#i wish i had more control over things and knew with more certainty.

[seraphim-soulmate]

Oh No. I don't think I like who I've become. Oh Fuck.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IX : What should we believe in next?

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: There is no point to which you cannot return — the moment lives on forever.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Fluff (fucking finally, am I right?); smut; pregnancy kink

A/N: Art is Femme Au Tigre (detail), François Martin-Kavel

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

Chapter IX: What should we believe in next?

To love someone 

is firstly to confess: I’m prepared to be devastated by you.

-Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

In many ways, you felt like the forest had swallowed you down its dark maw, and spit you back out a different person altogether – a rebirth of sorts. You’d awoken to a different set of priorities to which, you now knew, you had to dedicate yourself to like nothing you’d ever done before.

There could be no recalcitrance, no doubt, no fear. You realized it was, as ever, always choices, choices, choices that determined the value of your character, the weight of your potential. It had seemed for so long that you’d found yourself unmoored – waiting for something, Joel or your own certainty, your own desires to come to fruition. But you’d not realized, until this very moment, until death had been so close, until you’d almost lost yourself in that overwhelming wilderness, alone with only the possibility of what your future could be, and now, carrying this baby in your arms, another held within you, born of all the love in your heart you could ever hold – you realized your choice had been made a long time ago – in your dedication to survive after Beth. You remember the moment of startling revelation that you’d never considered putting an end to yourself after witnessing such a tragedy, that it, perhaps, would have been less of a struggle after such a trauma. The realization seems to be colored in a different sort of light now, after everything. You can see now that that was your decision, that was your choice. That was your moment of ownership over yourself, of taking your very life, your future in your hands, and choosing to go on. Everything that had come after that was merely a byproduct of that moment of perseverance. Joel, Connie, Jackson, your life here, those were all consequences – the fruit – of that choice. You’d chosen to live. You’d chosen to go on in a world in which there existed the great possibility of being alone for the rest of your life, of dying, of more pain, more hurt, more struggle, and yet you’d done it. 

You think of that long past conversation with Connie, I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again, but what he’d failed to realize was that you’d been living in the realm of that past choice already. That the ultimate decision – the one to endure, to survive despite whatever had passed or may come to pass, had already been made. The enlightenment of that certainty, that which you could provide for yourself, to forge your own path, to survive when you needed to, was infinitely comforting in the face of all that you had to look forward to. You realize now, holding such potential for life within you, in your arms, that was what your choice was, to live. Anything that came after that was only what had always been intended, what was inevitable, what would have always happened thereafter, no matter what. A life full of inevitabilities: Beth, you, Joel, a child. The comfort that realization provides now is so profound. You wish, like in so many other moments, that Connie were here to share it with him. The great epiphany of having realized that the place your life had come to had been led here by your own hand, after having felt, for so long, so out of control. There could be no regret after that, only a great appreciation that now you had so much to look forward to; even if, perhaps, the one thing, the one man, you needed might not be part of it. Another choice to be made there. Perhaps the most terrifying of them all. 

Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on. 

You look down at Kate asleep in your arms, her full belly and the gentle sway of the rocking chair pulling her into drowsiness. You run the tip of your finger over the soft peach fuzz of her tiny little brow. “Poor little girl. All alone in the world… But now you have me – you’ll always have me. And soon there’ll be another, another baby,” you tell her, your most precious secret. “There’ll be three of us then. And I don’t know where I’ll get the strength to take care of us all, but I will, I promise. I’ll find it, I’ll pull it out of myself any way I have to. I promise you.” You press a small kiss to the softest rose petal of a cheek you’ve ever felt. 

-

Joel leans against the side of your house – listening to you talk to Kate – promising this most sacred of things as you sit slowly rocking her on your back porch. Another baby, another baby, another baby. The entirety of the face of the world could be alight with fire in this moment, and he doesn’t think he’d feel himself burning. Maybe he already is. His heart, his heart – it’s on fire. Maybe I’ve finally gotten so fucking old this’ll be the thing to kill me. Maybe I’m actually just dying of a goddamn heart attack right now. He clutches his chest. Wants to laugh and cry and scream and kiss the ever loving hell out of you. He wishes, like in so many other moments, that Sarah was here. He wishes he could tell her she’s going to have a little brother or sister, that the two of you could have known each other. He can’t move, can’t get his brain to send a signal to his legs to move. To go to you. And he thinks: this is what real wonder is. This is like nothing else that has ever come before. A baby, a baby, my Birdie’s baby.

He can’t say he’s even surprised really, has just been subconsciously waiting for this. Acting like a goddamn teenager, just discovered sex, never heard of a condom or pulling out, fucking you every chance he got. Jesus. Two babies in his fifties – he’ll never hear the end of it from Ellie. A huff of a laugh escapes, and he feels a tear run down his cheek.

-

“Can I hold her?” He steps up onto the porch. You startle a tiny bit, jostling the sleeping bundle, looking around yourself as if for an escape, but when you look back into his eyes, it’s almost like there’s an air of resignation in them, as if you’re now realizing there’s no escaping this. 

“Of course.” You frown down a little at her as you make the transfer, a soft coo passing your lips to settle her, reassure her, I’ll be right here, don’t be scared. The warm brush of your arms along his chest sends a shivering jolt through him. He hasn’t touched you in too long, what feels like years. He takes the baby gently from your arms and settles in the rocker across from you. The tiny weight in his palms is so small and yet so magnificently significant, heavy in the weight of what she represents. It’s been so many years since he’s held a baby, his own baby, but it feels as natural as breathing. The muscle memory reawakening to remind him to support her head, keep his too-big-hands gentle and soft. He looks back at you, so lovely, always. The most beautiful thing he’s ever set eyes on in his whole life, he’s sure. He wants to go and lay his head in your lap, stay there forever. And now that he knows the secret you’ve been carrying, he’s shocked at himself, that he hadn’t noticed before, so attuned is he to the planes of your face, the slope of your mouth and brow and cheekbone, the color and warmth of your skin, your body. But he sees it now, painted upon you as if you were a canvas for all that’s shared between the two of you, this tiny little secret you’ve both created together. It glows out of the light shining in your eyes, bathes your skin in the most radiant luminescence. But you look tired now too, afraid of him, of what he’s about to say, for he can see you know there’s something he wants to say to you. 

“What is it? Tell me,” you breathe, and there it is, always that keen ability you have to read his mind. 

“I was afraid,” he confesses.

And yet it is not a confession, for you already know, have always understood him to his very core. “I know.”

“I had a choice to make, a moment to flinch. I chose wrong.” Your gaze is trained on Kate asleep in his arms, and he can see the roll of your throat swallowing. “I should have never turned away from you. I will never turn away from you again.”

You stifle a little gasp, turn away to look out into the dark of the surrounding trees. He can see your eyes shifting back and forth, as if you’re searching for something. Perhaps now’s the appropriate time for him to get on his knees and start begging. He watches your throat work several times, and the tears welling in your eyes tell him you’re trying to swallow your sobs. A bludgeoning would be less painful than watching the look on your face right now. 

He can’t voice what he just heard you say, not yet, not yet. He needs this to be about the two of you first, about what he feels for you, about what he needs you to understand about what’s inside of him, what he’s let go of, before he lets anything else interfere in what might happen here. He needs the two of you now to come to each other of your own volition, unburdened by anything else except for what you feel for one another, the necessity of being together because without the other you’d simply die. 

“Birdie, look at me. Gimme those gorgeous eyes.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“Please, baby. Why not?”

“I don’t want to see what’s not there. I can’t–” He gets up then, comes to kneel before you, the baby still cradled in one arm, he brings his other to grasp your face. “Look at me, Birdie. Listen to me when I tell you that I fucking love you, and I will never ever leave you again.”

“Joel– there’s something–” you cut yourself off.

He grips your chin gently, the rest of his life cradled in both hands, “I am so fucking sorry. And I love you so goddamn much. I can’t say that I’ll never hurt you again, piss you off, that’ll I’ll never make a mistake, do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing,” his voice is guttural, he has to clear his throat several times of the tightness overwhelming it before he can continue, “But I promise I’m gonna do everything in my power to try. To be the man you need, the man Kate and Ellie need. Look at me–” for you’ve closed your eyes now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, running over his fingers to drip down onto your lap. You blink them open. “You hearin’ me?” 

“Yes–” you whisper, “Yes, I hear you.” And then you’re sliding down into his lap, bottom coming to rest on his bent knee so he’s cradling you in one arm and Kate in the other. “I should've never left–” you sob, clutch at his clothes, his hair, drag your nails through the thick of his beard. 

“No, baby– no. I should’a never let you go.” He tangles a hand into the back of your hair, bringing your mouth to his, and then finally, finally the taste of you within him again. He licks into your mouth, deep. The hot cave of it, opening so sweetly for him. You moan into him, breathe him in, let your head fall back for him to devour more deeply. 

But he pulls back, gives you a moment to breathe. There’s still so much left for the two of you to say. He grips you around the waist and rises to his feet with a grunt, goddamn knees, the both of you clutched within his arms. “Let’s put her to bed.”

-

The sight of him cradling Kate’s in his strong arms, the little bundle of her, so small, he could hold her entire weight in the palm of his large hand. Watching him set her in the crib you’d set up beside your bed, so, so gently, it has images of the rest of a shared life flashing in your mind. Sending painful cramps of lust through your womb, spears of longing through your heart. He’s so solid and strong. Broad and thick and you know that nothing could ever hurt you when you’re in the circle of his arms. He makes you untouchable by anyone or anything but him.

When he turns to face you you’re already there, pressing your hands and your breasts along the broad, strong planes of his chest. Pulling him out of the bedroom and into the hallway to push him roughly up against the wall and attempt to climb him. “Jesus fuck, Birdie–”

He cradles your jaw in that strong hand he’d just so gently cradled the tiny baby with, and you suck his thumb into your mouth, the groan he lets out at that — it sets you ablaze. “Joel, please, please, fuck me,” you beg. Your voice pitched into a whine. You’ll become inconsolable soon, if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t hurry. Your cunt, a tight furl of desperate need, you claw at his belt, his shirt. “Please, p–please, I can’t wait anymore, I need it. I don’t care.” 

“Birdie, open your fucking eyes,” he gives your head a sharp little shake, you’d pressed your eyes tightly closed to keep the tears at bay, “Look at me. This is it,” he says, “You and me. Do you understand? This is it – us.” Your eyes are huge and wet, unblinking. His grip on your jaw, cheeks smushed, mouth in a pucker, forces your head to nod like a marionette – as if he could force the understanding into you.

“I love you, Birdie. Do you understand me?” And you want to say no, no you don’t understand because how could you ever comprehend something that enormous. 

You look down, then, unable to meet his eyes anymore and press the tips of your fingers to his lips as if to stifle his words. How can something you’ve wanted for so long, so desperately, scare you so much now? It’s as if the two of you have switched places – as if he’s transplanted his fear into you. What would you do with the love of a man like this? What does one do once they have the possibility of everything they’ve ever wanted within arms reach? How could your love for him, the intensity of it, intertwine with his in a way that could create a life together? How did one grapple with the notion of casting away their loneliness, their aloneness, when you’d lived with it for so long? And most important of all, what about all you hadn’t told him yet? What would he say then? 

So many questions, little bird.

“I’ll give you anything. Anything you want, baby,” he whispers, and you wish he wouldn’t say such things. No – you couldn’t brush up against the idea of your love for each other existing out in the world one moment, only for it to be ripped away from you the next. 

His voice is hushed, he says again: “I love you,” and the words slide through your hair like water as he presses you tighter into him. You feel so empty, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing at just the deep, familiar sound of his voice.

This feels, simultaneously, like the final nail in the coffin being ripped away, setting you free, and also, being hammered home, sealing your fate away with an undeniable finality. 

-

And Joel, he’d never been able to say the words easily before. I love you, it is a blessing – a benediction and a gift – to be able to tell the person you love, out loud, how you feel about them. To have them in front of you to do such a simple thing. To have that choice. He’d always felt too laid bare by it – vulnerable. To Sarah, to Ellie, to his brother. He’d always needed to work around it, find another word for it, another action to show them – let me do you this favor, let me bring you this thing I know you love, let me stand guard over you all night so you can rest. It wasn’t ever enough; so, he’d say it now. He’d tell you now, without fear or regret or take backs. Without pushing you away after. He’d tell you, let it settle between the two of you and exist as it would. 

-

You rip yourself from his arms then and turn away abruptly, too much to take in all at once. Pacing away, you can feel him stalking after you, herding you like prey. His fingers ghosting along the trailing tips of your long hair. You go as far as the confines of the house allow you to escape him, and then his hands are gripping your hips, spinning you around to face him and pressing you up and against him. Patience seemingly at an end. 

He presses you up against the wall, his hands everywhere, under your breasts to lift the heavy weight of them up and into his face and open mouth, kissing and sucking and biting. He bends his knees to bring his face down closer to your level, sucks whatever skin of yours he can into his mouth, breathes you in, wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes.

You moan at the feel of him, your head tipped back – you should talk, you should talk, you know you have more to say –  but your eyes are cast to the ceiling almost in supplication, and he’s everywhere, touching every part of you. 

“I love you, and you’re gonna listen to me. I’m gonna say it over and over until you’ve got it in your head. Do anything I gotta do to prove it to you.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” you beg suddenly, “Promise me you’ll be with me always, please.”

“I promise, Birdie.” I promise, I promise, I promise.

He pulls back, presses his brow to yours, it feels feverish and you’re trembling in his arms, needy little fingers carding through his hair to tug his mouth back to yours. “Tell me– lemme hear you say it.” He does not need to specify, you know what it is he wants from you. 

A tiny whimper, and then: “I love you too.”

-

“Fuck–” who would’ve ever thought the words’d have such a direct line to his cock. He moans, deep in his chest and slots your mouths back together, takes your top lip between his own to pepper soft little kisses on your open, panting mouth, sucking and nibbling and licking. 

He straightens to his full height, grasps the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth wide for him and thrusts his tongue inside, runs it along the roof of your mouth, behind your teeth. It’s wet and sloppy and you feel like you’re suffocating in each other. His hands roam down to clutch your ass in his hands and hoist you up and into him, your legs wrapping around his waist, he rolls his already hard erection into you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? ‘Nd then we’ll talk some more, but fuck, right now I need inside that gorgeous cunt.”

“I missed you – oh god,” you moan, rolling your hot center along the stiff length of him, “Missed you so mu–much.” He growls the start of your name, his ragged voice turning it into nothing more than an incoherent, wordless snarl before he’s turning on his heel and setting your ass down on the edge of the kitchen table. His hands tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to open you to his savaging, all tongue and teeth, he fucks into your mouth with all the mounted desperation and fear and need of the past few days. 

Your hands are at his belt, tearing his clothes open and then your hand is there, wrapping around the hot, hard length of him and he rips his mouth back to stare into your eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. You stare at each other, open mouths panting into each other as you start to jack his cock slowly, up and down, tight little hand squeezing from base to tip, a twist at the sensitive, leaking head. 

“Shit, I– I was out of my fucking mind–” and at his words a flash of hot anger burns through him. “You’re never leaving me again. This is it,” he growls. 

“Never,” you promise, “Never again.”

He pushes you back onto the surface of the table and pulls your ass to the edge, ripping your leggings and panties over your hips and down your legs. He pushes your sweater up over your naked breasts, wraps his hand around the lush weight of both of them and brings his face to them, licking and sucking as much as he can into his mouth. “Joel, please, please, I need you inside of me,” you’re crying, breathy, high pitched and whining. 

“Not yet, not yet. Need to feel you, Birdie. Need to feel you here with me, need to taste you.” He kneels between your spread thighs, hooks one over his shoulder, your other ankle held in his grasp to anchor you wide, pushes to rest your heel on the edge of the table, completely vulnerable and open to him. Your pussy is red and swollen and soaked, slick sliding down your thighs, between your ass onto the table. “Fuck–” he licks the broad, flat of his tongue through the mess of your cunt, drinking your slick down. The taste of you – he’ll never tire of it, never get enough. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on your aching sex and he takes the swollen bud of your clit gently between his teeth and holds there, you pause, acknowledge that you’re caught, before he sucks hard, and the whining mewl you let out, Jesus Christ, he could come just at the sound of it. He moves back down, presses his tongue inside, fucking in and out of you, can feel the ripple of your muscles, desperate for more. 

He moves back up to your clit lapping at it with his tongue as he presses two thick fingers inside to stretch you open, eyes trained on your face the entire time. He can hear you whispering his name over and over again and it washes over him like a litany of forgiveness. He will do anything he needs to, to continue hearing you say his name like that for the rest of his life. 

He stands then, fists his aching cock at the thick base and presses the wide head at your little clenching hole. “Gonna give it to you now, baby. No more crying, it’s okay, I’m gonna fuck you now.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s pressing in, then, all the way to the end of you. Until his tip is at the mouth of your womb, right where you’re carrying his baby now. He pulls his hips back, the slick suck of your cunt trying to hold on to him, pull him back in deeper, and thrusts in again a little harder, but slow, just as deep, so that you feel the entire length of him, every throbbing ridge. Your eyes are unfocused, wet – lips red and swollen. So, so fucking beautiful. He needs to tell you now. He needs to tell you what he knows. Needs to tell you that he heard. That he’s gonna take care of the three of you. That you and him and Ellie and the babies will all be a family. That you’ll never have to worry or be scared or alone ever again. That there will be no more monsters. He pushes in again, harder, his hands sliding along the slopes and dips of your soft curves, brings one of them to the crown of your head to hold you in place, anchor you against the sharp thrust of his hips. 

“How is it that we always end up in this position, huh?” he grunts. “Meant to have a conversation, but instead buried balls deep in your sweet cunt.” He nuzzles into your throat and you tip your head back. You’re beyond conversation, a half laugh, half moan all you can manage. He presses again and again and again against that sensitive spot he owns inside of you, fucks up against it harder.  

“I heard you,” he whispers, so soft, into the dark, tender crook of your neck, that place made just for him, not stopping the rhythm of his hips. “I heard what you said to the baby earlier.” You freeze beneath him. Suddenly filled with tense fear and trepidation, and he hates himself for ever behaving in a way that could ever pull such a reaction from you. He promises himself and you and his child within you, that he will never, ever do something again to further that uncertainty. He presses a gentle kiss to the hinge of your jaw, runs his palm over the soft swell of your belly. “Heard you’re carrying a little secret, just for me.”

“Joel–” 

“Didn’t think I could ever– would– would ever have– have this again,” presses another soft kiss, grinds his cock deeper.

It is almost possible to canonize each other with the force of this feeling. To give so much to each other – to create life in a dead world– what on earth could ever, ever be as sacred as this?

“You gonna give me a baby, little bird?”

“Y– yes, Joel. Yes – Oh, God– that’s so good,” you moan. 

He grips your face roughly: “Tell me again, say it. I have’ta hear you.”

“I love you. I’m gonna give you a baby.”

“Fuck — fuck.” He starts to saw his length in and out of you again, the wet squelch like some lewd song between your bodies. “Again, again.”

“Ungh — I love you, I love you, I love you, Joel.” His cock feels like it gets harder and harder the more you say it. The words sing through his entire body. He grips the sides of the heavy wooden table to keep it from scooting across the floor with the power of his thrusts, and you clutch the front of his shirt to pull yourself onto him deeper.

“Fucking tight, p– perfect,” he grits, forehead pressed into your breasts as he watches the place where his cock impales you. His hips pick up their pace, fuck you harder “I’m gonna take care of us. Gonna love you forever." He starts to feel your muscles pulse and flutter at that, the wet suck of your pussy as you start to come around him, and the tight clutch is so wet, searing, it triggers his own orgasm. He wraps his arms around your waist to arch your back up, off the table and buries his face in your breasts as he starts to fill you with his spend. Your fingers tangle in his hair, press him harder into you until he’s almost drowning in your soft musky scent, come and sweat and him covering your skin everywhere. 

-

“What are we going to do?” The two of you lay in a nest made of the comforter dragged off your bed, your ugly orange throw draped over your naked hips. He’d gotten the fire going, the warm fingers of it licking at your back. Your head’s tucked into the crook of his shoulder, your bare chests pressed together, hot and sweaty. So close and comfortable.

“You’re not to worry about anything,” tiny kiss pressed to your nose, “I’m gonna take care of everything,” another to the arch of your brow, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw. 

“Two babies is a lot.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at his nape. You’ll never stop touching him now, for the rest of your life, you plan to keep your hands on his skin. 

He ignores that, continues his lecture, “And you’re not going to work so hard anymore – lots of breaks and resting. And you’re not to go forgetting meals anymore either. Three times a day, three square meals. And be sure that I’m gonna keep a close eye on all that.” 

“And, and, and,” you mock, “Anything else?”

He gives you a stern frown, “I’ll let you know as I think of ‘em.”

“Actually, I think I’ll do what I want.” You hitch your thigh over his hip so that your wet core is pressed up against his thigh, his come still leaking from you. Even after he’d bent to clean you with his tongue after he’d pulled out earlier. 

“You’ll do as I say.” He gives your bottom a gentle swat.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

He nuzzles at your nipple, “No–” gives it a little bite, “You’d like that too much. Won’t give you my cock, that’s what I’ll do. Make you really suffer.”

“What a mean old man you are.”

“You like that too.” He rolls to lean over you, your head cushioned in the crook of his elbow. He gathers your wrists in his hand above your head, runs his nose along the length of your throat, a wet swipe of his tongue over the wing of your collarbone, down to the peak of your breast where he presses a long kiss, then his open mouth dragging over the lines of your ribs, lower still to the soft swell of your belly, where he presses his forehead. No sign of your secret yet, just the shared knowledge between the two of you for now. His tongue dips into your navel and you giggle, try and push him away, but he grips your thigh to keep you in place. He has you caught, snared. His nose journeys back up, skating along the surface of your skin. He nips gently at the meat of your bicep, and then back into your hair again to breathe deep, “Smell so good,” he moans. You can feel his length hardening again against your hip and your answering wetness begins to pool. “So soft–”

Kate’s cry sounds from the bedroom.

He pauses, “I’ll get her, don’t worry.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple and brow and heaves himself up with a rough groan. You watch the long lines of his body uncoil, the messy, silver threaded curls, broad shoulders, thick arms, smattering of hair on his chest that creeps down to his belly, his cock, thick and long, even soft as it is now, still wearing the glossy sheen of your slick. All your insides clench at the sight of him. Lust mixed with the satisfying flavor of possession, and the overwhelming splendor of your love, the knowledge that he’s all yours. That his claim over you is mutual, shared in full. That you love him, you love him, you love him, and he loves you back. That you’re carrying his baby. 

Thank God pregnancy’s going to give you an extra excuse to jump his bones even more than usual, you think, with a pleased sigh. 

“Stop ogling me,” he grouches, but you know he likes it, likes your eyes on him. 

“Never.” You burrow further into your nest of blankets and stare at his ass as he walks away. 

-

Joel and Ellie sit on her porch in the cool evening air after dinner. Nancy makes hooch in her spare time, when she isn’t helping you tend to patients, and they nurse glasses of it together now. It’s strong as shit, and who knew old ladies’d be so good at brewing booze, Ellie laughs

“How’s she doing?”

“Good. Settled now, just a bit tired from all the movin’ around. Overturning a mountain’d be easier than trying to get that woman to get off her feet for ten minutes.” He’d moved you and Kate into his house earlier that week. He had more bedrooms. More space to turn one of the guests into a nursery for the babies. 

“She’s unsatisfied with the color of the outside of the house.” Baby, it’s so dreary. It can’t be a curmudgeon lair anymore, it’s gotta be baby friendly and bright. “Too dark and dreary, according to her.” It needs to look happy. “Don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to find enough exterior paint for a whole house in the middle of the damn apocalypse but–” he sighs. And really, when you’d gotten on your knees afterwards to make him agreeable, how was he meant to do anything besides whatever it was you could ever possibly want.

“Real trouble maker you’ve got on your hands there, it seems.”

“Ah, well, what’s three more trouble makers in the grand scheme of things, huh? Dealt with you well enough.”

She freezes, “Three?” The look on her face – oh, he’s in for it now. 

“Well…you see– Birdie’s… well, she’s— I’d been meaning to mention it—” he can’t even say the word to her, slow and stuttering and red in the face. 

“You knocked her up, didn’t you?!” she shouts. “But h– no – oh, that is so – ewwwwww! That is so– I don’t even– I don’t even wanna think about that!”

“Don’t be immature,” he says, exasperated, “And quit your damn hollerin’.”

“Fuck you, man. That’s disgusting – I can’t think about that shit. Old man and my friend – no way. Let’s talk about something else –” she looks up at the sky, anywhere but him, pretends to whistle, even though she still can’t, “Isn’t the weather nice tonight? Not too cold, huh?”

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a weird kid, you dick.”

“Don’t go gettin’ all over excited now. These things happen–”

“You knocked your girlfriend up in the middle of the apocalypse,” she deadpans. 

“Ellie–”

“Oh god–” she’s laughing hysterically now, bent over and clutching her middle, “Oh, god… I am never gonna let you live this down – Dina!” she hollers, “Dina, get the fuck out here! Oh my god, the fuck are you going to do with two babies, Birdie, me and Dina.You’ve officially been overpowered by estrogen.” She cranes her neck back and screams again, “Dina, Joel’s gonna be a baby daddy!” at the top of her goddamn lungs. 

“Ellie! What’s the matter with you?” he hushes, looking around the dark road, “Whole damn neighborhood’s gonna hear you.” 

She turns back to him, points a mocking finger at him, “You better fuckin’ pray that baby turns out a boy or you’ll never win another argument for the rest of your sorry life, old man.” 

-

He slides into bed with you afterwards, his hand sneaking up the back of his t-shirt you have on to slide against your bare skin.

“How’d it go?” you murmur into his hair, sleepy and warm, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Good, Dina made dinner. Me and Ellie sat out on the porch after, had a drink.” The girls had invited the two of you over tonight as a small step, Joel and Ellie’s way of easing back into the normalcy of things, with the benefit of you and Dina serving as buffers for the inevitable awkwardness. You’d been too tired to join them – the fatigue of pregnancy taking a toll on your good graces. “Nancy’s hooch s’fuckin’ strong,” he mumbles into your skin, “Think it got me tipsy or somethin’.”

You huff a laugh, “So, normal…” 

“Yeah, normal, s’good.”

“You talked?”

“Yeah, we talked. Told her about the baby” he says with a small smile, softly pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, and what’d she have to say about that?” You sidle up into his chest, running your hands across the strong planes of him.

“Nothing flattering or respectful towards me or for the ears of an infant,” he grouches.

“I’d expect nothing less of her. Call you an old dog?”

He grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, amongst other things. Not so old I couldn’t knock you up though, am I?” Smug bastard.

“Of course not, baby. You know your old-man-charm is what really got me into bed with you in the first place.”

“Shut up, little girl.” He buries his head in the valley of your breasts, nuzzles softly, gives the swell a soft nip. Your breath hitches, extra sensitive now. “And how were you?”

“Tired…achy,” you pout. His hands roam now, squeezing and kneading the soft swells of your curves. 

“My poor Birdie.” 

“Feel better now though,” you squirm a little, hitch your knee higher up on his side.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm, we missed you.” Your hips roll a little, seeking the relief of his hard length. 

“Missed me?” he nuzzles deeper and laves his tongue into your cleavage.

“Missed our daddy,” you whisper into his hair, breathy, whiny. Provoking.

That shocks him into stillness, gotcha. “Jesus,” he says gruffly. His hands reach down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly, rolling his hardening length into the soft apex of your thighs. Pressing down right on your clit and pulling a throaty moan out of you. 

“Jesus fucking christ–” he pants and moves to cup you between the legs. “Make me so fuckin’ hard with that mouth.” The molten heat of your core seeps through the thin gusset of your panties, already soaked. “Can’t wait to see you round and swollen with my baby, little bird.” He pulls the neck of your soft, worn t-shirt down bearing your naked breasts to him. “So goddamn pretty…” His big hands mold the heavy weight of them and gently squeezes your tits up and into his open mouth, so sensitive… I know, I know, Birdie. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with this soft little cunt. I’ll get you nice and ready for me first.

What a cruel, cruel man. 

He reaches down to free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans, pushes them down far enough to free his aching length and heavy balls. He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your aching, wet flesh to the cool air and tucks his cock under the elastic, letting the thick weight of him rest there, over your cunt, the tight stretch of the fabric adding to the pressure. Oh, he’s going to be mean, you can already tell. “Joel, please, no– no teasing– It hurts–”

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you – Don’t worry. Just be a good and patient girl for me, just for a little.” He starts to thrust against your slick pussy, the fat head catching on your clit with every thrust up – stoking the fire in your blood. His hands on your ass direct your movements, but you need more, you need to feel more of his skin. You pull your shirt up over your breasts, and tug his own t-shirt up his chest as well, let your stomachs press together, the shared heat between your skin turning the temperature of your blood up to boiling. “Need to feel you,” you whimper. 

“I’m right here, little bird.” His thrusts start to get faster, and he shifts his hips back a little, changing the angle so that the wide tip catches on your sensitive entrance with every thrust, and then up to grind against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Give it to me just like this so I can fuck you after. Need that little cunt nice and soft for me – gotta be gentle with her now it’s filled with my baby.” And God, the mouth on this man. 

Your heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s burning, like it’s going to melt and seep right into his own chest cavity. Everything below your waist starts to tighten and quicken and his cock is soaked with your slick, sliding fast and smooth, the slight catch at your opening and then the surge up to grind the entire length of him against your sex, the restriction of your panties making the squeeze tighter. You grip the thick muscle of his shoulders to leverage yourself better, roll your hips onto him harder, faster. You’re moaning his name, begging him for his cock and everything else he has to give, you want everything. And then you’re coming, the knot in your womb going loose and wet. Your head falls back on your neck, but he grips your jaw to bring your face back to his. “Lemme see those gorgeous eyes, my love, lemme see you come for me.” Your open mouth is panting into his, and he licks into you, tastes behind your teeth. He guides you through it, keeps the steady roll of his thrusts and your ass gripped in his hands bringing you further into him. “Just like that– Yeah, baby, give it to me just like that. So fucking pretty.”

“Feels so– so good,” you stutter.

He grips the base of his cock, your walls still fluttering and pulsing, and starts to press into your still clenching pussy. The wet gush of your orgasm pulls him in with a lewd suck of your walls, and then he’s there, there as deep as anyone’s ever been inside of you, right at his spot, and fucking up into it. His grip on the flesh of your ass is tight and you feel one of his hands sneak back between your legs to slot around where he’s fucking you open. “Goddamn, it does–” he growls, looking down at where his cock disappears into you. “Look at that– milking me like such a good girl. My perfect girl. Gonna give me a baby, my Birdie’s baby, huh?”

“Y– yes, Joel,” your voice is a soft, whimpering mewl. “I’ll give you anything– anything–” You dig your fingernails into the muscle of his back, try to drive your words home, into his skin. 

“I know, I know, you’re fucking perfect, fucking wet– Keep going, keep coming around my cock, just like that.” He rolls you over onto your back now, settling deeper between your thighs, and picks up the pace of his hips. Your naked breasts pressed tight against his chest, the hair there rubs against your sensitive, swollen nipples. It feels like he’s everywhere, embedded in every square inch of your skin, invading, conquering. And he has, he conquered you a long time ago. 

It is perhaps the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. 

One of his hands cups the crown of your head, keeping you in place, his palm so wide it covers the entire span of your skull, and the other pulls your thigh open for him wider, angling your pelvis so he can ram against the mouth of your womb, and your insides are so sensitive, your orgasm still echoing in your skin, it feels like he has a direct line to the very heart of your pleasure. He speaks to it in whispers and demands, and you roll directly into the throbs of a new orgasm. No reprieve, no moment to gather your skin around you, pull your seams together.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Yeah, I can feel it – Gonna soak my cock again, I can feel it–”

“Oh my fucking god,” your moan is broken and guttural, and then it’s there, overtaking you completely, your vision whiting out. Your back arches as deep as possible, somehow letting him in ever further and you feel the pulse of his come, the heat of it, as he starts to fill you.

“Fuck– fucking perfect cunt, take me so well.” He buries his face in your neck, licking and kissing as much skin as he can get his mouth on. The hinge is your jaw feels like it’s come undone, gasping and hiccuping, it’s too much. He feels so heavy inside of you, like your insides, your skin is swollen with him. 

“Joel–” you whisper, trembling. He hums, pressing his nose into your hair, he pushes your head back, making room to run the tip of it along the column of your throat, kiss to the soft spot behind your ear, down to your collarbone to suck a blossom into the dip there. 

He’s whispering into your skin, perfect girl, perfect pussy, so good, so pretty, let me fuck a baby into you, take me so well always. He pulls out gently, the both of you groaning at the loss, at the sudden gush of your mingled come. You’re soaked, the insides of your thighs, your panties a sodden mess. The lap of his jeans, that he’d not bothered to even take off all the way, soaked in your slick as well. He moves to shuck off his clothes, and then pulls your ruined panties down the smooth slopes of your legs. He kneels between your spread thighs, brings your foot up to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to the arch of it, then further up, his tongue dragging along your calf to your knee, another press of his mouth to the bone there, and then he’s spreading your thighs wide, a smug look of appreciation as he surveys the wet, swollen mess he’s made of you. His thumbs pull your lips apart to take in the sight of his come leaking out of your still clenching hole, a soft swipe of his thumb to your clit that has you gasping and bucking away. “Ah, ah, gotta clean you up, little bird.”

You’re too blissed out to even object, to tell him you’re too sensitive, that you can’t take anymore. His tongue is gentle, slow languorous strokes against your wet flesh. He eats up the mess, cleaning you slowly until another orgasm is right there, pooling low in your pelvis and then surging through you in gentle waves, rolling along the lines of your limbs. There are overwhelmed tears running down your cheeks, and you can see the slow grind of his hips into the mattress, turned on just from this, from the shared taste of you. 

He kisses the insides of your thighs, runs his tongue along the crevice between your leg and pelvis, licking up the slick and sweat there, and it should be disgusting, but all it does is make you want to taste every single inch of his skin, as well. Finally, he lays his cheek on the damp inside of your thigh, looks up at you, and the two of you just lay there, holding each other’s gazes, quiet. 

There’s a tiny bump to your belly now. The soft little swell existing between the two of you, like the most precious, perfect shared secret. This little kernel of truth that only belongs to the two of you. He’s been so smug about it, strutting around like a damn peacock. You’ve made him promise, Ellie, and Dina by proxy, are the only ones he can tell until you’re a little further along, but the cocky look he gets in his eyes every time he looks at you is practically a blaring sign. Yeah, I knocked her up, she belongs to me. And it’s also made him insatiable, relentless and needy, fucking you every chance he can get. Not that you’re complaining. 

Wish I could get you pregnant again already, he’d whispered in your ear as he’d finished inside of you yesterday, bent over the kitchen table, leggings and panties around your ankles. 

It is a small sort of miracle to lay here now, like this. Without any sort of distance, after everything else.

The desire for choice was the spark that animated the deepest inquiries of what now existed between you. The force that grounded the two of you together, a need for a path of your own choosing; one so savage, it overcame all other obstacles. Internal, external, human, fungus, past, present. None of those existential inquiries mattered after the choice for one another had been made. Once the helm of fear had been cast away, all that remained thereafter, was only the deepest desire to choose the path that, at the birth of the end of the world, had been stripped of the two of you. The willingness to choose for yourself that which you knew might, could, devastate you, and yet choose it anyway. To accept that a thing could hurt you, maim you, obliterate you, and yet still take its hand. To know that you may not deserve it, but that you would inevitably be hurt – that you would, yourself, inevitably hurt someone who, in turn, did not deserve it either. But that was the price of accepting your monstrousness, of cherishing it, of, at long last, letting it go. After all, to acknowledge a thing was, in many ways, to free yourself of its power over you. Your fear could not lead you, control you, if you were aware of it enough to master it, to take it for what it was, merely a faction of yourself, not the entirety of who you were. 

No longer a man made up of fears, no longer a man made up of hurts. 

After courage, the possibilities were endless. For courage, above all else, was what was necessary to go on. 

Epilogue

Netherfeildren Masterlist

[centrally-unplanned]

The Gaza floating pier plan is an odd one, I was doing a bit of research & thinking on its logic. Like obviously you can get more aid in Gaza right now, its just Israel (and also Egypt, who buck-passes on this constantly) refuses to in turn increase aid or admit that aid is being truly slowed. Though also its a function of the fact the demand for aid is much higher than before, both through destroyed stocks, loss of domestic agricultural output (which Gaza had a little of pre-war), and supply needs for the occupation forces. And its not like the US right now really wants to get more involved in this issue, its net losses for the US as far as the eye can see. So it puts a bit of a permanent stake in a situation one would rather not, to solve a problem whose cause is tangential to this solution.

But on digging I do see the logic in it - essentially its a sign of the US - or lets the say the Biden admin, good to be specific - losing faith in not only Israel's conduct in the war, but also its goals for the war at all. It symbolizes that not only does the Biden admin expect them to not overly budge on the blockade issue, but they still will not be overly budging on it several months from now. But that this isn't a part of some Grand Strategy on their part, a strategic play to idk pressure Hamas to come to the table or even like weaponize suffering to cause legitimacy collapse. They just can't get around to a coherent end-state vision here, and things like aid restrictions are just strategy theatre run amok, "can't let in the ~weapons oh no" thoughts running on autopilot while Israel fights with itself over its goals. You can tell this because they are letting the port happen! They could just say no, if Lebanon tried to do this they would bomb it.

But of course while the Biden admin is less than thrilled about increased involvement, it (primarily) knows how badly this issue is damaging rep in the middle east given its stuck with its wedded ally, (secondarily) generally is opposed to famine and human rights crimes in any context and needs a strong reason to ignore them (which, to be clear, does happen sometimes, but this the baseline), and (tertiarily) doesn't love the domestic tension the issue is generating. And it no longer trusts Israel to fix its own mistakes in this regard. So it wants to "take it out of their hands" - now the US can set the tempo of aid deliveries, and Israel can't really stop it. (Like sure if they truly throw down they can block aid, they are going to cooperating on security for the pier, but it would be big leap in spiting the US for them to do that) It bypasses their dysfunction, which they expect to be ongoing. ~2 months from now the US can make sure if/when things have continued to go badly it can start mitigating harm and also control the narrative better.

This is cold comfort for any of the ongoing problems today, which are legion. But the other message of the pier is that those aren't changing. Israel isn't budging, and hey we haven't mentioned em yet but Hamas isn't budging either, they scuttled the latest round of cease fire talks and know that their demand of a permanent cease-fire at this point is a non-starter so I think that shows status quo reigning. Hey, maybe we will see what comes out of Doha in the next few days, but I bet it won't be too surprising (a short term hostage exchange is possible but that won't relieve the big issues). I am low certainty on this but if I am Hamas I think so far this is "going according to plan", certainly they wish they were inflicting more causalities on the IDF but they have a track record of realism on this one, they knew this would happen and politically things have been going well for them. And Israeli's political dysfunction seems stable as long as no elections are called, which is the smart money right now (Unless the Orthodox Jewish Freerider Problem blows the coalition up). So for the Biden Admin, the overton window for immediate action is very small, which means that they think plans that have longer time horizons make sense.

Idk it could just be them flailing and trying to look like they are Doing Something, but generally their track record on this front is pretty solid, Biden FP has been grounded (not the same as universally effective, though I think its been good overall). And Doing Something only works if it isn't a boondoggle, 2 months from now isn't after the election after all. Incompetence is possible, sure, but given their track record not my baseline, and I think the logic here does check out. Time will tell...

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas Redux: Shadow To Light

Happy New Year to everyone, and I hope 2024 is a beautiful and positive year for everyone - I think we've all earned it.

As promised, as an auspicious offering, the first 1000 words of the STL Ch 13 draft. Mary-Alice is being profoundly difficult about this chapter, but she's allowed to be a little bit messy.

Here's to a great year with more regular updates and more of my self indulgent nonsense ;)

Fourteen. Starved for so long of beauty

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, she made a choice. It was an easy choice to make, because it was the right one. Because she didn’t truly know what came next; her certainty in her own visions, her certainty in who she was going to be - who the Major was going to be - had made her confident.

(She doesn’t regret it, she would never wish to go back and make a different decision. She just wishes… she just wishes that she knew better what was to come. What it was like to be stripped right down to the bone, layer by layer, from loneliness and violence and hopelessness. She wishes she’d read the contract she was signing in blood and tears and time, just so she could look fate in dead in the eye and make the same choice without a second thought.)

The Major smells like… he smells like something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

(He smells like home.)

—

She feels silly after the worst of her panic attack is over, and the Major is there next to her with his arm around her. She feels utterly ridiculous, actually - the stolen t-shirt in her arms, curled against him so tightly… She almost feels ashamed.

(Except… she’s frustrated. She wants to demand answers - when is she allowed to fall down? When is she allowed to break apart and have someone else put together the pieces? In more than eighty years, it’s always been up to her to maintain control, to be the thing that bends but does not break and she’s so tired. But she’s also supposed to be better than this. Isn’t that what the Major always said? Why Peter always resented her? Even Maria noticed. Mary-Alice is sturdy, reliable, consistent. If she falls, she gets back up. It… it would just be nice not to, just once.)

“How are you feeling?”

The Major’s voice is warm and kind and it almost makes her feel less pitiful.

Almost.

“Present.” Her voice is quiet but her tone is clipped and distant, and she regrets it when she feels him withdraw slightly. She’s wrecking this, like she wrecks everything. It’s all she ever does.

(Maybe that’s why she was such a good soldier; she knows exactly how to ruin things.)

But the Major doesn’t leave. He just shifts so he’s not pressed quite so close, his cheek no longer resting against her hair. But his arm is still around her.

“Do you need to hunt?” He asks, and she doesn’t know. Everything feels odd and off balance and maybe she’s not as back as she originally thought.

So she doesn’t answer. She just rests her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.

The Major watches her for a moment before looking away. “When I met the Cullens,” he begins in a gentle voice, “I swear Esme only made Carlisle approach me because I resembled a drowned cat. Hadn’t stopped raining on the East Coast for weeks, and I’d been roaming the woods the entire time. I was disgusting. Maria would have thrown a bucket of water at my head weeks before if we’d been back home.

“And Esme took one look at me and whisper-bullied Carlisle into approaching me, like I couldn’t hear every single word. She kept saying that I looked cold.” The Major chuckles and she’s close enough that she feels the vibrations through his chest and it’s… it’s not unpleasant.

It’s strange being this close to another person and not being on edge. Not waiting for the killing blow, trying to figure out how to get to their throat first. Making sure that she knows exactly where their hands and teeth are, that she’s prepared for their next movement, for the tightening of their muscles before they lunge…

(It’s very strange being this close to someone, at all. She prefers to keep her distance normally. But this… it’s not the bad kind of strange, she doesn’t think. She’s just so intensely aware of him.)

“Just imagine it, will you - Esme wearing a tweed coat and riding boots and a hat to go hunting, and I look like a monster who spent a week sleeping in a swamp,” the Major continued, “And she was worried about me, like I was a soggy kitten.”

She can imagine it, honestly; his hair sticking to his face, and that gaunt, murderous look he got on his face when he was thirsty. Weeks of grime pressed into his clothing, his skin, looking like the monster from an old story or some mythological horror rising from the riverbed. Nothing sympathetic or pitiable about him for most people.

Right now, she feels oddly grateful to Esme for looking past all of that and seeing the Major as he could be.

“And you followed them home?” She tries to make the words sound light-hearted, but they fall flat and ugly, and she wants to take them back.

That makes the Major laugh out loud, a rumble against her side that is startling and she jumps a little.

“No. I told them to fuck off and leave me be; I had to tell them that a few times over the years until I gave in and talked to them. Let Esme convince me that taking a shower and accepting new clothing was a right and not charity. Let Carlisle remind me that I owed them nothing by ‘visiting’ with them. It took a long time for them to lure me over the threshold.” The Major takes her hand in his; his thumb smooths over a patch of scar tissue, a repetitive motion that feels… soft. Nice. “I think in the end, I hinted that I was ready for them to ask me to stay with them. I don’t think I was subtle about it either.”

“They didn’t ask you before then?” Mary-Alice feels the frustration boil for a second. She watched as much as she could bring herself to, for many years, and there are pieces that she’s missing. They just weren’t important enough for her to see, or something changed and recalling what she’d politely dismissed was too difficult.

(She had entrusted the Major to the Cullens. It didn’t matter that they had had no idea, all those years ago, her visions had made the contract. And even now, knowing that it all came together the way it was supposed to, it upsets her that he had to wait for so long to be taken home to his family.)

[is-there-an-echo-in-here]

I Would Give You the Sky

Read part one here, or read both parts on my Ao3

. . .

His Kiss (Part 2/3)

Cody was not a pilot.

Cody was a commander first, a foot soldier who got in the mud and the grime with his men, who got his hands dirty, who took fire, leading from the front. Cody took his leadership role very seriously. As such, leading from the front sometimes meant stepping out of his comfort zone.

“Commander,” said Obi-Wan, flitting a quick look over Cody’s pilot uniform. “Is this the best strategy?”

Cody hummed, tucked his helmet under his arm. “I believe so, sir. This separatist base is unlike others we have encountered; to infiltrate from the ground would result in the loss of over half the battalion. This is safer, and wiser. The pilots are skilled. They will take the base, sir, I guarantee it.”

He was right, of course. The base was situated on a pillar, miles of unsheltered ground surrounding it. It would be impossible to mount an attack from the ground without being seen, and the separatists were well positioned with higher ground. Cody’s plan, to use the low cloud layer that came in at nightfall as cover for their fleet of pilots, was the superior option. The men were decidedly skilled in the air, Obi-Wan knew that.

Cody was no different, highly competent on foot and in every vehicle in the republic army. The clones had been trained in every situation imaginable and Cody had excelled in all, from the earliest age.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan uttered regardless. “Are you certain you wish for us to split up?”

Those expressive eyes flitted over to him, amber reflecting the lights of the hangar. “Do you doubt me, sir?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, a twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Never,” he said with absolute certainty.

“Are you concerned about mounting a ground attack?”

Obi-Wan blinked hard at him. “No, of course not,” he said, not wishing for his commander to believe him cowardly or untrusting of his plan.

Cody held his gaze, searching out his face, and Obi-Wan had to remind himself not to hold his breath.

Things had been different between them recently. It had been a month or so since the supernova, since Cody had used his first name for the first time. They had become closer for it; Cody seemed more at ease around him and, in fact, in general. He had even started taking the occasional break from endless reports and schematics, and, when they were alone, he never called him General Kenobi.

It was doing something to him, perhaps. Obi-Wan found himself increasingly reluctant to greenlight high-risk missions, knowing that his commander, to whom he had become so close, would be at the forefront of the danger.

“Sir,” Cody said, since they were around the men, within earshot of the others who would be taking to the skies, “there’s no need to worry. I know there will be casualties, but we both know a clean mission is near impossible.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I know, commander. I do not doubt you or your men.”

Regardless, he could not fall to attachment. Whatever happens, will happen. Obi-Wan could only do his best to protect the men within his control to protect, and Cody was not one of those men. All he could do for Cody was hope that his commander would be safe.

Hope carried him through watching the pilots take their jets; Cody saw himself off with a two-fingered salute in his general’s direction from the cockpit of his fighter. Hope carried him through watching the sun sink below the horizon from their temporary base beyond the northern ridge of the wide, rock flats. Hope carried him over and down the hill into the open space, leading his men with his lightsaber drawn, meeting the separatist foot soldiers that were deployed in place of the now destroyed cannons.

Ships battled overhead, precise shots exploding the turrets mounted on every angle of the tower. Obi-Wan led his men into the fight when the separatists were down to their fighters and foot soldiers, storming the tower with the battalion at his back, and fighting his way through the army of droids that were released from the lowest doors of the tower, meeting them head on. The separatist fighters tried to bomb them from above. Their own pilots protected the men on the ground as best they could.

“Commander,” Obi-Wan called into his comm unit, rocky debris showering over him from a narrowly avoided missile, “we need more cover down here!”

“You heard the general, boys,” Cody’s voice crackled through the comms and, above, Obi-Wan saw ships diving.

“General!” a voice called, and Obi-Wan snapped his gaze back to see Lieutenant Orbit gesturing to his platoon, pointing beyond the general. “Sir, the droids!”

Obi-Wan whipped around, eyes widening as he saw a new stream of separatist soldiers moving to outflank them. “Lieutenant, on me!”

He trusted the men to follow, and sprinted across the rock, slashing apart droids as he went, protecting his men from the blaster fire of the fresh wave of droids when they broke free of the current carnage, lightsaber slashing out to deflect their blaster fire back at them.

A shrill shriek hit his ears as he was slashing through the nearest droid, and Obi-Wan glanced up to see a missile screaming towards him. With less than a second to react, Obi-Wan flung a hand back to his men, knocking them away from the coming blast, using the force of his push to propel himself in the opposite direction, pushing himself to the other side of the droid flanks. The explosion threw him back mid-air.

Obi-Wan grunted as he tumbled back across the rock, scraping his hands up on the ground. He lifted his head with a soft groan when he came to a stop, finding himself a significant distance from his men.

“General,” a voice was saying over the comms, “general, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan muttered back, pushing himself up to his knees, rising to his feet as a squadron of droids approached, opening fire.

He slashed his saber out as he was forced back ever further from the battle.

Above him, no movement particularly out of the ordinary, but one that he felt drawn to in a way he could not yet understand, a droid fighter was barrelling towards the battlefield. Seeing no damage to the exterior, not even guns mounted, Obi-Wan realised with wide-eyed dread that it was a suicide bomber, a fighter laden with explosives that would do far greater damage than any missile.

“Take that ship down!” Cody’s voice yelled over the comms before he could do so himself.

Blaster fire redirected, from the air, from the ground, all desperately trying to damage the ship enough in the air for it to detonate with less harm. It was too fast, the shields too strong. One of their own fighter’s dived, making a beeline for the bomber.

A blaster bolt struck Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He slashed the offending droid in two. The ship flew headlong into the bomber.

The resulting explosion knocked men over on the ground, taking the back of their brave soldier’s ship clean off, eating away at the wings, leaving the cockpit and not much else, hurdling in a long trajectory towards the ground, nothing left to keep it in flight.

Obi-Wan watched with panic clutching his heart and widening his eyes as the ship barrelled down, screaming over his head in a ball of fire. He cast his hand out, gripping at the force, engulfing the ship. The descent slowed. The crash was more controlled, but it hit the ground all the same, screaming against the rock and spraying dust as it slammed and skidded to an eventual halt.

Obi-Wan whipped his saber back, ripping the remaining droids into pieces and kicking off in a sprint towards the downed vessel. He got on the comms in an instant.

“I have a ship down northeast of the base,” he called, as calmly as he could. “Likely to need a med-evac.”

“General, we’re pinned down here!” a voice crackled over the comms. “It’s going to be a minute!”

Obi-Wan bit back his frustration. “Understood. Quick as you can.”

He ran to the ship alone, his heart caught in a vice-like grip, because the closer he got, the clearer it became, the truth filling the force, latching onto Obi-Wan. He scaled the side of what remained of the fighter and slashed the shattered canopy open, dragging it back to reach the man inside, the pilot he realised he had known the identity of all along.

“Commander,” he said, practically a gasp, reaching in to grip Cody’s shoulder.

The commander’s helmet was drooping forward. He didn’t respond to Obi-Wan’s voice.

The jedi cast his lightsaber to the ground in favour of unclasping his commander and taking him under the arms, huffing as he hauled Cody from the cockpit. He had to carry the man over one shoulder to get him down to the ground. When he did, Obi-Wan laid him back slow and careful, hands coming to brace his neck, anxious to see the deep crack in his helmet, the dent that shadowed it. An absent hand lifted to his arm, gripping him in a weak hold.

“It’s alright, commander,” Obi-Wan said in a hurry, hands coming to the helmet. It was a relief to get a sign of life at least. “You’re alright. Let me get this off so I can take a look.”

He slid the helmet free, swallowing back a lump that rose to his throat as he set it to one side, because the damage that his helmet had taken had not protected Cody completely. Such a mess of blood matted his hair and leaked down his face that, for a moment, Obi-Wan struggled to identify the wound. He had to part Cody’s blood-slick hair to find the gash where his head had slammed forward.

Blood oozed in the light of his still ignited saber, dark against ashen skin, stuck in slick locks, clung to fluttering eyelashes. Obi-Wan cupped the side of his face to drag his thumb over Cody’s closed eye, wiping away the blinding mess as best he could.

“Commander, can you hear me?” Obi-Wan asked, taking the absent hum and the faint twitch of Cody’s fingers on his arm as a good sign. “Open your eyes.”

Cody did as he was told, as he always did, though his gaze was unfocused and didn’t settle on Obi-Wan’s face, drifting down and off to the side, languished blinks struggling to bring some direction. Obi-Wan pressed his thumb to the side of Cody’s jaw, guiding his head a fraction.

“Look at me,” he urged. “Just look at me now. That’s it. I’ve called for a medic, but they’re being held up. I need you to stay awake with me for a while, alright?

Cody’s lips pressed together, a hum rumbling his throat. “Took… a bit of a hit… general.”

“I know, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan murmured, his thumb stroking mindlessly at Cody’s cheek.

Low-lidded eyes searched across his face, reflecting the green glow of their limited light source. “Guess you… were right…” a convulsive swallow took his throat, chest heaving to compensate, “about… having a bad… feeling…”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said warningly as his voice faded, pressing both hands to his face now, holding him hard when his eyes slipped and fluttered. “Cody, you have to stay with me now, do you hear me? I need you here with me.”

Cody hummed, lips parting with a soft tremble. “Obi-Wan…”

His lips kept moving, but the words didn’t come. His eyes were all but closed.

Obi-Wan slipped a hand around the back of his head, hauling him up to his lap, aware the damage was likely more substantial than his head, but needing to hold him. “I’m here, Cody. I’m here, I need you to stay awake.” He traced the pad of his thumb across Cody’s cheekbone, fighting for his attention. “Cody, look at me.”

Dark, unfocused eyes fluttered vaguely upwards. Obi-Wan glanced up to follow that aimless gaze, seeing above that the cloud layer had been disturbed enough by fighters to create swirls of clear sky, countless stars shining down upon them.

“Do you know them…?” Cody whispered and Obi-Wan looked back to see him staring in a daze at the sky. “The stars…”

Obi-Wan nodded, so grateful to hear his voice still. “Yes,” he said, matching Cody’s soft tone, readjusting his grip on his commander. “Will you stay awake with me so I can tell you them? Cody?”

Cody’s eyes fluttered up at the stars. “’s… no time…”

“There is time,” Obi-Wan vowed, desperate to just keep him here long enough for help to arrive. “We have so much time, Cody. I swear to you, I am going to tell you everything I know about the stars.”

A faint twitch took the corner of Cody’s mouth, his eyes on Obi-Wan now, low and lacking in focus, but gazing up at his jedi. “Sounds… nice…” He turned his head a fraction to Obi-Wan’s chest, eyelashes fluttering through a laboured breath. “Obi…”

“General!” a voice called and Obi-Wan glanced back, a shaky exhale of relief taking his chest.

“Lieutenant Orbit,” he uttered, barely able to get his voice over a breath as the man approached, a handful of men at his back, one of whom—most vitally—wore the red symbol of a medic. “He has a deep laceration to the head,” Obi-Wan explained as the young medic came to kneel with them. “I’ve been keeping him conscious as best I can, but…”

“You did well, sir,” Patch said when he trailed uncertainly, eyes and hands already on Cody. “I can get him stable for transport, but we need to get him back to base as soon as possible.”

Cody groaned softly as Patch coaxed his head to turn so he could better tend the head injury. His eyes didn’t focus on the medic, even when prompted by Patch and by Obi-wan. He stared aimlessly above, watching the stars.

 . . .

Cody woke to a fabric ceiling and a ringing in his ears, and he squeezed his fluttering eyes shut with a stifled groan.

There was chatter around him when the shrill sounds of his suddenly conscious mind faded out, soft, muted. Men were moaning in pain to be met with gentle assurances. Cody turned his head, squinting to his side to find a sheet reaching from floor to ceiling, a privacy curtain. It shifted a fraction at one end before settling again, and Cody turned his head towards the sound of footsteps.

“Oh, sir, you’re awake.”

Cody blinked up at Patch, tracking the young medic’s movements as he sunk down beside him. “’m I in a field hospital?” he croaked, swallowing hard on a dry throat.

“Recovery unit, sir, yes.” Patch helped him drink a small amount of water before continuing. “Do you remember what happened?”

Cody’s brow furrowed. “My ship… My ship crashed.”

“Yes, sir, that’s right.”

“Obi—” Cody began, blinking some sense into himself because that was not right. “The general, was… was he there?”

Patch nodded. His eyes were very soft. “He was… and I said I would inform him when you woke. I can bring him here to see you if you’re feeling well enough?”

“I need to get to the… the command tent,” Cody mumbled, sliding his hands up the bedroll he lay on, struggling to get enough strength in his arms to push himself up.

A painful ache spasmed his chest and he fell back with a ragged gasp, eyes squeezing shut tight, reaching a hand to his sternum. Patch’s hands were on him.

“Sir, you need to rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere. Please.”

Cody breathed through his nose, struggling not to give into the pain. A hand rested lightly over his own.

“You need to listen to your medic, commander.”

Cody blinked hard through opening his eyes, fighting to keep his gaze focused when he watched the man kneel on his other side. “General,” he uttered, trying to lift his head again, only half consciously.

Obi-Wan placed a hand to his head. Cody felt his fingertips stroke through his hair, pushing loose curls back from his face, and realised he must look quite a mess without it styled.

“Try not to move,” Obi-Wan said, though there was no chiding in his voice and, the longer Cody stared, the more he was certain of the softness in the Jedi’s expression.

“I need to see to the others,” said Patch and it was such a reasonable excuse to leave that Cody almost didn’t catch the glance he flitted between his general and his commander, almost missed the tiny quirk at the corner of the medic’s mouth, something akin to relief.

He watched the medic stand and exit, slipping out of the curtained area. His silhouette moved down and to the side, crouching in the space directly adjacent to Cody’s own, tending to another casualty. Cody’s eyes fluttered against his will.

“Sir,” he mumbled, turned his head back to blinked up at his general, “the tower… did we take it?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, a shot of sympathy passing over his irises. “Yes, the men captured it.”

Cody stared up at him and the angle was so familiar. The roof of the tent became stars between swirling fog.

“Why…” Cody began, swallowed hard on his throat when his voice came small. “Why didn’t you leave me…? Your priority has to be—”

“Please, Cody, do not tell me what my priority has to be,” Obi-Wan interrupted, and there was a spark to him then, a moment of frustration that he breathed down. “You almost died.”

The furrow that had begun to pinch Cody’s brow only deepened. “That’s my job, sir…”

“To die?”

“To do whatever it takes… To complete the mission, to protect my men…”

Obi-Wan exhaled, closed his eyes. Regret tugged Cody’s heart, and he reached up to tap a light touch to his general’s wrist, just wishing to get his attention.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, “I’m okay. I’m okay because of you. I know you saved me.”

“You remember that?” Obi-Wan asked.

Cody shifted his jaw. “I remember looking up at the stars… and I remember your voice.”

Obi-Wan stared. Cody watched his lips move, part as if to speak, tremble softly, and press shut again. The commander noticed all this only because he was staring too, because he knew his general and he could read his expressions as well as his own, as well as his brothers. There was a hint of something he rarely caught sight of, something that his general often hid with such ease.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he murmured, and his Jedi’s jaw ticked softly. “Thank you… for saving me. I owe you my life.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze softened into something so sincere, something Cody quite often saw when the Jedi looked to him but never had anything to call it. “You owe me nothing.”

He leaned in, faltering, and Cody lifted his head on instinct, on some desperate need to be closer, and Obi-Wan closed the gap between them. In the second, less than a second, before their lips met, Cody realised that the expression was love.

The soft chatter of men was the only sound amidst Cody’s heartbeat. A single sheet of fabric separated them from being discovered. Obi-Wan’s hand slipped around to cradle the back of his head, his fingers stroking into the curls on the back of Cody’s head. His lips were rougher than Cody imagined, a callousness and a greed there that the commander could not help but drink in. A hand lifted to clutch at his Jedi’s arm.

It seemed to break the spell, his touch pushing the Jedi back despite using it to try and pull him closer. Obi-Wan leaned away from him, hand slipping away from Cody’s head. His eyes were wider now, a hand lifting absently to his lips.

“I… I’m sorry. Commander—”

“Shut up,” Cody whispered, laying his head back against the pillow, unable to stop the words from slipping out from breathless lips. He grabbed the man’s arm again. “Don’t run.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, swallowed hard. “Commander,” he said again, and Cody squeezed hard on his arm, as hard as he could, though he knew it came weak.

“Cody,” he uttered, keeping his voice soft, still entirely aware that there were men just outside, “my name is Cody.”

A beat of silence fell between them.

“Cody,” said Obi-Wan. “This… cannot happen. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should never have…”

“You are the best Jedi I have ever encountered.” Cody spoke without any trace of doubt, meeting the man’s softly narrowed eyes. “This does not alter those thoughts in any way. Are you still aware that you could lose me on any mission?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment. “Yes.”

“Do you still want me to use your name when we’re alone?”

“… yes.”

Cody swallowed hard on the sudden lump in his throat, scarcely able to believe the words that were tumbled from his mouth. “Are you in love with me?”

The silence stretched out longer then. Cody forced himself not to pull his gaze away.

“I can give you time,” he uttered when it seemed the quiet would never end.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking, I’m offering and I mean it. Take some time.” The corner of his mouth quirked softly, wondering if he could ever alleviate this foreign tension that seemed to have fallen between them. “If you don’t, then I’m afraid I’ll have to request you don’t kiss me again.”

Obi-Wan huffed softly and, for once, Cody could not read his emotions from it. He risked another gentle squeeze to the general’s arm.

“I will be your commander, whatever you decide.”

The Jedi exhaled, so soft that it was almost silent. “I am… I’m grateful to hear you say that. I will give you an answer, I promise… You should rest now.”

“Take your time,” Cody began to say, but his voice faded in speechless surprise as Obi-Wan slid his arm up to take his hand.

He ducked his head. His lips ghosted across Cody’s knuckles, pressing in at the tallest jut of bone. Cody stared, transfixed. He saw it in his mind’s eye even when the Jedi stood and made his silent exit, saw Obi-Wan’s lips part and pucker and press to his skin, felt the warmth across his lips and absent-mindedly pushed his tongue out to taste the echo of his general’s kiss.

When his gaze drifted back, allowing his eyes to slip shut again, he saw the swirling array of stars in the darkness of his closed eyes.

[indelibleevidence]

Broken Wings, chapter 3 (NSFW)

Author's Note: Also on FFN and AO3. If you're still here, thank you for being here! Honestly, it's still blowing my mind that there are people other than me who care about this AU. I really appreciate it. Since this fic is entirely self-indulgent, this chapter is inappropriately-timed, emotionally all-over-the-place smut. :D

*

“Kurt…”

Remi traced her fingers over his cheekbone, down to his jaw, searching his face intently, looking for any telltale traces of deception or hidden contempt. Any sign that she was wrong, that she was deluding herself again, that she was allowing herself to believe a pretty, romantic lie.

Unlike the night when Jane Doe had first met him, Remi recognised him—could read him like a book, even. He wasn’t trying to shut her out, even though she’d hurt him again by rejecting his words of love.

He loves Jane.

Remi ignored the traitorous thought, knowing it would return later, but discarding it anyway. She’d only make things worse if she voiced the fear to Kurt again, and more than anything, she wanted to repair some of the damage she’d done.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve. “Not without keeping a distance.”

Some of his pain receded, replaced by a warm affection that seemed to reach all the remotest, most frozen pieces of her soul. “I know. But that’s okay.”

She withdrew her hand, fighting the urge to withdraw emotionally, as well. Anger was an easy mask, and she couldn’t completely contain it. “Is it? It doesn’t feel okay, Kurt. Why do you keep letting me do this to you?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but her words just kept tumbling out, leaving him with no room to speak.

“I’m not getting any easier to be around. I’m too broken. At least Jane, she didn’t know the first thirty years of her life. I’m not saying things were easy for her—I know they weren’t, now—but she didn’t have my memories. She could be better. She could let the past go.”

“You are better. And you are easier to be around.” He smiled a little, no derision in his eyes. “You think you would have told me any of this, back in Venice?”

Disoriented by the shock that he was right, she fought to regain her emotional footing. “I just… I’m not…”

“You are. And you can try to push me away all you want. I’m still gonna love you, Remi.”

The certainty in his voice, in his gaze… The ember of hope caged in her chest glowed, throwing out sparks that could find fuel, if she’d only provide it.

“I…”

She couldn’t find the words. All she knew was that this conversation needed to stop, before she jumped into a future that wasn’t hers. The future Jane would have had, if not for the ZIP.

This doesn’t belong to you. You can’t have it.

It would be like getting into bed with muddy boots on. She’d spread filthy smears over what should have been perfect, and her stubborn, romantic fool of a husband would be left to deal with the mess, after she’d ruined it all and run away again.

Another thick, choking wave of self-hatred flowed up her throat, oily and toxic. She swallowed hard, weathering it with clenched fists and gritted teeth.

“Hey.”

She made herself open her eyes, and wished she hadn’t, because he saw too much, knew too much, and this was all too much—

And then he kissed her, hard but brief, drawing back before she even had time to process his lips against hers. It was an offer of distraction, of a time-out from the discussion, like a life preserver thrown into the stormy, churning depths of her mind.

Hold on to me.

Remi hated that she needed this refuge from such an important conversation—but she did need it, the familiar physicality, and an outlet for her pent-up tension. Here, she knew what was expected of her. Here, she could be in control.

With a growl of frustrated anguish, she kissed him, pouring all of her caged emotions into it, heated and furious and desperate. It only took a split second for her urgency to ignite his, and he took a step back, pulling her in the direction of the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

She followed him as if magnetised, shoving him back against the wall as his grip on her loosened. His breath jolted out of him and into their kiss, but she couldn’t bring herself to soften her approach, still too conflicted and defensive to let down her guard.

Kurt grabbed her ass and pulled her more firmly against him, letting the wall support them as he let her feel how much he wanted her. She ground against his cock, then unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, took his hot, hard length in her hand.

“Remi…” He swallowed hard as she stroked him, slow but firm, controlling him with so little effort.

You could have had everything you wanted, and you poured it all down the drain to stick with this hot mess of a relationship. You screwed everything up. Damn you and your fucking declarations of love.

Something in her facial expression must have antagonised him, because he breathlessly shoved her against the opposite wall of the hallway, pinning her in place. She had just long enough to register the frustration and pain in his expression, before his lips were on hers. Every kiss was a fuck you, received and returned with mounting vehemence as he shoved her jeans and underwear down her thighs.

Fuck you for scaring me like that.

Fuck you for bringing your stupid heart into this.

Fuck you for trying to run away.

Fuck you for not letting me.

Fuck you, fuck you, you, you, oh, you—

And then he tore away from the kiss, leaving her gasping as he knelt and pressed his lips to her clit.

“Fuck!”

She had nowhere to hide from his gaze as he pleasured her, so she closed her eyes and tried to disappear into desire. To leave the self-disgust and fragile hopes behind. To love nobody and nothing but the sensations leading up to orgasm.

He curved his fingers just right, and her knees almost buckled. “Ah—there!”

With her eyes closed, struggling to remain upright in the wake of her climax, she couldn’t see his usual warm satisfaction that he’d managed to please her—but neither could she see anything else that might remind her of their current predicament. She kept her eyes closed as he got to his feet, and floated on the afterglow while he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

His hard-on pressed against her as she slid down his body and back onto her feet, and despite her recent climax, her need flared again. Opening her eyes only to get a sense of what piece of clothing would be easiest to remove first, she avoided looking into his face.

As soon as their attire was no longer a barrier, he followed her down onto the bed. She took hold of his rock-hard shaft and resumed the stoking she’d begun before he’d gone down on her, her pulse skipping at his soft grunt of appreciation.

“God, Remi, I want you.” He pulled her on top of him, his hard-on pressing against her clit as he drew her down into a surprisingly soft kiss.

You have me.

Where was their borderline hostility from before? It was safer than this tenderness, but she wanted this now, as though he’d sucked all the anger from her, leaving her defenceless.

She sat up to search for that same anger within him, but saw only concern, desire…and the love she’d never imagined he’d feel for her.

And somehow, he knows I love him too. I don’t deserve him, but now that I have him… Fuck.

She couldn’t tell him she loved him, even though she’d said it hundreds of times before, in those months before he’d realised she wasn’t Jane anymore. It hadn’t been true, back then. Just meaningless words, all part of the con.

Now he knew who she really was, and that changed everything. It was completely illogical, but she just couldn’t make herself say the words. Her mental state was already too fragile for her to make herself more vulnerable, even though he already knew the truth.

But maybe she could show him how she felt, without saying anything.

Before that thought could fully take root in her mind, Kurt nudged her hips up, positioning his cock at the perfect angle for her to take him deep into her.

Remi craved it with everything in her, but she held her position, gazing down into his face.

“Say it again,” she ordered, her voice hesitant, betraying the emotional battle within her.

Kurt sat up, his face close to hers as she knelt over his hard-on, refusing to let him inside for now. He cupped her face in his hand, seeking her reluctant gaze. “I love you, Remi Briggs.”

She trembled a little, closing her eyes against the intensity of his expression. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, letting him inside her, physically and emotionally. He gave a soft rumble of pleasure and brushed his lips over her jaw, seeking a kiss she was almost afraid to give him.

When he was as far inside her as he was able to get, she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to convince herself Kurt didn’t know what was happening. He wrapped both arms around her and nuzzled her neck, leaving a trail of softly provocative kisses over the tattooed skin, but not assuming command of the moment.

Summoning her courage, she leaned back just enough to kiss him, ignoring the anxiety that whispered for her to just leave him here, to run, to armour herself against his feelings for her, and against hers for him. She kept it slow, gentle, edging into teasing as his tongue sought hers.

He’d kissed her like this before, and she’d allowed it, but never initiated anything like it in return—until now. The significance wouldn’t be lost on him, and that fact both elated and terrified her.

Enough, already. Just push him down and ride him until he forgets all about this.

Remi ignored the fearful urge, allowing a little more urgency into the kiss now, while keeping it much less demanding than her usual kisses. Pouring all the love she felt into it, she stroked his face, cupped the side of his neck, ran her fingers down over his chest. Found the scar she’d left over his heart—a barely noticeable, blade-thin sliver of skin, where hair would never again grow.

Because of me.

Kurt pressed her hand down more firmly, letting her feel his strong, rapid heartbeat. Though their mouths were busy, she could divine his sentiment as clearly as if he’d spoken it. My heart is yours.

All she had to do was transfer their hands to her own chest, let him feel the way her heart pounded for him, symbolically tell him how she felt without using words. But she couldn’t make herself do it. It would have been too clear a declaration, out of the realm of plausible deniability. She wasn’t ready for that.

Carefully, she pulled back from the kiss, resting her forehead against his, but not daring to open her eyes. Usually he’d have said or done something to help move things along, but right now he was silent and still, leaving the next step completely up to her, though his breath trembled a little.

Damn him…

“Kurt,” she murmured, needing him, loving him, yet terrified to show it.

“Do you believe me? When I say I love all of you?” he asked softly.

Remi opened her eyes, to find him watching her with an expression so complicated, she couldn’t even begin to unravel what he was thinking.

If I can’t admit that I love him, I can at least be honest here.

“I want to,” she confessed, ignoring how exposed the admission made her feel. Trusting that he wouldn’t see the newly revealed weakness and use it against her. At least that, she could believe.

“That’s a start,” he said, relaxing just a little.

Retreating from the moment, Remi began to ride him slowly, savouring every inch of him as she moved. She’d never let herself do this with Kurt before, no matter how much she’d wanted to at times—to just enjoy the closeness and pleasure without turning it into a battle of wills.

He seemed mesmerised by her movements, gently skimming his hands over her skin without influencing her rhythm or distracting her. When his gaze caught hers, the depth of the love in them made her catch her breath, and she leaned down to kiss him again, needing a respite from her own confused, longing, complicated thoughts.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, as he reached down between them to her clit. His touch was so gentle, as loving as everything else about this moment. “Yes, Kurt.”

Yes, I love you. Keep kissing me like you love me too.

He rolled them over, bracing himself over her as he broke the kiss. “You once asked me to fuck you like I hated you,” he reminded her, nuzzling her neck. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t love you yet, not back then. But I still couldn’t even pretend that I hated you.”

Remi bit her lip, knowing exactly where he was going with this. Wishing like hell that she could say the words before he did. Fuck me like you love me, Kurt.

“I remember,” she said instead, trailing her fingertips down his spine.

“Good.”

He began to take her, fluid, steady, but as gently as she’d been riding him, leaving light, breathless kisses over her neck. She gave a soft, appreciative moan and writhed against him, falling into his rhythm. Everywhere their skin brushed made her tingle.

“Fuck,” she whispered, his cock hitting the perfect spot within her with each deliberate thrust. On any other day, she’d be irritated that he was drawing things out, but right now, she just wanted to feel him move against her. To be with him, because he was in love with her.

She was turning into a melting, romance-novel cliché, and later she’d be ashamed of her sappiness. But right now, she needed this. It was something she remembered Jane having, but she’d never thought she’d experience it as herself.

“I love you,” he murmured again, his breath hot against her ear.

“You shouldn’t.” Remi drew him in with both hands on his ass, spreading her legs wider and tilting up to take him as deep as possible. She held him there, unwilling to let him get even a fraction of an inch further away, contradicting her words with her actions.

“Remi…” His body was taut with the need to move, to take pleasure and to give it, but he remained still because she wanted it. She savoured his restraint, the weight of his body over hers, his unsteady breaths.

She controlled everything about this moment, and his frustration was palpable, but he waited, willing to give her all the time she needed.

Something told her he always would, no matter how far she ran from the truth.

I love you, Kurt.

Again, the words stuck in her throat, and she released her grip on his ass, swallowing hard.

He didn’t move, though she was no longer holding him in place. “What do you need?”

“Make me say it.” She didn’t realise what she’d said until after the words had left her lips, and now it was too late. Mortified, she tried to think of a way back out of her request, but found none.

He lifted his head, and she kissed him before he could try to get a read on her mood. He went along with the distraction—though she was pretty sure he wasn’t fooled—and flipped them over again, as though offering her even more control over him.

Control she no longer wanted. She needed to be under duress, wanted him to tease and torment her until she’d say anything, if he’d just get her off. That way, she could claim it wasn’t real, that she’d just told him what he wanted to hear.

You’re a coward, Briggs.

She ripped herself away from his kiss, leaving them both gasping, disoriented, and began to ride him again, steadily enough that her heart pounded with the anticipation of another orgasm.

“I’ll wait,” he told her, his voice rough with need. “Until you trust me enough to say it.”

She stared at him, her body moving of its own accord as her mind scrambled to fit the pieces together.

“You still think I don’t trust you?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” He slowed her, taking hold of her hips and pressing her as far onto his cock as she could get. “Why you can’t say it back?”

The slight glimmer of hurt in his expression made her heart ache, and the admission began to spill from her before she could stop it. “It’s not you I don’t—”

What are you doing? He can’t know how weak you are. No one can know.

Some lessons were just too deeply ingrained for her to block out, and this was one of them. Some secrets had to be kept. Self-doubt was too easy to exploit. Even though he never would—but did she really know that, or did she just hope?

Oh, god, he’s staring at me like he—no, too much—I have to go.

“Forget it,” she muttered, trying to get up, despite the sweet ache of unfulfilled desire still eating her up inside.

He held onto her for long enough to speak her name, frustration and love in the word, but then released her hips, as though sensing she’d fight him to get away if she could. Only that allowed her to remain, with his cock still barely inside her, shuddering with need and vulnerability alike. No one had ever seen this deep into her soul.

She never would have let them.

She should never have let things get this far—

“Just breathe,” Kurt murmured, and she recalled how he’d calmed her when she’d first remembered the orphanage, back when she’d been Jane.

She wasn’t panicking, not the way she had been that day, but she followed his instruction anyway, hoping her anxiety would fade. Hesitantly, she lowered herself back down to sit on his thighs, resting her palm over his pounding heart.

“Need to stop?”

A few moments ago, that had been all she’d wanted. But as he gazed into her face, all concern but no pity, she knew her fears and doubts were unfounded. He didn’t see her as weak, or as less than Jane. She remembered her past now, and he’d looked at Jane just like this.

But he knew she wasn’t Jane. He knew what she needed, knew where her comfort zones ended, and he was being so careful. It was more than she deserved.

“No.” All she had to do was take the leap, to tell him how fiercely she loved him. But even now, something held her back, and all of a sudden, she was fighting another surge of angry self-recrimination that came out of nowhere.

But if her life had taught her anything, it was how to use what she had to work with, and so she took a breath and chose a different kind of honesty.

“I’ll get there,” she vowed, unsure whether she was making the promise to him, or herself. Hoping he didn’t think the tinge of anger in her voice was aimed at him.

He smiled, the warmth of his affection giving her stupid, girly butterflies. “Not going anywhere.”

“Good. Because we’re not done.”

Kurt sat up to kiss her, his lips firmly distracting her away from any lingering urge to flee. Remi shivered as he cupped her ass in his hands, sliding her up his cock. She took the hint, beginning to take him again, and he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, gathering her closer.

Arching her back to rub her nipples against his chest, she sought pleasure with a single-mindedness that made everything else fall away. Hopes, fears, doubts…none of it mattered right now. The painful past and uncertain future no longer existed—just two people, loving and needing each other intensely, even if one of them was unable to say the words.

She came with a cry like broken glass, and then she was tumbling backwards, disoriented by pleasure and gravity alike, her back hitting the mattress as his cock sank deeper. Kurt pinned her down for a delicious instant before he was in motion again. He took her with powerful thrusts, her name on his lips and his palm over her clit.

This time, she gasped a curse, digging her nails into his ass, pleading without words for him to move faster, harder. The pleasure of her release had barely faded before she was coming again, every fibre of her being resonating with the deep satisfaction of knowing Kurt was close to finding his own relief.

He growled against her neck as he came, the tension between them fading to sated relaxation. Kurt lifted his head and gave Remi a tender kiss, then rolled over, gathering her close. She listened to his heartbeat, still rapid, but gradually calming, while he swept his thumb in lazy arcs over the scarred tattoo of his name on her back.

“Love you, Remi,” he murmured, and she sensed no expectation from him of a response.

Maybe she was inviting disaster into their calm contentment, but she couldn’t stay silent.

“You really want to do this?” she asked, without lifting her head from his chest.

“I think we’re already doing it.” There was a smile in his voice—subtle, but definite.

Remi rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And you know what I mean.” He kissed the top of her head. “We feel what we feel. And we already decided back in Venice that we don’t want to be without each other.”

He was twisting it a little, but she had to admit, it still fit—even if it hadn’t been that kind of ‘don’t want to be without each other’ at the time.

“I don’t think we should have this conversation naked,” she told him.

“Why not? We already tried it clothed. At least this way, if we need to take another…break, we don’t have to rip each other’s clothes off.”

Remi snorted, amused despite herself. “Got it all worked out, huh?”

“Not everything. But we can work on the rest.”

[funnel-webbed-au]

Memories, Stained With Blood; Hearts, Carved From Sinew

Tag List: @skellebonez, @caxycreations

Riley's Notes: Hurt/comfort that also scratches the surface of the cruelty Nezha endured in the Funnel Webbed AU. All applicable CWs are in the tags.

It took very little to break the Central Altar Marshal. One just had to know what buttons to push.

Li Jing knew what buttons to push, knew where to stick his knife.

Nezha stood on the peak of the mountain, his body shaking with stress, with dread, at what he had finally gained the courage to speak about. There was no going back now, there couldn't be. He'd been struggling against himself for weeks to get himself this far. He had to tell his friend.

Sure, Sun Wukong wasn't the best kept together, but every once and a while, everything fell apart, and the Monkey King wasn't half bad at picking up the pieces and making sure everyone he cared about was okay. Nezha, thankfully, fell into that category of people he cared about, but it wasn't like either of them would admit it.

Seeing the ancient Deity in such a state made Sun Wukong wary.

"Listen, I know... I know I do not have the right to be here, but I spent a lot of time preparing myself for... a heavy topic of discussion I wish to make you aware of." Nezha swallowed hard, struggling to get his tremors under control. He could do this. He had to, he didn't have much of a choice. This was one of the first steps to truly making sure everyone knew the hideous, gory details of the way Heaven had liked to treat him... he had to give context to Sun Wukong for his sharp change in demeanor after they'd first met.

"...do you want to know why I... why I changed? Because that's what this is about."

Antares stepped aside as he saw the Deity's tremors worsen, as if he was ready to collapse at a moment's notice. Although they didn't have an obviously healthy relationship, the two had a deeper level of understanding between them than anyone could expect...

...for the darkest reasons imaginable.

Nezha took a seat in one of the padded chairs around Sun Wukong's recently refurbished cabin, moments before his knees would have buckled from the weight his heart was carrying with him. It was a wonder how he stayed standing, how he kept going and how he kept trudging forward... but a select few knew that he did it because it was all he knew. It was all he'd been taught. For all of his power, for all of incredible statuses...

The Central Altar Marshal breathed deeply before he spoke, his words uneven and catchy in his throat. "...you asked me when I stopped being fun, when I stopped being the bright, reckless and carefree young man that I'd once been... your answer is stained with my blood, Sun Wukong."

The monkey king paused, expression turning somber as he heard the words of one of his closest friends. The sun monkey turned to shut the door, then took his headdress off before he pulled a chair over. He sat across from his old friend, someone he'd drifted from when the tides changed and some fourteen hundred years had passed.

Nezha swallowed harshly, even as the venom in his veins burned his throat, reminding him that his time was running out. He had to make his peace before his mind was lost to the toxins coursing through his ichor.

"...they hurt you."

Sun Wukong's words were filled with a grim finality, a grim sense of certainty, like the deathblow that had been dealt to Nezha long ago, the blow that started the beginning of the end of the person he once was, of who he wanted to be. Nezha swallowed in response to those words, and without chiming anything in return, he broke his glamors...

...and the Monkey King's five times immortal heart stopped.

Those burn rings around the Deity's neck, upper arms, elbow, and wrists weren't even the half of the story, and it was still more than enough for the sun monkey to pause. Who could do such a thing to a Deity of such a high caliber? Who would dare to hurt his friend?

"Who."

The weight that a single word could carry could have never been more obvious. That word carried with it the crushing weight of a Demon who'd clawed his way tooth and nail to godhood, and had been thoroughly battered and shamed many steps of the way. That hatred was something Nezha had only heard of from those that hated the Monkey King.

Perhaps even those biased had a grain of truth.

It made Nezha's blood run cold. He refused to answer, and instead, the lotus on his tail closed, its pink shifting to indigo. As its scent dissipated, Sun Wukong blinked before he moved to sit next to his friend. He had to be there for him. Violence wouldn't solve anything now. His grudges, his hatred, his wrath could wait.

Nezha was more important, and he always would be.

Sun Wukong exhaled, and he made sure that the other immortal could rest, even if it was just for one day. He'd make sure it counted, make sure the troubled Deity had some support. He may never get what he needed, but at least he wouldn't be alone through his lowest points.

"I hate to admit it, Wukong, but..." The elder Deity hissed between statements as his cheeks flushed, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "I have frequent nightmares when I try to sleep alone. The worst part is that they tend to fail to wake me up."

Antares just smiled weakly. "Well, you're always welcome up here, even though it's... probably messier than you're used to... and I thought you said you didn't trust me."

"It's more complicated than that... I'll explain tomorrow." The Deity yawned, shaking his head with a soft grumble. It ill became him to be so tired before nine even hit, but it couldn't be helped with the state of his health.

Sun Wukong nodded, and as Nezha laid down in the spare bedroom, the monkey went to lie with him. He made sure to wrap his tail around Nezha's, which caused a lot of tension to evaporate from him.

As long as he had his friends, as long as he had his family, come Hell or high water, he'd get out of this. One way or another.

[celestialjupe]

Girl blogging: 2/25/23 12:05

Literally processing so hard right now dbdbif. i just got out of a rather abusive relationship. I knew it was bad but it didnt hit me how extremely foul it was until i started making a list of everything that has happened. I've definitely been in the wrong too, and i regret the kind of person i became in that relationship. I don't regret it because i feel bad for him, i regret it because i know that's not who i am and i sacrificed a large portion of my sense of self because i didn't want to hurt him. That was so stupid, but honestly, no one is above being in a situation like that, especially when they're young and when it was their first relationship. so, im trying not to be too hard on myself about it, because being hard on myself drove me further into that relationship every single time.

The last year was different than the first three. He did a 180, he started treating me much better, but i couldn't erase the past and i couldn't let go of it and stay with him at the same time. I couldn't erase his actions and i couldn't erase mine either. Also, it's kind of fucked up because he could have been treating me well the whole time. But really, he never changed, he just got more strategic and better at disguising the behavior. I was still considering getting back together with him until two days ago. It's been two weeks since i broke up with him. That list really impacted me because to see how many terrible things he had done, how close together, and how careless he was..wow wakeup call. I don't feel bad anymore, if you have to hurt someone to get them to stop hurting you, so be it. Again, i was also wrong in the relationship, mainly in year three. We were like rabid dogs constantly barking at each other and flashing teeth. Looking back, i think i was valid to fight back, i think it makes sense that i opened up to the people around me. I just wish i would've listened then. I'm grateful for the two girls who sat with me and listened to me. Life is strange. but im happy that part of my life is finally over, and i can move on. I already feel better and look better and overall i am better. Things are clearer. I think i deserve that. I tried my hardest. Especially this last year, so many times i sat awake at night, promising myself I'd try harder to be happy, telling myself it was enough and i just didn't want to accept love. Now i know that we were never in love, and i wasn't wrong to be so confused and agitated.

I don't think there was ever a moment where he truly considered me, but i was selfish for not wanting to live my life like that. What surprised me the most was everyone who was happy to hear the news. I thought everyone loved him, i thought no matter what, they didn't know what was happening behind closed doors and he was charming, so of course they love him. Little did i know, everyone saw through the act. I only ever told two people about what was happening, and i didn't even tell them the full situation. No one else knew because it's honestly so embarrassing, and i wasn't ready to be better. even now im scared, im scared to delete him from my socials, im scared that he wont be able to leave it alone, im scared that he wont take no for an answer and ill have to pay for this. I can't let that fear control me. I have to be ready to face it all, and dive into the void even if im not certain of the outcome. So much time, opportunity, self-respect has passed me by and I've just let it. I can't do that anymore. I deserve to show up for myself, even when its hard. breakups are hard, especially when they're easy.

Through all that fear, there is a spark. There's a part of myself that i have ownership of again, a part of myself i haven't seen in so long. There's relief, there's love, there's a feeling of security. There's this newfound sense of certainty that i am here and I will never let this happen again. There's victory. I've overcome obstacles and I've walked through the darkest parts of myself to do that. I took a tour of the worst possible version of myself, i stayed in the dark for so long and I'm finally on the other side of it all. I am happy and proud to be me, feelings i never thought I'd have for myself again. I have forgiveness in my heart now, i have released so much, I'm not angry at anyone anymore. I feel like i can finally be myself and not compromise that.

so yeah, kind of slaying right now.. thank you for taking the time to read if you did. Don't make the same mistake i did, don't wait, leave leave leave LEAVE!! Be safe, stay hydrated, keep your belly full, and do what's best for you.

[myselfinserts]

“How dare you treat my friends so shamefully?!”

"I'm sorry, old friend. I hope you can forgive me."

"UNCLE REGI!"

Odette sat up in her bed, cold sweat dripping down her neck as she struggled to catch her breath. It took a few moments, but as she came down from the adrenaline, she managed to focus her attention to the details surrounding her. A soft, velvety couch. Moonlight trickling in from beyond the sheer curtains on the windows. The papers held down by various knick-knacks and pretty stone weights. She'd almost forgotten she'd laid down for a short nap in the hideout.

There were rumors surrounding D-Game. Many of them simple children's tales, like of an app that grants wishes of bringing back the dead, or if you spill the salt you need to throw it over your shoulder to mitigate a curse. A common one of D-Game was the last thought in the mind of the person who sent you an invite being the words that echo through your head as the snake sinks its fangs into your neck. Very few actually receive such a vision. Most only know the sender dies shortly after.

Odette was not so fortunate to have such certainty. Instead, she received an echo of apology, and the ghost of unanswered questions.

Deciding that sleep was not in the cards for the rest of the night, she quickly showered and changed into something more comfortable, dedicating the rest of the time to research. She was nowhere near close to a breakthrough, but it was still better than nothing. 

In the two weeks since Clement had pulled the Hacking Gun, she was able to piece together a lot of information. In total, there were eight bullets.; there was  “Break”, which did as the name implied, “Move”, which turned on electronics and made certain objects move in one direction, “Detect” which was a special black light locator that could see many important things, such as the visuals of the bodies taken from the battle grounds. “Burn” which set things alight. “Link”, her personal favorite, was for hacking into any system or machine and taking full control. But it would have to be upgraded to use properly. “Knockback”, “Paralyze” and “Dance” were all self explanatory. 

But the bullets didn’t matter to her. To her, the only thing that mattered was the signature. A small golden gear on the bottom of the megaphone’s handle. Very small, but it wasn’t completely unnoticeable. You’d just have to be looking for it. 

There was no doubt. Ceri’s Sigil wasn’t growing weak. Uncle Regi was still alive. And most likely in the hands of the Game Master. 

The question remained; why did her uncle send her the link? Did he truly believe she could figure out the truth behind D-Game and end it for good? Or was it perhaps....

She pushed the thought out of mind. The idea of her papa in the middle of D-Game scared her as much as her dad and brother. Last thing she wanted was him to be in the middle of this. 

Ceri had been one of the first. A player who had been a part of the game since the old days. Back when phones were weaker and couldn’t hold that much space. He hardly talked about his time in the early days. All she knew was that he was very much not pleased at his children being dragged in. She could piece together clues, however, based on what little she knew about her dad’s past. No doubt in her mind. He was most likely used as a lab rat for the beta version of D-Game. 

There was still so much she didn’t understand. But she had to hurry and learn. The sooner she did, the sooner they could end the Game Master. 

As she began to look over her notes again, Odette noticed a few new notifications from the app. She rarely ever got them, outside of her closest allies. Curious, she opened them to take a look. The first wasn’t too interesting. It was an invitation to an upcoming Event. A Treasure Hunt, it seemed. It would begin in one week’s time in Shinjuku. Plenty of time to prepare. 

The only other notification was from Yasu, an informant she’d been introduced to via Clement. A delightful lady, if somewhat nervous. Her Sigil allowed her to switch appearances with anyone, and even see into their memories. A useful power, when applied correctly. The message from her was short, yet simple. Two updates, completely separate from each other in correlation. No doubt gathered at the same time. Both equally bad news.

“An A-10 player just flew in today and already took down one of the Triads in the greater Shibuya area, and is heading your direction. The Kitamura Yakuza group is also heading in the direction of the Touch-Off Clinic with a bazooka.”

“Shit.” Odette pulled up the call feature on app, grabbed the Hacking Gun, and prepared to head out. She needed to warn the others. Dialing Clem, knowing he’d be up late right about know, she hurried toward them.

Come on. Come on. Pick up, dammit!

Click. 

“Odette.....”

Her blood ran cold. His voice sounded so weak. “Clem?! Clem, what’s going on?!”

He laughed. A gentle, tired sound. A resigned sound. “Yasu and I are hiding. I’m debating on how to create an opening for her and Atsuko to escape. Kasumi’s gone at the moment, so it’s just us.....I....” He laughed again, defeat laced in every utterance. “I fucked up.....I only got one potion left.....”

“I have more! I’m coming right now, and I’ll call Harper and get them to come help!” Her hands gripped her phone tighter. “You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?! I forbid it! You aren’t allowed to die unless I say so!” 

Silence. The faintest echo of fighting in the background, but Clement was silent nonetheless. Sickening. Heavy. Chilling silence. 

“....I guess I better take that potion then. Hope you brought enough to get me walking again.”

She smirked. “Who do you think I am?”

“The world’s most formidable genius?”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.”

Once they finished the call, Odette sent Harper a quick message and continued on her way. The world around her slowed and flickered, a light golden hue overlaying everything as her Sigil began working out the fastest route. 

Laplace, based on the concept of Laplace’s Demon, was a skill that Odette had been granted upon joining D-Game. It allowed her to see the trajectory of everything around her. She often likened it to being able to calculate her very future with how precise she was able to use it. 

Once her path was set, Odette snapped her fingers, and soon she began to speed up. A simple boost she was able to obtain, but it had limited number of uses and a twelve hour cooldown. A total of fifty uses. This was use number four. 

She was incredibly careful. 

Twisting, turning, zooming through the streets, she almost didn’t stop in time as she approached the location of the clinic. The back ally that lead to it was a wreck. There were all sorts of men in various states of protective gear and fine suits wielding guns and pipes. Taking aim with the megaphone, a single use of the Knockback feature sent several of them falling. A few falling into the pipes in their comrades’ hands. A shot from Paralyze into the puddles nearby sent enough of a shockwave through the men nearby that they all passed out. Remaining ones she managed to hit with Dance, and they were powerless to resist the urge. 

Get to the others. Get to the others. Get to the others. Laplace. Get me to the others!

A golden line showing the safest way to avoid the attackers presented itself, and she bolted through the crowd to the front entrance of the main building. 

The sight before her was frightening. The doors had been knocked off the frame. The windows smashed in. There was debris everywhere. Atsuko was tending to an injured Yasu, who was struggling to hold up the revolver she carried. 

And Clement, who sounded so weak over the phone, was still standing. But his shirt was tattered. His hat had flown off somewhere. And there was a massive shard of glass buried into his shoulder as a gun was pointed to his head. 

There was no way she could use the hacking gun here now. Not without risking Clement getting shot. 

“I’m only going to ask you one more time, brat,” the man growled. “Where. Is. Renegade?”

Clement glared at the man, teeth bared like a wild dog. “Go to hell!”

The bastard smirked. “I’ll take you with me then.”

“Drop the gun!” 

Odette knew it was dumb. Aiming the Hacking Gun at this man wasn’t going to work Just one glance and she could tell he was out of their league. She’d seen his profile in her research. An A-11 player who went by the name Sharktooth. His Sigil was rumored to be some sort of telekinesis. An incredibly powerful variant at that. But no one lived to tell the tale, so she had no idea what to expect from him. 

But she had to try. 

The man looked over his shoulder, his expression bored, tired, and incredibly unimpressed. “This is the cavalry? Pity. I wanted a challenge.” He reached into his jacket and drew another gun, aiming it directly at the Hacking Gun. “One bullet from this ought to bring you down a peg. Now be a good little girl and kneel.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, setting the gun to Break. 

It would probably kill the man, and there was a slight chance Clem would be caught in the blast. But she knew him. She knew he’d rather die than let some creep destroy the clinic. He’d die before letting someone like this lay hand on Atsuko. 

She had to try. 

Farewell, Clement. 

“How dare you treat my friends so shamefully.”

The sound of music filled the air as a soft, ethereal blue glow filled the ally. Odette couldn’t help but lower her weapon as she watched the vestiges of chains slither from the ground and walls into the air. Little charms that resembled music notes dangled from the links, sparkling like stardust in the gleam of night. 

As she looked around, her eyes were drawn to the rooftop, where a figure with emerald eyes stared down at them from their perch. Dressed in a fine, black button up with white dress pants and dark boots, an oversized coat with gold trim, and ruffles of a jabot pinned in place with a bright, shining amethyst. Their hair was in a neat, symmetrical bob, with straightened bangs and not a single strand out of place. It took her only a moment to notice that the music was coming from the phone poking out from the breast pocket. 

And here I thought pompous pricks like this only existed in manga. Turns out, the bastards show up in real life too. Fucking great. 

“You all might want to look away,” the stranger warned. “This is not going to be lovely.”

Clement wasted no time, circling around and managing to get to Odette just before he could be shot, not even registering her protests as he pulled her out of the path of the chains and over to Atsuko. 

The stranger raised a hand over them, elegantly gliding their fingers about as they conducted the chains around the enemy forces. The chains tightened around limbs, disarming those with weapons and tossing some aside. 

“Unchained Melody, Final Cadence. Waltz of Death.”

The first twist was the most terrifying. It came without warning. The scream that followed was agonizing to listen to. And as much as Odette tried to, her mind wouldn’t agree. She could not look away as the chains pulled and turned in time with the melody. Moving the attacking clan in such deliberate breaks in a disturbing, deathly dance. 

Anyone still holding something even resembling a weapon were dropping them quickly. Armor that had been purchased or won to protect their bodies were now tools of torture, cutting and bending into their bodies in unnatural ways at odd angles, ensuring their deaths would not be painless. 

Before she knew it, there was something covering her eyes. Red. Soft. Well made knit. A gentle arm wrapped around her. 

“Don’t look.”

She was still facing the direction of the carnage. But now she could no longer see it. The music began to crescendo into a booming orchestra, burying the sound of the rival clan under percussion and string. 

When the sound came to an end, Odette looked up from beneath the hat. There were blocky outlines of where bodies once were. And standing before her, looking between all four of them, was the stranger from the rooftop, having dropped from his perch with a welcoming yet calculated smile. 

“It’s him,” Yasu muttered. “The A-10 player from Europe. Maestro.”

The lad smiled. “Flattered you know my handle. But please, call me Viktor. Viktor Darnell, at your service. I hope we can work together.” He gave a slight bow, but that only helped in sending him completely to the ground, passed out in a daze. 

Odette sighed. “Napping is fine, but he could have at least helped us clean up first....”

[beels-burger-babe]

I Burn For You

***So THIS has been stuck in my head all day and I just- I love it. I love it so much. And it reminded me...So you guys all know how I hate/love Lucifer...it gave me those vibes. So........... Well I haven't written anything actually relevant to The Facade of the Suitor or anything else that I've been procrastinating, I have been able to push out this little short inspired by this beauty of a duet that is EVERYTHING to me. -B***

Summary: Since MC's arrival, Lucifer and them have never fully gotten along. There was always a large, unknown and undiscussed tension between them and they were fine to keep it that way. But when MC's security in the Devildom is threatened by both the angels and the nobility of the Devildom itself, everything changes. As a ruse to persuade the celestial realm, MC and Lucifer wed. After the ceremony, they finally talk about the unacknowledged feelings burning inside of both of them.

MC x Lucifer

The air hung heavy and thick like the gold bands that now decorated both of your fingers.

You and Lucifer stood on opposite sides of the room, your backs facing one another with nothing but silence between you.

You couldn't help but reminisce on how you got here, on your supposed 'honeymoon' married to none other but the prideful, arrogant, avatar of sin, Lucifer Morningstar himself.

Diavolo had burst into the House of Lamentation an entire month ago. He desperately explained how the angels had received word about you through the fond, innocent-intending, stories of Luke and we're demanding that you be 'released' from your 'imprisonment in the infernal Devildom and that they wished to cleanse you of the 'hellish corruption' the demons had 'forced upon you' through your pacts. Wanting to avoid yet another Celestial War, even on a small scale, the noble court had wanted to agree and simply hand you over to them, cut your pacts, and banish you from returning as an act of agreement and co-operation with the angels.

Obviously, this didn't sit well with you or any of the brothers.

You had all tried to come up with a number of plans, but they all promised retaliation from the angels.

Eventually, it was Lucifer himself who begrudgingly came up with the final plan. The angels wouldn't believe you if you simply told them that you liked it here and wanted to stay. They'd think you were charmed or manipulated. However, if the two of you worked together, and pretended to be in a relationship, convince the angels of your 'genuine' feelings and prove to them that you were in love, and finalize this by marrying Lucifer, it just might work.

First of all, love was something that had sparked war in the past, that both sides had learned from and had grown to deeply treasure and value. Secondly, Micheal, head Archangel of the Celestial Realm, trusted Lucifer the most of all the brothers. The two of you could take advantage of that use it to convince him that you were actually safer in the Devildom by Lucifer's side. And finally, if you were willingly bound by marriage, there was very little that the Celestial Realm could do to force you to leave.

The plan wasn't terrible, but there was one thing about it that caused you to clench your fists and grind your teeth: it was with Lucifer.

Lucifer who constantly teased you and pushed your buttons in a way that he knew would cause you to either give in to him or snap.

Lucifer who was cruel and sadistic and did nothing unless there was some personal gain or it was under the demand of his precious Diavolo.

Lucifer who never ever put anything before his own stupid pride.

Though you were normally a calm and positive person, there was just something about Lucifer that had always caused an inferno of anger and rebellion to burn within you. You felt this strong need to constantly prove him wrong and to defy him.

As a result, the two of you consistently butted heads, arguing about Lucifer's treatment of his brothers and your recklessness on an almost weekly basis.

The idea of being chained to this...this demon for the rest of your mortal life caused your stomach to twist tightly into knots. Though, if it ensured you'd be able to stay with the rest of your found family? You'd make the necessary sacrifice.

So the two of you did the whole show. You went on dates, smiled and laughed together as though you were the lead roles in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and played every card in the book to convince the angels that you were safe and happy under the kind watch of your lover.

Those weeks had started off painful, as you pushed back all feelings of disdain for the eldest brother to play the role of the perfect partner. But as time passed, you hadn't noticed that it had become easier and easier to stay by his side. The smiles you gave him were no longer forced, but sincere ones that brought joy. The lines between what was real and what was fake began to blur.

You sealed the deal with your wedding only a few hours ago.

The vows Lucifer had spoken...promising to watch and protect you even as your skin wrinkled and your hair grew grey. To hold your hand and aid you when you no longer had the strength. To shower you in love and devotion even in your final hours.

They had been spoken with such passion and raw emotion that you didn't dare think too deeply about. It had caused your breath to catch in your throat, and you had to remind yourself that this was all an act. Soon the curtain would close, and Lucifer would return to the cold-hearted monster that you knew.

Yet even now, hours after the ceremony had finished, you couldn't get that intense gaze, and the sparks that exploded under your fingertips as his hands gently squeezed yours, out of your head.

Lucifer sighed from the other side of the room and glanced over at you. "Are we just going to continue ignoring each other?"

You scoffed and turned your head further away; ignoring the loud pounding of your heart and instead focusing on the flickers of frustration licking up your gut. "What else are we supposed to do? There's no one else around. The act is over."

You whirled around at his sarcasm and could practically feel the wrath blazing behind your eyes. "Sorry, my Lord, if I'm not exactly giddy about the fact that I just signed myself to the likes of you just for the approval of some fluffy winged assholes!"

You could practically hear Lucifer roll his eyes as he walked over to the liquor cart and poured himself a drink. "Right. So you just plan to spend the entirety of the weekend that Micheal paid for us brooding in a corner? How mature of you."

Lucifer, the fucker, had the gull to act unphased and casually swirled his drink in his hand. "It could be much, much worse," he took a sip of the amber liquid before staring down in his glass. "It's not as though you didn't agree to this."

"Only because I didn't want to be kicked out of the Devildom and never allowed to see your brothers again!" You growled. Your anger only grew as you noticed him clench his fingers tighter around the glass. You groaned and ran a hand through your hair. "This was a stupid plan! You probably just invented this entire ruse as yet another way to get under my skin. Well congratulations, Lucifer. You win!"

You refused to look at him, as you turned your heated gaze out the window.

You didn't see the flash of hurt that washed over his expression, nor hear the way his breath caught in his throat. "Is being married to me truly that awful? Are you honestly telling me that you haven't enjoyed even a single second of this past month?"

You tensed and crossed your arms over your chest, as you continued to avoid looking at him. "What kind of question is that? You're a demon who cares about nothing but himself," you pursed your lips and mentally tried to deny just how wrong those words felt on your tongue.

"I wouldn't say that's true. Believe it or not, I do care for my brothers." There was a shaky breath, one so uncharacteristic for the confident Morningstar, before he continued. "And you. I did promise to love you until your final breath after all, and I do not break my promises."

There was silence once again. Though this quiet seemed to crackle with the anticipation for something, though neither of you quite knew what.

You closed your eyes, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in your heart at his words. "Those vows were only part of the act. They weren't real."

"Perhaps not for you," your eyes snapped open at the response. You looked back at the demon. Lucifer stood leaning against the wall, drink still in hand, as he stared intensely at the floor. "This may have all been an act for you, MC, but it stopped being a ruse for me mere hours after we began."

You felt yourself frown as you stared at him. Your traitor heart dared to grow warm with hope, only adding fuel to the growing frustration inside you. "You're lying. You're just trying to get me worked up again."

"Actually, I'm not," his eyes met yours and it felt as though time froze. His expression was so unguarded, so honest. For once, you looked into his eyes and you could see every emotion that he wore openly before you. You could see the hurt, the certainty, and most of all the same passionate love that shone so brightly in them throughout the ceremony. "From the moment I met you, you caused a fire to ignite in my heart. I was determined to control you and to make you be the human representative for Diavolo. But then, you acted against me, and that changed. I still wanted to make sure that you fulfilling your purpose in the exchange program, but I took on the challenge of finally having you respect and listen to me. You were stubborn and fierce, yet so beautifully driven and I admired that." your eyes widened at the admission. "It wasn't until I was forced to look at you in a romantic light for this scheme that I understood the true nature of these feelings. It wasn't that I wanted to control you, or break you, or shape you into what I needed. It was so much deeper, so much more dangerous than that. I wanted to have you fall in love for me, as I had fallen for you, and make you mine."

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you don't feel the same. I've accepted that. But I...I'm done with acting like this isn't real for me. I refuse to pretend that there's nothing there between us any longer."

He finally broke eye contact, looking back at his now empty glass as you practically gaped at him. Love. Lucifer...loved you? You gulped and took a step towards him, "Lucifer..."

The fire burning within you consumed you as your face heated up. "You...You love me? You actually love me?"

You flinched as he glared sharply at you. "Don't rub it in."

You didn't know what to make of that. You weren't sure what to make of any of this. Your feelings towards Lucifer had changed over the past month, but you had assumed that was simply part of the act. But if everything he had done and said as you two were pretending to be a couple was real, then what did that mean for you?

What did that mean for the way the sight of him caused your heart to skip? Or the way his rare smiles never failed to make you smile back? Or the unwavering sense of comfort and security that he provided?

What did that mean for the ruthless, scalding fire that he had always caused to rage inside you? You always assumed it was anger, but what if...

You gasped in realization. "I burn for you."

The demon tensed as he blinked in confusion. "You...I'm sorry, you what?"

You moved closer to him, each step more certain than the last, as you shakily spoke the words that rang through you. "I burn for you, Lucifer. I don't know entirely what it means myself, but ever since we met you've caused this irrational passion and drive to sear inside of me. I-I had always assumed it was hatred. You're so infuriating. Every word you speak does nothing but cause that fire to flare brighter within in. Every action leaves me filled with sparks of restless energy that won't be satiated until I combust at you," as you now stood nearly toe to toe with him, you grabbed his hand and placed it over your roaring heart. Hope flickered like a candle in the darkness of his black eyes. "I had thought that this couldn't be anything other than anger and hatred. I refused to believe even the possibility that it could be anything else. But this past month you...you were honest and almost kind and vulnerable. Your teasing didn't make me want to punch you, but rather made me laugh. You showed me a side of you that I didn't even know existed. I...I think-"

You were cut off by a finger on your lips. Lucifer looked down at you with a stern, cold expression. The action paired with that face would've caused you to become infuriated by his audacity and superiority complex in the past. But now you could see past it, and could see it for what it truly was: a carefully crafted barrier that hid his most vulnerable feelings and protected him. "If you do not mean the words you were about to say, if you are pitying me, I must demand that you stop here. Do not say those words unless you truly mean them," his deep voice was tinged with distrust and caution.

You held his gaze as you kissed the pad of the finger against your lips and whispered gently, "Lucifer, I think that I love you."

Suddenly your lips were captured in his as he pulled you close and ever so adoringly cupped your face. For the first time since meeting him, the flames inside you were extinguished by the cold touch of his hands on your face and the surprising gentleness of his affection.

His hand slid from your face and came to rest on your shoulder as his eyes widened. His gaze scanned your expression for any traces of falsehood or insincerity. You could hear the breath leave his lungs as he found none.

He softly kissed his temple, effectively hiding his face as it grew redder and whispered, "Of course, beloved."

Lucifer laughed as he pulled away, his thumb caressing your cheek, as he smiled. "To think it only took us getting married to realize it," you laughed as you felt happy tears prick the corners of your eyes. Lucifer sighed in content as rested his forehead against yours. "Remind me to send a thank you to, Micheal."

You hummed and nuzzled closer to him as you rested your head on his shoulder. "Forget Micheal. He's still an asshole as far as I'm concerned. Instead, focus on me. On us. I want to learn everything about you, about the real you," you smiled as he looked down at you with flushed cheeks. "My husband, Lucifer Morningstar."

You couldn't help but wonder how you had been so oblivious to your true feelings as a shiver ran down your spine and warmth spread throughout your chest simultaneously.

This honest and pure love between the two of you, was new, yet it felt so familiar, and it was abundantly clear to both of you that the depth of those feelings would only become clearer and clearer in time as the fires of your love only grew.

***Gasp. I actually finished something. Would you look at that. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic! Thank you so much for your support during my hiatus and for being so understanding. I love you guys! Thanks again for reading!***

Taglist: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @lovelymushi @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino

[ilalos]

Worth it (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) Part 1/2

Summary: You’re Simon’s cousin and you are ready for your first social season, excited for the courting and dancing. Your plans are shattered when you find yourself in an arranged marriage to none other than Lord Anthony Bridgerton, the one man who avoided love like it was the plague.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, arranged marriage, tiny bit of angst, Anthony is an idiot, if you think of anything else please let me know.

Word count: 2.5k

It was the second season the duke and duchess had the pleasure of enjoying together in their London home. The duke’s household had been rejoicing in the arrival of baby A for a year now and the family was also preparing themselves for the birth of their second child. One might think that they would rather spend these blissful moments away from the chaos that the social season brought, and one might be right.

Simon and Daphne had opted to miss this social season in view of the fact that Daphne would be heavily pregnant when the summer started and would be at risk of having the baby in London instead of the comfort of her home. They chose instead to visit the Bridgerton home before the season started so Daphne could be with her family for a couple weeks with no added stress.

But their plans changed when Simon’s aunt, seeing that they were going to London, decided to ship you, her daughter, with them so you could be part of the social season and hopefully find yourself a husband. The couple had agreed to take you to London and also to chaperone you throughout the social season.

You were a good, polite, and well-prepared lady; your mother had sent you to the finest finishing school in the country to make sure you were molded into the perfect bride. Despite the extensive preparations your mother had subjugated you to, there was one thing they couldn’t take away from you and that was the desire to marry for love. Everyone told you that what mattered was how well you could marry, that you’d eventually grow to tolerate your husband and that your children would give you more than enough joy; but that just didn’t seem enough for you. It didn’t matter how you felt about a loveless marriage though, your mother had been clear when she told you that you had this one season to find a husband and if you didn’t she’d choose for you whomever she seemed fit.

On the day of your arrival you learned she didn’t intend to give you even one season and, with no previous notice to you or him, you were introduced to Anthony Bridgerton as his bride.

Violet Bridgerton had grown tired of her son’s refusal to marry and after pressing him about the matter he admitted he was looking for a wife this season; she didn’t trust him to choose well and when Daphne wrote to her mother about you, she decided it was the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. And so, with your mother’s blessing, Lord Bridgerton was given your hand in marriage.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony was shocked, to say the least.

“You heard me, son, this is Lady (y/l/n) and she is to be your bride”

You couldn’t think, move or do anything but stand there staring at the man you were supposed to marry. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish and Daphne had to guide you to take a seat because she feared you might faint. Anthony then excused himself and fled to his study with Simon hot on his heels.

“I’m deeply sorry for throwing this at you with no warning, your mother warned that if you were told before you got here you might have refused to come at all” Violet apologized taking a seat in front of you and taking one of your hands between hers.

“Anthony is a wonderful man and I’m certain you will learn to like him, maybe even love him” continued Daphne.

Meanwhile, in Anthony’s office, a similar conversation was being held.

“What excuse do you have now to reject her?” Asked Simon

“I don’t know her, that’s enough to not want this marriage”

“You said you didn’t wish to love the person you had to marry, so I don’t see the big deal in not knowing her” Simon served himself and Anthony a drink as he spoke.

“Even with that being true, I also said she had to be smart and at least interesting to talk to” he took a small sip of his drink “and also that it wouldn’t hurt if she happened to be beautiful”

“And isn’t she?” Simon raised a brow behind his cup before continuing “She is incredibly smart, kind and she also attended the best finishing school available in the London area, which means she is as proper as a lady can be”

“Well yes, but-”

“Your only problem with her is that your mother forced her upon you”

“My only problem is that I saw in her face she had no idea she was betrothed to me, it is not fair for her to be forced to a short and loveless marriage like ours will be” Anthony finished his drink and slammed the cup on his desk, he knew there was no way out of this.

“She, as any lady in the country, knows that her duty is to marry well” Simon placed his cup softly besides Anthony’s “You’re the most desirable bachelor this season, there’s no better man for her if we look at status, money, and age”

Anthony limited himself to roll his eyes and remained silent, he knew Simon was right but it still stung that because of him you were now forced to be married to a man you didn’t love.

“Well, she’ll be a young widow so she’ll eventually have a chance at finding love”

A knock on the door interrupted Simon’s answer and he was thankful because he was quite frankly tired of Anthony’s certainty that he would die young, he understood that Edmund’s death had been hard for him but it was still tiresome to hear him speak like that constantly.

“Yes?” Called Anthony from his desk, prompting Gregory to enter.

“Mother requests both your presences in the dining hall for supper, now”

The rest of the day was uneventful, Anthony refused to speak to you and you were too shocked to utter a single word to anyone. After supper you excused yourself and went to bed early, when you had laid down Daphne entered your room and gave you a letter from your mother before saying good night and wishing you sweet dreams. You sat up and decided to read the letter before bed, maybe it would bring you some comfort.

“My dearest daughter,

If you’ve received this letter it means that you know about your engagement to lord Bridgerton, we couldn’t find a way to tell you because we feared you might refuse to travel to London if you knew. I hope you understand that all I’m trying to do is securing your future, the viscount is a kind man and you’ll be safe with him. I sincerely wish for you to be happy by his side, and maybe even learn to love him.

I know your father is looking down at you proudly and I’m certain he’ll bless your union with happiness, you were his sunshine and he’ll always take care of you no matter where he is, as will I.

Love,

Your mother who loves you”

You couldn’t help but feel angry at your mother for lying to you like that as if you were a child with no control over your own emotions. It would’ve been nice to know about your fate before you got here, it would have saved you from daydreaming about balls and love matches that you now knew were never going to be possible. Still, you were grateful that they had chosen Anthony, they might as well had promised you to an ugly old man. So you fell asleep that night disappointed on the false expectations you were allowed to have, but grateful for having secured the best bachelor in the season without even trying; it might not have been a love match but at least it was a good one.

-this time jump is brought to you by Roma, my golden retriever-

“If we are to be married no matter what, shouldn’t you spare me the pain of courting her?” Anthony was straightening his tie as he spoke to his mother.

“Courting, in this case, isn’t meant to convince her to marry you, it’s so society can see your intentions are respectable” she took over his hands and settled the bow tie once and for all “this ball is the perfect opportunity for everyone to see you both as a couple”

“And you act as if you weren’t already attending for Eloise” Benedict entered the room also dressed for the ball.

“Chaperoning, not dancing” clarified Anthony.

“It’s only one dance, my lord, it will be over before we know it” you had entered the room without anyone noticing and Anthony was a little taken back by your beauty, but recovered quickly enough.

“The dance might be, but the ball will be unending” with that he left the room to go and rush Eloise, they were going to be late.

You frowned a little looking at his retreating form, he hadn’t said anything about the way you looked, not one single compliment for his future wife. Benedict must have noticed your disappointment because he swiftly stepped in to make you feel better.

“You look positively stunning (y/n)” he kissed your hand with a small wink “My brother sure is a lucky man”

“That he is” called Daphne from the door “Here you go darling” he placed a tiara on your head, “I told you it would look wonderful with your dress, now let’s go” she patted your back softly “Simon’s waiting for us in the carriage”

“We’ll see you at the ball, my dear” called Violet seeing her daughter to the door.

The ball was beautiful and you felt overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Simon and Daphne guided you through the room and you felt everyone’s stares on you, you hadn’t presented before the queen because you were already in courtship with Lord Bridgerton so everyone was seeing you for the very first time.

Daphne had begun to feel tired and Simon had left to fetch her some lemonade while she found somewhere to sit down for a while, leaving you unchaperoned and praying no one would approach you while they were gone.

“Excuse me, miss?” So much for prayers.

“Yes?” Yo faked a smile as best as you could looking at the old man in front of you.

“I see you have so much space in your dancing card, perhaps I could book myself the next dance?” Your card was in fact empty because your darling fiancé had yet to appear.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible Mr. Wyatt, since she’s dancing with me,” said Anthony who had gotten to you just in time.

“Perhaps the next one, then?” Persisted Mr. Wyatt.

“That would be my dance” this time it was Benedict who saved you “Would you look at that? Her card is full, maybe you could try on the next ball” You hadn’t even noticed them scribbling all the Bridgerton’s names on your dancing card until it was full, but it now was and you were thankful for it.

“Thank you so much, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had had to dance with that man” you thanked Benedict.

“What are brothers for if not to protect future sisters-in-law from dancing with horrid men?” He joked back, making you giggle.

“Well then, let’s have our dance and get this over with” Anthony broke you from your fit of giggles.

“Remember you two, you have to look madly in love” at his brother's comment Anthony only managed to huff some curse words under his breath, dragging you to the dance floor by the wrist.

Once on the dance floor, you both got in position, and when the waltz started you began gliding through the dance floor gracefully.

“For someone who says he doesn’t like balls, you are an exceptional dancer,” you said in a playful tone.

“Mother made us take classes when we were little, any respectable man should be a decent dancer”

“They paid off, it’s a pleasure dancing with you” he didn’t respond to anything so you continued “Are there other talents you are hiding from me, Lord Bridgerton?”

“Not that I’m aware off, miss (y/l/n)” his answer was short and it was clear he didn’t care for conversation.

It had been like this since the two of you had been introduced, any attempt you made to get to know him better was quickly shut down by him. It was as if he wanted to remain a stranger to you, but you were to be married and you at least wanted to know a little about him besides his name and his clear lack of humor.

When the dance ended you left the dance floor and met with Colin by the beverages table.

“Why so sad, love?” The pet name caught you off guard but you assumed it had something to do with the alcohol you could smell on his breath.

“It’s nothing, Colin” you attempted to smile as you served yourself a small glass of lemonade “Have you seen my cousin?” You asked before he continued asking questions.

“He is by those tables with Daphne, a ball is no place for a pregnant lady” Colin pointed to the other corner of the room.

You thanked him and walked to where he had pointed, you were ready to leave, and also what Colin said was true, being in this ball was very stressful for Daphne so the earlier you left the better. Soon you spotted your cousin, his wife, and, to your horror, Anthony.

“Cousin! What are you doing here? I thought you’d be dancing with Benedict” said Simon.

“I was thirsty so I went to get some lemonade, here” you handed a glass to Daphne “I brought you some”

“How nice of you, thank you” she took a small sip “shouldn’t you be having fun? It’s your first ball dear”

“I think I’m quite tired already” you turned to look at Simon “Perhaps we could leave, cousin?”

“If you wish” he looked you up and down, making sure you were alright “Why don’t you and Anthony promenade around the room while I send for the carriage? Just to end the night right, at least in the eyes of the people”

You simply nodded and watched the way Anthony rolled his eyes as he offered you his arm. His plain rejection of you always hurt you, you knew he didn’t love you but never did you expect him to despise you. You walked by his side with a soft smile planted on your face but on the inside, you were hurting because with each day you saw your future clearer, and what the future held for you was being married to a man who could not stand you and would never love you. But then he lead you to your carriage and kissed your cheek when you were out of everyone's view, maybe he didn't find you so bad after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hi! I hope you enjoyed reading this, if you like it let me know i love the feedback. I’m kind of in love with Anthony atm so that’s why this is the second story I’ve written of him. Thanks for reading! :)

[spyglassrealms]

apotheosis

/əˌpäTHēˈōsəs/

(noun) - the ascendance or elevation of a person to divine status.

They say I saved the world.

I have tried to tell my people that the world is not safe; that no world is safe. That no world could ever be safe, not forever. Safety is a tranquil pool through which the river of history flows. I know the truth, or at least part of it, thanks to the man I met that day. No one else knows about that man, and he may not have even been real, but I must speak of him all the same, for he taught me something I will never forget. He imparted to me, in a sense, the meaning of life.

He arrived, perhaps against his own better judgment, in a flash of light at just the right moment. And judgment it was, indeed; I had been given a choice that I could not bring myself to make, and he showed me what I had to do. He helped to fix the mistake that I had made, but he seemed so forlorn while he did so. I could not help but to ask him why: why he was helping at all, and why it made him sad. And when I did, he turned to me, and he told me a story.

Long ago, and very far from here, there was a man who lived on a small blue-green planet, under a small yellow sun, lost in the endless cosmic night. This man was gifted; his work alone accelerated the scientific advancement of his world by hundreds of years over the course of his lifetime. To his beloved people, he brought peace, health, safety, comfort, and most importantly knowledge. But it was not enough for him.

He did not seek power. He did not wish for domination, not over his fellow man or even over nature. What he sought was knowledge for its own sake -a nobler pursuit than power and control, but still dangerous. And as must always happen, one day... something went horribly wrong. He did not speak of what happened, not in detail, but in tinkering with the very fabric of reality, he became... sundered, splintered, undone, and then suddenly… remade.

He could, all at once, perceive the whole of infinity around him. He saw the great nothing at the bottom of everything, and the madness at the top. He experienced every iteration of every universe; all of time and space happening at once in an endless forest of infinitely-branching cosmic trees. He saw the space between and could channel the limitless energy from that aether to reshape reality as he pleased. He was, in an instant, more powerful than any god -truly omnipotent. He understood the meaning of existence and he knew, with omniscient certainty, that there was no meaning. There was no reason for existence at all, no purpose within being. Reality simply is. How does someone, formerly finite and mortal, cope with infinity in every direction, when there is no meaning behind that infinity?

The answer, he said, was joyfully simple.

Existence, he told me then, is a blank canvas upon which to paint meaning. And he added another revelation to help me paint my meaning: existence is not unknowing and uncaring, for we know that we exist, and we must resolve to care. We are each the universe made conscious, he said to me with humble awe in his voice, and the only thing missing from a universe without consciousness is compassion. Only that which has the ability to know and understand, can know and understand others. It was so clear to me in that moment: that consciousness exists to be the door through which meaning enters the universe, and that meaning must be kindness.

I asked him, then, why he was sad, for what he had said brought me tears of joy. He told me that every instance of an event with more than one outcome is another node in the tree, another fork splitting into new branches, each one with their own branches, unto eternity. There is no one true timeline, no one correct path. For him to create a new one through intervention was merely an infinitesimal drop in the aether, and he could see all the futures in which I had made a choice. He knew what would have happened without him -if, that is, the choice had been left to me, in my ignorance. He grieved that he could never ensure the permanent safety and happiness of a world, for that would be a task of infinity against infinity. To forge a new path for a world through kindness may not change much, he said, but it is noble.

But then he smiled, and he told me his secret: his purpose. For all his power and knowledge, for all his eternity, he confided in me that he was not infallible. The meaning he ascribes to his everlasting life, therefore, is to strive to be better, for this is a task wherein the goal is always one step further. The quest for compassion is as endless as he and the whole of existence. So, too, is his other task: to maintain the integrity of all universes -as he has seen, there are always some rare few who would seek nothing but destruction. He cares for every infinitely-branching tree of spacetime in Eternity, tends to their ills and encourages their growth.

He told me, then, that his work in this time and place was complete, for now, and wished me well as he left the same way he had come: in a flash of otherworldly light. But I have thought about him every day since then, as my world slowly heals, and I have come to appreciate who and what he really is. He did not create existence, but he bears its responsibility as though he did. He wanders the grand cosmic forest of times and spaces, sowing kindness where it must be sown and fostering compassion across the whole of existence, in hopes of watching it bloom like flowers in an endless summer sun.

I never learned his name, but I know what I will call him.

I will call him the Gardener.

[howggswouldreact]

💬 🔞 Red Velvet reaction to: their first time with their younger and virgin girlfriend

Warnings: smut

Irene: she always suppressed the desire for you when things were getting hotter. because you are younger, she respected you a lot. even when her hands were the most eager, she tried to control them. but Irene felt like she was going to explode and relieving herself on her own was not the same as being able to have sex with you. you, who was the main reason for the desire she felt, but she respected your time. even more than yourself did.

that's why, while you were kissing on your bed and you removed your shirt, Irene was a little confused and her eyes went up and down from your eyes to your breasts in your bra, her hands caressing your waist.

"It's better if we stop here.", she said, trying to get you off her lap, but you didn't leave.

"I want you.", you confessed. "I'm sure I want to give myself to you like this. I want my first time to be with you."

Irene was a little uncertain and hesitated. but you were more than sure of your decision and wouldn't hesitate. you kissed her heartily and guided her hands over your body until she let them find their way.

each touch and each kiss was filled with the purest love and the way Irene looked at you made you feel not only loved, but also wanted. when she positioned herself on top of you, between your legs, she hesitated again. You took her hand from your hips and guided it to your center. the sensation and your permission were enough for Irene to slide her fingers along your wet extension.

"I'm... in...", she whispered kissing your cheek. "Tell me if it hurts and I'll stop..."

the feeling of a finger inside you had been uncomfortable at first. you felt a pressure and kind of a burning sensation as her finger made its way. when she stopped, it was only for a while, for you to get used to it, kissing your cheek to distract you from the initial pain. but as she moved her finger very slowly, the pleasure it gave you overcame the pain and you knew you would want more of that with her, muuuuuch more.

Seulgi: "Oh, damn... it got hot in here, didn't it?", Seulgi moved away from you on the bed and turned to face the ceiling.

her body was hot, very hot, and she had to think about sad things so as not to let her mind think of things that could heat up her body even more. like you naked, for example. or maybe you moving your hips on hers.

damn.

she had just squeezed your ass under your panties, felt your warm skin against hers, and she needed to control herself. she knew that you had never had sex before and would respect your wishes. even if hers was gigantic.

she closed her eyes and you, lying on her side and facing her profile, thought about how even her smell turned you on at that very moment.

you took her hand and kissed her neck, letting your mouth slide over there before applying a light bite to the same spot. a long sigh came from her soft lips.

"If you want to do it, I want it too.", you whispered, moving your body closer to hers. "Like, I really feel ready. I feel ready for you. You make me feel safe. And... you turn me on so much...", you laughed against her neck, making her shiver.

with your certainty, she kissed you again, the kiss as hotter or hotter than before, you wouldn't know, and with hands in places that had never been explored before. Seulgi was aware that you were younger and didn't have much experience in that, but from that moment on it didn't seem.

Seulgi managed to take you to heaven many times that afternoon.

Wendy: there was nothing more cliché than a trail of rose petals that led to a bed also full of petals. candles in safe places so they wouldn't start a fire. but what could you do? you didn't know how to start that, but you wanted it to be special for both of you. for you, for being a virgin and wanting to lose your virginity with Wendy; and for Wendy, who would have her first time with you. and for both of you because you loved each other and it should be special and romantic.

looking to Wendy's faces expectantly, you noticed the smile on her lips before you felt her lips on yours one more time.

"You didn't have to do all of this..."

"I wanted to do it. I wanted it to be special for us...", you were nervous, naked, and with Wendy above you.

"Regardless of how it was, it would be special because it would be with you, babe. And it was very, very special.", Wendy reaffirmed for you, making a trail of kisses by your neck. "And it was also very, very good..."

you laughed. she laughed along. Wendy was beautiful, shining, her hair tousled and her face flushed. you weren't much different.

"Since it was sooooo good...", your hand slid gently over her right shoulder, making her shiver. "How about if we... continue?"

she raised an eyebrow and gave you an excited smile, kissing the corner of your lips, before whispering:

"I think I can make your wish come true, babe."

Joy: once again, you saw those beautiful eyes staring at you, while the bottom of your girlfriend's face was doing a wonderful job between your legs. it was so delicious the way she sucked you... and she loved doing it. In fact, she was addicted to it, to your taste, which she thought was bittersweet.

you had been dating for a while and, even though you were still a virgin, you had intimate relationships without penetration. pure masturbation is too good and you allowed yourself to enjoy it with your girlfriend.

Sooyoung respected your time and it was you who started these "masturbation sessions", since you didn't feel ready to lose your virginity yet; you felt insecure about being younger, but you felt ready enough to let Sooyoung touch you. she could make you cum easily without penetrating you. and she did it in a "pro" way.

when she finished cleaning your wet sex with her tongue, she lifted her naked body against yours, kissing every part she loved most, until she placed her forehead on yours. but you knew that, although masturbation is such a good thing, it was no longer enough.

"You look beautiful when you cum, you know that, right?", Sooyoung whispered before giving you a peck.

you rolled your eyes, embarrassed.

"How about... you getting... inside of me?", you asked, a little shy.

Sooyoung's eyes took on a different glow against yours. she frowned.

"I'm sure.", you answered the question that you knew was prowling her mind.

her lips merged with yours in a long kiss as you felt her hands over your waist. at the end of the kiss, Sooyoung said:

"Let me know when it hurts, okay?", her brown eyes were filled with a mixture of love, lust and concern.

you nodded.

Sooyoung's touch on you had the utmost care and affection. After that afternoon, your intimacy emerged even more, and those "masturbation sessions" led to loooong "sex sessions".

Yeri: you loved to touch Yeri's body, you loved to give her pleasure and take her to the purest ecstasy of sex. satisfying her was one of the things you loved most. however, even though you touched her and she made it clear that she loved the way you made her cum, the opposite had never happened.

and you thought the problem was on you.

after your relationship was official, in a conversation with Yeri you said that you were still a virgin and had only gone further in terms of sexuality with her.

when you were making out and things went too far, she gave you all the freedom to enjoy her body and, although you haven't had sexual experiences before, you were very good at it, you knew exactly what to do for Yeri to hit her climax.

but that afternoon, when she came on your fingers, you were silent while she was lying on your chest.

"Why don't you ever touch me?", you asked, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?", she was confused, looked up at you.

"I know I'm inexperienced but... well, when I talked to you about my virginity it was because... I'm more than comfortable losing it with you.", your face took on a reddish tone and so did Yeri's. "Maybe my body doesn't attract you to that point, I don't know... You can be honest about that, okay?"

"Hey!", Yeri sat on your lap and automatically your hands went to her hips. "You turn me on.", she bent over you and applied a kiss to your lips. "A lot. And your body is just so... wow! I was just... I was afraid you wouldn't want to. Whenever you do me, I gather a lot of strength not to let my hands go to your... You know where. But what I want most is to touch you and make you feel exactly how I feel."

"What are you waiting for?", you asked in a whisper, embarrassed but with the desire for Yeri's touch.

she kissed you one more time. and another one. and another one. to the point where you both were so close, caressing each other's bodies, but this time you were Yeri's focus. satisfying you also became one of the things she loved most.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Your riven imagine was amazing! Could write about the reactions of the winx and people in school, with a light fairy from earth being with him, please? Anyways, hope you're ok :)

Come back to me (part 1)

Pairing: Riven x reader

=================================

Ever since Rosalind officially took over Alfea, Y/N had felt her hope dwindling. She’s a light fairy, she thrives surrounded by good. The darkness surrounding her is exhausting, bleeding her dry of all positive emotions.

Belief is when there is no reason to hope, when despair sets in, and yet you hold fast to a certainty that it is worth seeking the light, even if you have never seen it.

“I’m not an asshole without a cause. Trust in me.”

Riven is what Y/N believes in. Despite her better judgement, she can’t help it - she does trust in him. Even though he’s gone down a darker path than she could have imagined.

Seeing Riven as Rosalind’s private guard had been tearing her apart, more so when she saw him locking lips with Beatrix.

‘We’re just friends’, she told herself in order to not hate him for his choices. She told herself all of this is for a reason. 

“Ugh, why are you staring at those two freaks”, Stella makes a fake gagging sound, drawing attention of Riven.

He glances at Stella, but his eyes are drawn to Y/N. Swallowing thickly, Riven felt his heart sink at the hurt flickering in her eyes. Exhaling through his nose, he locked eyes with Stella again, unable to bear the heaviness of Y/N’s gaze.

“What are you looking at?” Stella narrows her eyes, making Riven roll his eyes.

“I was about to ask you the same. You do know that beauty isn’t transmittable, right? Staring won’t help fix your face.”

Beatrix snickers at Riven’s snarky remark, enjoying the way Stella’s nostrils flare in rage she’s trying to contain. Y/N shakes her head, disappointed by his behavior.

Is there really any of the old Riven left inside that empty shell of his? He barely looks like the Riven she knew let alone anything else. 

“Really, Y/N? This is who you swore is the kindest guy you’ve ever known?” Bloom buts in, glaring at Riven.

“I can introduce you to someone so much better”, Aisha adds only making Y/N’s heart ache. 

She doesn’t want anyone else. She wants Riven. She wants the guy who’d hold her hand and tell her everything would be alright. She wants the guy who’d written her love notes and called her Sunshine. She wants the guy who made her smile with a single look, but that’s no longer possible. She sees that now.

Blinking fast, her teeth sink into the soft flesh of her bottom lip before she turns around, rushing off to find a moment alone. She needs a place where she can heave, let out the panic of her realization pass through before she loses control and blinds half the school. 

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat as tears rush to her eyes. She was his Sunshine, a ray of light capable of shining through the darkness. She doesn’t feel very light and bright anymore. She feels empty and she feels angry and hopeless and bitter about losing him.

After the storms the sunshine returns, and crying is much the same, so she lets it out, she lets it go. She must.

“Sunshine?” A breathless voice freezes her in place with her hand on her chest.

Looking over her shoulder, she finds the perpetrator of her deepest pain.

“There was hope before. Just a tiny flicker.” Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she sniffles. “Who are you now?” 

“I’m still me. I’m still your Riv.” He steps closer but Y/N recoils.

“You’re not the Riv I know. And you’re certainly not mine.” She can still see his hands all over Beatrix and the flashback makes her sick to her stomach. 

“I’ve always been yours, Sunshine.” Riven’s voice breaks and Y/N holds her breath with the sound cracking her sanity.

“How is it you see the suffering and choose to make it all the worse?” Sitting down, she covers her quivering lips.

“I’m not trying to make it worse, I swear”, Riven falls to his knees before her, reluctant to touch her. If he saw her recoil from his touch once again, it would kill him. They were never more than friends, but they were more together than couples who actually dated.

“Trust me”, Riven pleads, his fingers shaking as they make contact with her knees. He lets out a relieved sigh once she allows his hands to rest there.

“Trust goes both ways, Riv”, Y/N looks down to his hands, aching to take them in hers yet she can’t. She’s been itching to hold his hands for a long time now, but that would only give way for more heartbreak.

“I’m the inside man”, Riv admits and Y/N’s eyes widen. “I’m trying to find a way to take them down and get Silva out of prison. Sky knows this. Only Sky.” Shaking his head, Riv sighs, “And now you. No one else can be included, Sunshine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me from the start?” She leans in, her breath tickling his lips as their foreheads meet and they close their eyes. The intensity of the moment set them aflame for they’ve never allowed each other the luxury of such intimate touches. Not in a sexual manner, although Riven wanted her in every way, but in a way where the sound of her voice was enough to make his heart flutter. And he never had his heart flutter.

“I told you to trust me.” Riv defends, making her smile.

“You’re an asshole”, she whispers. She can’t help but wonder if he’ll kiss her, finally. The anticipation is mirrored in her shaky lips and she knows she’s so unprepared, but she longs for him. 

“I’m your asshole”, Riven’s nose brushes hers and her heart skips at the notion.

Riven’s hand found the back of her neck, quickly pulling her closer until their lips touched and the words ceased. The kiss barely lasted, managing to take their breaths away in an instant. Y/N surrendered to his touch, losing her senses as his lips brought her heartbeat to the speed of light. Her lips tingled, electricity sparking up throughout her body and her hands clutched to his shirt with all their might as if he could slip through her fingers like sand. He’d been wondering how her rosy lips would taste, never quite sure if it would make any impact on him but from the way his hands tremble with her face in them tucked away safely, he knew he has been bested.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave”, he whispers against her lips before pecking them again, drunk on adrenaline her lips caused.

“Don’t leave then”, she cups his face, holding him close. The simple thought of letting him go pains her. “When you’re gone, I’m stuck in darkness.”

Drawing a deep breath, Riven inches away. Using his hands, he brings her hands down from his face, clinging to the softness of her palms for a moment longer. “Even when I’m with you, I’m darkness that’s consuming you. Sunshine, no matter what happens, I’ll always be bad for you.”

Scoffing, she narrows her eyes ever so slightly, “That should be my choice and I choose you.”

“If you cling to me, I’ll snuff out your light. It’s who I am. I’m the darkness to your light, the night to your day. These kinds of loves don’t have happy endings.” Pressing a kiss to her palm, Riven leaves Y/N in deep thought.

Is it true? Is he her darkness? How much light had he taken already? Because even with that in mind, she wished to be consumed by him entirely. 

People say the darkness presses in, but that’s not true. The darkness kisses up to your skin closer than a lover’s lips and whispers excitement into your ears. The darkness becomes your best friend, a second skin that’s flattering and cool. The darkness becomes your favorite thing right up until your exits are blocked, then it has no reason to hide.

If it was easy to spot darkness there wouldn’t be a problem, now would it?

How often do you confuse day and night?

“Riven is my darkness”, she realizes and yet she doesn’t care. She’s light enough for both of them. If he is her darkness, she is his light and while the sun and the moon failed to make it work, Y/N decided to prove everyone wrong, Riven included.

PART 3 

[teamxdark]

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn? 

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place. 

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

[aminiatureworld]

Damocles

Characters: Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,211

Warnings: Hanahaki disease – depictions of a fictional illness with symptoms mimicking tuberculosis, mentions of coughing up blood, talking a lot about death

Premise: In which the reader thinks Zhongli doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, and fears the consequences.

Author’s Note: Ngl, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about this trope before, except maybe in passing. So if it’s a little weird that’s why.

I ended up taking the story in a bit of a macabre direction. Hopefully not too melodramatic, but I kinda like how it turned out.

Zhongli

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings. I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

 In truth you couldn’t decide whether or not you had expected your feelings to be returned. You and Zhongli had been friends for years now, and you had grown closer to him than you had to most of your previous friends and acquaintances. Indeed, you had grown closer to him than you had to many of the people you’d been in previous relationships in. You called upon him in some form almost every day, whether it be to discuss something of importance or simply bask in his presence. When there was something new you found about, whether it be a story in a book or a particularly funky looking shell, you almost immediately sought out Zhongli to share your find with.

For Zhongli’s part, he also liked to share experiences with you. At the very least you couldn’t say that your friendship was one sided. He often would be the one to walk up to you on the street, a new brand of tea written down on a piece of paper in his pocket, or a location where one could find particularly beautiful glaze lilies on his lips. He never seemed to mind when you peppered him with endless questions, or talked his ear off about your own day; something which you often asked if he found annoying. No, you were very sure that Zhongli wasn’t simply spending time with you out of pity.

In truth it was your friends who guessed the trajectory of your personal feelings before you did. Though you often found their poking and prodding intensely irritating, they had the common sense to keep the questions to a minimum – perhaps in hope their silence might guarantee that your affections would reveal themselves naturally one day. Now though you had to admit they had been right. You had fallen for Zhongli how long ago? It seemed so difficult to say when, so gradually had your feelings changed from viewing him as a confidante to viewing him as something more. Once you had finally come to terms with it you’d put off revealing your feelings as long as possible.

It wasn’t just the chance of rejection, something that would already cause emotions to run high. You had seen what sort of disease could ravage those who were unlucky in love. One of your own friends had suffered from such a disease, a fellow member of the Liyue Qixing had died from such a thing only a few months ago.

It was a terrible disease, everyone at least could agree about that. The origins of such an unfathomable sickness was much less understood. Most saw it as a curse from the gods, a punishment to the humans who would love a fellow mortal more than those who ruled above them, who gave their protection, their mercy, and their gifts to the people below. Others argued that it was simply a result of stress, for what heart could take the shock of a truly deep rejection. A rare parasite, a curse from malevolent demons, all these theories made little difference when it came to the actual disease. You were fairly sure anyways that people dying of it couldn’t care less why it happened, only that it was happening to them.

First came the coughing, easy enough to ignore in a land where the common cold truly lived up to its name. Then you couldn’t run as fast or as far as you had once, at least on the days were you weren’t fighting off crippling fatigue – the night sweats doing little to help you in your desperate need for rest. Then the fever set in, then the blood that stained the porcelain sink. By the time the first few petals would appear emaciation would already begin to claim your muscle mass and the precious body fat that kept you alive. Some people didn’t even get to the point of regurgitating fully formed flowers. Those people were usually considered lucky, for when one must deal with an incurable disease, well, surely it is better to go sooner rather than later.

You wouldn’t lie and say that wasn’t one of the reasons it took you so long to confess. After all, what you don’t know won’t kill you, right? You weren’t actually sure about that, but it sounded right in your mind, regardless of its actual veracity. However, as with most people in love, you’d found a growing recklessness inside you, paired with the sudden desperation for a happiness which you would certainly never obtain at this rate. So you’d made up your mind to tell him, deciding that perhaps the certainty would be better than the ever growing cloud of anxiety that surrounded your thoughts.

Now you’d been rejected. You had to admit that your first reaction was utter panic, the distinct feeling of having made a terrible sort of mistake. Oh sure, your feelings were undeniably hurt, but that was less important than the virtual death sentence you’d been handed. Why oh why had you decided to do this? The world seemed to swim in front of your for a moment, as simultaneously everything came into sharp focus and faded away into the recesses of your mind. What would you do now? There was nothing to do, you just had to wait for the inevitable, wait for the cold embrace of death to welcome you to its abode. You took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. Tears were forming in your eyes, but you knew that they weren’t from romantic distress. Ironically romance was the last thing in your mind right now.

“I, I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

It was all you could manage to make out. Turning around, head light from fear, you bolted down the streets of Liyue, desperate to be in your home, desperate to ignore the sword of Damocles that now hung dangerously low over your head.

 Zhongli watched you go, watched as you stumbled your way through the crowd that always packed the streets of Liyue in the daytime. He was fine, he was perfectly fine. He had seen it through, had done what he knew was right. There was no reason to regret. Surely the small stab of pain he felt was temporary, a pinprick compared to all that the ex-archon had suffered over the years.

Zhongli had suspected that a confession like this might’ve been on the horizon for quite some time now. Not that he was dreading it out of a personal inability to reciprocate. No, in his heart Zhongli already reciprocated your suspected feelings. He loved you, adored you even; within the stony heart that had atrophied over years of war, suffering, and personal duty, grew a love that Zhongli had not felt for a very long time. He cherished every moment with you, knowing that his long life would try to compress the memories that were so precious to them. Seeing you whenever he could, dragged out conversations as long as he possibly could, Zhongli was practically desperate for time with you. He was also intensely aware of how short that time would ultimately be.

How could Zhongli push the curse of loving an immortal being on you? For it truly was a curse, to both parties involved. His side was painful of course, the knowledge that your memory, you lifespan even, would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He would always be wondering whether or not the two of you would be experiencing a “last”. Last visit to the sea, last time to climb up the Huaguang Stone Forest to watch the sunset together. Last, last, last. Always the shadow of death would hang over you, so palpable in Zhongli’s mind that he might almost reach out and grasp the gossamer veil that would eventually steal you away. Yes, it would be a truly painful experience. Not nearly as painful however as your own experience.

Zhongli had long ago come to the conclusion that mortals had no true concept of the passage of time. You were young now, the world was your oyster. Zhongli’s immortal status would be nothing more than a passing thought, an anomaly and nothing more. Then your 40th birthday would pass, then you 50th, then you 60th, 70th, 80th. By the time you reached the end of your life the difference between you and Zhongli would stretch out like a chasm between the two of you, something to never be reconciled, for the old rarely forgave the young for their youth. Not to mention the other scenario, the one that Zhongli would never allow the freedom to truly cloud his thoughts. Your death of old age would be a tragedy, the alternative a catastrophe.

He knew all this, had seen it time and time again. Zhongli was hardly the first immortal being to fall in love with a mortal, would not be the last. Adepti, archons, all walks of immortal life were drawn to humanity, drawn to the freedom that came with mortality. Humans did things because they died; they had no forcible tie to nature, no innate duty other than to themselves. Humans could be wicked or kind or cruel or merciful as they wished. To those who were chained by their destiny, well, there was something very anomalous in such a choice. Perhaps it was no surprise then that an immortal being would inevitable find themselves interacting with those supposedly below them. Perhaps it was no surprise that this often led to love.

All that being true, Zhongli still refused to give into his needless selfishness. He loved you, yes. Knowing that was enough. He wouldn’t push such a burden on you, wouldn’t cause you resentment or pain. It would be better if you thought that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be less painful.

Nor would you have to worry about the curse to which many less lucky fell. Zhongli still loved you, still cherished you deeply. You would never have to worry about that, for archons and adepti do not move on from love the way humans do. Zhongli’s love for you would long outlast your lifespan, one which, the archon prayed, would be very long indeed.

Yes, everything had been handled well enough. Perhaps you would never wish to speak with him again, perhaps you would grow to resent him even, how quickly love can turn into hate. It didn’t matter though. Zhongli had shielded you from long, drawn-out suffering, and that was all that mattered. He should’ve been satisfied, should have felt relief. Instead however he only felt a great sadness pressing down, a sadness combined with the pain that accompanied a love that must never truly be realized.

 It had been nine days since you’d been rejected by Zhongli. Crossing off another square on the calendar which you had dug out of your old stationary you sighed. The nine days succeeding the encounter had been utter hell. At first you were convinced that the worst thing that could happen was the symptoms of the wretched illness showing up quickly, so convinced you were that the next day you would wake up with blood on your pillow. Soon however, you’d come to a completely different conclusion. There was nothing worse than waiting.

Every day was spent in the agony of anticipation, every day waiting for the coughing to begin, for the night sweats to begin ravaging your sleep, for the breathe to be stolen from your lungs. Yet every day you woke up with none of these things, though your fatigue was real enough.

You should have been relieved, should have been glad for the opportunity to live even a few more days. Yet instead of relief you only felt deep, unrelenting dread. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, so crippled were you by morbid anticipation.

Not that your thoughts were particularly worthwhile either. Perhaps it would be one thing if your ruminations had brought up something profound, something that you could write down in a book for your family or your friends. Though it still would be poor solace, well, at least it’d be something. But your thoughts had all turned to mush, replaced by a paranoia so strong it confined you to your bed most days.

You thought that the death sentence would in some way be freeing, that you might be able to recklessly throw yourself at all the things you had avoided out of fear for so long. Instead you found yourself depressed, waiting for an inevitable so terrifying you found yourself disconnecting from the people around you. What did it matter anyways? You’d be dead soon enough.

This gross neglect of your wellbeing was at least somewhat allayed by the routine that had been drilled into your body from so many years working for the Liyue Qixing. Though you didn’t go to work, something you were sure you were going to hear about eventually, you still dared to venture out to the market. At the very least you would eat your fill in good for before the end was nigh. No need to worry about your health after all. Besides, your definition of good food didn’t necessarily always align with completely unhealthy.

Walking through the familiar streets you stared at the people around you. How odd it was to see people so close you could touch them but so far they might as well have been in Inazuma. Was there anyone else here suffering like you were? Anyone who could understand the thoughts that now flooded your brain? You stared at the ground, trying not to think about it. You’d be confronted with these thoughts the minute you got home anyways. Might as well delay it a bit.

Turning to find the fishmonger you spied a familiar silhouette. Stopping in your tracks you stared unabashedly at Zhongli. The man seemed to be carrying himself much as ever, but the unapproachable atmosphere which he’d blanketed himself in seemed somewhat more prominent. Perhaps it was your imagination, he seemed to be talking to the butcher easily enough. Not that it was any of your business. Zhongli wasn’t any of your business anymore. It would be better if you could forget him, if you could erase this feeling in your heart that refused to go away. Even now Zhongli was beautiful. Even now you wished to run up to him, to hug him, to make pretend everything was right with the world. You couldn’t do that though. Just as you couldn’t forget him, you couldn’t love him. Not in the way you wanted. Turning away you trudged back home, good food utterly forgotten.

It was day eighteen since Zhongli had rejected you, and by now your emotions were running almost unbearably high. You’d sunk into an odd reverie of adrenaline, anxiety, and utter disbelief. What in the world was going on? This was a familiar illness to you, something that had almost claimed the life of your friend and had felled your coworker. You knew everything about symptoms, timeline, etc.; and what you knew was you were supposed to be falling ill ages ago. Eighteen days between the initial rejection and the beginning of symptoms? It was unheard of! You didn’t know what to think. Were the rumors about the gods true, had Zhongli imposed some divine protection on you for the sake of your friendship? Were you somehow a superhuman who had the white blood cell coding to defeat the bacteria that caused this disease? Why hadn’t your descent begun yet?

You lounged on the couch, having moved out of your bedroom on the thirteenth day, three days after the latest possible showing of symptoms. Though you still felt deeply afraid, you found that curiosity was a surprisingly good deterrent when it wanted to be. Your fears hadn’t disappeared, but mixed with them was a disbelief so great that you often found your thoughts drifting to questions of how rather than questions of when.

Of course your initial instinct had been to seek out Zhongli. Pride mixed with fear however had kept you firmly at home. Really what was the point in even seeking out the answer to your miraculous reprieve at this point? It wouldn’t really change the outcome. Instead you might as well enjoy this unexpected extension of your life. Besides, you didn’t want to tempt the fates a second time.

 Zhongli stood at the window of your first story apartment, a glaze lily in hand. He hadn’t meant to do this, but the urge refused to leave him.

He’d noticed you a few times at the market, face drawn, eyes empty. Zhongli wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but certainly this wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t suffering from illness, your pace was strong, if slightly erratic, your general aura not that of the sick that Zhongli was all too familiar with. Why then did you look so terrible? The doubts that had plagued Zhongli began to rise again, jeering at the mistake he had made. He was supposed to protect you, right? Why then did you look as if you had experienced a total health collapse?

At first Zhongli tried to ignore it. You had not come to him for help, it was not his place to try and insert himself back in your life once more. The more he thought of you however, the more he found himself uneasy. He had to have some form of communication, some way to enquire about your health. At least one last time. If you explicitly rejected all forms of contact, well then Zhongli would leave. He would never defy your wishes in such a way. Until then however, he felt like he needed to ask.

The idea of walking up to your apartment and asking you was utterly off the table. Who knew how that might end? No, he wanted a subtler way. Glaze lilies had always been a favorite of yours, sneaking out into the evening to see them bloom even more so. He would simply leave one on your windowsill. If you took it, then he would enquire about your health. If you left it, well Zhongli would have his answer.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the windowsill, causing the gold ribbon tied around the lily to tremble slightly. At first Zhongli wanted only to give you the flower. He realized soon however that you might be confused, wondering if someone had not simply dropped a flower on your windowsill, or had the wind blown it there? The ribbon would hopefully clear things up. Even if it looked a little silly.

Slowly placing the flower down onto the open window Zhongli sighed. Turning around he did not dare spare a glance backwards. He would have his answer soon enough after all. Until then, well, there was no point in looking back.

 You exited from the kitchen, having finally felt the energy to make yourself that good food you’d been promising yourself. Going to look at the sunset you let out a soft gasp.

On your windowsill was a single glaze lily, wrapped in gold.