vision begins to cloud with purple spots.

“Poe,” his name is heavy on your tongue as your heart rate picks up and your grip on his arm tightens. “I can’t see. I can’t…” your words trail off as he tries to jostle you back to life.

“Skipper, stay with me.” He calls to you but his voice is distant and the words scramble in your head. “Help is almost here, I’m sure of it, just stay with me.” He tries again, clutching you close as he rocks you in his arms but you’re already gone and he’s left muttering gentle affirmations to no one but himself.

***

It was bright. Way too bright and the fluorescent lights above that you recognized as those from the base infirmary made your eyes sting as you tried your best to cling to consciousness for the second time in 24 hours.

“Finn peed on me.” Your eyes had barely fluttered open when Poe spoke.

“What?” Your throat was hoarse from disuse for several hours and you were sure your ears must have been equally decalibrated with the words you were positive you had misheard.

“On Dagobah. You asked what happened on Dagobah and Finn had to pee on me.” He clarified but your mind was still reeling.

“Wait what?!” If you weren’t awake before you certainly were now, unable to restrain the disbelieving grin rising on your lips. You weren’t sure if it was over the story he was telling you or the mere fact that you were around to hear it but the feeling of pure joy welling in your chest was overwhelming.

“I got stung by one of those crazy looking swamp monster things that live in the water there and it hurt like hell and Finn said he’d heard something about urine making the sting go away so he peed on me and we both swore we’d never speak about it again.” He sped through the story as though he couldn’t get it over with fast enough but the look on his face told you he wasn’t quite as disappointed with telling you as his words let on.

“Did- did it work?” You asked hesitantly, half horrified and half too invested not to get an answer.

“No, it actually made it about a thousand times worse. It was… the dumbest idea we’ve ever had and that’s saying something.” He said, melting at the way you had to clutch your side to keep from laughing too hard.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You shake your head softly as the corners of your lips fall, leaving only the warm look in your eye that gave Poe the confidence to give you an actual answer.

“Because for a whole four minutes I thought I had just watched you die in my arms and it turned my entire world upside down.” He whispered, shifting onto the edge of the seat he’d pulled up to the side of your bed so he could grasp your hand in his. “I had so much I still wanted to tell you and I was too busy trying to will you not to die on me to get it all out.” He said and that misty look in his eyes had returned telling you this was no joke. “I never want to feel that way again.”

“Well we’ve got time, Poe. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon-” You start to say but he’s already shifting up onto the edge of your bed to clutch both of your hands in his and you would be lying if you said the intensity in his eyes wasn’t scaring you just a bit.

“No, no I’ve gotta tell you right now or I’m never gonna have the balls to say it again.” He insists and you shift up in the bed slightly to give him your full attention. “You were right about the Dagobah mission, we never should have gone alone-”

“Well yeah I could’ve told you that-” You chuckle but he’s too focused to pay it much mind.

“-and you technically won that race that one time because I accidentally misread the track markers and cut the course short-”

“I knew about that one. BB-8 told me, and it wasn’t an accident.”

“The little traitor.” He muttered to himself, forcing the corners of your lips to quirk upwards at the corners. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t been promoted because I miss the feeling I used to get when I flew with you.” He admits rather sheepishly for his usual suave and self-assured demeanour and that's enough to render you speechless on its own but he’s not done yet. “And I’ve been in love with you since the moment you slid into that cockpit with me and only admitted after having to take full control for five minutes mid dogfight that you’d never flown outside of the sim before.”

“Well I knew I was in good hands.” You mumble, thoroughly distracted now by the realization of how close his face is hovering to yours.

“I think you’re missing the point here, Skipper.” He whispers, so close you can practically feel his gaze burning into your lips as he speaks.

“No, I’m just not entirely sure what to say.” You murmur back, the urge to close the short distance between you growing impossible to resist with each passing moment.

“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything...” He shakes his head, just about ready to pull away when you tilt your chin up to catch his lips with yours, feeling the way they curve up into a smile against your mouth as his hand comes to cradle your jaw. You’re not sure when your arms snuck around him in any attempt to hold him as close to you as possible, nor are you aware of how hard he’s working to resist the urge to melt into your touch and cause any more pain than has already been caused today. All you know is how whole you feel being in his embrace and how glad you are that you stuck around.

[Masterlist]

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[giorno-plays-piano]

Rx Queen

Pairing: criminal!Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: obsession, stalking, non-con, breeding, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2567. 

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes was the most difficult patient you had ever treated as a criminal psychiatrist. His release from prison doesn’t make things easier for you. 

_____________________________________ 

You turned off the phone and threw it on a chair, clenching your teeth. Whatever Dr. Strange wanted you to do, you wouldn’t stay another day in this goddamn place, waiting to be abducted or even murdered. It was too much. Today you found the new bottle of your favourite perfume on your nightstand. It wasn’t there before you went to bed last night. In fact, you could hardly remember the last time you bought yourself a perfume.

It all started two months ago when James Buchanan Barnes, the patient you had been working with during those seven long years, was finally released from State prison after serving 15 years of life sentence. The Soldier, as prisoners called him, once gone mad and murdered his commander. Bucky – that’s how he asked you to call him during your first seance – had PTSD, antisocial personality disorder, and severe depression. You could say he became better after all those years of treatment, including insane doses of antidepressants and mood stabilizers, but it was not enough to set him free. He was dangerous, psychotic even, yet devilishly clever: he knew how to portray a man who had reconsidered his life choices and deeply regretted taking someone’s life. 

You knew he had never truly cared. Patients like him did not have capacity for remorse.

You started treating him once you became a criminal psychiatrist; Bucky was among your very first patients. Now when you thought of it, you could hardly believe Dr. Strange just transferred a patient like him to you, a young girl with too little experience to handle an unpredictable psychopath hiding behind a façade of a victim. Of course, you made many mistakes, starting from telling Bucky about your own past and some mental issues. That time you believed you can gain trust of your patients by being more open about yourself. You were a complete idiot.

Now there was not much to do once his time in prison was up. You didn’t have true evidence to make him stay. A part of you wasn’t even sure you wanted it – when a riot had started in the prison three years ago, it was Bucky who shielded you with his own body from Brock Rumlow, a serial killer and your second most dangerous patient. Bucky was the only reason you were still alive.

But he was also the reason why you were leaving in haste, packing only necessities. 

It all started quite innocently with him sending you flowers and thanking for everything you had done for him. It didn’t alert you that he knew what your favourite flowers were. You thought it was just a coincidence since bouquets like these were sold in any flower shop in the city.

Then you stumbled upon him in a café where you often had your breakfast on weekends. It could alert you, but Bucky was sitting with a charming red-haired woman, her manicured hand resting on his thigh. She didn’t quite strike you as his sister, especially since you knew he had no relatives left after his violent father died in a car accident. Seeing such a beautiful woman with him just two weeks after Bucky was released from a prison was surprising, but you knew how seductively charming Barnes could be. Besides, he looked really good in his biker jacket, his tight black jeans showing his strong muscular legs.

In the end, you just talked to both of them a little and gave your advice on which dishes to choose. You walked away, praying you were wrong about Bucky and hoping he could settle peacefully like some of your former patients. Actually, even though many of them were imprisoned again, others were able to return to normal life. Some even had families now – from time to time you received thank-you notes with nice photos and many heartwarming words. It was probably one of the few things that made you keep your job.

It was over now. You were not going to stay in a place Bucky break into multiple times. Maybe you were not sure before, but the bottle of perfume was an obvious sign. It also meant that when a week ago you woke up and smell a man’s scent on your sheets you were not delirious. Bucky was there. He was laying beside you on your fucking bed.

How did it happen? Why didn’t you see his obsession growing with each day? You were his psychiatrist; you knew him better than anyone. How could he hide his infatuation with you for so long? Of course, you knew he had some feelings for you, but it was never that bad. You thought he would forget about you once he would be released. In the end, now you were not the only woman he saw around.

You kept stumbling upon his beefy figure more and more often. You realized Bucky was stalking you when after a month of his release you saw him watching your house from the forest. He was hiding behind the trees and bushes. It was a miracle you managed to see him at all – after 15 years he was still the Soldier, his skills remaining keen.

You tried talking to Dr. Strange. It wasn’t your first time being followed by your former patient, and police had always assisted you. But Barnes wasn’t like any of those stupid psychos who left tons of evidence behind them. Police had nothing to work with.

Well, you weren’t going to sit there and wait for Barnes to come and get you. You had no idea what was going on in his unstable mind, and you weren’t ready to take risks. You had already booked a flight to Austria tonight.

It was scary, thinking about wandering around a city you had never been, in a foreign country where you had neither relatives nor friends. But Barnes would have a hard time following you there, and that’s what mattered.

You threw a pack of salted cashew in the bag and returned to the bedroom to grab your phone from the chair. It wasn’t there. Although you dropped it just five minutes ago, your phone simply wasn’t there.

You were so fucked.

Next minute you were in the kitchen grabbing a knife, but a strong muscular arm knocked it out of your hand, and you felt Bucky’s musky scent. He stood behind your back, caging you with his bulky arms. You froze and held your breath. You knew you better obeyed the man instead of provoking him to become violent.

“And where were you going, honey?” His husky voice was enough to make you tremble. “It’s not nice to leave without saying goodbye, is it?”

“Please, Bucky.” You did your best to hide how frightened you were. “Stop.”

“No, honey.”

He leaned closer to you and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its smell. His rough hands were already caressing your body through the clothes.

“You’re free to start a new life. You can find a good woman, have a family if you’d like.” Panic was rising in your chest. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, Bucky, it’s not.” You said in a calm voice. “It will only get you back behind the bars. Don’t throw away your life, please.”

“What life?” He growled, turning you around harshly, and you almost fell on his chest, his arms holding you still. “I have no life. I should have never left my cell, you know this better than anyone else. I’m rotten. Damaged goods. I will never have the life I’ve always wanted. Do you know I have nightmares every fucking night again?”

“It’s because you don’t take your pills.” You carefully put your hands against Bucky’s chest. He tried manipulating you, you knew that. “When was the last time you had thioridazine?”

“Stay with me, and I’ll take whatever pills you want me to.” He grinned suddenly, cupping your face. 

Bucky’s strong athletic body emanated heat, and you were already sweating from both his closeness to you and an extreme agitation. Why did it take you so long to leave? You should have done it the first thing in the morning, just grab your documents and money and run to the car. Maybe then you had a chance. Unless Bucky had already been hiding inside your house…

“Why do you want to make a wrong choice again?” You felt his heart beating loudly with your palm against his chest. “You are given a chance to start over. If you want me to consult you still, I can figure something out. I can continue helping you, but you need to find your way. Don’t you think it’s good to meet new people, have friends, find a job, date a girl?”

“Who wants to deal with a psychopath like me?” He let out a chuckle, his expression darkening. “No one can handle me, doc. No one but you. Do you know I wanted to commit suicide before you showed up seven years ago? If not you, they’d already buried me.”

Before you opened your mouth to protest, he turned you around again and gently nudged you towards your bedroom. You broke out in cold sweat. If Bucky was able to outpower Rumlow, that beast of a man, he would have no problems forcing you to do whatever he pleased. It took three strong prison guards to bring someone like Bucky down. You were helpless.

“No one out there is good enough.” His breath was tickling your ear. “You’re the only one, can’t you see? Maybe I’m rotten to the core, but you still helped me. You made me better.”

You stopped in front of your bed, the white cotton sheets and blue blanket crumpled. You stormed off early in the morning once you saw a bottle of perfume on the nightstand and didn’t care to make your bed.

You needed to keep calm. As far as you could see, Bucky didn’t plan to murder you, not when you would accept him, that is. He obviously had a nice plan how to make you stay with him without police knowing, but as long as he kept you alive you still had a chance. You needed to play along.

“On the bed.” He let out a low growl, and you felt the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass.

Shivering, you took off your slippers and sat on the bed facing him. His erection was obvious; Bucky was breathing heavily, his pupils dilated. The next second he was pulling his black t-shirt over his head, and you saw his shredded body littered with scars. You saw one particularly long one on the side close to his waistline: this was the one Rumlow gave him when Bucky was protecting you during the riot. The man let out a quiet laugh when he saw your eyes focused on a nasty pink line.

“Why are you frightened, honey? I know you want a family too. You good-for-nothing ex wasn’t able to give it to you, but I can.” His hands landed on your bared shoulders, and you flinched a little. “Let’s get married, and I swear I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

“Bucky, relationships don’t work like this.” You whispered, withholding a cry when his hand pushed you down on the bed. 

“Don’t they?” The man smiled and cocked his head to the side, removing his black leather belt. “You do something for me, I do something for you. That’s what I learnt in prison.”

You dragged yourself back as quickly as you could, but your back was pressed into the wall once Bucky put his knee on your bed. There was nowhere to run.

“Don’t be scared, honey.” His sweet voice broke the silence, and he crawled to you, slowly caging you with his bodyweight. “Let’s make a deal. You marry me, you bear my child, and I will return to prison. I don’t care if they’ll give me twice more pills or make me a lethal injection as far as you take care of my kid. You’ll love my kid, won’t you? You’ll take care of them. You’ll make them a better person than I am.”

The more he spoke, the more feverishly he touched you, his left hand pinning your palms above your head. He traced his arm along your breast, ripping your shirt with so much force that its green buttons ended on the floor. You realized your cheeks were wet with tears when Bucky kissed you on the forehead and wiped your face with his other hand.

He wanted to have kids with you. Why? Why you? Why did he consider you a perfect mother? Why did he consider returning to prison? Why was he ready to trade his goddamn life for a chance of having a child? Why couldn’t he have a child with someone else and just keep living?

Oh, of course he couldn’t. Bucky loathed himself. It wasn’t uncommon for the patients with Cluster B personality disorders, and it was probably true he wanted to end his life since you saw his self-destructing behavior. In the end, even his effort to save your life back than in the prison might be some kind of a suicide attempt. 

And the reason he wanted you and no one else… Well, you were the one who had been taking care of him all these years. The only one to navigate him through his nightmares when everyone else gave up on him. He saw good in you. He wanted it for himself. He wanted to make sure his child would never be treated the way he was.

You cried out when Bucky suddenly forced his cock into you. It felt like he was ripping you apart – he was huge. Your eyes flooded with tears again, and he cooed at you softly, pressing his chapped lips to your burning face. You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you had sex since you broke up with your ex a year ago. Thankfully, Bucky gave you time to adjust. He kept whispering filth into your ears and stroking your naked thighs. When did he take off your jeans?..

He kissed the top of your head, playing with your hair, and moved his hips slightly. You hissed in pain, but then realized it was a bit better – the pleasure started building up slowly, and you squeezed your eyes shut. No, no, you were not disgusting, your body tried to cope the best way it could, nothing else, it was a perfectly normal reaction, you knew that. Then you felt Bucky licking up the shell of your ear and whined desperately.

“It’ll be ok.” He whispered and kissed your temple. “I’ll take you to a nice place, and we’ll be there all alone. Once I make sure you’re pregnant I’ll return to prison, I give you my word.”

You bit down on your lip to muffle the noise coming out of your mouth.

“If they keep me alive, I might become your patient again.” He sounded almost ecstatic, rutting deep into you. “I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll stuff my mouth with your pills. Please, just stay with me.”

Staring at the white ceiling, you bit your tongue so hard your mouth filled with blood. You’d survive this. You’d get him behind the bars again. 

You wouldn’t stay.

[blossom-hwa]

Danger: Ruby - JUYEON

Only one part in this chapter!

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.9k

Lesson 5: dreams can find their way into reality. And often, when they do, they mean something.

Previous: Obsidian >> Ruby >> Next: Onyx

TBZ Masterlist | Danger | Kingdom

[ Taglist will be in a reblog! Send a dm or an ask to be added! ]

Juyeon isn’t stupid. He knows there’ll be ivory soldiers patrolling the shrine when he gets there. Somin may be murderous, but she has a brain – a very big one at that – and thus knows how to be cautious. Of course she’d have people stationed to protect one of the most important pieces of her vicious plan.

But he didn’t expect this.

He ducks down with a curse. Kevin and Jacob follow suit. “Why are there so many?”

Neither Kevin nor Jacob replies, but the grim looks on their faces tell him they know the answer. Juyeon knows it, too. More soldiers here means either Somin’s been growing her army, or things are going better than expected at the front of the war so she has reserves to send back here.

Neither option bodes well for him.

“How are we supposed to get in?” Kevin mutters, peering around the hill at white pinpricks of guards on the otherwise green landscape. The scene reminds Juyeon of fluffy sheep on a pasture, just a lot more dangerous.

“I’ve been here once to see Changmin.” Jacob sits down. “If there’s a gap in the guards, I can create a door and shift us in.” A grimace slides across his face. “Kevin, you can’t come. Only royalty and those of magic blood can enter the shrine. Honestly, I’m already stretching it, since my magic rank is barely high enough to justify a visit.”

Kevin doesn’t look happy at all with that, but he nods. “I’ll stay as close as I can, then, in case anything goes wrong.”

“Right.” Jacob looks back at Juyeon. “I can’t perform magic inside this shrine. I’d have to create the door so that we shift right to the edge of the grounds, as close as I can get. If guards are around…”

“Well, they can’t follow us in.” Juyeon grimaces. “As long as they still respect the laws of the Board.”

Judging by the looks on his two friends’ faces, they have about as much hope for that as Juyeon does. The guards themselves might be good people, but soldiers are loyal to their kingdom, not necessarily to the Board’s balance (though usually, those two go hand in hand). If the queen gave them different orders, Juyeon and Jacob are screwed.

“Go at night,” Kevin decides. “It’ll be harder to see you then.”

Juyeon nods, looking up at the sky. It’s mid-afternoon, judging by the sun, which means they have a few hours before it’ll be safe enough to have a go. “We only have one shot,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing. “If one of us gets caught, even as we escape, they’ll just call reinforcements. And if there’s a mage, we’re in even bigger trouble.”

There shouldn’t be a mage. This shrine is traditionally the gray mage’s domain, and with Changmin dead without a designated successor, no one can take his place. Still, Juyeon wouldn’t put it past Somin to have put someone there anyway. After all, she killed him and a royal on the same soil. What’s a little more desecration of blessed land?

Jacob shakes his head. “I don’t sense any traces,” he says. “Granted, we’re a bit far away, but if there was a really powerful mage, I would’ve felt something, at least. There could still be one, but it isn’t likely they’d be a high mage or anything.”

“Why does Somin have some regard for certain rules but not others?” Kevin shakes his head. “She’ll kill people on the grounds, but she won’t send a mage to protect the place?”

Juyeon’s fists close around clumps of grass. He really doesn’t need to think about that now.

A snarl flashes across Jacob’s face before he frowns. “I don’t know. Anyway, our bigger problem is getting out. If we manage to get through the door and close it before anyone else can enter, they could ambush us when we try to leave.”

“So you need a diversion.” Kevin leans backward on his hands, staring at the sky. “What’s big enough to draw a chunk of guards away long enough for you to search the shrine?”

“If I knock out a few guards, do you think you have enough strength to pull them away?” Juyeon tries to joke.

Kevin gives him a look that’s enough to wither a tree.

“Understood, you definitely have the strength to do it. My deepest apologies.” Juyeon smirks, nudging Kevin with his shoulder. A grudging smile spreads across his friend’s face, but it quickly disappears, replaced with a thoughtful look.

“Hey, Jacob?”

The mage looks up. “Hm?”

“Is it considered desecration of the Board if I set fire to the grounds outside of the shrine?”

. . . . .

The plan is almost as bad as Sunwoo literally ripping the sapphire necklace off of Somin’s neck, but Kevin refuses to see it that way. In his words, “if Sunwoo could create a diversion by burning his hand, I can do it by burning some grass.”

Juyeon tries to remind him that Sunwoo didn’t actually burn his hand, whereas Kevin will actually be burning a hill. Kevin just waves him off. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Sadly, he doesn’t. Which is why he and Jacob are dressed in black and heading towards the shrine under the cover of night while Kevin brandishes a lighter somewhere far in the background. Hopefully far enough to not burn the shrine down.

Juyeon tries to console himself with the fact that Kevin knows more about fire than he does. He’s the one who makes their campfires and cooks if they have the means. He sometimes worked in the kitchens back home and handled the oven fires. He should know how to control flames. More or less.

(Juyeon isn’t very consoled.)

No Ivory heads turn as Juyeon steps quietly over the grass to one of the many trees surrounding the shrine and begins to hoist himself into the branches. After helping Jacob up, there’s nothing more either of them can do but wait for the signal.

Which is just the shouts of guards when they notice a hopefully large conflagration on a nearby hill.

It comes faster than Juyeon thought it would. The first yell is faint, but they slowly grow louder as more soldiers take note of the fire that even he can see in the hilltops. With bated breath, he waits as several ivory-clad guards peel off to investigate.

Jacob hisses softly. “Let’s go.”

It takes long, far too long in Juyeon’s mind, to jump down the tree and wait for Jacob to carve a door into the air. Heart beating wildly, he shifts from one foot to the other as the wooden slab finally shimmers into existence.

It looks familiar. Very familiar. Juyeon frowns, stepping through the door, then almost trips when it hits him.

“Juyeon?” Jacob raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Breath shaky, Juyeon turns around to look at the back of the door. Pure white, a contrast to the dull brown wood of the front, wreathed in greenery.

Queens.

“This –” he swallows – “this is the same door I went through in my dream.”

“… Seriously?”

Juyeon nods. “Yeah.”

Jacob purses his lips, looking like he wants to ask more, but then he shakes his head. “Get over this fence. We need to hurry before Kevin’s fire dies.”

Risking a glance over his neck, Juyeon sees that the flames have gotten smaller since he last checked. One lighter can only do so much, even on green grass. Swearing, he hauls himself up the fence.

“Hey!”

Jacob curses for the first time in Juyeon’s life. It almost shocks him more than the soldier’s shout, but Jacob doesn’t give him time to process it before he hisses for Juyeon to hurry up and get inside. The bars dig into his hands but Juyeon finally flips himself over the top, landing on the shrine grounds with a thump. Jacob follows, albeit more gracefully.

“Pawns and kings,” Juyeon swears, getting up. One look over his shoulder through the slats of the fence tells him several Ivory soldiers are approaching. “Know any hiding places?”

“Follow me,” Jacob says before darting between two trees. They duck behind a few bushes, black clothes camouflaging them in the dark, waiting for the sounds of pursuers.

Nothing comes. The soldiers must be abiding by the laws, then.

Not that it matters. They just need to pick the right moment for an ambush, and when he and Jacob try to leave, they’ll be pinned.

Juyeon sighs. The things he’ll doing do for a stupid little red jewel. Like use a door from a dream to enter the shrine where one of his best friends was murdered in cold blood with his love.

Bile rises in Juyeon’s throat. He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out. The bile subsides.

Get in, find the jewel, get out. Juyeon breathes again, eyes still squeezed shut. He’s already done the first thing. Now he needs to find a ruby. The faster he finds it, the faster he can leave this place.

When he opens his eyes, Jacob is staring at him in concern. “Juyeon?”

“I’m fine,” Juyeon says, feeling not fine at all. “Any ideas where to look?”

Jacob looks unconvinced, but he stands anyway. “We need to pray first.”

“Pray?”

“Yes.” Jacob nods. “This is the most venerated shrine of the Board. You can’t just visit here and not pay your respects, especially as a royal of the Onyx Kingdom, not to mention its next king.”

For some reason, the thought of praying at the shrine that was supposed to be Changmin’s home, the same shrine where he was murdered with the former Ivory queen, makes Juyeon’s insides want to curdle.

It doesn’t make sense. He’s survived attacks by several mages, fought his way through multiple seemingly-impossible situations, watched one of his friends die and slit the throat of the man who killed him. Praying at a shrine is definitely not the hardest thing he’s done over the past few months.

Not physically, at least.

So he stands. Nods. His legs follow Jacob through the dark, weaving around bushes and trees and flowers that dot the shrine grounds until they reach the building of gray marble that gleams in the moonlight.

Jacob pushes through the door and walks inside. The stone slab stays open, waiting for Juyeon to take the next step.

He doesn’t. Instead, Juyeon’s feet glue themselves to the ground. Changmin’s insignia rests against his chest, stone cold and heavy as a lead weight.

For several moments, Juyeon stares into the dark depths of the shrine, the shadows of unlit torches just visible on the walls. Jacob’s silhouette shows too as he stops, realizing Juyeon isn’t right behind him. He turns back. “Juyeon?”

Juyeon shudders. The sound of his name echoes loudly, too loudly, unnaturally loudly between the marble walls. Vibrations race up his spine and more than ever, he wants to run. Just turn around and run.

But he can’t. As much as his brain screams for him to sprint away, away from this shrine and its cloud of death, he forces himself to breathe, just breathe.

You are fine. You will be fine. Find the jewel and leave.

You will be fine.

He steps into the shrine.

. . . . .

Juyeon almost wishes Jacob had left the shrine in darkness. Sure, the endless expanse of shadow was unnerving, but with the torches now flickering strange shadows across the gray floor, the urge to run is even greater than before.

But he forces himself to walk to the altar covered in dusty gray silk, to kneel on the cold marble floor. His hands fold mechanically in his lap as he bows his head in reverence. He closes his eyes.

Then he opens them again. What does he even pray for? His mind is such a mess, he knows there are so many things going wrong that he should pray to fix, but for some reason he can’t even fixate on a single one.

Next to him, Jacob’s eyes are already shut. His relaxed posture speaks of peace and calm, not the rigid fear and terror Juyeon feels just being in the same place where one of his best friends died.

Changmin was murdered here, murdered by an Ivory mage who decided her loyalty to the then-princess was more important than the higher orders. She was helped by a cowardly mage – maybe that isn’t fair, considering the queen was and still is holding his daughters over his head, but Juyeon doesn’t care right now – a high mage, a powerful mage who bound the former queen in promise with the gray mage and then didn’t hesitate to sever the physical ties of that promise by killing one half of the bond.

Anger boils in Juyeon’s stomach, and he latches onto it. Better anger than fear, anyway. At least anger brings warmth, fire, while fear only makes Juyeon feel colder than the stone floor.

One hand rises from his lap, clutches the gold king and queen resting against his chest. Why is this shrine so holy? Why is it so venerated that no one can practice magic here? What’s the point of that, when its last protector was murdered because of the stupid rule? Magic isn’t the only way to kill a person –Juyeon would know, considering he’s slit a throat before – and if Changmin had been able to use his magic, he might’ve fought off the two mages, might’ve resisted the magic-binding chains Bom forced onto his arms, might’ve survived. 

A tiny, choked sound rips from Juyeon’s throat. He glances at Jacob to see if the mage noticed, but his eyes are still shut in reverent calm, still the essence of serene tranquility.

Watching Jacob, watching the mage lower his head in quiet prayer, drains the fight out of Juyeon. He slumps over, face now in his hands, as he tries to stop the tears beginning to well at the corners of his eyes. The insignia bounces against his chest, slightly warmer from the heat of his fingers, but still too cold to feel comforting.

Changmin. Juyeon’s hands slide down his face, come to his lap and clench into fists as he fights to breathe. Changmin, I wish you were here.

Then it isn’t just Changmin. It’s Kevin, it’s Sunwoo, it’s his sister and mother and father whom he wishes were here. He wants Changmin’s doe eyes and Kevin’s boxy smile, Sunwoo’s sarcasm and his sister’s warmth. He wants his mother’s lips pressing gently to the top of his head as she whispers goodnight to her sweet prince, wants his father’s hands holding his shoulders proudly as he reiterates once more how proud he is of his son.

He wants it. He wants it so badly it hurts –

“Juyeon?”

Queens.

There’s no point in trying to wipe his tears when Jacob’s already seen him crying, but Juyeon tries anyway. “I’m fine,” he says, even though the voice crack gives everything away. “I’m –”

But Jacob isn’t listening, is unfolding from his perfect posture to drag Juyeon over into a hug. For a moment, he stiffens, but then he sinks into Jacob’s warm arms that can’t quite make up for the warmth of all those people he wishes were with him too, but they’re a decent substitute, nonetheless.

Jacob doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything as Juyeon silently cries into his shoulder. Juyeon thinks the mage probably knows what he’s feeling, if the few tears dripping onto his own clothes are anything to go by. For several minutes, they just stay there, pressed against each other in front of the altar.

“Sorry,” Juyeon sniffles when he finally feels stable enough to pull away. “I’m – I should’ve been praying, but –”

“I understand.” Jacob smiles, though sadly. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Knowing this was where… where he was killed?”

Juyeon doesn’t need to ask which “he” Jacob is talking about. Instead, he just nods. “I just – I don’t know what to pray about, there are so many things but I can’t think of even one because I just feel so – I want to pray for Changmin and Sunwoo to come back but that isn’t possible –”

A hand on Juyeon’s shoulder stops the rambling. Jacob’s gentle eyes stare into his. “Juyeon. Breathe.”

He takes a breath. Does it again. The second time, it isn’t so shaky.

“Okay. Now.” Jacob squeezes Juyeon’s shoulder slightly. “You may not be able to bring Changmin and Sunwoo back, but you can pray for their souls. Pray for their peace, pray for their well-being even in death. That a good place to start?”

With every word that comes out of Jacob’s mouth, Juyeon feels a tiny part of himself relaxing, bit by bit. He nods. “Okay.”

“Go from there.” Jacob smiles encouragingly. “Just breathe, Juyeon. You’re all right.”

You’re all right.

You’re all right.

Juyeon takes a deep breath, feeling calmer. “Thanks, Jacob. I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Sorrow flashes in Jacob’s eyes, lit by the flickering firelight. “I understand. Take your time. The Board… it’ll understand.”

With a shuddering sigh, Juyeon turns back to the altar, folds his hands on his knees. Closing his eyes, he lets the traditional words begin to float through his brain.

I revere the higher orders of the Board and beseech them to answer my prayer, loyal servant to the balance that I am. I pray for the departed souls of Ji Changmin, Kim Sunwoo, and my parents, that they find peace in the plane beyond my own. I pray for the souls of those still with me, my sister Lee Jisoo,  Kevin Moon, Jacob Bae.

Maybe Juyeon’s just imagining it, but Changmin’s insignia seems to grow warmer against his chest.

I pray that we will finish our mission with no more deaths. I pray that this war will end, that Jeon Somin will be defeated, that balance will be restored once more.

Definitely warmer. Juyeon takes comfort in the spot of heat on his skin, bowing his head further as he sends one last prayer to anyone listening above.

I pray that I have the strength to carry out your will.

. . . . .

There’s nothing in the shrine, nothing remotely red or gem-like. Juyeon’s almost grateful. At least he doesn’t need to spend another minute longer in the gray-walled building.

It would’ve been more helpful if he could’ve found the ruby, though.

Looking through the living quarters doesn’t reveal anything either, though to be completely honest, that could just be Juyeon’s fault for not looking carefully enough. These were the rooms where Changmin lived, where he was supposed to have been safe. Instead, he was forced to try and escape from his own home.

And, apparently, this was the place where the queen was killed. Not outside in the garden, like Changmin, but right here.

The blood is gone. Taemin probably had someone clean it, or he did it himself. Juyeon wouldn’t have been able to tell that someone was murdered here if the high mage hadn’t told him where he found the bodies. But the uncertainty makes things worse, really, because everywhere Juyeon steps, he doesn’t know if he’s walking on the stones where the former Ivory queen, one of his good friends, was killed by someone they both trusted.

No jewels. Nothing in the walls, nothing beneath the stone floors. Jacob can’t sense any magic, which doesn’t make sense – shouldn’t there be a strong magic trace coming from the ruby, even if he can’t pinpoint who created the trace?

Jacob shakes his head, his mouth thinned into a line. “They could have put a cloaking spell on it,” he says, looking around fruitlessly one more time. “These mages are more powerful than I am. They could’ve made it so that I’d have a much harder time sensing it than if I’d created the spell myself.”

They look through the living space again, then the prayer area. Still nothing. So they walk back outside into the gardens.

A soft breeze hits Juyeon’s skin the moment he steps onto the grass. Despite the fact that they still haven’t found the ruby, he finds himself relaxing in the presence of the cool air. Under the bright moonlight, surrounded by greenery, Juyeon feels a little bit more at peace.

Then he remembers that Changmin was killed in this very same garden and the tranquility disappears.

Stepping carefully, Juyeon walks through the grass, trying not to start at every random shadow that passes under the pale moonlight. His eyes carefully scan the overgrown flower bushes and trees, looking hopelessly for a glint of red under the stars.

A sense of déjà vu comes over him as he rounds a corner of the shrine. He’s seen some of this before, that particular tree, that stack of stones, that rosebush just next to the gray building. His feet slowly grind to a halt as he turns in a circle, eyes furrowed.

How does he know this place if he’s never been here before?

Lost in confusion, a rock on the ground knocks him off balance and Juyeon trips, falling to his knees. Scowling in embarrassment, he starts to stand.

Moonlight glints down from the sky in his periphery. And suddenly Juyeon knows.

Changmin saw that pile of stones when he was in this position with arms chained behind him, saw the trees lining the edge of the gardens as he knelt on soft grass, waiting for a blade to strike down and take his life. He saw the roses, saw a little ray of moonlight out of the corner of his eyes as gold burned and metal flashed and pain buried itself in the back of his neck.

This was where he died. 

Juyeon can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. Can’t –

Scrambling to stand, he glances to his left. Moonlight shines on a smear of something dried and black. Against his will, Juyeon looks closer. 

Pawns and kings.

That’s –

That’s blood –

Changmin’s blood –

Juyeon falls to his knees again and throws up on the grass.

For how long he sits there, gasping, not even trying to clean the sick off the corners of his mouth, Juyeon doesn’t know. At some point, though, he becomes aware of Jacob kneeling in front of him, wiping his lips with a piece of cloth torn from his shirt.

His cheeks are wet. Juyeon blinks, feeling dampness at the corner of his eyes. When did he start crying?

Jacob’s voice brings him out of his daze. He blinks again, trying hard to focus on the mage in front of him. “What?”

“I was just asking what happened.” Jacob finishes wiping his lips, letting the dirty piece of cloth flutter to the ground. “I was up ahead, and then I just heard you and… yeah.”

Bile rises again in Juyeon’s throat, but he forces the stinging sensation down. “I –” His voice cracks. “I remember here. Changmin died here. And –” he points to his side, refusing to look with his eyes – “I saw his… his blood.”

A soft gasp sounds. “Queens.”

Juyeon swallows with difficulty, nearly retching again between the disgusting taste in his mouth and the lump in his throat. He stares resolutely to his right, at the huge bush of red roses planted against the gray shrine. It’s probably about as tall as his chest, maybe even his neck.

Irrational anger rises in Juyeon’s chest. This was the last thing Changmin saw, these red roses in full bloom. Juyeon fights the urge to rip all the flowers off of their stems, to make the plant pay for Changmin’s pain –

A glint of shiny red sparkles between several green leaves as they blow in the breeze. 

Juyeon stills. “Jacob.”

The mage turns around, looking very pale. “Hm?”

“Tell me I’m not hallucinating something red in that rose bush right here.”

Jacob furrows his eyebrows. “Juyeon, they’re red roses.”

“No, something else.” Juyeon swallows. “Like a jewel.”

Looking unconvinced, Jacob gets up and walks closer to the bush. Carefully, he moves a few leaves to the side, then gasps. “It’s all the way in the middle,” he murmurs, turning around. “How…?”

Juyeon stands on shaky legs, steps over to where Jacob is. Shiny red sparkles in the pale moonlight, hidden partially by dark green stems and even darker petals. If it was any other flower bush, Juyeon would already be ripping through the branches, but the thorns prevent him from that easy course of action. Besides, this bush is gigantic. Standing up, Juyeon can now confirm the tallest branches reach the base of his throat.

A very, very bad idea springs into his mind, almost as bad as Kevin setting fire to a hill. “Jacob, give me your cloak.”

Confused, Jacob hesitates from handing over the heavy red cloth. “Why –”

Juyeon plucks the cloak from his hands and wraps it around his exposed neck. Then, before Jacob can say anything more, he draws the sword at his side and starts cutting through the bush.

Thorns rip through his flesh, tearing his clothing and scraping across his skin. Juyeon grits his teeth as Jacob cries out in the background, still hacking branches away. Leaves and red petals fall around him, thorns embedding themselves in his arms and legs, but Juyeon doesn’t stop until he’s cut through to the center of the bush.

There, nestled between the petals of several deep red roses, the ruby lies, glittering in the moonlight. Juyeon reaches out one blood-covered hand, the other holding thorny branches out of his eyes, and closes his fingers around the jewel.

Dragging himself out of the bush is almost more torturous than cutting through, but finally, Juyeon bursts into blessed open space, staggering into Jacob’s arms as he pulls free of the last thorns. Dimly, he hears Jacob cursing and unwrapping the cloak from Juyeon’s neck, trying to staunch the blood on his skin, but Juyeon waves him off. “We need to go. Now.”

Because if Juyeon stays in this cursed shrine for a single second longer, he’s going to do something much worse than vomit on the grass.

It takes long, too long for them to find a space along the fence with fewer soldiers than the rest. Skin still stinging from all of the thorn cuts, Juyeon ignores the shouts of surprise as he climbs up and leaps from the fence. Arms and legs moving on autopilot, he makes quick work of the two guards there as Jacob crashes down beside him, hands already moving to fashion the door. He drags Juyeon through just as several white figures begin to flash at the corners of his vision.

On a separate green hill, not the one blackened by fire, Kevin stares as Juyeon emerges from the door, blood dripping down his body. “What the –”

“No time.” Jacob quickly disappears the door before anyone unwanted makes it through. “Where are we going next?”

“Forest,” Juyeon wheezes. Queens, the pain just gets worse with every second. “Decide after that.”

Another door appears, thankfully dark wood this time and not plain or white like the one from his dream, and Kevin helps Juyeon through as shouts begin to sound around the group of hills. Jacob follows as Juyeon nearly collapses onto lush grass, red beginning to bleed over green.

“Pawns and kings,” Kevin swears, rolling Juyeon over. “Juyeon, what happened?”

Juyeon stays silent, letting Jacob explain everything as Kevin digs thorns out of his skin and cleans the scrapes. By the end of the story, Kevin has mostly bandaged Juyeon’s entire body up – somehow, a few thorns even got into his chest, what in the name of the Board and all that is holy – and he looks ready to commit murder.

Well, maybe not murder. But the angry exasperation in his expression doesn’t look very friendly when he turns to stare Juyeon in the eye.

“You, Lee Juyeon, Crown Prince of the Onyx Kingdom, are an idiot,” he pronounces. “The biggest idiot of our group.”

A small, sheepish smile flits across Juyeon’s face. “Sorry?”

“Queens, just shut up.” Kevin groans, turning away. “You try to stop me from burning a hill and then go and do this…” He shakes his head. “Go to sleep. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Jacob raises an eyebrow. “Since when did Kevin become our caretaker?”

“Since you couldn’t stop Juyeon from bloodying himself on a rose bush,” Kevin snaps. “Now go to sleep unless you plan on taking first watch.”

“Which watch do I take?” Juyeon asks.

The expressions he gets from Kevin and Jacob are one and the same. “You think you’re going to take a watch?” Kevin snorts. “Good luck with that. No, you’re out for the night.”

And there’s no arguing with that, not when Kevin has that face on. So Juyeon accepts the thin blanket Jacob throws over him, rolls over, and shuts his eyes against the stinging pain all over his body.

. . . . .

Juyeon opens his eyes to the same foggy pathway that’s become unwelcomingly familiar over the past few months. He wants to sigh when he sees his feet wreathed in smoky white on a stone floor, but his dream self doesn’t obey, only stares forward at the wooden door.

It’s definitely the same door Jacob conjured to enter the shrine. Bile would rise in his throat at the thought, but throwing up doesn’t happen in his dream. Instead, he begins walking forward, wincing as black silk brushes against the fresh cuts from his time at the shrine.

Wait.

Juyeon actually commands himself to stop, rolling up a sleeve to confirm the existence of the rose thorn scrapes. Sure enough, they’re there.

Weird. His injuries don’t usually come with him into dream world. Uneasiness pools in his stomach, but he begins to move forward anyway. Then he stops again, just as his hand reaches out to the door handle.

Changmin isn’t here. He hasn’t appeared, hasn’t passed Juyeon the insignia that forces him to relive the gray mage’s last moments over and over and over again.

Juyeon really wants to stop then, wants to sink to his knees and beg the higher orders for an explanation of this strange variation of an unfriendly dream. With all of the others, there was a script he would follow – Changmin, shrine, door, path, roses, you. It was nauseating, but at least it was predictable.

Now, as Juyeon turns the handle, he has no idea what will meet him behind the slab of wood.

The door opens. Juyeon steps through the frame onto a familiar stone path lined with rose bushes.

Castling queens. If there was one thing the dream took out, why couldn’t it be the flowers? Juyeon would choose to see his dead friend over a jewel-toned rose any day, especially in this dream.

But dream Juyeon doesn’t care about that, just starts walking forward. Each step stings his skin even more – there may not be cuts on his feet, but ever brush of his clothes against his arms and legs makes Juyeon want to cry – but he keeps going, keeps following the stone path.

There are no shades. No one offers him flowers. He doesn’t even pick them himself. The familiar sensation of dread that usually accompanies his inability to find a red rose doesn’t rise in his stomach, doesn’t force tears from his eyes at the unfairness of it all. Instead, once he reaches the silver tree, his legs buckle and he collapses to his knees.

Heart beating wildly, Juyeon bows his head as though he’s saying prayer at an altar, the way he did just hours ago in the gray mage’s shrine. Only this time, there’s no marble surface covered in dusty gray silk. Just a silver tree with silver leaves that glitter in the moonlight.

What is he waiting for? Why is he here? Juyeon tries to think but he can’t, not through the endless burning of slashes and scrapes all over his skin. In fact, the pain seems to have increased since he first opened the door, the stinging multiplying second by second as blood begins to trickle down his skin in rivulets, sticking to his clothes and marring the stone floor with drops of red –

Then a door opens behind the tree, a white door wrapped in green vines and leaves visible just between the silver branches. A familiar figure emerges, cloaked as always in darkness.

Through his eyelashes, Juyeon watches you step around the tree, coming to a rest in front of his kneeling body. Your feet step onto drops of his blood, but you don’t seem to care. In one hand, you carry a rose, a dark red one with petals that look like silk.

If Juyeon didn’t know better, he’d think it was one of the roses that housed the ruby back at the shrine.

A movement out of the corner of his eye jerks Juyeon out of his musings. Your hand comes into his line of vision. Touches his chin. Tilts it up.

Juyeon gasps as his head rises, expecting your fingers to be cold. They’re warm, though, inexplicably warm, sending a rush down his spine. His eyes flutter shut as he tries to lean into your touch, but your hand pulls away almost immediately.

Fighting the urge to whine like a child, Juyeon stays still, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. It stays wrapped in shadow, however, and despite the fact that from this position he should be able to see you, his dream prevents it.

Frustration rises in his chest, mixing with the pain of his rose thorn cuts, and Juyeon almost releases the cry of annoyance building in his throat before your warm palm presses against his forehead.

Pain.

Pain.

Absolute, blinding pain rips a scream from his throat as your palm stays firmly glued to his skin. It hurts so much, stings so much as blood courses down his skin in sticky red rivers, filling his nose with its iron tang and overwhelming every one of his senses with just how much there is, queens, he never knew his body held this much blood, never guessed that he could feel so much pain, never realized he could lose this much blood without dying –

And then it’s gone. Completely. The pain disappears as quickly as it came, your palm now pleasantly cool against his sweating skin.

Juyeon gasps as your fingers leaves his forehead, falling forward until he’s half-collapsed in a pool of his own blood. Disgusted, Juyeon goes to rip his himself away, but then the blood fades away without a trace.

Wide-eyed, Juyeon whirls around. All of the sticky red droplets have disappeared from the stone path. The only sign of his previous wounds lies in the blood crusted on his skin, but the cuts have disappeared. All of them.

Whipping back forward, Juyeon scrambles to his feet as you open the door behind the silver tree, presumably to make your exit. He reaches out an arm to hold you back, to see your face, to try and figure out who his mysterious savior is, but at the same time, he knows it’ll be useless. You’re already half-gone, stepping through the white door.

But at the last second, your head turns back. And Juyeon catches a glimpse of the side of your face, your cheek, your chin, one glittering eye –

Then he wakes up, gasping under green treetops just visible in the gray morning light.

It doesn’t take him long to realize all of his pain is gone.  

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for juyeon poor boy’s gone through a lot :/)

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Invitation

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: mentions of blood | depictions of firearms/firearm handling | mentions of hunting

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

“Here,” Sam hands you a thick envelope. “Your pay, as usual.”

 You trust Sam not to go behind your back and the mutual agreement set between you two, but you make sure to grab and stop him from walking away with all your produce just yet. You need to count the money he's handed over and ensure every last madol is where it should be. Thankfully, it is, but there are a few extra bills you know aren’t supposed to be in there.

 You remove the extra money and hand it back to him. “You gave me too much.”

 He pushes your hand back and shakes his head. “Consider this my holiday gift for you.”

 You give him an incredulous look. “You sure? Because if you come back here next week telling me I owe you money I’m going to sick the wolves on you.”

 Your threat is met with a hearty laugh from the shopkeeper. “Have I ever done you wrong, my friend?”

 “Yes, you have actually.”

 “Haha, good times indeed!” He casually waves at you as he hauls away your vegetables on a large wooden cart. “Happy holidays!”

 You have half a mind to remind him that the holiday season is over. Instead, you decide that it’s best to just turn around and walk away. The money is in your hands and your produce is in his care and that's all there is to it. This season's harvest is now officially concluded and you can start prepping for the spring. After a long-deserved rest, of course. The few extra madols give you just a little more than what was needed to put down for a brand new generator for the dorm. You have a model already picked out ahead of time. All that's left is to order and wait for it to come in.

 "Well?" Benji floats up to you as soon as you enter the front door. "Do we have enough?"

 You proudly wave the envelope in the air. "We have enough and then some!"

 Your housemates cheer and pull you into a group hug. Frankie takes the envelope from you and heads out, most likely heading to the safe you’ve hidden from Grim so he can put all the money together and deposit it at the nearest bank. Once the ghosts come down from their brief celebratory high, you excuse yourself and head to the backyard where Malleus is waiting for you.

 "I'm back!" you happily announce your arrival.

 "Welcome back," he smiles up at you. "Did you get your payment?"

 "I did!" you nod. "Frankie's taking it to the bank, so I should be able to get that new generator before sunset."

 "That's good. It'll be one less problem for you to worry about."

 "You can say that again," you sigh. "Thanks for your help today. I'm surprised we managed to pick and clean everything up before noon!"

 You situate yourself next to Malleus, who's sitting down on the low porch. Gunter's pups have been following him since breakfast and you don't think they'll be off his heels for some time. It's been like this since they were born. One might even be able to say that they like him more than they do you. Malleus doesn't show it or verbally express it, but you can tell he enjoys their attachment to him. He allows them to jump all over him and drench him in wet kisses without much of a fuss. Who knows, when they grow older they just might start following and taking orders from him rather than you. Maybe he won't need Sebek and Silver to follow him anymore if they stick around?

 You can imagine Sebek being incredibly offended that a bunch of wild wolves took his job.

 Malleus looks at you. "Have you given them names yet?"

 "The pups?" you ask for clarification. "I've been meaning to, but my head can’t think of any. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

 Malleus mulls over your offer. He picks up one pup at a time, trying to think of an appropriate name to give them. After about 10 minutes his shoulders go slack and he looks back over to you with disappointment. "I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank as well."

 "Well, you gave it a shot," you clap your hand on his shoulder. "Tell you what. Once we get that new generator, we can sit down and do a bit of name-brainstorming over some tea."

 "Yes, that sounds lovely," he smiles again, and you start to realize that he has a damn good smile. "When do you want to get together?"

 "Sometime next week. With the extra money Sam gave me I can get the generator in faster!"

 Malleus seems momentarily excited, but it quickly dies as he suddenly realizes something. "Can we meet the week after next? I have something important coming up."

 "Sure," you say. "What's happening next week?"

 "It's…" he hesitates. "It's my birthday next week."

 Your eyes pop wide open. "Oh shit, for real?"

 "Indeed."

 One of the pups desperately tries to jump up onto the porch, but his stubby legs and meager strength aren't enough to push him over the edge. As you reach down and help him up, you ask, "How come I'm only hearing about your birthday now?"

 Malleus carefully lifts the other pups onto the porch as well. "You never asked me."

 "No kidding", you snort. "To be honest, I thought that maybe you didn't celebrate it anymore since you're hundreds of years old. Don't birthdays lose their novelty after a few centuries?"

 "They do,” he agrees  “I haven't had a grandiose party since I was about your age."

 "Wow," your eyebrows lift in shock. "That's just rude."

 He suddenly looks so terrified. "I didn't mean it-"

 "I'm kidding!" you quickly reassure him. "Lighten up Tsunotarou! I'm not going to shoot you for poking a bit of fun at me."

 "So you say," he grumbles.

 "I'm not!" you defensively shrill. "If you're talking about the time I shot at those sea worms, I had every right to! No way in hell was I gonna be intimidated into giving my dorm up. Not now. Not ever."

 Those "sea worms" you're referring to are Jade and Floyd Leech from Octavinelle. During exams week, Ace Deuce and Grim as well as many other students who made a deal with Azul for his infamous study guides practically kissed the very ground you walked on in order to convince you to rescue them from their dubious contracts. Initially, you refused their request no matter how much they pleaded or bothered you. It wasn't until Jade and Floyd caught onto this bit of information (it’s hard to ignore a dozen students following you around like a bunch of chicks) that they began to set their sights on you. The two tried to squeeze you into a deal that would release everyone who signed a contract with Azul for his infamous cheat sheet, so long as you could keep up your end of the bargain. 

 It was clearly too good to be true or fair. Nevertheless, you decided to at least listen and attempt to negotiate some sort of proposal that would make both sides happy, if only to have your intruded space restored to normal. Unfortunately, Azul wouldn't settle for anything less than your dorm, which you refused to hand over despite Grim's OK to put it up for grabs. Jade and Floyd insisted you agree to the terms for the sake of your friends and fellow schoolmates, but you bluntly told them something that, to this day, never fails to make Malleus giggle even when he's in a foul mood.

  "You're not getting my fucking dorm! Not now! Not ever!"

 Unfortunately, Jade and Floyd began to follow you around too and even went as far as to visit your dorm during unconventional hours, on a regular basis. Their insistent arguments began to turn into veiled threats, and you aren't the type of person to take them all too well. Malleus remembers visiting you one day only to find you out on the roof, your hunting rifle in hand, keeping a vigilant eye out towards the gates for the Leech twins to make their expected visit. Malleus knew that your weapon is a dangerous one when used correctly, but he did not expect as much power behind it as it had until you shot a couple of live rounds near the merfolk's feet.

 His ears still ring thinking about that powerful discharge.

 "Where is your rifle?" he asks. "Also, where is your falcon?"

 "Twilight? She's still upstairs in her cage." You make a vague gesture towards the second floor.

 Twilight is a falcon that you found during one of your hunting trips, having suffered a nasty injury to her wing. You have some experience with falconry so you immediately recognized her mannerism as that of a hunting falcon as well as her breed, an Aplomado. You tried to find her original handler while you nursed her back to health, but unfortunately, no one came forward to claim her and you decided to keep her. You and her bonded very easily, so rehabilitating and training her to take commands from you was a breeze. While you expected her to maybe leave your side once she was able to properly fly again, she remains determined to stick with you.

 You stand up and turn towards the back door. "I should probably wake her up before she gets mad at me.”

 "I'll watch over these while you do that," Malleus grabs one of the pups who topples over another and refuses to get off of them.

 "Thanks!" You bend down and give him a quick one-armed hug from behind. "You're the best!"

 As you're about to head back into your home, you stop at the door and turn back around. "Are you sure you want me to bring my rifle?"

 "Do you not want to bring it out?"

 "I don't mind bringing it. It's just, not everyone likes to be around guns."

 Malleus nods in understanding. "Well, I'm not like everyone," he playfully remarks.

 "No, you're not," you smile. "I'll be right back then."

 "Take your time," he assures you.

"Rise and shine pretty bird!"

 You lift the dark sheet off of her cage so she can bask in the morning light. Twilight was busy preening herself, but now that you're in her sight she begins to happily screech and shuffles closer to the door, eagerly awaiting for you to open it so she can jump on you.

 You quickly slip on your handling gloves and help her transfer from her perch to your hand. Her sharp talons tightly grip around the sides of your fingers, but the thick leather prevents them from piercing your raw flesh. You snap your fingers a couple of times to get her attention focused solely on you. When she maintains steady eye contact with you, you reach into your pocket and present your other gloved palm to her. In it are some bacon bits you managed to snag from the leftovers of this morning's breakfast. She eagerly pecks and munches down the small meal.

 "It still isn't the best time to go hunting, but how's about I let you out anyways and you can stretch your wings for a bit?"

 She expands her wings and flaps them a few times, a sign that she's eager to take you up on your offer. You haven't taken her out to hunt for about a month, mainly because you were gone half of the time. The winters here are especially harsh, even with a bunch of fire faeries keeping the campus somewhat warmer. The pickings are also dry since most of the wildlife on the island are sticking close to their burrows to stay warm and wait out the season.

 You've been itching to head out into the forest recently, but winter is usually a bad hunting season for you. Luckily, you've met and befriended a few of the locals on the island who live off the bounty of the land as you do. They tend to look out for one another and offer help during difficult times, and the barren winter is no exception. You make a mental reminder to reach out and ask where some of the best hunting spots on the island are once this generator fiasco is all taken care of.

 "Now, you wouldn't happen to know where my rifle is, do you?" you ask her. When she goes to nibble a piece of your hair, you know that she has no clue.

 As you're about to head down to the foyer (you often leave it there), a sudden squeaking noise catches both Twilight and your attention. There, at the other end of the hall, a beady-eyed Jerboa bounces up and down in a steady rhythm in an attempt to grab your attention.

 Scarabia wasn't entirely traumatizing. You met Gizmo, the Jerboa before you, during one of the exhausting desert marches, nearly dead from severe dehydration. The little guy brought you a bit of comfort throughout the entire ordeal. He also was able to bring you the enchanted envelope Malleus gave you before he went back home for the winter break. It immediately sends any letter you place inside it to him once you set it on fire. How else could you have contacted him after your phone was conveniently confiscated after your first escape attempt?

 "Good morning, little guy," you smile down at him. "You wouldn't happen to know where my gun is, do you?"

 It seems he does, as he turns and begins to race down the adjacent hall. He stops every so often to look back at you, making sure you're still keeping up with him. Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of several lounging areas. This one, in particular, is more the ghosts' lounge than anyone else's. It's filled with all sorts of memorabilia and photos from the dorm's heyday. The ghosts have shared a few stories about the shenanigans they got in when they were both alive and students at NRC. Interestingly enough, the dorm was a sort of "halfway home" for students undergoing the difficult process that is switching to another dorm. The idea was to separate the student from those of their originally assigned dorm so they can better learn and adopt the characteristics of the dorm they wish to transfer into.

 Soon enough, the dorm began to house more and more people. A common feeling amongst the residents of the past was a feeling of displacement or disconnection towards the other formal dorms and the ideals they upheld. While not approved by the headmaster, the residents began to form a sort of pseudo dorm with its own set of principles as well as assigning a dorm leader and vice leader just as the others did. Nothing was ever written in stone, but the ghosts vouched that the main “characteristics” amongst Ramshackle’s past residents was a desire to establish camaraderie with those around them, no matter their background or origins.

 Listening and learning what the Ramshackle once meant to them and so many others hit home for you. You lived near a small rural town, surrounded by people who were willing to share their resources with their neighbors and even the occasional stranger simply because it was a kind thing to do for one another. The students of NRC are willing to put their heads together, sure, but there almost always has to be some sort of catch that benefits the individual.

 Living with students like that is stressful as hell. Somedays you just skip school entirely, having already gone through the many woes and few wonders of high school back in your world. You have zero patience to deal with people who only view each other (and subsequently you) as inferior or a mere stepping stone to trample over. Ace and Deuce are your friends and have proven that they are "exceptions" so to speak. However, they're still just a couple of kids. No matter how well you three communicate and work well with each other, there's just a natural disconnection you feel with them that not even magic can fix. 

 It makes your close connection with Malleus, someone who's centuries older than you, incredibly ironic. You've essentially had your life figured out back home, and in some strange serendipitous way, so does Malleus. He's going to become king of his home country immediately after or sometime after he graduates, while you were going to continue living that nice rural lifestyle you lived back home, alongside your 3 aunts and many cousins. At least, once Crowley finds a way to send you back.

 Maybe that's why his confession felt so much more confusing and intensely when it happened. Everything seemed so linear before he uttered those three words to you. Now, it feels like the clear and concise timeline you've had pictured in your head for months is just one big blob of scribbles and nonsense.

  "Am I doing something wrong?" you desperately ask Frankie. "Because it feels like I made some huge mistake and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass right now."

  "Of course you haven't done anything wrong," he rubs your shoulder reassuringly.

  "Then why does it feel like everything around me is slowly falling apart?" You're sobbing at this point. The cigar you took from him earlier is now abandoned, snuffed out in the ashtray. "Why does it feel like  I'm  falling apart?"

  "Nu-uh," he shakes his head and gives you a stern look. "We're not gonna do none of that. Do you hear me? None."

  "Then what the hell do I need to do?!" you shriek. "Frankie, I'm fucking losing it here. I'm one more backhanded dismissal away from kicking Crowley's teeth in. I swear, if one more overblot happens, so help me. I can't deal with someone else's problems when I can't even get a full night of rest anymore!"

  "You've done nothing wrong, you hear me?" he reaffirms. "I get it, I do. Right now, life is handing you a bad hand and you don't have the people you usually rely on for support. I've been there kiddo. We all have. We may not be like your aunts or your loud-ass cousins,"

  A smile finally cracks on your face. He's using your own words you've used to describe your younger family members. You love the little tykes, but they can be a handful sometimes. 

  Damn, you miss them, your aunts too. They're all that you have left after a messy custody battle with your parents. This garden. Your rifle. Hell, even your insistence at taking over many of the household chores have all been your desperate attempts of finding some sort of familiarity in this new and strange world. 

  "But remember, those in Ramshackle stick together and help each other out when they're in a pinch. We'll handle all the little stuff, the cooking, the cleaning, the occasional clogged pipe," he scoffs, annoyed just thinking about the pipes clogging up again. They've been doing it a lot lately and everyone in the house is incredibly over it. "Right now, your only priority is yourself. Okay?"

  It takes you a moment to really take in his words, but eventually, you nod in understanding. "Alright," you affirm out loud.

  He squeezes your shoulder. "Good."

  A sharp and muffled whistle pulls your attention away. Johnny's voice is a little hard to make out, but you're able to make out "generator working" and "warm coffee".

  "C'mon," Frankie holds open the glass door and ushers you outside. "I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee."

  "I could use two," you sigh.

  He gives one last squeeze around your shoulder. For a moment, it feels like you're back home. You feel a little better too. A little bit more secure.

 As you enter the room, you see that Benji, and Johnny are gathered for the usual late morning/early afternoon poker matches. 

 "Hey, prefect," Benji, the first one to notice your entrance, greets. "Need something?"

 "Have you seen my rifle?" you look around the room for any immediate sign of it. "It's been a while since I used it and I've completely lost track of it."

 "Should be under one of the floorboards here," Johnny, who is playing busy rearranging his cards, says. "If not, try the floorboards in the living room."

 You thank him and begin carefully stepping and tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards, trying to find and search one of many secret spaces made back in Ramshackle's glory days. Nothing dangerous (you hope) was ever hidden. It was mainly used by the students who lived here during its heyday to hide bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. You know, the typical items a bunch of teenage outcasts would keep around.

 There was actually a bottle of some rare and expensive wine that was left behind as the number of residents began to dwindle. You and the ghosts are waiting for the right occasion to crack it open and enjoy the vintage-like a bunch of fiends. Grim won't be having any. Hell no.

 Twilight has temporarily detached herself from your side and perches comfortably on Benji's shoulder. Her talons dig into his white spectral body, but he doesn't wince or show any sign that he's in any pain. She nibbles on his worn scarf to pass the time until you call her. Gizmo busies himself by helping you find all the secret spaces. He finds one and begins jumping over it more enthusiastically. When you pry the wooden slat up, you perk up as the familiar scent of old gunpowder fills your nose.

 "There you are!" you practically sing when you lift the board and see your trusty gun. "And here I was thinking Benji lost you."

 "I heard that!" he shouts, deeply offended.

 "I know," you reply. "Glad to know that your hearing hasn't gone out yet. Had me worried for a while, gramps."

 Johnny erupts in a symphony of loud laughter. While community and mutual respect were a value shared between Ramshackle residents, a bit of teasing and the occasional prank is always welcomed. It's a great way to keep morale up. It's also satisfying to say a remark that makes everyone laugh or have a prank go as planned. So long as no one got hurt, it's all fair game between you all.

 You lift the heavy rifle out of the space and do a routine check. The internal magazine is empty and when you probe the back of the chamber with your pinky you don't feel a loaded round inside. You flip the safety on and off and pull the trigger a few times to make sure the mechanisms are working correctly. You also do a quick count of your ammunition. While guns do exist in this world, coming across bullets is much harder than it is in your world. This is mainly due to the reliance on magically sourced bullets that help reduce the use of resources. Their rarity makes them expensive, and the few blacksmiths who do make them usually don't sell to anyone unless they feel the buyer is a genuine enthusiast of their craft. The buyer also needs to have a license to own them, which you thankfully earned after a few safety lessons and a short exam.

 Lucky for you, the one and only smith on the island who makes bullets was more than happy to provide you with some bullets at an affordable price after you allowed him to ogle your rifle for a few hours. It's an old model, supposedly used by your great grandfather after he was enlisted into the army. When the war ended and he was sent back home, he customized it so it can be used for hunting deers instead of people. Your first aunt Gia was always handling it. Whether she was taking it apart and putting it back together or out in the backyard doing some recreational target practice. 

 She always looked strong yet elegant carrying it around, not that she isn’t without it. During your first year living with her, you tried to imitate her, slinging some large stick you found out in the woods to try to exude the same energy she did. When your second aunt Lucia moved in with your cousins after her divorce, she was quick to reprimand you and confiscate any of the newly found branches you brought back home and waved around as an imaginary rifle. Your aunt Gia eventually began to teach you how to properly and safely handle her firearm. By the time your third aunt Marisol moved in after graduating from university, you were one hell of a sharpshooter and a damn good hunter.

 With the rifle now deemed safe to take to Malleus, you sling it over your shoulder and make your way out of the room. You whistle the signal for Twilight to return to your side and she immediately heeds your command. Her obedience earns her a few more bits of bacon. Gizmo also wishes for some compensation for helping you locate your rifle. You make a quick trip to the kitchen and give him a few raisins to snack on. He's the only one who eats raisins in the dorm, so you don't skimp out on him.

 Blossom does try to snag a few for himself, but a threatening screech from Twilight scares the gluttonous fawn away. That deer sure loves to eat.

"I'm back, again!" you announce as you reclose the back door behind you.

 "Welcome back, again," Malleus regreets you. "And a good morning to you, Twilight."

 Twilight also loves Malleus. She eagerly shifts her feet, desperately wanting to fly onto his arm and properly say hello. You let her transfer onto him once he slips on the safety glove you provide. After a few minutes of giving her loving neck scratches and trying to stop her from nipping at Malleus's ears (she likes them a lot and, now that you’re thinking about it, you do too), you take her back and help send her off into the air for some much needed soaring time. 

 "I see you brought your weapon," Malleus looks at your rifle with an examining eye.

 "I did," you bring it around and into your arms. "Now, why did you want me to bring it again?"

 "No reason in particular," he admits. "I just...I'm quite used to seeing you with it. You're never without it unless you're attending classes."

 A proud smirk finds its way onto your face no matter how hard you try to hide it. "I'll take that as a compliment."

 A potentially stupid idea pops up in your head. "Do you want me to teach you how it works?"

 "Truly?" Malleus looks extremely shocked at your offer. "You dislike it greatly when another person touches it."

 "I dislike it when people who don't know the first thing about gun safety touch my gun," you correct. "But count yourself lucky, because I know everything there is to know about this one right here!"

 "Very well,” he gives a conceding nod. “Have at it."

 This is the most excited you've ever been since waking up in the floating coffin all those months ago. While you aren't the biggest gun enthusiast out there (you only ever use it for hunting), you do like it when people show interest to learn about your hobbies. Ace and Deuce are teenagers, so it's no surprise that they don't exactly find the long and grueling labor that goes into gardening all that exciting. Your firearm is nothing more than a toy in their minds, though Deuce is a bit more serious than Ace is when it comes to safety.

 Speaking of gun safety. "Now, I don't mean to nag but it's important to remember that, under no circumstances, are you to ever point a gun at anyone. Loaded or unloaded."

 Malleus makes a face of confusion. "Then how come you pointed and shot at the Leech twins?"

 "Hey," you put your hands up in defense. "I wasn't shooting at them. I shot at the ground and it just so happens that their feet were near my line of shot."

 "Ah, I see," he chuckles at your convenient excuse. "So shooting near an individual is ok, so long as the bullet doesn't hit them."

 "Exactly," you wink at him. "But seriously, don't point it at or near anyone. And don't look down the barrel. Lilia nearly gave me a heart attack when I caught him doing just that."

 He closes his eyes and gives a deep nod like you just bestowed upon him a great piece of wisdom. "Duly noted."

 "Next is the magazine," you turn and pull back the bolt handle to show him the empty magazine hidden underneath the bolt itself. "This is where you put the bullets. The magazine holds up to 4 bullets, 5 if you keep one loaded in the chamber. Since my gun is an older model, you can’t pop in an external magazine. Unless you're in a desperate situation, it's best to"

 You look up to make sure Malleus is following along with your explanation. Maybe he is, but it's hard to tell when his eyes completely ignore the rifle you have set between the two of you and instead keeps his eyes focused solely on you. Your throat immediately dries up and you feel your heart begin to beat just a bit faster after it skips a beat. The look he's giving you is the same one he gave you at Scarabia, a content, and dazed smile. There's a hint of melancholy in his expression, evident by how the inner corners of his eyebrows turn upward. 

 He looks so at peace, yet so sad.

 "What's wrong?" you ask, though you know full well what's making him feel that way he does.

 He shakes his head in denial. The visual sadness goes away once he settles. "Nevermind me. Keep talking, please."

 "R-Right," you stutter. "Where was I again?"

 "You said your gun is an older model."

 "Right," you remember. "Since the model is old, it's best not to reload too quickly, otherwise you risk jamming the gun and in some cases, you might break a mechanism."

 You feel a faint vibration underneath your leg. Thinking it's your phone (now set back to vibration mode) you start to pat down your clothes to try and find the device. Surprisingly, it actually came from Malleus's phone. It keeps pulsing in fixed intervals, likely from someone calling him. He quickly pulls it out and clicks on the red reticle, sending the caller to voicemail without batting an eyelash. You couldn't see who was calling, but you swear their name started with an 'S'. Could it be Silver or Sebek calling? You hope it's not Sebek because once Malleus starts to manually decline his calls, the next person he usually rings up is-

 You feel another vibration, this time it's coming from your phone that you apparently left in your back pocket. Lo and behold, it's Sebek that's calling you. You show your screen to Malleus, who makes a dramatically loud sigh of exhaustion. Sebek...While he's well-intentioned and has his charming points, he can be a bit of a handful...

 Ok, that's too nice a way of putting it. Really, as passionate as he is, he can be a bit annoying to deal with sometimes. You're trying to be polite as you can be with him because you've been told that Faes offended easily and you're not going to be that asshole. Though, you’ll be the first to admit that he’s such an easy and fun target to joke around with. Blame the ghosts, their behavior is gradually rubbing off on you.

 His protectiveness and the deep admiration he has towards Malleus is a little quirky, even cute at times. It reminded you of a child vehemently protecting their parent from their lover, not that you and Malleus are dating or anything. 

 Why did that last part feel weird to say in your head?

 "Go ahead and answer," Malleus concedes. "I’m not entirely in the mood to listen to his shouting in the middle of the day."

 "Oh, his heart would break if he heard you," you place a hand over your fake-pained heart. "You are such a cruel man, Great and Benevolent Malleus!"

 The two of you erupt into a brief fit of laughter. After calming yourself down, you answer the phone. "Hello, you've reached the Ramshackle dormitory." 

 You have to turn away and cup your free hand around your mouth so the phone doesn't pick up Malleus's uncontrollable giggles.

  "Human!”  he shouts into the phone and you have to pull it back to alleviate your overwhelmed eardrum. “  If you would kindly put Lord Malleus on the phone, I would greatly appreciate it."

 You look over to Malleus, but Sebek was loud enough that you don’t have to mouth anything to him. He gestures for you to hand the phone over to him, but you put your hand up to tell him to give you a moment.

 "If you want to talk to Malleus, press two,” you blankly say. “Those are the rules."

  "Human! I don’t have time for your terrible jokes!"

 Malleus then gestures for you to hand over your phone. "Do as they say, Sebek," he calmly commands.

 Your hands slap against your mouth to cover the loud and ugly screech you make when you hear the loud dial noise come right after. 

 The two talk for a while. It’s mainly Malleus listening to whatever Sebek is passionately rambling about while giving the occasional hum and idle acknowledgments. At one point during the call, he looks over to you and frowns. You mouth “what’s wrong?” but he shakes his head and looks away. Once he hangs up, he lets out a very stressful sigh and slumps a bit. He’s upset.

 “Hey,” you move your rifle and scoot closer to him, giving him a gentle shoulder bump once you’re near. “Talk to me. What did Sebek say?”

 “It’s nothing important,” he continues to dismiss. “Just a trivial matter.”

 “ Malleus,” your voice becomes stern. “C’mon, talk to me.”

 He tends to downplay his troubles since he thinks they pale in comparison to the many other aspects going on in his life (being royalty can’t be easy). When it was clear that you were more than just an acquaintance, Lilia gave you a bit of advice about Fae behavior so you can better communicate with Malleus and get him to open up to you. Faes cannot lie, but they can give half-truths, and, depending on how powerful one is, they can tell white lies. It took a bit of work, but eventually, you gained enough of Malleus' trust as well as reassured him that you won't up and abandon him for simply voicing his opinions or feelings, even if you might disagree with him.

 “You first,” he says insistently.

 Also by the advice\of Lilia, you have a bit of an ongoing exchange with Malleus. For every instance he bears his inner thoughts and feelings to you, you have to tell him something about yourself that others don’t know about. 

 Have all your facts been embarrassing admittances? Yes, they have.

  “No offense, but aren’t Fae notorious for being a bit...y’know?”

  “Mischievous?” Lilia snickers.

  “Right,” you cross your arms in an attempt to provide yourself with a bit of comfort. Lilia’s casual demeanor surely isn’t helping you. “Telling Malleus all my innermost secrets is surely going to come back and bite me in the future.”

  “Well, in most circumstances you wouldn’t be wrong.” Suddenly his playful voice becomes firm and actually assuring for once. “However, there is no need for concern. I can say with certainty that whatever you tell Malleus, no matter how embarrassing or incriminating it is, will forever remain with him and him alone.”

  The old Fae pats you on the head, despite being taller than him. “He cares deeply about, truly.”

 That fuzzy feeling in your chest returns. Your hands have an itch to fidget with something to try and distract yourself. It ends up being a strand of your hair that gets blown in your face after an especially chilly gust of wind dishevels it. That’s when a small bulb lights up in your head.

 “I hate the winter,” you admit. “The long nights throw me off and I have terrible luck running into wild game when I head out into the field. Really, it's cold weather that I hate in general.”

 “Interesting,” Malleus clearly takes in and files away this new fact he’s learned in his head. “This likely isn’t a surprise, but I enjoy this time of the year.”

 “What's winter in the Valley of Thorns like?”

 Malleus, shocked at hearing your sudden interest in his home, begins to paint as detailed a picture as he can about the kingdom during the colder seasons. Greenery is a bit sparse given the Valley’s more mountainous terrain, but he insists that the thorn bushes you can find in nearly every corner of the land are beautiful in their own right. No matter the season, there’s always some amount of fog that dilutes the rays of the sun, so a day without one is often seen as a sign of good fortune by the people. Modern machinery is all but nonexistent as well, so there are no buildings, pollution, or lights to obscure the starry sky at night.

 “Now it just sounds like I’m back home,” you let out a sad reminiscent sigh.

 “What about your home? What is it like?”

 “About the same as yours, except we got plenty of sunlight and we had lush forests instead of rocky cliffs. There was a small town about half an hour out, but most of the businesses there have been around since the ’50s.” You notice his confusion as your terminology, but a brief explanation of your world’s calendar clears it up.

 “It sounds charming,” he says. “I’d love to visit it one day, should the opportunity present itself.”

 “There’s an ice cream shop down the main avenue,” you mention, knowing how much he enjoys the cold treat. “The owners even change their selections every other day, but the rainbow sherbet is the best one they have!”

 “Is that so?” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

 A sharp screech cuts your conversation into an abrupt close. That was without a doubt a signal from Twilight, letting you know that someone is walking up the pathway to the dorm. You aren’t expecting anyone, and Frankie is likely just arriving in town by now. You remember how Malleus seemed dejected after his call with Sebek.

 Just as you connect the dots, Malleus stands up, brushing off any dirt and debris from his clothes. “I apologize, but I must head out now.”

 “Already?” you ask with playful sadness. The fuzz in your chest dissipates into a dull ache. Weird.

 “I need to go over my guest list for my birthday once more. Lilia insisted I send out handwritten invitations to immerse myself into the festivities.”

 “That sounds about right.” After standing up yourself and insisting you’ll walk him out, you ask, “So when can I expect my invitation to come in?”

 “You want to come? Even after,” he immediately stops himself from speaking.

 Does he really think he messed up that badly with you?

 “I do want to go,” you firmly tell him. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

 There’s a brief silence between you two before he says, “You don’t have to force yourself.”

 “I’m not,” you reassure him.

 “So you say.”

 “Malleus,” you sigh. “If there’s anyone scared about our friendship dissolving because of what happened, it’s me. I’m the one that’s keeping you in suspense, even now.”

 The truth hurts, but no amount of shared laughs and the occasional antics between the two of you is going to magically dissolve the damage present. You’ve hurt him, and in a way, it’s hurting you as well. Life isn’t as linear as it was, but sulking and bringing the people around you down is a terribly selfish thing to do, especially towards someone you care a great deal about. You weren’t raised like that. You were taught to appreciate the little things and watch out for those around you. Not for personal gain, but because it was simply a kind thing to do.

 This feeling of insecurity came before the winter break. Being around so many people whose ideals and actions clash with yours often succeeds at making you think that you’re the one in wrong, that you’re the helpless and naive one. That’s far from the truth. The community you’ve built with the ghost trio and the natives on Sage’s Island is proof that your values are shared with others. 

 It’s just like Frankie said, life is just serving you a bad hand right now. You can prevail and return to the better days. The better days when you and Malleus were the best of friends. But why does your heart hurt when you think about his confession for the umpteenth time? What’s making you so hesitant? More importantly, why couldn’t you tell him “yes”, yet you also knew you couldn’t tell him “no”?

 As you watch Malleus and Sebek depart from your front door, making their way down the steps towards the front gates, you hastily announce that you’ll be back and begin running towards them.

 You need to make things right. 

Malleus noticed the way your hands sought something out to fidget with when you were feeling...he doesn’t know what that was. You weren’t feeling uncomfortable as far as he could tell. 

 Were you perhaps...flustered? 

 No, that can’t be it. You don’t think of him that way, he’s sure of now. When he quickly reassesses his behavior, he didn’t do anything that would warrant you to become nervous, other than look at you with a far too amorous gaze while you explained the ins and outs of your firearm. He couldn't help himself. Seeing you so passionate and animated, even if it's over something he has no knowledge or a particular interest in, made his heart flutter as well as ache yet again.

 They fidget with the nearest object when they feel uncomfortable. Remember that.

 “What was that, Lord Malleus?” 

 Sebek’s booming voice catches him off guard a bit, but he quickly recovers as if nothing disturbed him at all. “It’s nothing, just thinking aloud.”

 “I see. In any case,” he quickly changes the subject. “The materials needed to write and send the invitation letters are all ready. Sir Lilia insists that you write each one on your own, but I am more than capable and willing to offer my assistance should you need it!”

 “That’s quite alright. There aren’t a great many I need to send anyways,” Malleus gracefully rejects Sebek’s eager offer. 

 There really aren’t that many people who will be attending, just the residents of Diasomnia and that’s it. He initially had plans to invite you, but he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. You’ve expressed your desire to come, but he can’t help but feel that it’s only out of pity.

 He doesn’t want that from you. At this point, he just wants things to return to how they once were before he opened his mouth and began to spew a bunch of one-sided nonsense. He just wants your friendship, pure and untainted like before.

 Perhaps he’s destined to never have a friend after all.

 “Malleus!” your distant voice calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn around to search for you.

 He doesn’t understand how you do it, but just hearing you call his name utterly burns away all the muddled thoughts circulating within his head. He is exceptional when it comes to defensive magic, yet whatever spell you manage to cast on him that makes him so taken by you, it exceeds even his own magical prowess.

 But you don’t have any magic. Not even a speck courses through your veins. You’re just an average human. His nearly crippling infatuation is entirely his own doing.

 "Oh, thank goodness you haven't made it past the front gates yet," you heaved out. Did you run all the way here? Did he forget something? He quickly pats his front pocket and feels a hard lump, his phone. It’s the only personal item he brought.

 "Human," Sebek's voice sounds annoyed at your sudden presence. "What do you need from- AH!"

 Sebek's scream hurts Malleus's ear, but the slight and momentary ring means little when you've wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace. He immediately melts into your arms, smothering his face against the crook of your neck and taking in your scent like a desperate man. Despite the sweat you and he worked up from hours of labor, you still smell so nice, like fresh cotton and assorted herbs. It's unique. It's comforting. 

 It's you.

 "One week," you whisper in his ear. "Give me one week. I'll have an answer for you then."

 He pulls back and looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. "Pardon?"

 "I've hurt you, badly." you look down in shame. "I still am, but I'm going to make it up to you. I promise"

 "A promise made with a Fae is a dangerous thing, especially when you don't uphold your end of the deal," he says with a warning tone. "One week. Are you sure that's enough time?"

 "It is," you say with certainty.

 You're not one to lie or bite off more than you can stomach. You know when you've been beaten, that's why you called for his help over the break. His interpretation of trust differs greatly from yours, and it's not given to many, Fae or not. 

 "Very well,” he yields. “I will trust you to keep to your oath.”

 “Thank you,” you squeeze him closer against you. “And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just please, don't break my heart any further," he whispers pleadingly into your ear.

Apologies are dangerous words to say to a Fae, even a bit demeaning to some. The same with words of thanks, which you often say to him regularly. Malleus has developed a habit of accepting them out of courtesy. It's an aspect of his culture that you struggle to adjust to since it's interpreted differently in human society. You've also told him something he finds humorous, how your aunts constantly enforced you (in your words “beat it into you”) to say "please", "thank you", and “sorry”, as they didn't want others to think they were living in a crude household. It's incredibly ironic considering you tend to swear every other sentence.

 You explained that "Thank you"s are acknowledgments of the efforts one makes for another, no matter how small or grandiose the gesture is. Apologies are acknowledgments that one has wronged another and wishes to make amends.

 It sounds like common sense, but he understands now what you mean when you tell him "It's the little things that matter most". His heart was hurt when you couldn’t tell him “yes” or even a simple “no”. He's still suffering from the aftermath of his confession, even as he signs off on the last of the invitations for his birthday party, his mind failing to commit to the enthusiastically written words. You've acknowledged that you see his pain and that you recognize that you're its source. Despite having other troubles of your own, you've made it clear that he's now been pushed up your long to-do list and that he's now your main priority.

 It brings much-needed relief to his pained heart, though just a bit.

 He waits until Sebek is gone before he rummages around his desk for a beige-colored envelope, the one he enchanted and gave to you so you can speak to him over the break (he preferred this method over text messages). It still has your SOS letter in it, written with your now aged and darkened blood.

  Malleus. I'm sorry for the smell, but it's all I have on hand. I'm in Scarabia's dorm and they're not letting me leave. I've been here for a few days to help the vice dorm leader with some sort of internal affair, but I think he did something to me that's making it impossible to refuse him anymore. I tried to bail, but they caught me and now they're locking me up and keeping a close eye on me.

  If I may be a bit bold, I'm fucking scared out of my mind. I know it's rude of me to make demands without proper compensation, but I think I need some help. I don't want to cause a big fuss, so if you can could you come alone? If you can't that's fine. I'm sure I can pull through until the break ends.

  I hope you're doing well. Again, sorry for the smell.

 He makes a few more creases in the paper due to gripping it so harshly. He remembers opening it the first time and nearly ripping it in half because of how utterly livid he was. Your fresh blood also didn't help at the time. You didn't state what your current condition was when you drafted the letter and his mind immediately thought of you being injured and that was the reason you wrote it in your blood.

 The time between him sneaking past his castle's security once he received your letter to arriving on Sage's Island via his own magic (curse the dark mirror for being inactive during the winter) is a bit of a blur. All he can remember is that he was just so worried for you, a magicless human against an entire dorm of wizards in training. Even someone with subpar control over their magic can do you a great deal of damage.

 If sneaking out of his home without telling a soul, potentially causing one of the largest search hunts to commence had someone noticed and reported to his grandmother, doesn't prove how much you mean to him, he doesn't know what will.

 One week. If it takes you one more week for you to realize this, then he will wait.

 He trusts you, just as you trusted him when you sent him that letter.

 He grabs his quill and dips the tip into a jar of ink, writing something quick and straightforward on a spare piece of parchment.

  "Please come to my party. It would mean the world to me."

 After the ink dries, he folds it and places it in the envelope, sealing it with wax bearing the crest of his family. He needs not utter a single incantation to have it erupt in a blaze of green fire. He waits. One minute. Two. Suddenly, a spark of blue fire erupts on his desk before dissipating, leaving behind the same envelope he burned minus a wax seal.

 He opens it.

  "Of course I will!"

[ajwamiju-archives]

Chapter 8

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping, harassment, swearing, a lot of it, manipulation, slow-burn (?), eventual romance, eventual smut, enemies to allies to lovers, coercion, slight dub-con, minor character deaths

Mafia boss! Kita Shinsuke x Spy! F! Reader

Summary: For as long as you’ve been on God’s blue earth, you’ve been taught to help your family by gathering information and spying on other crime syndicates from all over Japan. To say you’re good for your age is an understatement, you’re one of the best out there with all of the information you’ve managed to gather.

Once you turn 20, you are to be given your first official mission as a fully grown adult, retrieving the important documents the Inarizaki clan has managed to steal. You’re confident you’re able to do it, but a lot of things don’t exactly go according to plan...

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For as long as you’ve worked under your father back in Tokyo, you haven’t been able to connect much to the other members, other than your brother and Uehara that is. You’re almost ashamed to admit you don’t even know your sister in a personal level, unless you count the times you caught her with a man in bed, but you don’t think that equates to anything much.

Yet, you’ve only been working for Inarizaki for a mere four months, give or take, and you’ve made quite a few friends in the other core members. Suna specifically, since you often worked together due to your jobs being connected most of the time despite him messing up a few months back.

Your injury has healed nicely but you haven’t been sent to any field missions thus far, anytime you ask Kita about a field mission, he would dismiss you by saying your leg still needs to fully heal until he’s confident in sending you out on any other field missions. You still don’t understand why he insists on keeping you strictly on missions that can be done from the base, but you have no room to complain about it.

You’ve been much more comfortable interacting with the others after the mission you went on a few months ago. Such is evident by how you even deliver the documents personally to their chambers or how you eat dinner with them from time to time. Atsumu or Akagi would drag you out of your room to have dinner with the other core members of the clan, sometimes Kita would come and check up on you, reminding you if you’ve accidentally started to spiral into overworking.

Everything feels good as much as you hate to admit it, you found yourself a new family even if you were forced into this one.

“Say, [Nickname],” Suna starts during one of your dinners with the other members. “I’ve always wondered, how did you recover so easily after knowing your father isn’t coming to get you?” He asks.

“Oh yeah! I noticed ya recoverin’ a bit too quickly from the shock. Most of the people we kidnap would have a breakdown much worse than ya did or take literal months to even function somewhat properly.” Atsumu adds, leaning closer in interest.

“Well, I guess I just didn’t have much of a relationship or a connection with my family, as in clan-wise and actual biological family-wise.” You answer, shrugging your shoulders. “I only had much of a connection with my brother or my mentor, and to an extent, my mother and sister.”

“Not even yer sister? Or at least yer mum?” Osamu asks from beside Atsumu, perplexed at what you said.

You shake your head slowly as you recall your childhood, pursing your lips. “Well, for as long as I remember, I’ve seen Uehara as my dad more than my actual dad. I barely see my mum because I was sent to learn how to be a pawn for my brother as soon as I learnt to walk, but she tried, she raised me up to the point where I was taken away for my education. The only reason my brother and I had some semblance of a connection is because we had common interests and would frequently discuss, until I came here, that is.”

You glance at the pair of twins seated near you and sigh, gently flicking some of the food on your plate. “I… I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t have much of a sibling connection to Nami even if we were together way before we were born. We only ever interact with each other for missions and whatnot. Our relationship is more akin to co-workers rather than siblings.”

“Is the situation the same for yer siblings as well? Like, y’all don’t have much of a connection to yer parents thing.” Akagi asks.

“I would say yes, but they’re not as estranged as I am with them. It has something to do with my parents’ and my mentor’s past basically. It’s messy, I don’t even know why Uehara chose to stay this long working under that shitty old man.”

“Ooh! Life story. Everyone, buckle up! This is gonna be interesting.” Suna says, his interest piqued even more than usual.

“Nosy bitch.” You mutter under your breath and kick Suna’s shin lightly under the table.

“It’s fine if ya don’t wanna share it, [Name]. If it’s private or sensitive for ya, we ain’t forcin’ ya to say anythin’.” Kita finally pipes up from the end of the table.

You purse your lips and sigh, surely the story is personal but to the point of it being so insignificantly personal that it can’t exactly be used for anything. You contemplate if this might harm your siblings in any way, you don’t think it will, this is a very personal matter and it doesn’t exactly reveal much towards some sensitive information.

“It’s fine, I think it’s time I talk about it to someone anyway.” You answer, grabbing the bottle of wine from Ginjima and pour yourself a glass to make it somewhat enjoyable for you.

“Yer siblings don’t know?” Aran asks.

You shake your head no and take a sip of the wine. “The story doesn’t really involve Ishikawa or Watanabe, it’s mostly between my parents and Uehara, and I hate to say it, it could probably become a romance drama plot.”

“How did ya even manage to obtain this information?” Atsumu butts in before you have the chance to start the story.

“A few glasses of liquor and some weed. Maybe some accidental walk-ins to a barely functioning Uehara.” You explain.

“Now, where was I… oh, right. So, unlike the women in my family, the men are allowed to attend school and socialise, mandatory even. The women are all home-schooled and no one had a say in the matter. Our elder’s beliefs are we’ll be a housewife in the end anyway, so my old man’s sisters usually only have a middle school diploma as their education. Nami and I are a different case since our old man wants us to actually be useful to the family.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and mentally curse yourself for going on a tangent, but push through anyway, or else you won’t be getting anywhere. “My dad met Ishikawa and Watanabe in middle school, but Uehara was different, he was my grandad’s second-in-command’s son, so they knew each other their whole lives. They were basically brothers; I’d even go as far as to say they had a closer relationship than me and Nami.

“The four of them had a tight-knit relationship with each other, but my dad and Uehara has always been a bit closer than the rest. They’d confide in each other, be there for each other through thick and thin, yada-yada, sappy bullshit.”

You sigh and take a gulp of wine, letting the slight burn in your throat calm down the irritation from the situation, which from your eyes look unnecessary. “Then, just as my dad was starting to handle missions on his own, they met my mum, specifically Uehara and he took an interest in her in an instant and pursued her.”

“Ooh… I don’t like where this is goin’…” Akagi comments lowly, invested in your parent’s love story.

“I don’t either, but it happened and here I am,” you joke, laughing bitterly. “Uehara told that shitty old man about how he’s dating my mum, he said he was serious about her, and wanted to start a family with her. And that asshole decided that he wanted my mum too, while she was in a relationship with Uehara.

“Despite Uehara’s best efforts, my mum chose my old man since he has power and money, at least from what I can see, cheated on the poor man in the process. Apparently, that was enough to get my mother to leave Uehara like that, and I can’t even hate her for it, she probably had to do what she had to do.

“Uehara has no idea what my dad did to sway my mum to get with him instead. But, despite all that, Uehara stayed… for me. He really thought I was his, even after it was confirmed I’m not. He claims he holds no grudges towards my parents, but… I just can’t help but wonder how he’s doing, I guess.”

You finish the story and gulp down the remainder of your wine, sighing at the fact you just got emotional over a story that isn’t even yours, but then again, you saw how it changed your mentor, you saw his high school pictures after all. You bite your lip at the tense atmosphere surrounding you and decide, maybe that’s enough.

“I’m heading back to my room; you’ve had your share of insignificant parts of my backstory and it’s time for me to rest. Good night.”

You walk back to your room with a frown on your usually impassive face. You don’t even know why you got upset as you did when you first heard the story, maybe because Uehara has been there for you more than your actual parents have. You shake your head, trying your hardest to stop thinking about it and prepare yourself for bed.

A few minutes into your night routine, a knock sounds from your door. You blink twice, getting caught off-guard as no one usually bothers you this late into the night. You stand up from your futon and open the door, seeing Kita standing in front of your door.

“Kita-san? Is something wrong?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Just wanted to check on ya.” He says and glances into your room. “May I come in?”

“Sure, I guess. I’m fine though.” You answer and make way for the silver-haired man to walk in.

“It’s just, ya seem a bit upset when ya told the story, can’t hurt to check up on ya,” Kita says and sits on the cushion by the kotatsu. “I don’t know why ye’re that affected, but everyone has their reasons, right?”

You sigh and sit on your bed, staring at your crossed legs. “It’s just… I guess I just saw how much it changed Uehara, and it made me realise how much cheating can impact someone. It’s been 20 years, but every time I come across Uehara under the influence, he’d be crying over the story or something related to it. I don’t hate my mum, but I still get irritated when I know what she’d done to Uehara, even for her safety, like the least she could do is break it off with him first, you know? Even so, at the end of the day, relationships are just a hassle anyway.” You rant, pursing your lips.

“I suppose I can see where ye’re comin’ from.” Kita comments, nodding his head. “I personally won’t know since I’ve never been in a serious relationship before.”

“I can tell, whore.” You retort, mumbling the last part under your breath. “The very least you have some semblance of experience, kinda jealous of that, to be honest. I’ve always been cooped up and I guess I just don’t have that much of a rebellious spirit as Nami.”

“When ya said ya have no experience, ya mean none? Not even a crush? Or flings? Anythin'?”

“None, sometimes I wish I knew, but I know that just won’t do. Not only will it get in the way of my job, my job gets in the way of me experiencing that.” You answer, leaning back with your arms supporting your upper body. “I learnt from a young age I won’t experience what most girls I see in books or movies would anyway, so I’m not too bothered.”

Kita stands up from the cushion he’s sitting on and crouches in front of you, placing a hand on your head and moving it ever so slightly. “Ya can experience bein’ a normal gal here, a lot of the members are around yer age after all.” He says, his tone softer and much more reassuring.

You huff and stare up at him, making no move to push his hand off. “Like I would trust whores not to cheat on me.” You retort.

“I don’t know about the lower-ranks, but higher-ranked members are expected to be loyal in every aspect of life. If ya can’t stay loyal to a committed partner, how can ya stay loyal to the clan, right?” He says, taking his hand off your head and standing up. “When I said ya can live yer life, I truly mean it, [Name]. I know there are things ya can’t experience due to age, but ye’re free to experience everythin’ else.”

Kita walks off, a smile ghosting his lips. You sit on your futon as you watch him leave your room, your lips part slightly as you feel your cheeks start to warm. “What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself as you grip the sheets to stabilise your beating heart.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper to yourself once more, covering your, no doubt, blushing face and pulling your knees to your chest to curl in on yourself.

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Taglist: @youracidqueenmina @shinsou-rii @kris-1

Comment or ask if you want to be included in a taglist!

© of ajwamiju. Planned repost of the story is only for AO3 under the name ajwamiju, any other reposts to other platforms under any other name is not me and I do not give permission.

[fallingappleshurt]

Bonked Bones (For Anon!!)

I got a request for Wilbur angst with the prompt “Just… walk it off.” “I don’t think I can walk.” And I got you! But tumblr dont because your ask got eaten- but the story is here!!

The title was oringially a place holder but I can’t think of anything better so there

TW: non graphic depictions of violence and blood

Wilbur yelped as Tommy crashed into his chest, sending them both tumbling down the rocky hillside. Limbs slapping wildly against the ground as he tried to stop his descent. His shoulder connected with a rock and he hissed, that’d hurt in the morning.

He hit his chin on the ground a final time before landing roughly in the heap of foliage, he gasped when he heard something crack.

After taking a moment to collect himself he pushed himself up onto his forearms, he tried to stand up only to cry out as dull throbbing turned to fire flooding his leg, he collapsed back onto the ground. He could hear Tommy groaning loudly a few feet away.

Wilbur knew he needed to get up, he had too, but even moving his leg hurt.

“Wil- Wilbur,” He heard Tommy mumble, “Get up, we need to keep moving.”

“Yeah just give me a minute,” Wilbur said, not moving. Leaves crunched as Tommy walked over to him.

“We gotta go Wilbur, those assholes can’t be too far behind.”

“Hang on Tommy, I fucked up my leg.” Wilbur grumbled rolling over only for it to send a shockwave of agony shooting up his leg.

Tommy put out his hand, eyes flickering nervously behind him, “Wilbur- come on man- just-just walk it off, we gotta,” He laughed nervously, “We gotta go.”

“Tommy I- I can’t move my leg.” He managed to sit up and get a better look at his leg. Nausea rose in his gut, his knee twisted backwards, pant leg torn with blood splattering his skin and the ground around him.

Tommy looked at his leg and gasped, “Wilbur- no no no it's okay-”

“Tommy I won’t be able to walk!” Wilbur interrupted.

“I’ll find something to drag you along with- it’ll be okay- let me just look around for a minute-” Tommy started to search but Wilbur grabbed his pant leg.

“Tommy no, go without me, you have to get this stuff back to the base.” He pulled the satchel off his shoulder and shoved it at Tommy.

“What no! I’m not leaving you here!” Tommy snapped back incredulously, “Those monsters will tear you apart!” Wilbur shook his head.

“I’ll hide, it’ll be fine-”

“No it won’t! You’re coming with me!”

“Tommy I can’t walk! Just leave me and take the medicine back to the base! That’s an order!” Wilbur snapped.

Tommy glared at him, shouldering the bag. “I don’t have to take orders from you.” He grabbed Wilbur’s hand and yanked him up, manuring him so Tommy could wrap an arm around his waist, he put Wilbur’s arm across his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” He said sharply, Wilbur tried to pull away.

“Tommy go! I will only slow you down-”

“I am not leaving you!” Tommy snapped, “Just shut up! I am not leaving you behind! No matter how much you struggle or bitch I am not leaving you so shut up and focus on walking!”

Tommy didn’t wait for an answer and started guiding them along. Wilbur tried his best to not put any pressure on his leg but also not weigh Tommy down. It did not work.

Every step was hell.

His leg would bump against the ground or they would stumble and fall and Wilbur would consider laying down and letting the earth consume him was a better use of his time.

Sweat beaded against his forehead as he trudged forwards, his limbs felt like they were made of steel, he could feel blood dripping from his bashed leg.

“There we go, come on Wilbur, just a little farther.” Tommy laughed weakly, Wilbur could tell he was straining himself. “We just have to make it to the river and we are home free.”

Wilbur could hear the rushing howls of the river, hope sparking in his chest he started hobbling faster, they were going to make it.

Then he heard hooves pounding behind him and his heart dropped. Against his better judgement Wilbur looked behind him and saw a herd of gang members on horses quickly catching up to them.

He swore under his breath, trying to speed up only to cause further agony in his leg.

They managed to get to the river, sliding down the muddy banks Wilbur realized they were screwed. It was storm season and the water high and rough, thundering against the rocks and through the land.

Wilbur pulled away from Tommy.

“Tommy leave me, get across the river, I’ll be okay-”

“No! We just fought about this-”

“Tommy! That stupid gang is going to be on us in minutes and everything we have worked for will be for nothing if you don’t move your fucking ass! I’ll distract them while you get to the rocks, hopefully you’ll be able to make it across- what the hell are you doing?” Wilbur saw Tommy taking bags and after making sure they were closed he wrapped the straps around them, securing them even more.

He pulled back, swung around then launched the bags across the river. They landed on the grass on the other side, missing the mud entirely, Tommy turned to face him.

“I’m not leaving you, at least now those assholes can’t get the medicine. Hopefully Techno or Phil will find the bags.” He jumped in front of Wilbur, getting into a fighting stance as the gang drew near. They stopped a few feet away, five men armed to the teeth stared down at them, a feisty kid with too much heart and a failing older brother with a busted knee.

“Where is the medicine?” One man asked, drawing his sword.

For once Tommy didn’t respond, he just stared the man down.

“Where is the medicine, you thieves.” The man repeated.

“Gone.” Tommy said, somewhat smuggly, “And we can’t steal what belongs to us you dumbass.”

“Smartass,” The man grumbled, Wilbur mentally nicknamed him Pushy. Pushy sheathed his sword, “Grab em, they could be good bartering chips.”

The other men rushed forward, grabbing at them, Tommy managed to punch one across the face before he was slammed into the ground.

“Let go of me you stupid son of a bitch! Give me a fair fight! I’ll kick your ass!”

Two men came at Wilbur, easily managing to pin his arms behind him, securing them with rope. He watched the men shove Tommy’s face into the ground as he thrashed, trying to resist their attempts to tie him.

“Hey! Go easy on him! He’s just a kid!”

“Just a kid!” Tommy tried to yell, “That’s it, I’m gonna kick the shit out of all of you- let me up!”

“Both are so noisy.” Pushy said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re wasting your time,” Wilbur hissed as he was shoved forwards, “We mean nothing to them- the group- they won’t trade for us.” He lied, he knew that at least Tommy was important and if he could get the men to leave them Tommy would be able to get the medicine back for the group.

Pushy leaned over and grabbed the front of his shirt, “Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve seen you with that freak ass angel type-”

Wilbur threw his head back and headbutted him, “He is not a freak!” Pushy howled and let go of his shirt, Wilbur stumbled back, smiling, served that bastard right.

Pushy whipped around and shoved Wilbur to the ground then smashed his heel into Wilbur’s injured knee. Wilbur screamed, vision going white as what he could only describe as hellfire ripped through his body.

Panting hard, his vision cleared slighty and he saw Pushy looming over him, gaze hard.

“That’ll fucking teach you-” He was cut off as an arrow pierced his collarbone and he fell to his kness, gasping.

With blurring vision Wilbur looked up to see gray wings covering the sky.

He heard cries of fear, hooves nervously pattering against the grass, Tommy yell ‘The Blade!’ and felt soft hands on his shoulders. Things started to get fuzzy, he felt like he was in the air before being laid against someone’s chest, head on their shoulder.

Thundering hooves were muffled in the background as Wilbur’s head bobbed roughly, face itching as soft hair tickled it. He slowly slipped away, hardly hearing the soft murmur, “Stay with me Wilbur, stay with me.”

When Wilbur’s eyes cracked open the first thing he noticed

was how fucking big his tonuge felt. The second thing he noticed, well technically two things, were Tommy’s head resting on one of his arms and Techno’s hand lightly gripping his other.

Looking around he realized he was in infirmary in their base and that there was a thick, bulky cast on his leg. Tommy was on his right, Phil and Techno on his left, both of his younger brothers were passed out, but Phil wasn’t.

Wilbur started at him until Phil looked up and smiled softly, leaning over to mess with his hair. “Wil, you are a fucking idiot but you did it. Good job buddy.”

Wilbur leaned into the touch, unable to reach back with both of his hands occupied, and closed his eyes. The journey fucking sucked but, this, this part was okay.

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Where Wolves Cry

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 10 | Chapter 11 - Where Wolves Cry | Chap 12 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - depictions of hunting and killing, bloodlust, smut, bloody oral (f), but also fluff  

Author’s note: This chapter is not Disney approved mkay? *cough* smut *cough*. May you enjoy..the hunt, fair maidens of mine! 👀Also, I totally fell in love with this absolutely gorgeous Hebrew love song ‘Evening of Roses / Erev Shel Shoshanim’ (based on a like-named poem). I’ve added a few versions of it in my playlist, listen to them if you find the time ❤️

Thank you again sweet @thelastsock​, for beta’ing for me!  🌹

Word count: 5.261

Reading music: Sheku Kanneh-Mason - Evening of Roses 

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

Late afternoon rays of sun trickled through the darkening trees. They were casting a rather pretty myriad of tiny lights on the snowy forest floor, bringing with them rich hues of orange and gold. Pretty, but not important as of right now. In this small time frame of dusk, the evening provided him a perfect moment to hunt. And today he wasn’t hunting alone. Looking over his shoulder his azule eyes found the young maiden, her large brown eyes fixed on him, unsure of how to proceed if not for his clear instructions. Good. He’d never forgive himself if anything was to happen to her. This forest was, after all, not a safe place for young maidens like her.

Gesturing her to halt, he looked left and right, his eyes and ears picking up small tremors and movements in the icy landscape. As winter had fallen, most animals were hibernating in their homes. But not all. A herd of deer was not far, and from the sound of it one of them was ripe for the taking; an inflamed hoove stood nervously on the icy ground.

*Tic-tic..tic-tic*

The poor thing wouldn’t make it through the harsh winter anyways.

The Master silenced his breathing and looked back at Belle, her breath quieting as well. On their way here the Master had explained his tactics. You see, the hunt required finesse. Knowledge. And Belle was more than curious to learn about it, her body folded snugly into his arms as he used his beastly powers to move nearly unnoticed through the snowy grove.

He had explained the way he mapped out all the animals and critters that were around. The way he studied the weather and wind. How he made sure he wouldn’t hurt an animal that would live, if not for him. And Belle listened in awe. It was both frightening and a relief to hear how well-thought out such a hunt was. How the Master tried his best to keep nature balanced. Where humans would probably hunt down all, he only took what he needed, leaving the rest of the forest to its own devices. And those devices were deadly too. On their way here he had pointed out some frost-bitten cadavers.

Nature was cruelly beautiful like that. Life and death circled around each other in an eternal dance. Old bones would bloom. And blooms would fade. Year in year out, until the end of time.

‘There is one.’ The Master whispered, gesturing Belle to get close so he could pick her up again. At first this picking up had been at best awkward. Belle had insisted on walking now she could. But the Master wouldn’t have any of that. For one, because she would probably alarm the animals - her dainty feet not as quiet as his. And for seconds. Well. He would never admit to it, but he did enjoy carrying her. Through the cold winter air he could smell the soap in her braided hair, the stiffening starch in her blouse collar and the sweetness of her warm blood.

She smelled like heaven in his arms and he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of having her close.

Especially not after so many centuries of loneliness.

He could remember the first time he had been truly alone. His staff gone, his wife deceased, the castle quiet..and the hunger great. It took him more than a week before he dared to admit that the food in his larder didn’t quench his thirst or hunger. With long teeth - quite literally - he would eat the cured meats, washing them away with wine. But none of these fine foods would taste, their substance ashen on his tongue and gravel in his stomach. No, he required different nourishment. And such nourishment was not found in any larder.

He had to hunt.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Belle whispered ever so quietly, her warm breath puffing in the cold air. The Master shot her a warning look to be quiet, his eyes tracking the bushes as the target was now close-by. From here he could hear the restless buzz of its heartbeat, the animal having noticed something was amiss - though thankfully not making a run for it yet. With ever-most carefulness the Master placed Belle back on her feet, making sure she wouldn’t make another sound, feet landing on already trampled snow. Gesturing she had to stay, Belle nodded, eyes glimmering with wonder as the Master sneaked away.

Oh yes, he remembered the first time he went on a hunt. It had been a mess. The animal had managed to get away, blood springing from its torn arteries. The Master had been too young during the hunts with his father, so up to that point he had never seen the death of an animal up close. He had never seen the lights die out, eyes glossing over. And never had he seen the blood spout from a struggling, convulsing heap of limbs.

The first hunt as a monster..well..it had been catastrophically bad. Yes. He had drank but a few drops of blood before he had retched it all out again, the onslaught of blood and agonizing ..lust, confusing the young Master terribly.

Lust. Fuck. He had forgotten all about it. Walking past some snow heavy branches, he could see both now. Like two worlds separated by but a thick wall of white, on his left he could see the stinted deer, her wounded leg lifted awkwardly from the cold ground. And on the right Belle, her arms wrapped around her chest, eyes not quite managing to see him through the dimness of dusk. Both knew something was there. Both couldn’t see him.

And one he would eat. One he would love. How cruelly beautiful nature was indeed.

Forgive me, he thought, before he leapt like an owl in flight onto the deer, the animal not standing a chance against the surprise of his teeth.

*snap*

With an unpitying twist of his hands he broke the animal’s neck, her eyes washing over with death’s glare. A last breath escaped her slightly agape jaw, heartbeat silencing. And apparently the sound had been enough of an indication for Belle to come, her feet crushing the fresh snow as she manoeuvred through the bushes. From the clumsy drop of her feet it was clear that her sight was waning quickly, pupils large as she noticed him.

Had it been a mistake to bring her? Probably. But there was no way back now. Clicking his nervous fangs he looked back at her, curiosity sparking on her features as she slowly crouched down, hand reaching for the deer’s soft fur.

‘She’s beautiful.’ Belle whispered, fingertips gliding down her neck before reaching the small two holes that bled a deep crimson. Hesitantly she dipped a finger in the red, tongue darting out to taste. ‘Oh.’ Belle scrunched her nose as the taste washed onto her taste buds. Tangy and tasting like old coins. Well, this proved that she wasn’t a monster just yet.

Waking from her dreamy haze, she looked back at the Master, his silhouette all she could see. But even then it was clear he was nervous; the snapping of his teeth was clearly heard. ‘You must..’ Belle swallowed harshly and pointed at the deer. The Master agreed, head dipping down to sink his teeth back in the warm neck. So succulent, soft, warm..so...hmmmm…

Fuck. He was getting aroused already. Contain yourself! Contain yourself! Not now! Just a few drops, just a few...HMMM...so tasty.

Grunting and moaning the Master feasted on his victim’s blood, hands moving out to card through the soft fur, only halting when he found her. Long cold fingers interlacing with his. Belle.

OH fuck. He couldn’t do this. With her so close. He couldn’t...GRRR...he couldn’t contain himself. Why had he been so foolish to bring her along? Why was he so weak for her? Why..?!

*cr-rack*

Shooting up, eyes and ears alert, the Master looked around. His whole body throbbed as the fresh blood washed down his throat, warming his cold veins. Supernatural strength was quickly building in his muscles and the throbbing length in his breeches was heavy against his leg. He was glad that the darkness veiled him, so Belle could not see his..condition. Then again, she could also not see what was around them. And from the sound of it..someone was here. Or better yet. Something. Oh..merde! Shit! What had he done?! Could he even protect her here, out in the open? He should have never..never..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud he was smashed against a tree, snow falling down on his marble face, blocking his view.

What the..?

Quickly jumping on his feet he clawed at the strange intruder, loud howls screeching when he hit target. Shaking off the snow he now noticed what it was; a young new predator indeed.

Meanwhile Belle had lowered herself close to the deer. It was difficult to make out any details in the half-dark, but she had noticed the Master’s silhouette stiffen, a gentle crack heard just outside of reach. Was something there? She couldn’t be sure, and being completely out of her element and in the dusk of night, she had to trust in the Master to keep her safe.

*wooshhh*

And just like that he was gone, leaving her here, out in the open with a bleeding animal beneath her fingertips. Immediate panic started to course through her veins, heartbeat racing and fingers clutching. Darn..what was happening? Loud snaps and scratches echoed through the forest, snow falling from weighted branches before someone howled a loud cry just a few feet away from her. Belle could not make up her mind fast enough, the sounds moving further away before she could flee, her body trembling on the cold ground as she pricked her ears. But it seemed to come from everywhere. A fight. Fast and furious, two voices groaned and cried as trees staggered when their bodies crashed into them.

Wait..was that another monster? It sounded like it. What was happening? Oh, she should have never..never..never begged to come with. She…

Another bone shuddering cry reverberated through the air, covering the sound of soft footfalls until a long strong arm wrapped around her. Suffocating she started to protest, her trembling fingers pushing away a face as it breathed sharply.

‘Shhh..’

The Master’s voice. Oh thank God. He was slightly panting from the exertion as he clutched her close to his chest, strong legs making them both rise up to a standing position. Belle trembled like a leaf, terrified tears blinking in her eyes. She could not see him. But it must be him, right? Reaching out her hand again - with him flinching away slightly - she traced his jaw, nose, eyebrows. Yes, it must be him.

In the meantime the Master nervously eyed their surroundings, the eerie quiet feeling like a storm was about to burst.

‘We must go.’ He whispered, hands fumbling with her skirts so he could lift her up again. And Belle, for the first time ever, let him do so without complaints, head quick to lean into his chest as he started running, snow barely crisping beneath his speedy feet.

--

‘Say mama. What do you think?’ The teacup looked with expecting eyes out through the window, the night engulfing the garden in a blanket of darkness.

‘What is it, son?’ The teapot sighed, her gaze turned towards the fireplace, the flames on their way of dying out slowly. For a few hours now her son had been babbling on, launching a million questions and monologues at her exhausted ears. As children do. But she couldn’t help but see evil foreboding in the dying fire. The hour was growing late and as of yet the Master and Belle had not returned. Had something happened?

‘Well. Tis dark, you see. He said he’d return before dark.’ Her son broke through her thoughts.

The teapot sighed again. ‘I know son. I know.’ Apathetic melancholy was painting the teapot’s voice. She didn’t wish to think of what may have happened. Nothing here seemed to ever have a happy ending..so it would not be a surprise if today would be yet another dark chapter in the long history of this haunted castle.

‘OH OH! MOM MOM MOM-MOMMY-MOMMA--M-O-M! -’ The teacup bounced up from its saucer, his little arm reaching out to poke his mother in the side. ‘What?’ She grumbled. Her son’s squeaky voice lowered to a whisper;

‘I think that’s them!’

They returned?!

With a swift twirl the teapot turned on the windowsill, her eyes needing a moment to recognise the darkened silhouette of the Master, Belle in his arms. ‘Tis, indeed!’ The teapot chimed with a relieved squeal, her large body awkwardly hopping down on a tray table before landing on the floor.

‘OPEN THE DOOR!’ She exclaimed, hopping as fast as she could, awakening her fellow enchanted souls. Clocks, wardrobes, spoons and plates, they all blinked up as the teapot rushed past, her teacup son not far behind.

In the long centuries they had lived between these castle walls, there had been but few interesting events worth mentioning. In fact most of these events happened during the first months of their enchanted lives. First it had been their Master as he started turning into his monstrous self - pale skinned and agitated to a painful degree. But then it had been them who started turning. Night after night more would disappear, only to wake up the next morning in a new skin, made of wood, copper or porcelain.

It had been terrifying. Gruesome. Miserable. No longer could they fulfill their wishes of escaping from these castle grounds. No longer could they live a life of their own. And for many days, weeks, months their howling wails were heard at night, causing the Master and his wife to lose the last of their cool-headedness. They were all cursed, they were!

But then, after all had come to pass, the Master and his staff remaining.. the world quieted again. This was their new reality, their new life. And though quite boring and still somewhat frustrating, they grew accustomed to their new husks, their new traits. No longer could they do what humans can. But can you tell the time by shaking your head? Can you live without ever eating? Can you love without a heart? You probably can’t. But they could, even though their love and care was not quite so appreciated. For many long years the Master had been unwilling to be helped - resulting in his pig’s nest of a room and worn, thread-bare outfits.

With Belle’s sudden arrival, everything had changed. Days were colourful again. And the Master’s heart seemed to have warmed as well. He had not scolded Belle for entering his room. In fact, he had invited her inside. Like he was now inviting her into his heart, his soul - Psyche.

They all knew what was happening, and it excited everyone to a terribly delightful degree.

Love! Oh LOVE!

How hope bubbled with little sparks in their weary souls. How sweet - though painful - it was to reminisce about the beauty of what life could be..had been... OH...Love..Oh…

‘HMMppff.’ The Master stalked in without offering his staff a glance, brows furrowed as he stormed up the staircase, a trail of wet snow and icy wind left behind his speedy feet. In his arms he held a trembling Belle, her eyes widening with his every step as the low candle light finally revealed what damage had been done in the forest. The Master’s face was laced with a number of small scratches and bruises, his eyes wild and jaw tight.

Was he in pain? Was he worried? Angry? Belle couldn’t be sure and as of right now she didn’t dare to ask, her breath choking in her throat and her fingers wrapping around the lapels of his coat, holding on tight. What had happened? Were they safe? Questions whirled behind her cautious eyes as the Master walked into her room, careful to settle her down with restrained strength.

Belle nervously eyed the Master as he turned on his heel, his shoulders stiff and face turned towards the door. And then he just stood there for a moment. His nose sniffed in deeply before he warily turned around again, meeting Belle’s gaze before his eyes dropped lower. A confused frown puzzled his beautiful face.

‘You are hurt.’ In two large strides he was back by her side, Belle’s legs stepping back until she was met with the edge of the mattress, her frame tumbling back onto the bed. ‘W-what? No. I’m..’

Without hesitation the Master squatted down before her, hands and eyes roaming over her skirts, looking for gashes and tears. But there were none. Strange.

Belle closed her legs a little more, unsure of what to make of this. She wasn’t hurt at all. Maybe uncomfortable since, from the feeling of it, her period was about to start, but…

Wait.

Her eyes blinked back up into the cerulean gaze of the Master, his expression worried, beckoning her to tell her where she was hurting. And then it clicked. Of course. He could smell her. Before she had even noticed that her monthly bleeding had started, he had. And at what inconvenient a moment!

‘Tis nothing.’ Belle blurted out, a sudden heat rising to her winter cold cheeks. She was very acutely aware of how the Master had carefully placed his hands at either side of her skirts, caging her in the trap of his arms. A tremor ran through her legs, making her squeeze her thighs even closer together.

‘Said the trembling maiden.’ The Master spoke in a silky hush - both menacing and alluring. Did he realise what was happening to her?

With slow meandering eyes he trailed down her slender frame again, though this time not to find nips or naps. No, with her legs writhing against one another it had become quite clear WHERE the scent of blood was coming from. A little light danced in his cold eyes, nostrils flaring. So sweet and intoxicating was the smell, mmm! He couldn’t even walk away even if he wished. With the deer’s blood still on the edges of his lips he licked. First his bottom lip, than his top, savouring the bittersweet remnants of a life that was now no more.

No, he should leave.

Using the last of his restraint he raised back on his feet, but Belle did the same, her hand once more snaking quickly around his wrist. Just like she had done a few hours before. What was it with this peculiar woman? Had they not just escaped a wild chase? Did she not see the remnants of a fight on his skin? Did she not fear his strength? Speed? Ability to kill?! Was she mad?

Then again..was he? He couldn’t really blame her for trying to come to terms with their weird relationship. He was a bloodthirsty monster and she was like a pet. No, no. Not a pet. More like a..like a.. More obscenely arousing scents drifted through the air, the Master finally finding what he was looking for. She was..a treat.

Belle took hesitant, shallow breaths as she watched the Master’s eyes meander over her form. Lower and lower..and..yes, it was obvious that he knew what was happening between her thighs. That little light in his eyes grew stronger. And unlike most men, he didn’t seem appalled by the knowledge of what was happening between her thighs. In fact, it only seemed to stir arousal in his clawed-at and marked face - the little cuts and bruises already seemingly far less angry than they had been just minutes ago.

‘I’d better..clean up.’ Belle whispered, keeping her hand wrapped around his wrist, eyes piercing into his. Lust brooded deeply and she couldn’t help but feel aroused for it too. She had never felt like this for a man and it was an intoxicating feeling to have. Something worth nourishing. Feeding. Latching your hands around. It hadn’t been her who had gripped his wrist, it had been another Belle, a Belle she did not know. A Belle that was eager for touch. For those big blue eyes, silky soft lips and….

More heat flushed up her cheeks.

Slowly sitting back on the bed she kept her eyes and hand locked with his, her free hand slowly starting to hike up her skirts, silky stockings appearing from beneath the many layers. She had read about this in a book once. This was what happened, right? Between men and women? The Master’s eyes finally tore away from hers, finding it hard to pass up on this new display of dainty ankles that melted into shapely legs.

Like a deer’s.

No, he couldn’t even escape if he wanted to. Glued to the visage of Belle’s fraying modesty, he sank back down through his knees, eyes gazing up those long pale legs, hands placed back beside her slender frame. Nothing could have prepared him for what followed. Not the many well-read erotic books he had gathered. Not the greatest poems he had memorised. No, nothing could hold a candle to the way his heart jumped in his chest, blood tingling in his loins. Had she gone mad truly?

Where the deer in the forest would flee from him, this one stalked him back. With a delicate brush of both hands Belle encapsulated his wrists, eyes burning into his. In one way she seemed small and scared, unsure of what to do. In the other there was curiosity. And curiosity always got the better of Belle, the Master knew that now. He saw it glimmering in her eyes, the small fire in the fireplace reflecting in her large doe brown eyes. They reflected the fire in her heart, soul, mind...

Oh this was bad! What vile a monster he was! He had tainted the girl! No matter how clever the pretty thing was, he had tainted her! Look at how her bosom swelled with anticipation, her lips parted with forced little breaths. Look at what he made her do! He was vile, so vile..! OH. -

‘What was there in the forest?’ Belle asked, legs still squeezed together, skirts gathered up to her upper legs, eyes boring into the Master’s. The Master flicked his eyes back up at her, finding that curious glimmer undiminished. She wished to talk about that? Right now? Then why was she..why..?

Licking his lips the Master inched forward, Belle not backing away, though her mouth tightened as she swallowed back a lump.

‘Monsters hide in these parts. You know that Belle.’ He said, not once looking away from her large awestruck eyes.

‘Was he like you?’

The Master quirked his head slightly. ‘Not anymore. He is gone now.’

‘Did you kill him?’

A coldness washed over his cerulean gaze - he really didn’t wish to speak of this now. Not after...ARGH..

‘Do you fear death, Belle?’

Belle blinked, unsure of what he was going at. ‘Not.. yet.’

She couldn’t really get a hold of what he thought, felt, wanted. From the way his breeches strained, he was probably very aroused. But then there was this coldness in his eye. There was this predatory gaze that promised how easily he could overtake her. Snap her neck. Drink her freely. Make her fear death for real.

Belle knew how strong, agile and fast he was. But it didn’t stir fear as much as it created anticipation, the thought making Belle’s legs rub together even more. The looming of death struck a chord in her. It kissed her untouched skin with sin. She couldn’t deny the poison in her lonely heart as it crept deeper and deeper.

It was difficult to explain. After a life of being mocked and misunderstood, this tar black loneliness was less heavy with him near. In fact. She couldn’t quite remember how much the loneliness had stung, now she looked into these undead eyes. The Master was different from the people she had known. He was like her. Misunderstood. And it was enticing.

The Master sniffed the air, tongue flaking back over his silky lips, the piercing tips of his fangs shining just between his semi-opened mouth.

Misunderstood, that’s what he was, she mused quietly. He could have killed her a long time ago, if he wanted. But he hadn’t. Like in a story of great fantastical love, they seemed a perfect fit. The naive maiden and the menacing master. Unlikely in pairing, but balancing just right. Sweet versus sharp. Hard versus soft.

‘Will you kill me?’ She asked, that curiosity still winning it from the mixture of reason and fear that roared in her tight chest.

‘Never.’ He breathed, confirming her assumptions. His nostrils flared dangerously as Belle’s intoxicating smell drifted further and further into his muddled brain. The hunt, the fight, the flight..it had all triggered excitement in his beastly bones and as he now sat here, like a beggar before the altar, it all came washing over him. He could no longer stop himself. He would take just..a little…

His strong palms gripped Belle’s legs, steadying her softly yelping body.

..a little..

With silvery tongue he licked a searing path into the inside of her thigh, her hands gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, lips opened in a silent gasp - nothing hid her greatest secret from him now.

..a little..

He reached the apex of her legs, the sweet rose of her essence hitting his nostrils hard, his anguished veins throbbing with need.

.. sip..

‘Ha....’ Belle breathed, eyes faltering to keep their full focus on the Master. Like little pricks of a hundred roses she felt her skin caressed from within, the touch of his tongue sparking an euphoria that not even her own curious fingers could elicit from her thighs. There was something about the way he danced on her skin, the way his strong fingers delved into the plush of her thighs, the way he beckoned more entrance as low rumbles tore from his large chest.

Beastly in spirit, but surprisingly tender in touch.

For a man who had just near-threatened her with death, he was terribly tender. In fact, for just a split-second, Belle couldn’t help but think of Psyche’s first night with her monsterly husband. He had denied her to look upon his face, his visitations only at night - For he was a monster! And a dangerous one at that! - the room dark and her eyes closed. Belle remembered the intrigue she had felt when she read that passage, though now it received a wholly new meaning, her very own monster doing what only a few words in the book had mentioned;

“When night approached Psyche went to bed: and when she was laid, she greatly feared her virginity, because she was alone. Then came her unknown husband and lay with her: and after that he made a perfect consummation of the marriage.”

As a young girl she had mocked these words. ‘Consuming a marriage’ - HA! What a strange way to call it, right?

But as she now lay here, eyes fluttering closed and her thighs trembling with the brush of sweet rose in her veins, she understood. She understood how Psyche grew to love her husband. Grew less pained by the loneliness of her existence. Eyes still shut Belle reached a hand down to the monster’s mane, more grumbles and moans eliciting from his consuming mouth. It was like he was eating her truly! Soft teeth that nibbled, a sweet tongue that lashed, strong fingers that braced, appreciating rumbles that loved. Loved! Oh that is what she felt.

Nothing could stop the touch of Cupid’s arrows. Not even a monsterly disguise. Love, that is what she felt! Like Psyche, she had learned to love the monster. And with that realisation a soft tinkling laughter escaped Belle’s quivering frame, the Master instantly stopping his administrations to ask if something was amiss.

‘No..good Master.’ Belle chimed, more laughter sprinkling from her rosy lips. ‘I beg you kiss me more. For I feel Cupid’s touch has bereft me.’

Slowly the Master crawled atop her frame, mild confusion glimmering in his blue eyes as he caged her with his limbs, looming over her dark as thunderclouds. Belle’s eyes fluttered open and it was not pain or fear he saw - like he expected after his previous experiences in the bedroom. No. She laughed merrily and it struck him like Cupid had indeed shot an arrow in his heart, the cold muscle straining as it fluttered and ached. Where the Master had only known cries of pain, not pleasure, in his bed, it was strange to see the smile on Belle’s cheeks.

‘Please.’ She whispered.

But if he had not hurt her.. Had he..? He quirked his head slightly. Had he pleased her?

The once nervous energy that coursed through his veins whenever he got aroused turned into something else. Like on much lighter, merrier clouds, he drifted above her. Licking her blood from his lips he watched her for just a moment longer as another fit of giggles escaped her lips. She was merry! She was..

His lips pulled awkwardly at the seams, a tight curl stretching them wider and wider until he could feel his cheeks dimple like hers did. And as he did, his cold heart beated warm, little wings flapping in the undead muscle.

She was ..HAH!..The Master couldn’t help but mimic her infectious laughter, his lips pulling uneasily with this unfamiliar movement. But Belle didn’t seem to care. Her tender fingers wrapped around his dimpling cheeks, begging him to join her down here on her earthly bed. For he was her Cupid and she was his Psyche. Love and Soul entwined.

For a short moment the Master forgot about all that had come to pass that day. In fact everything became a bit of a blur. The past days. Weeks. Months. Years. Centuries. All the pain, death and suffering was but a hazy memory that was washed away with the touch of her lips to his. All the want, desire and arousal that had tortured him was now a gift. A gift he could pour onto her. Groaning with need he let her pull him closer and closer still, his weight grounding her to the feather mattress as their lips danced and hands caressed.

For a moment he forgot about all that would still come to pass. More pain, more fear, more death.

He could hear a lone wolf cry into the cold night outside, reminding him of what he had left behind. Was he wrong to not tell Belle of what happened in that forest? The unfinished business that remained? The danger that lurked there still? Was he wrong for wishing to keep the truth from her? Keep her blind?

‘Please.’ Belle begged again, hands pulling him back through the forest of his thoughts. ‘Please.’

Oh, how he wished to please her.

But the truth was not a pleasing thing. It never had been. As more wolves howled and cried, the truth felt like the ice that was biting on the window panes. Begging to be let in. The matter had to be settled, he knew that. But not now. Right now the hunt for vengeance was temporarily forfeited, as he first wished to drink merilly from the sweetness..that was Belle.

--

Chap 12 > 

--

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