#if you hate me for drawing this don’t worry i’ll go die in a hole after posting this!!!

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

Oopsies my hand slipped and I drew this

[vroomian]

Kinda rough points for the platonic ideal of a Gerard. Just ideas at this point lol

—

Jason shot and wounded stumbles into a maze of alleys, hears someone singing and playing the guitar. That’s fucking weird ™ Because people don’t sing in crime alley.

He follows the music to an abandoned building, climbs in, and stumbles across a girl who seems very unimpressed with the whole situation. Her hair is, of course, black and curly, her skin is pale, and her eyes are a very dark blue magnified by her thick glasses. Her ratty oversized sweater makes her look even smaller than she is.

Jason adds another point to the “am I actually cursed to deal with Wayne nonsense for the rest of my unlife ??” collum, because this kid is adoption bait, down to the deadpan look on her face.

Jason can’t get this Obviously Homeless Child to leave , because ‘I was here first’ is a pretty good justification in crime alley. Then it’s too late and the people who shot Jason show up outside, and they’re both trapped.

“Fucking really,” the kid says flatly.

Jason kinda likes the twerp despite himself. What a tiny asshole.

“I’ll lead him away,” Jason says, despite being Swiss cheesed. “Stay here.”

“Normally I'd agree,” the kid says, “but your blood is mostly on the outside. If you go out you’ll die.”

She’s right. Jason’s still not about to let this kid be killed because of him.

the kid looks out the window and sighs like he’s deeply annoying. “Okay. Fine. I’ll take care of it I guess. Can I have a gun. “

What.

“What,” Jason says.

The kid makes grabby hands towards the gun in his hands. Jason let’s her take it because it’s out of bullets anyway and he’s very confused.

“Wait no,” Jason says. “Do not go out there and get in a gun fight,”

“Obviously,” she says. She holds the gun kind of awkwardly, but the way she clicked the safely off speaks of familiarity. “But if red hood dies, no one keeps Batman out of the narrows.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because Batman won’t let metas live in Gotham,” she says and leans out the window before Jayson can stop her. Pressure builds and builds until jaysons hair stood on end, instincts screaming at him. The girl's eyes gain pinpricks of glowing red in the iris.

“It’s high noon,” she says, an odd echo to her voice, as if she was calling down a long tunnel.

It’s like three am. Jason can still feel the blinding heat of a harsh midday sun on his face.

There are eight men in the alley below them, and one of them points upwards at the girl — but it’s too late.

“Draw.”

The girl pulls the trigger . The crack is defaning, even through the sound filters of Jason’s helmet. The heat vanishes, but the wariness doesn’t.

Down below, all eight men collapse at the same time. Jason can make out the neat little holes in each of their foreheads. Clean headshots.

The girl shakes her head, hands Jason the gun back and rubs her eyes. “Ow. Hate doing that.”

“What was that????”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, hold this thing,” she tosses him a baseball. “Embrace tranquility or whatever.”

“???” Jason says when the base ball begins to float and glow, this time gold -- and matching the pinpricks of gold light in the girl’s irises. Before he has time to drop it, he can feel his chest begin to knit together. “You can heal?”

“No,” Her face is completely straight. “It’s definitely not me. There’s no metas in gotham. Especially not in the narrows. That’d just be asking to get captured and sold.”

Jason glanced out the window, at the eight dead men, and the calm face of the girl. She couldn’t be more than twelve but there was no regret, or hesitation in her expression. Not the first time she’d killed.

“I can put you up in a safe house,” Jason says.

“Haha, death first. I’m not getting involved with your caped nonsense. I’m going to go to college and become an accountant.”

Argue about it till the orb fizzles out and Jason agrees to leave reluctantly. He knows how alley kids are, and forcing the issue won’t help.

“Whats your name?” He asks.

“……Gerard” she says, not changing her expression.

“You don’t look like a Gerard.”

“I’ll have you know that I am the platonic ideal of a Gerard. If you look Gerard up online you’ll find me and only me.”

Man Jason likes this kid. “Sure. See you around Gerry.”

“Man I hope not. Don’t forget to clean up your mess. I like this spot and I don’t need eu de corpse outside all day.”

Brat. Jason goes out the window, baseball in hand. Behind him, there’s a moment of quiet, and then the music starts up again. 

“Now Jesus died for them its true. What’s a devil to do? When the saints go marching in, I won’t be there because I love my sins…”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Miss Americana (Part 3)

Summary: The reader recovers from her second dose of Compound V and explores her stronger abilities with Dean. But the events of a fun night out might give Miss Americana and Soldier Boy an unlikely ally...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, implied past torture/assault/killings

A/N: Enjoy this final part! This contains very minor spoilers for The Boys...

______

“Let me hide this stuff and I’ll be back in five, okay?” he asked. You nodded, Dean cupping your cheek before he was gone. It was barely a minute before he was returning, wearing sweats and a henley, a box under his arm. “Brownies from the bakery down the block.”

“I thought you liked pie.”

“I do. But you like brownies,” he said. “Something to look forward to after you spend the night shaking and sweating.”

“Lovely,” you said. He sat down beside you, urging you to lean into him. He tucked a blanket over your legs, watching the fire crackle. “I don’t think I mind if you’re a monster.”

“I can be pretty horrible.”

“You’re not horrible to me. You’ve never been that way. Even if your first instinct was to try to manipulate me you decided not to.”

“I hate most people. Think they’re worthless. Only care about myself.”

“So? I told you when we met...I’m the nice bad guy. I frankly don’t give a fuck anymore about being the pushover, the one that gets hurt. I just want to never be afraid again.”

“We never have to be afraid after tonight. Never,” he said. “You’ll be stronger than Homelander. Stronger than me. You’ll be safe.”

“For a bad guy, you were awfully nice giving me that dose with no strings attached.”

“There’s no strings,” he said. He stroked your arm when you shivered. 

“Partners?” you asked. He leaned down, kissing you more gently than he ever had. No need behind it.

“I like partners,” he said. He was warm as you started to feel cool, Dean drawing shapes on your bare skin. “I had a little brother.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He got sick right after I shipped out. Died the morning I got my first dose of Compound V. Only reason I volunteered for the shot. They said volunteers got special benefits. I wanted my brother to get to a good hospital and proper care and he was already dead by the time I got my shot. Then uh, then some of us started dying cause they didn’t know dosages or shit. I thought at least Sam’s gonna be okay. Then I spent three days wishing it would kill me so I could be with him instead of having been away for the last year of his life. But I didn’t die. I was the only one. Then they gave me more and...I guess I enjoyed becoming the super soldier over grieving. Then it goes to your head and changes you and...Sammy wouldn’t even recognize me now. At least I know I’m not going to the same place he wound up so he won’t have to see.”

“What was that like, being honest just now,” you asked, goosebumps covering your skin. You bundled into him more, Dean pulling up the blanket.

“I miss Sammy. I haven’t thought about him in years. I hope the kid’s happy wherever he is.”

“Maybe you’ll see him again someday,” you said. You shook, sweat forming all over you, muscles aching. You turned, unable to get comfortable. “How long does this last?”

“About six hours. Then I passed out and when I woke up it was over.”

“Awesome.” You gripped the blanket tight, Dean massaging your tense shoulders. “Tell me more about Sammy. Please.”

“He absolutely hated being called Samuel,” said Dean with a chuckle. “So naturally I did it all the time when we were kids.”

“Keep going,” you said, stomach churning briefly. “Distract me.”

“Let me tell you about the time we jumped off the shed roof.”

You were in sweaty clothes when you woke, lifting your head off Dean’s chest to find him passed out and snoring lightly. You sat up, shaking out your head. Something was different. You stood, deciding to test out flying first. You yelped when you nearly hit the ceiling, freezing and plopping straight down onto the couch and Dean.

He groaned awake, peeling open his eyes to find you hovering above him.

“Sweetheart I’m all for a little rough in the bedroom but not a full body tackle awake,” he said. You moved to the side, the motion second nature quickly but it required much less effort than before. You looked around, nothing in the room heavy enough to test your strength. Dean sat up, smirking as he looked at you. “Wanna arm wrestle?”

“Yes!” you said, Dean chuckling, groggily taking a seat at the counter. You stood on the other side of the island, Dean clasping your hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. You squeezed, Dean keeping up with you for a good few seconds before he started to go down fast. You heard the counter creek and then it was breaking, Dean backing up. 

“Uh,” you said. 

“Don’t worry about it. What do you expect when you got supes in the place? But you, you’re stronger. Stronger than me,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Very good. I um, I’d like to go fly. I think I might be faster.”

“Go for it. I’ll call someone to get this fixed. Just be careful. Try not to fly into any planes.”

“I’ll do my best, Soldier Boy.”

“Again?” asked Dean that night. You flew up high and smiled, Dean letting go of you, free falling a few seconds before you dove down and caught him. He giggled and you flew higher, Dean jumping off. You could heard him laughing and went down, something hitting you on the way. You threw a punch and arms released you, Dean holding on tight when you finally caught up with him. You both looked up and glared, a cape and pair of red eyes looking down. “You do realize the fall won’t kill me.”

“Probably not. But it’d be fun to try,” said Homelander. He floated down to your level, your arm tight around Dean’s waist. “Oh relax. I won’t touch your boy toy again.”

“I thought I said to stay the fuck away from us,” you growled.

“I just thought you’d like to know that Soldier Boy’s internal file will be released to the major news outlets tomorrow. Did you know-”

You grabbed his neck with your free hand, squeezing hard, Homelander pawing at your wrist.

“Any good reasons why I shouldn’t kill him?” you asked Dean.

“None come to mind,” said Dean, Homelander’s eyes red but fading as he choked for air.

“Feel free to speak up,” you said, gripping his neck even tighter. 

“Stop,” said a voice, the three of you turning towards a small drone hovering close by. “Let him go.”

“He tried to kill Soldier Boy,” you said, holding on tight. You didn’t even see the drone shoot out the darts, the three of you hit. You instantly dropped Homelander, flying down to the roof of Vought as soon as you could, Dean out cold already and you quickly joining him.

You woke up on the couch in Edgar’s office, no sign of Dean or Homelander. Everything felt off still as you sat up, Mr. Edgar suddenly sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

“Are you alright?”

“No,” you groaned, stretching out. “What the hell was that?”

“If you’re going to act like children, we’ll treat you like them.”

“Dean and I were having fun, minding our own business-”

“Dean and you stole Compound V for your own benefit. I thought you were going to be more understanding of this arrangement.”

“I have to be stronger than Homelander and now I am. We didn’t hurt anybody to get it. You people let him do whatever the fuck he wanted so get off your high horse.”

“We understand. But you can’t kill him.”

“Why the fuck not.”

“He brings value in, even not as part of the Seven. Miss Americana and Soldier Boy can take over the leadership roles and Homelander is to be left alone.”

“He wants to kill-”

“I said to leave it be.” You stood, glaring down at him. “If an incident like this occurs again, there will be consequences. Dismissed.”

“Gonna throw us back in a hole? That’s kinda your thing isn’t it.”

“We know how to deal with problem children, even supe ones,” he said, standing up. “Back off before all three of you are worth more dead than alive. Don’t make me dismiss you again.”

You stormed out, slamming the door after you, not bothering to look back when you heard the wood splinter. You went straight to Dean’s apartment, Dean unscathed inside. But Homelander standing there, neither of them actively trying to kill the other, that was more than enough to forget your anger for the moment.

“You okay?” asked Dean, stepping over to grab your hand. You hummed, looking Homelander up and down. “You got the same message we did I’m guessing.”

“Behave or we’re all fucked. Yeah. Why the hell is he here?”

“We were spoken to at the same time. While he’s still a psycho and has some major fucked up issues, he has a different idea,” said Dean. 

“Said the mass murderer.” Homelander rolled his eyes. “We all want to be in charge of the Seven. Be the best.”

“You shoved your hand down my pants,” you growled.

“True. But enemies can work together when they have a larger, common enemy, hm?”

“Edgar,” said Dean. “He wants to wipe out Edgar. Ashley is the next logical choice and we can control her. She wouldn’t do jack shit to us.”

“Remove Edgar from the equation and we can all get along. Maybe form a little, trio, best of the best. Still part of the Seven but top dogs. Vought would eat that shit up. Behind the scenes you two fuck or whatever it is you do. Publicly, we’re the strongest go America team there ever was. The soldier from a simpler time, the soldier who fought the terrorists and defend her country, and the everyday man who protects his fellow citizens. All walks of life, all the basis covered. Between the three of us our numbers are sky high in every single demographic.”

“What’s to stop us from killing each other after Edgar is out of the picture,” you said.

“You’re strong enough to kill me. But your little boyfriend can’t fly. You come after me, I’ll drop him in the ocean. Leave me alone, I leave you two alone and we all win,” said Homelander. “Deal?”

“What do you think?” you asked Dean. 

“Lesser of two evils. I think,” said Dean. “I say we give it a chance to see if we can get Edgar out.”

“Fine. We can discuss this more tomorrow. Oh and Homelander. I ever catch you in my or Dean’s apartment again, I’ll snap your neck. Deal or no deal.”

“If you were only a little more twisted we could have had something,” he said. He nodded and left, Dean letting out a deep breath when he was gone. 

“Y/N,” said Dean. You hummed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thanks. For catching me earlier.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“Probably but I don’t want to test that theory out. If he dropped me in the ocean...I still need to breathe. We have to play nice.”

“We will. Until we don’t have to,” you said. He smirked, kissing your lips. “He tried to kill you. Now I hate him even more. As soon as we can, he’s gone.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned.

“Yes I am and you, you’re my Soldier Boy. We’re going to own this place, very, very soon.”

“Damn straight we are sweetheart. Just a little bit longer and then we can do whatever we want to. Promise.”

_________

[libidinous-weeb]

Just Because (Bakugou x Reader)

Tags: 18+, dub-con/non-con (but it’s got a lighthearted(ISH) ending), overstim, degradation, mind break (kind of??? i guess?? not really), unspecified gender but reader has a puthy

Summary: Reader is a villain and annoyed that Dynamight won’t get off their ass when they do crime. So they capture him and decide to fuck about it. This started as me just wanting to lewd Bakugou in a discord server, but as per usual, i got carried away.

enjoy. or don’t. your choice ig lol. also not beta’d so sorry the capitalization is stupid.

when you perch your self on top of Dynamight’s lap, he’s confused at first. when you slide so close you’re sitting on his crotch, he starts to get the picture. he wants to ask you what the fuck you’re doing but he’s suddenly tongue tied. he’s confused about what you’re doing as he tries to wriggle away, but you don’t let him up. you have him on a bed somewhere, with his legs bound and his wrists trapped in quirk canceling handcuffs.

you start to grind on his cock, moaning quietly in his ear. he vaguely knows you, and you’re making him so hard, harder than he swears he’s ever been in his life. he vaguely knows you, and you’re making him so hard, harder than he swears he’s ever been in his life. he’s so embarrassed you have this effect on him. he’s Dynamight! a big time hero! he should have control over this situation, and someone like you with your soft lips and even softer thighs and perfect little ass that rubs up against him in the best way possible...you shouldn’t be the one that’s able to make him lose his iron like grip on his self control.

when you shove your tongue down his throat, it shouldn’t feel this good. he shouldn’t be moaning like a goddamn girl. he shouldn’t feel so good that part of his mind goes blank when you touch and kiss him. he shouldn’t get so flustered and his face shouldn’t be turning cherry red just because of some fucking extra. he shivers, and tries to fight the urge to tilt his head back as your hands move from his chest down lower and lower...

when you finally touch him through his pants, he bites his lip, hard. it’s just your hand, but it feels amazing. you aren’t even directly touching him, and he feels like some kind of pathetic teenager. he starts hoping you don’t notice how his hips are slowly rolling towards your touch.

“H-Hey! Stop—I said stop it!” he cries out, as your mouth moves from his lips to his neck where you kiss and suck and bite.

“I’m gonna have so much fun breaking you like this,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re not—you can’t...be thinking you’re gonna—“ you cut him off. “I’m gonna fuck you. Hard. And you’re gonna beg me to let you cum. I’ve wanted you inside me for so long, and I’m finally gonna make it happen. You’re not gonna stop me—you can’t. I’m gonna make you cum over and over again, no matter how much you beg me to stop.” his eyes widen a bit in surprise. “Y-You what? Why? Fucking cut it out! Let me go, you fucking freak!” he feels trapped, panicked. still, he’s not scared of you. he’s scared of the effect you have on him.

he’s kissed before. had sex, even (not often, but he’d die before he ever admitted that out loud), so why does it feel like he’s on fire right now? why does his body want this so badly when he doesnt? you pull his shirt over his head and bunch it up by his hands, which are restrained with the cuffs. then you slide your hand down his pants as your mouth moves to his nipples.

“Fuck, n-not there...” his nipples were sensitive and you sucking and teasing and biting at them makes him feel like he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. you aren’t even jerking him off, just groping his dick while you toy with his chest. he’s trying (and failing) to steady his voice while he yells at you. “S-Stop fucking...touching me already!” his voice is loud but it trembles when it escapes him. the way he lies beneath you, eyes clenched shut, his face hot and red, panting and trying to turn his face away from you as if the sight of you is too much for him...it’s too fucking hot. the way quiet moans slip out between words and the way he’s biting his lip to keep himself quiet...it’s all too irresistible. you need to have him, now. you slide his pants down and position yourself over his dick. “Don’t fucking—“ you cut him off with a harsh slap to the face, then grab him by his chin. “Shut. Up.” you momentarily stun him into silence as his eyes meet yours.

you hold his cock steady as you slide down on him and his eyes roll to the back of his head as a loud, desperate moan leaves him. “F-Fuck, wait! I can’t—!“ he cums. Dynamight, the pro hero, cums the second he bottoms out for the first time like a goddamn virgin. he gasps as his orgasm rushes out of him, surprising you both. he gets even redder still, something you didn’t think was possible. he keeps his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he tries to catch his breath. you laugh. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Big bad Bakugou’s so pathetic that my pussy makes him cum in under 30 seconds? Not so scary now, are you? Where’d all that attitude go? Come on, let’s see it!”

he still doesn’t open his eyes. he’s made of tougher stuff than this. he shouldn’t be brought to his knees by some extra’s fucking pussy. even with the way you slammed down on him out of nowhere. you’re just so tight and hot and soft and feel so fucking perfect...

his eyes shoot open in desperation when you start moving. “W-Wait! I can’t! I-I really can’t! Do-Don’t fucking—nnhg...fuckfuckfuck, stop fucking moving!” you wrap your hand around his throat and apply pressure. he’s grimacing now, all angry and squirmy, trying to free himself from you. you look him directly in the eyes as you choke him.“I told you. You’re not gonna stop me. I decide when it’s over. I’ve just gotten started. I’m gonna make you cum over and over and over again. And you’re gonna lie there and let me. You don’t have a choice. Got it?” you start gyrating your hips, fucking him in earnest. you keep your hand on his throat, letting him breathe but reminding him who’s in control.

he clenches his hands into fists, legs and body shaking as you take what you want from him. he bites his lips so hard to keep himself quiet that he draws blood. you kiss him and clean it up with your tongue as you run it over his lips. his cock feels like it was made for you, long and curved and thick. he still won’t look at you as you keep fucking him, getting close to your first orgasm. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” instinctively, katsuki opens his eyes and looks at you. you sitting atop him, back arched, breasts pushed forwards, thighs shaking, head thrown back with bliss written across your face...

“AAAAH FUCK!” katsuki cums again. it hurts but it feels so good. despite the fact that he hates this, he can’t deny how fucking hot you look, perched on top of him, cumming all over his cock. “You-You got what you wanted...right? so get-get the fuck off of-mmmh-off of me.”

you open your eyes. katsuki sees how hazy they look as you regain the ability to form words again. “N-No. Not done yet. Wanna come more.” Your airy, lighthearted chuckle confirms what katsuki had suspected. you’re fucked out but still drunk with lust. your first orgasm made you only want more. you started moving your hips again.

“F-Fucking shit...fuck...”at some point, bakugou couldn’t think anymore. he didn’t know up from down. the only thing that mattered was you, your fucking pussy, and how much your torture hurt in the best way possible. he stopped begging you to stop and started babbling about how good it felt, and how perfect you are. “God, FUCK you feel so fucking good, fuck, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop. Please. Just keep fucking me, pleasegodpleasepleasepleaseyesyesyes—FUCK! Fuck, it feels so good. Love it, I fucking love it, FUCK! I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t fucking stop, please! FUCK, I can’t stop cumming, I can’t! I fucking love you, fucking love your pussy, fucking love, FUCKING YOU!”

when your hips gave out and you slumped over his chest, bakugou slid his cuffed hands behind you and flipped you both over. “Don’t fucking stop, pleasepleaseplease—“ you were in the same state as he was. you positioned his cock to your hole as he forced it inside you. your legs shook as he started thrusting in you, short sharp movements like a fucking dog. he was so desperate he was humping you like a fucking dog, and you loved it. “please bakugou, dynamight, katsuki, please fuck me more. i want it so bad, please! fuck, it still feels so fucking good, you and your perfect fucking cock, fucking me up over and over and over again—“

when you finally decided to stop you had both made yourself cum so many times you lost count. bakugou’s cock hurt. he’d cum so much he’d started having dry orgasms. and you were a mess. your pussy was sore. you’d squirted and dripped all over his cock so much there was a puddle underneath you both. you tried to stand but your legs kept shaking. the cuffs around bakugou’s wrists made a beeping sound and then opened, but neither of you registered it.

by the time both of you had regained some sense, you had sat up, and reached into a bedside table near the mattress in the abandoned warehouse you had him in. you shakily handed him a bottle of water as you grabbed one for yourself and did the same with some vending machine peanut butter crackers or some shit. You didn’t look that closely when you bought them. “Here. This is all I got right now. Take it.” without thinking, bakugou reached out to take them, then froze as he looked at his unrestrained hand dumbly. “How...?” “S’ on a timer. Wasn’t gonna kidnap you forever.” he blinked, then took your offering. you both sat in silence as you ate. you pulled out a large sharp knife from the same drawer and katsuki immediately tensed, worried you were going to attack him. “Hey. Here.” you handed him the knife. he stared at it, then you, then stared back at the knife. “It’s to free your legs, stupid.” he stared at you. “What? I’m a villain, but I’m not a monster, Katsuki. Not my fault you’re so fuckin irresistible.”

“You...You’re not gonna kill me?” “Nah. Just wanted to fuck ya. And it was totally worth it. you can arrest me now or whatever. Oh, and there’s some clothes for you in this drawer too, and some baby wipes. No shower though.” you sniff your armpit. “Eugh. Didn’t think to bring deodorant.” katsuki looks to you, and blinks at you owlishly. he finally speaks. “W-What the fuck was that? Why—How—“

“Reasons.” you say, and leave it at that.

[jackrrabbit]

Unprofessional [pt. 2] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader (18+)

Request: Bro can I request a super smutty yandere tendou x reader please there’s literally no content for him and I’m just a honry simp for him 😔 (also your writing is FANFUCKINGTASTIC I have read and reread all of your docs dude at least twice in conclusion you’re my favorite writing blog now)

A/N: Thank you omg I’m so honored, seriously I’m blushing?? Also I love Tendou too so ty for the request. Finished the second (and final) part one day late for his birthday  🎂🥳🎁🎊🎉

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 1]

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 23), noncon, mildly inebriated sex, restraints/bondage, threats, Tendou is incapable of shutting up, liberal use of “senpai”

You look so cute like this, wrapped up like a pretty birthday present just for him. Tendou likes you so much it hurts.

Your breaths are intentionally steady, like you’re counting out the proper number of seconds on each inhale and exhale in an effort to appear calm. Your chest heaves lightly, and he’s got an almost-perfect view of it with your blouse unbuttoned and your bra pushed up over your tits. He’d prefer to have you completely topless, but with your hands tied behind your back with his belt, his options are limited.

Tendou’s already shimmied your sensible pencil skirt down over your thighs to expose your legs. You looked so sexy in just your open shirt and pantyhose, but he had to take the hose off for access. Besides, removing the sheer black fabric (slowly, so that it wouldn’t rip—he knows those things aren’t cheap) gave him the opportunity to feel up your legs. Panties came next, and now you’re on your back glaring up at him with your legs crossed and folded to hide your naked pussy.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Of course he took a few pictures.

The only issue is the gag. Tendou has his tie wound over your mouth to keep you quiet. It won’t do—he wants to see your face, after all—but he’s already got a fix, in the form of a little square of plastic he takes from his pocket.

He holds it up close enough that you can see it. “Do you know what this is?”

You don’t nod or anything, but you definitely recognize it—a condom.

“We’re going to have sex, senpai.” Tendou picks up on the little catch in your breath when he says the word ‘sex’, but he doesn’t think about it. “I don’t really care if I wear a condom, but I think you probably do. Is that right?”

You don’t respond.

“Senpaiii…don’t be stubborn. Nod yes for a condom, or else I’m not gonna wear one.”

You glare like you want to kill him, but you nod. Haha, how cute.

“Okay, good. I like when you do what I tell you. Now, I want to take the gag off, but I won’t do it if you’re going to be loud, you understand? It’s rude to bother your neighbors late at night. And…” He pauses. “Just to make sure you play nice, if you don’t listen to me I’ll take the condom off and cum inside. You don’t want that, do you?”

You shake your head frantically.

“Thought so.” Tendou’s pale, nimble fingers splay out over your inner thigh. “Then can you promise you’ll be nice?”

It takes you a long minute during which Tendou entertains himself petting the sweat-damp skin of your thigh, but you finally nod.

“Great!” Tendou grins and reaches down to untie the gag.

You take a minute to open and close your mouth, probably trying to stretch out the stiff muscles before you speak. Your voice is impassive and cool like you’ve been practicing what you’re going to say. “Tendou, you need to untie me. You’re very drunk and not in your right mind. Don’t do something you’re going to regret.”

Instead of listening to you, Tendou chooses to strip. Your composed mask slips for a second when he takes off his boxers to reveal his stiff, throbbing hard cock, already aching red and drizzling strands of precum onto his hand when he strokes it up and down. “Don’t worry baby, I sober up quick. I might be a lil tipsy but I’m not gonna have any trouble performing. Not for you.”

He crouches down to center you in between his arms, holding his head directly above yours. “And besides—“ you try to pull back away from his hot breath but your limited range of movement prevents you from getting anywhere— “I’m not going to regret this.”

Your lips are soft under his and you still taste fresh and sweet and minty from the toothpaste. You’re unresisting when his tongue prods into your mouth, but that’s not enough. “Kiss me back,” he murmurs, and you do. Maybe it’s just mindless—he’s sure you’ve kissed other people, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise—but the movements of your lips and teeth and tongue against his feel almost eager.

“Ha…my first kiss with senpai,” Tendou says, pulling back and licking over his swollen lips. It would be nice to take his time with everything, but there’ll be more chances for that later. He loves the way your eyes trace him as he sticks his own fingers in his mouth to cover them with saliva.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but your question is answered when Tendou easily pulls your legs apart and settles himself between them so he can have easy access to slide his spit-soaked fingers up the length of your slit. “Tendou—Tendou, wait—“

He shushes you and continues to drag his middle finger all the way up from your entrance to your clit, letting the rough texture of his skin combine with your slick lubricant and give you just enough stimulation to make your hips twitch. “Mm, you like that? Gotta get you ready baby…not to brag, but I’m a little bigger than most guys. Wouldn’t want to—oh, easy, easy, relax—wouldn’t want to hurt you.“

You wince and then try to hold it back, school your expression so he won’t see the discomfort on your face when a single finger pushes into you. It’s not that painful, but the physical feeling isn’t nearly as bad as the fact that you don’t want any of this.

“How is that?” Tendou asks, slowly rocking his index finger in and out of your pussy, barely curling the tip to seek out your g-spot. You suppress the minuscule jerk of your core as best you can, but you can’t quite make it invisible and he feels it. “That good, huh?”

You want so badly to be angry. You are angry. If you could speak your mind right now, you’d tell him to go to hell. Yes, it feels good (and even admitting that to yourself makes you want to curl up and die), but it’s just hormones, stimulation, reaction. You can’t help it. But you’re not going to say that to him, not if you have the least chance of convincing him to stop before he goes any further. “It’s…fine. But, Tendou—“

“Knew you would like it. Oh—“ Another finger forces into your cunt. “—you’re tight, senpai. It’s been a while, yeah? You don’t have a boyfriend, I’d know if you did…and you’re not the type to do this casually. Too focused on your career.”

“I…mm…” What is he saying? Typical Tendou running his mouth even while you’re focused on him fucking you with those long fingers, prodding away at that spot—that fucking spot that is somehow, somehow—

—making you wet.

It’s not like some kind of precision activity. Tendou isn’t building you up or being subtle about it. There’s no teasing, no gentle touches, he’s just stroking that same spot over and over and the flat of his hand is mashing against your clit carelessly and it’s so stupid and so messy and there’s nothing kind or loving about it so why is it working?

“Feel that? Feel how wet you are?” Tendou has that same self-satisfied grin as he works his fingers in and out. “Poor senpai… You needed this, but you can’t ask for it yourself, I understand.”

“I don’t need anything…” you say, but you can’t expect him to believe you when your juices are slipping in and out of your hole along with his fingers, lubing him up to move even faster than before. When he started, you were so tense and tight that he could barely twist his fingertips up to pad at your g-spot, but now? Your walls are hot and sticky and supple, sucking him back in every time he pulls out.

He wants to make you cum, he does. And if he keeps going, it’s not going to be long, is it? But it’s your first time together… Tendou feels his cheeks getting hotter. First time with senpai, first time seeing you and touching you and having you totally, completely belong to him. The first time he makes you cum, it should be together.

If he’s not mistaken, you look almost disappointed when his fingers work their way out of your pussy, drawing away from you and wiping clean on the inside of your thigh. “You—You’re not…?” you question, trailing off when apparently you can’t bring yourself to ask for it.

“Don’t worry baby, plenty of time for that when I’m inside you.” Tendou walks his way up on the bed to leave a kiss on your forehead, so quick that you can’t cringe away when he does it.

You look off to the side, determined not to give him the satisfaction of eye contact—not to mention you hate looking at him, you hate seeing his stupid creepy face leering at you like you’re…you’re lovers or something. Like he’s not forcing you. But your attempt to maintain even that measly degree of avoidance shatters when you hear plastic crinkling. Ripping.

He’s opening the condom.

“Tendou—Tendou, wait! Listen!” You swallow and try to pull yourself back into your workplace persona, the mentor he respected and learned from, even if it was just an act. “Listen to me, please. You’re making a mistake. If we—if we stop now, we can forget about it...we can go back to normal, I promise. Do you hear me? I promise.”

“Normal isn’t enough anymore. Y’know what normal is for me? I’ve loved you for fifteen years. Wanted this for so long.” Tendou rolls the condom on and then hikes your ass upward so his cock is lined up with your slit. “Senpai, don’t you think you’ve had your way for long enough? It’s time…it’s time for me to get what I want.”

For the first time since he caught you and pinned you down on the floor of your living room, you struggle, really struggle for all you’re worth. The stiff leather of Tendou’s belt bites into your wrists and forearms as you try and get out of it, but the restraints hold firm—in fact, it feels like they’re getting tighter the more you move. Your hands are going numb from lack of blood flow, the prickles of pins and needles stinging into your skin, but you ignore it. You’re too worried about being heard to scream (and how twisted is it that you’re more scared of your neighbors than him?) but you jerk your leg up in an attempt to kick him away.

Tendou catches your foot before it can hit him. Easily. It’s like he sees everything you’re doing before you do it. “Hey, hey, stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Let me go, Tendou!” you hiss as loudly as you dare.

“Senpai…” His grip on your lower thigh tightens, a warning. “What did I say about being nice?”

You go limp. You don’t want to have sex with him, but you cannot—absolutely cannot—have him do it unprotected.

Tendou sighs as you relax in his grasp. “Good choice… Always so rational. But I want you to say it out loud, okay? Tell me you know what’s going to happen if you misbehave.”

Once again, you find yourself avoiding his gaze. How dare he say he loves you and then treat you like this. “…You’re going to take off the condom.”

“Yeah…” Once again, you feel the thick, stiff cock nudging against your inner thigh. He slides it up between your lips to slick it up. “And what am I going to do when I take it off?”

“You’ll…put it in raw. And…”

“And?”

“…c-cum inside.”

“And you don’t want me to do that. So behave, senpai.”

Tendou pushes into you in one deep stroke and you gasp. ‘A little bigger than most guys,’ he’d said. A little bigger? He’s a liar, again—he’s so big that you can already feel the thick head flush against your cervix, pressing there like he wants to go deeper. “T-Too deep, it’s too deep—“

“Shh, you just gotta get used to it…” Tendou leans down, folding your legs up into your chest so he can trap you between him and the mattress and speckle light kisses over your face. “You have to relax. I’ll be slow.”

The position is uncomfortable. He’s got your spine curled up off the bed and your thighs are burning from the stretch, but his skin bumps against your clit every time he makes the slightest movement. Once you’re steady, he pulls back a fraction and then thrusts back into you, barely moving, just enough that you can feel the pressure of his cockhead receding and then hitting back against your cervix. It’s slow, but it’s not slow enough—nothing is slow enough with how big he is.

Tendou kisses you again, pulling your head back to center so he can shove his tongue into your mouth just like he’s shoving his cock into your pussy. He’s not content to keep up the languid pace for long, though—as soon as you’re the tiniest bit relaxed, as soon as the barest muffled whimpers are forced out of your mouth, he’s lengthening his thrusts and slapping the entire length of his heavy cock back in and out of you.

You almost wish he would stop dragging it out. You don’t want to feel this, any of this, not him groaning into your mouth, not the weight of his body holding you down and spreading your thighs apart, and definitely not the dizzying friction of the head of his cock on your g-spot. You wouldn’t even be feeling it like this if he hadn’t prepared you and left you wanting.

You close your eyes and try to pretend that it’s someone else doing it to you, but it’s impossible. Tendou was right earlier, it’s been too long—there’s no one else in recent memory who you can picture in his place. Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever been fucked like this. Everything you can sense is screaming out that it’s him, him, him, from his whiny voice moaning out love confessions you don’t want to hear to the spicy-sweet cologne, the same one he wears around the office, now mixed with his sweat and so saturated you think you could choke on it.

You’re trying to imagine someone else’s cock driving your pussy open, anyone else—a boy you had a crush on in high school, the guy you’d lost your virginity to in college, even an actor you like—but it doesn’t work, because no matter who you try to pretend is fucking you you know it’s Tendou.

“Hey—senpai, look at me…” He’s patting your cheek, trying to get you to meet his gaze. “Open your eyes…look what I’m doing to you.”

“Don’t…don’t make me…” You shudder as he pushes all the way back in, bottoming out so he can grind his hips cruelly against your mound and provide untidy stimulation to your clit.

“Look.” Tendou’s voice is hard. He isn’t asking anymore.

With the threat from earlier hanging over your head, you don’t have a choice, do you? You open your eyes and look at him.

Tendou Satori. Even in the middle of drilling you, he’s beaming like you’re making him happy. There are twin pink patches high on his cheekbones under his eyes. He’s sweating—makes sense, he’s doing all the work. His lips are red and swollen from kissing you.

Tendou Satori, who brings you coffee at work even when you didn’t ask for it. Who misspells the same word 3 different ways every time he writes up a sales contract. Who said during his first interview that his greatest weakness is that he has a habit of going with his gut, and that his greatest strength is that his gut is usually right.

How is this the same person? No…no, that’s not what’s making you upset. It’s not that the Tendou fucking you is somehow so different from the one you thought you knew. It’s that he’s the same, the same man who never really listens when you say no, who never stops touching you when you say it bothers you. This is just the next thing. It makes sense.

“Senpai?” Tendou’s hips slow and he leaves his cock sitting thick and hard in your battered pussy. “Senpai? Are you…you’re crying?”

He’s blurry and your eyes sting and you want to wipe at them, but, well, your hands are tied. Literally. Tendou holds himself over you with one arm so the other can thumb over your wet eyes. “Don’t touch me,” you blubber out, knowing it won’t have any effect.

“Shh, shh, stop crying,” he says, sounding panicked. “Please stop crying. Please stop.”

Your silent weeping is interrupted by a whimper as he pulls out of you. You feel…something, maybe relief or maybe disappointment, but mostly you’re just overwhelmed. You’re slack as a puppet while he flips you over and carefully unbuckles the belt from your arms. The pins and needles return in full force once you’re unbound, discomforting to the point of pain as Tendou massages over the tender flesh with his own hands.

“Sorry…Looks like it was a little too tight.”

Once Tendou’s released you, you hold up an arm to examine yourself. There are red marks where the edges of the belt dug into your skin. Your hands are still prickly, still desensitized as you clumsily rub your eyes, but you just can’t seem to stop crying.

“Shh,” Tendou says over your shoulder from where he’s sitting behind you, and you’re so sick of hearing him shush you but you can’t bring yourself to respond. “I love you, senpai… Please don’t cry.”

The way he says it—so hurt, so caring, so desperate, makes your heart ache. You’d almost believe him…if he weren’t pushing you back down onto the bed, face first this time. You don’t have the energy to resist as he pulls your ass up to his hips. At least now you can bite down on the sheet to shut yourself up as he fills your aching cunt again.

This time, though, now that he’s fucking you like a dog, he’s got the space to reach down around your hips and stroke your clit. The shock of the contact is enough to scare the tears out of your eyes and you cry out.

Tendou takes your response as permission to do more, rubbing over your button with no regard for how delicate and sensitive you’re feeling. “Yeah, yeah, you like that… Senpai likes it when I touch her needy little pussy? Come on, let me hear you.”

“Tendou—mmph, Tendou, st—ahh…?” But you can’t really tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. If you’re going to have to get fucked like this, shouldn’t you at least get to get off? It’s only fair.

Fair. The thought crosses your mind and you almost laugh—maybe you would if the force of Tendou’s body weight wasn’t smothering your face into the pillows. Nothing about this is fair.

“Do you like it?” You can hear how excited he is. “Tell me—tell me you like it, senpai? Please. Please?”

With trembling arms, you raise your upper body off the bed just enough so that you can turn your head to the side and speak. “Keep touching me. Like that.”

He does, padding over your clit senselessly while his cock does its brutal work on your insides. You feel…fucking amazing, and Tendou’s so happy, so grateful to have your beautiful pure dirty body holding onto him, sucking him into your cunt and holding yourself around him like you’ll fall apart if he’s not inside you filling you up. Your pussy is incredibly responsive, clenching down in him in time with his fingers moving on your clit. God, he could cum right now…but you have to cum first, he has to make you cum, it has to be together.

He’s so glad you’re not crying anymore. You like it, he knows you do. He’s had you getting closer and closer for a while now, and all the ups and downs and stopping you before you can cum are definitely making you need it even more.

You’re getting louder. You probably don’t even realize it, but you are. Tendou wishes he had something recording.

“I’m—fuck, I’m…c-cu…” Telling him is reflexive, a gesture of courtesy you’re used to from previous partners. He doesn’t deserve it, but you give it to him anyway.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Tendou coos. His touches grow even rougher somehow, abusing your clit while he nudges himself out so he can slide his cock back and forth over your g-spot. The aggressive rhythm of the stimulation has your spine arching up and he pushes you back down to keep you in place. “Stay down…let me do it for you.”

“Tendou!” you cry out, and he feels it, feels you cum, feels your whole body wracked with tremors, feels the walls of your cunt squeeze his cock like you’re trying to hold him inside. Fuck. Fuck. It’s too good, your pussy is so tight and warm and drenched in your juices, he can’t think, he wants it, wants to cum, wants to cum with you, together, together, together.

Tendou’s hand leaves your clit just in time to grip your ass and slam himself back into you, holding you impaled on his cock while both of you shudder through your post-orgasm aftershocks. “Senpai…senpai. I love you,” he gasps, and cums, hips jerking against yours as his mind goes blank for a second.

Fuck, it feels good, feels like his eyes are rolling back in his head.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Tendou…” It’s all you can say. You can feel him getting softer inside you, and he pulls out to take off the condom. Once he’s gotten rid of it, you let him flip you onto your side and lie next to you on the bed.

“How was that, senpai?” Tendou asks, kissing you slowly. He cuddles up to you, pulling your back into his chest so your bodies are fitted together like puzzle pieces. His heart is pounding like a rabbit’s—you’d think it was cute if not for…everything.

You’re quiet.

“I know you liked it.” Another kiss, this time on the back of your neck. “You needed it just as much as I did. And I know you won’t want to admit it at first, right? You’ve got your professional reputation to maintain, I get it. But don’t worry—“

You wish he would shut up. You wish he would leave you alone. You wish he wasn’t holding you so close that you can feel his cock against your ass, and you wish—you wish you couldn’t feel him getting hard, again.

“—this was just our first time. And there’s gonna be lots more. You and me? We’re going to be together forever, senpai.”

[lilyharvord]

I saw another anon on king mavens page ask how Cal would react if mare died and they didn’t wanna answer bcuz it’ll make them go into a depressive state. So if u don’t mind how do YOU think Cal would react if Mare died. If u don’t wanna write this u don’t hv too tho

I too saw annie's response, and while it makes me super sad to think about as well.... I've thought about it... I may have started writing a fic about it once (it was like once chapter), and I had an idea. So I'll give you my branched ideas. They're loooong so I have put them under the read more.

idea 1: Mare dies before they are married, before anything.

It's horrific. People are shocked... the little lightning girl? Dead? Impossible. Cal doesn't immediately hear about it, he's so busy he's doesn't know something's happened until he walks into a room and everyone goes quiet and slowly looks at him like he might collapse right then and there. He finds out because Farley pulls him aside. She takes him away from everyone to a quiet little garden with a fountain and tells him what happened. When he hears, he just sort of gives her this confused look, like HE doesn't understand, doesn't believe. Then he sort of sinks down onto one of the benches and just sits there. Doesn't move, doesn't even seem to be breathing. Farley thinks he'll explode in a ball of heat and rage and pain, but instead he just gets really really quiet, and really cold. The air around her gets so cold her breath fogs in front of her. He asks her to leave him alone and she does. He sort of draws into himself after that, doesn't really speak to anyone, spends a lot of time running and sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He attends the funeral but is quiet the whole time, he only speaks to the Barrows and even then, there isn't much to say that wouldn't hurt either party. After that he BURIES himself in his work. He gets so good at it that one day he looks up and ten years have passed. He's still got the stack of letters they wrote to each other, and he even has the letter he had been drafting to send to her on the front where he lost her. It ends with the phrase: I miss you. And god does that ring true. He miss her like a limb he lost. It feels like a part of him was torn away, just like with Maven, just like with his father, just like with Nanabel when she passed a few years back, just like the hole his mother left without him even knowing it was there. He visits her grave that year, just sort of sits under the little tree they planted, looks out at the mountains as the sun sets behind him, and talks to her like he does with Maven, tells her about everything that's happening. After a while, he just falls quiet and sits there, digging his hand into the grass and dirt right above the grave, like he can dig down to her, like it's her skin and he can still feel it's warmth. He swallow really heavily and then says: I never met anyone else that made me feel the way you did... I don't think I ever will. You were it. You were going to be it. And then he gets up and leaves. He runs into Gisa down in the Ascendent, they grab coffee at what was once Mare's favorite coffee shop, now it's Gisa's. They talk about everything, never mentioning Mare. Gisa only asks once if he's seen anyone, and he just shakes his head, and she gives him a tiny smile and says: she wouldn't have minded... well if a random bolt of lightning came from the heaven and struck you, then I guess you would know she minded. They laugh about that, and then he leaves cause he has an early flight home. When he gets back, he puts the letters in a box and then puts that box in a drawer. He never sees anyone else though. Doesn't even really fool around with anyone either. He tries once, and the whole time he just thinks about her, thinks about all the what if's and could be's. He apologizes profusely to the girl and says that it's not going to work. Something in her understands, some weird warmth that she gets that makes her pull him into an extra tight hug before she leaves from his little apartment in Archeon. He doesn't mind being alone as much, he has his friends and a strange little belief/hope that someday, he will see Mare again. And when he does he is going to pull her into the tightest hug and never, ever let go again.

idea 2: Mare dies after they are married and have at least 1 child

This one hurts far more. He knows she's on missions, and they made a pact to never be on missions together so that if the unthinkable happens and one of them does die, Coriane will have the other at least. Its a god awful early hour of the morning when there is knock on the door. Coriane is sleeping in his and Mare's bed, she had a nightmare and immediately came for comforting snuggles. He thinks he's dreaming when the knock comes again, a little more instant this time. He gets up, and Coriane sleepily trails after him, curious as a cat always. When he answers the door, he picks her up and is still sort of half asleep. When he sees the young soldier standing on the porch in uniform and the most pained look on his face, he is suddenly wide awake. The soldier reaches up and removes his hat before pulling out an envelope with the official Montfort seal on it. He holds it out and quietly says, "I'm sorry."

When Cal takes it, he worries that his hand is shaking, but it is perfectly still, Coriane is falling asleep on his shoulder, not even aware of the ramification of what this little envelope means. And he just sort of looks up at the man and asks, "Do the Barrows know?" The man blinks before saying, "Protocol dictates immediate family are informed first... spouses are immediate family along with children. We leave it to them to inform the rest...I'm sorry again sir." Then he gives a little clean military salute and leaves. Cal stands there for a long time looking at empty space, wondering what comes next, what he is even supposed to do. Coriane answers for him: by lightly tapping his cheek and whispering that she's cold. He closes the door, and sets the letter on the little table by the door. There are already four other letters there. One, an invitation to Farley's wedding to Cordelia at the end of the month, and another is a letter from Julian addressed to all of them, most likely about his trip with Sara to see the land north of Montfort. But there is her name in beautiful script on both envelopes. There is her favorite jacket hanging on the peg she always hangs it on. There is the book she left on the table, chaptered at the exact part she was on. There is her favorite mug in the sink because Coriane asked to drink her milk from it last night. She is everywhere in the house, and yet that letter means she will never be in it again. Those were her things. They not longer are. He carries Coriane up the stairs and puts her back in their his bed and then lays next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, a tiny smile creeping to her lips as she dreams, completely and blissfully unaware of how her life has fundamentally changed now. Then he rolls and stares at the ceiling, but the tears come and they don't stop as they fall silently. He gets up and showers at dawn--he didn't sleep-- and cries a little more there. He has to crouch down under the scalding water and bite down on his knuckle to keep from sobbing out loud and waking Cori. It's pitiful, and he knows it. She would be furious with him for not being honest about how he feels and trying to hide it like its some ugly thing. But it feels ugly, a twisted ugly thing in his chest that is screaming and clawing at his insides. He stands, turns the shower off, steps out, shaves, does his morning routine, and then wakes Coriane and gets her ready. She's still sleepy, doesn't understand, asks him when mommy is coming home, when she will be back so they can go to the market and get ice cream. He says they'll go today, but his voice shakes, even as he tries to hide it. Then he takes her to the Barrows, tells Ruth and Daniel to gather all of them together. When they are all sitting before him in the living room, packing it to the brim, he takes out the letter and reads it. There is a horrible silence when he finishes and folds it before putting it back in the envelope. Ruth slowly pulls Coriane toward her and then lifts her into her lap and hugs her so tightly Cori actually whines about it for a second before she sees the look on Cal's face. They all sit in the kitchen after that and Ruth makes tea and she makes hot chocolate for the kids and gives Coriane an extra 4 marshmallows. The kids leave to go play and the adults sit and discuss the logistics, where is the will, was the a will? Do they have to adhere to anything if there isn't one? Would she want to... to be buried on Tuck with Shade? The will would probably say. Should they do that if there isn't one? Ruth offers to take care of Coriane while Cal deals with everything, settling paperwork, etc. etc. Then everyone kinda starts talking about everything again, and he just sits in silence and stares at this knot on the table that Mare pointed out to him because she said it looked like a turtle on its back. He traces it a few times, just sort of thinking about that moment and all the other times they would be in this kitchen doing dishes after family gatherings etc. Farley watches him from across the table

before getting up and nodding for him to follow her outside. Everyone pretty much doesn't notice them leave, or they pretend not to notice. They sit outside on the back porch in silence, just the two of them. After a little bit, it starts to snow. The first snow of the year. Farley holds her hand out to catch the flakes and says quietly: "I hate that it doesn't rain when these things happen. It always feels like it should be raining." He nods silently in agreement, and then she sets her hand on his shoulder, and he bends forward, letting the weight of it drop his head into his hand. He doesn't cry again, he honestly doesn't understand why he feels nothing now, just emptiness, and numbness from the tips of his fingers all the way to the tips of his toes. Even with Maven he didn't feel this way. He felt something then, something biting and hot like a pan that he touched when it just came off the stove. They sit like that for a long time before Coriane comes outside, and slips underneath his arm to snuggle against him. Farley gets up and leaves then, sensing she's said her peace and he understands she's there if he needs her. He holds Coriane close when the back door closes, and she whispers quietly to him, "Mommy's not coming home, is she?" and he just squeezes her once in answer. She frowns and stares out at the snow for a second and then turns around to face him and cups his cheeks in her little hands like she had seen Mare do a hundred times when Cal was in the middle of an especially hard day. She looks at him with a very serious expression for a child and he can see Mare in her when she does that, in the crease of her brows and the slight squint in her eyes. In the hint of chocolate brown in the curls of her hair. She will be furiously beautiful like her mother, and he had a feeling someday she will break a man's heart like his is breaking now. She looks at him for a good little bit and then says, "don't worry, I will take care of you." And he laughs, knowing that Mare always said the same thing. He pulls her close again and whispers with a thick voice, "it's my job to take care of you. But it's just us now... we have to take care of each other."

The funeral is in the spring. Cal pushed it off. Mare hated the winter. Even though she had happier memories of it now, her childhood and the painful clenching of her empty belly were like a permanent stain on the season. He would not bury her in that time. When the snow thaws and the ground melts, they release her ashes on a hill and leave stone for her on a hill under a tree, with a view of the mountains. There is a long line of epithet underneath her name: beloved daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother. Staring at it, Cal wonders if she knows just how important she had become. If she knew that she wasn't just a captain, or a figurehead that brought a centuries old regime to its knees. Everyone leaves after, the Barrows going last, but Cal and Coriane stay. Cal just sitting in the grass next to the grave, the wind in his hair while he watches the mountains for a little while. Coriane sits on the grave, probably not the nicest thing to do, but she does, and traces Mare's name over and over again on the stone with her little finger. "Mommy had a long name." She says as she traces the four names on the stone. Cal hesitated to put his name on there with hers, but he adopted the Barrow name as much as Mare took the Calore one when they married. And in the very, very short will she had drafted, that he almost didn't read because reading it made everything real, she asked that he put both their names on it (but to put his name before hers and she even made a little quip at him in the will about it which made him laugh, even as it made him cry). He glances at Cori after she says that and nods. She then crawls into his lap and they sit watching the mountains before Coriane says, "Uncle Julian says that when people die, they become the dirt that feeds the trees and the grass... do you think mommy is happy to be tree food?" He laughs and hugs her really close before saying, "She's not tree food. That dust we let go of today was mommy. She's on the winds now, traveling everywhere."

He does not remarry, no matter how many years pass, and how many women try to infer that it might be for the best if Coriane had mother in her life. He thinks its a stupid notion that he can't raise his own child on his own. And its hard, god is it hard. But he does it. He makes Coriane Barrow Calore into a women that Mare Molly Calore Barrow would have been very proud of. And he holds onto the notion that someday, when he dies, and they scatter his ashes, that his will find Mare's and they'll be together again that way.

[astreausworld]

Insecure

Woohoo, my first fic on here! I really hope you guys like it. One day I might go back and rewrite it, but I had a lot of fun! ✨💕

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x OC

Summary: Shigaraki is feeling insecure about his upgraded body, and about himself in general. Juno decides to help him feel better.

Content: NSFW, femdom, pegging, fingering (Shig receiving), rough sex, hair pulling, edging, teasing, Shiggy being an adorable bottom

Words: 2.6K

            Tomura Shigaraki sighed softly as he looked in the mirror, insecurity rearing its ugly face as he looked at his nude body. Seeing his pale, dry skin made his neck itch. He lifted his left hand up, glaring at the missing digits. His fight replayed in his head as he wiggled his remaining ring finger and pinky. ‘Well, at least I can still wear a wedding ring.’ He jokingly thought. Tears swelled up in his eyes as he squirted lotion into his hand, lathering it on his arms, the feeling of his skin on his fingertips making him feel more insecure. “I hate this body. I hate this body. I hate this body...” He mumbled, shame and anger welling in his core. He wished his stupid quirk could work on him too so he could be dusted.

“Shiggy, I’m back!”

 Shiggy jumped as the door opened, his girlfriend casually walking in. “Dabi was being really- oh.” Juno stopped in her tracks as she closed the door. “O-oh hey! I didn’t know you’d be home so early uh- d-don’t look!” He quickly covered his body with his hands, not really covering much. “What’s wrong, love? Why are you covering yourself?” She chuckled. “Come on, Shiggy. Why are you hiding?” She stepped towards him, making him step back in fear. “I-I don’t want you looking at my body. It’s gross.” Tears threatened to fall again, the feeling of her eyes on his nude body making him queasy.

            Juno sighed softly. “You don’t like being naked in front of me. And even when you are, you turn the lights off. Is this why?” Tears streamed down his face as he nodded, looking away in shame. She gently grabbed his hands, pulling them off his body. “Your body is beautiful, Shiggy.” His cheeks were stained pink, whether from embarrassment or shame, he couldn’t tell. He chewed on his bottom lip, insecurities swirling around in his head.

            Tomura and Juno had been together for a little over a year already, but he never showed her his nude body. She never even saw him half naked. Her opinion mattered to him more than anything, and the fear of her having a negative opinion on the way he looked was almost debilitating. He would take extra precautions to make sure his body wasn’t shown, even when they were making love. She seemed to be understanding, never pressuring him into stripping. Even on the days he craved skin-to-skin contact, she respected his decision to keep the lights off. The nudeness wouldn’t last for long though, as he’d put his clothes back on right after he came off his sexual high.

            Shiggy mentally beat himself up for getting caught in such a vulnerable state, a slip of judgement leaving him exposed, literally and figuratively. He wanted to disappear, too afraid to hear or see her reaction to him. His body trembled softly as she tucked her finger under his chin, turning his head to look at her. “Did you hear me? You’re beautiful. I don’t think you’re gross. You’re amazing.” An honest smile graced her face, the expression just barely melting away his shame.

            Shiggy sniffled as Juno wiped his tears. “Here, I’ll help you put on your lotion.” He quickly shook his head as he backed out of her hold. “N-no, I’ve got it, don’t worry. I can do it myself.” She ignored his statements and grabbed the lotion, gathering some in her hand. He went to protest, but the words died in his throat as she rubbed the lotion on his neck and chest, hands gently massaging the skin as she did so. “No wonder you always smell so good.” She mused, the smell of cocoa butter on her hands and his body.

            “J-Juno…” Shiggy whispered as she continued lathering his skin, complimenting him as she did so, making his face burn red. “This big, warm chest.” She placed a kiss on a little scar between his pecs. “I love listening to your heartbeat when we cuddle.” She rubbed lotion down his stomach and sides. “Your body is your story, baby. Every scar, every taut muscle, it all tells a story of what made you who you are.” She peppered kisses along a big scar on his side, her hands trailing to his hips. “Every time I’d feel your bare skin, I would think about how you would look. And you’re better than I imagined.”

            Shiggy lifted his fist to his mouth, gently biting down on it as Juno kissed along his body, all while massaging his skin. His cheeks burned hot as she complimented every area she touched, the praise igniting a fire in his core. He softly gasped as she playfully nipped a sensitive spot on his v-line, now on her knees. His cock twitched at the contact, choking when the head brushed against her chest. “Oh? Someone’s excited.” She teased, standing up to gently nudge him to the bed.

            With a nervous grunt, Shiggy plopped down on the bed, hands fidgeting beside him as his lover spread his legs, his half-hard cock in her hand. A small moan slipped past his lips as she stroked him to full hardness. “You know, I’ve always loved how thick your thighs are.” She squeezed his thigh, digging her nails into the sensitive skin, making him twitch in her hold. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how amazing you are, Pretty Boy.” His eyes widened at the pet name. “P-Pretty Boy?” His skin tingled as the name rolled off his tongue.

            Juno hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re my Pretty Boy. You’re so handsome and I’ll remind you of that until you believe it yourself.” He gasped silently as she engulfed his length in her mouth, her fist gripping what she couldn’t fit. “O-Oh God, y-you really went for it~” He breathed, placing four cautious fingers on her head. She sucked his cock down in earnest but took her time pleasuring him, drawing out his moans.

            “Juno~” Shiggy moaned out, watching her bob her head on his erection, spit gathering on her hand and dripping down her chin. Her tongue pressed flat against the vein on the underside of his cock, the head slipping down her throat as she gagged softly around it. She pulled off his member with a soft pop, saliva still connecting her to it, the sight alone damn near making him cum. “Your cock is so big, it barely fits down my throat~” She cooed, stroking his spit-soaked length. He looked down at her with half lidded eyes, pupils blown in lust, a thin layer of sweat sticking his hair to his face. His lips were slightly parted, little moans spilling out with every stroke on his cock. “You look so adorable, Pretty Boy~ That submissive expression on your face is to die for~” “K-keep sucking my cock, please.” He mumbled while he tugged on her hair, trying to push her closer.

            Juno chuckled softly, placing a little kiss on the tip of Shiggy’s cock. “Patience, Pretty Boy. I have so much more planned for you. Lie back.” With a whine, Shiggy obeyed and shifted to the middle of the bed, laying back. He saw her arm stretch into the dresser, confusion stirring until he suddenly realized what she was reaching for. “N-no, don’t tell me you-”

            “I am. We haven’t done it in a while. This is the perfect opportunity to do it again, only this time I get to see you.” Juno said calmly, her arm coming back to set a strap-on and lube on the bed beside him. “Spread yourself for me, Pretty Boy.” Shiggy looked away, a defiant pout on his lips. “I said,” she popped his thigh, making him yelp, “spread yourself. You know what do to.” He gulped hard as he spread his legs, hooking his hands under his knees. “Good boy~” She praised as she stripped her clothes off. Shiggy stared up at the ceiling in embarrassment.

            “A-ah!” Shiggy cried out softly he felt a lubed finger slip into his hole, making him squirm. Juno experimentally wiggled her finger. “Does it hurt?” “A-a little.” He closed his eyes as she slowly moved her finger, stinging pain melting into pleasure as she nipped down his thigh, trying to get him to relax. His toes wiggled as the odd sensation sent shivers up his spine, hot puffs of breath coming past his lips.

            Shiggy’s mouth hung open in a quiet gasp as his lover chomped down on a sensitive spot on his thigh, using it as a distraction and adding a second digit, scissoring them inside him. “You’re being such a good boy, you know. You’re taking my fingers so well~” Juno kissed the bite, his skin quickly blossoming purple. Her words made his cock ache, the overwhelming praise setting his skin ablaze. Hearing her casually compliment his face was already embarrassing enough. But hearing her compliment his body, the skin he grew to hate, was intense. It was so overwhelming that he didn’t know what to do with himself, his love for Juno and the embarrassment of being exposed swirling in his chest.

            Shiggy whined softly as she missed his prostate over and over. “Y-you’re doing that o-on purpose.” He huffed, locking eyes with her. The expression on her face made his stomach drop. An innocent smile graced her lips, but her pupils were blown with lust, desire and passion burning in her eyes. “Doing what on purpose? This?” She missed again, making him groan. “Oh, sorry, am I missing something?” She batted her eyelashes, placing wet kisses down his thigh, stopping to nibble at the sweet spot on his hip. Shiggy’s brows furrowed together as he rutted on her fingers, letting out a small cry when he ground her fingers on his prostate.

            “Is that what you wanted, Pretty Boy? Be a good boy and use your words more next time~” Juno curled her fingers against his prostate, teasing it until he quivered in pleasure. His legs threatened to close as the feeling became almost too much to handle, a part of him wanting to run away from her fingers. “Look at how much you’re shaking, you’re close, aren’t you~?” Shiggy nodded frantically, letting out a frustrated growl when she stilled her hand. “Use your words, Pretty Boy~” She teased.

            “P-please don’t stop,” Shiggy begged, “I’m so close, please make me cum-ah~!” He choked on his words as Juno picked her pace back up, making his back arch in pleasure. “F-fuck~!” His hips bucked as he came, ropes of white covering his chest and stomach. He panted heavily as Juno pulled her fingers out, casually grabbing the strap-on as she talked. “Your cum looks so nice on your skin, Pretty Boy. And that look on your face is so precious.” He gazed at the ceiling through clouded eyes, reality not catching up yet. “A-am I really that nice to look at…?” He wondered, insecurity coming back to rip him from his high. “Of course, Shiggy. I love how you look.”

            Shiggy sighed as he let go of his legs, closing them and hugging his arms. “Why, though…How is it you can love my body so easily, but I can’t…” He gasped softly as he was wrapped in his lover’s stretched arms, picking him up and placing him on his knees. “I’ll show you how.” She gently pushed him over, reality finally hitting him. “W-wait I-I don’t think I’m ready!” He uttered nervously. “Do you trust me, Pretty Boy?” Juno asked, rubbing his lower back.” Stuffing his face into the blanket, he nodded, wincing as she entered him, the tight ring of muscle stretching around the dildo.

            Shiggy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Juno bottomed out. “Holy shit.” He panted softly. Juno leaned forward to thread her fingers through his hair, a gentle smile forming on his lips at the passionate gesture. “You ready?” She asked, massaging his scalp soothingly. “Yeah.” He whispered. “Good.”

            Without warning, Juno gripped his hair, yanking him up. Shiggy cried out in pain. “Be a good boy and look at yourself while I fuck you~” She growled in his ear, slowly pulling out and slamming the strap-on into him. He moaned loudly, mouth falling open as he looked at himself in the mirror. Humiliation crawled up his spine at the sight of himself being spread by Juno, wet squelching and slapping skin meeting his lewd sounds in the room.

            “Look at yourself, Shiggy. Look at how adorable you look impaled on this cock. Look at how your legs shake, look at that sexy expression! You’re so handsome, darling~” She giggled in his ear as she pounded his prostate, his tongue lolling out. “Aren’t you so cute? Tell me how cute you are, Pretty Boy~”

            “I-I- ah- I l-look really- mm- c-cute,” Shiggy stuttered, “s-so- ah fuck- cute on your c-cock. D-don’t stop, please~!” He stared holes into the mirror, forcing his eyes to roam his body in the reflection. “Touch yourself for me, Pretty Boy. I want you to watch yourself get off~” He nodded, feverishly stroking his cock in sync with her thrusts. “Are you watching, my good boy?” Juno slapped his ass, making him jump slightly. “Yes, I-I’m looking a-at myself~!” Shiggy panted, moans bordering on screams of pleasure as he chased his orgasm.

            “You look like you’re so ready to cum, I bet your cock is throbbing, aching for release, so go ahead.” Juno pulled him closer, biting down on his neck. “Cum for me Tenko~”

            The sound of his real name on her lips sent him over the edge, stars exploding behind his eyes as his body spasmed. An amalgamation of incoherent swears spilled between his moans as his cum spilled onto the blanket, mixing with the puddle of drool below him. He whined softly as he came down from his intense orgasm, tears of pleasure streaming down his face, aggressively trembling as his tired body struggled to keep itself up.

            “What a good boy I have.” Juno let him go, his body collapsing face first into the blanket. She pulled out, taking the harness off and setting it to the side as she rubbed his back, his body still twitching. He weakly rolled to his side, looking at his lover through exhausted lids. “Wow…” He croaked, voice dry and raspy. She chuckled softly, laying beside him. “Sorry, was that too rough?” She cupped his face as he shook his head. “It was intense, but it was good.” He snuggled up to her, resting his head between her breasts.

            Juno hummed softly as she rubbed his sore scalp. “You really do have a nice body, Tenko. You look perfect to me.” He stuffed his face deeper into her chest at her words, the use of his real name making him feel more embarrassed. “I’ll tell you how amazing your body is as many times as possible until you see what I see, okay? I know today was an accident, but maybe we can work on you having less clothes on around me?” She tapped his cheek, scooting back so he could look up at her.

            Shiggy nodded. “Okay, I’ll try.” Juno smiled, pulling him into a kiss. “Good.” She mumbled against his lips. He hummed into the kiss, pressing her body closer as his tongue explored her mouth. She moaned into his mouth as he sucked on her tongue, running his hand down her back and resting it against her ass.

            Juno pulled away with a giggle. “Hey, keep doing that and we’ll have to go another round.” Shiggy shook his head. “I can’t even feel my legs, there’s no way in hell we’re going again. I’ll stop.” He pressed her forehead against his, eyes shutting. “I love you.”

            “I love you too.” Juno replied, peppering his nose in little kisses as he fell asleep.

[pbaintthetb]

quick fic

wrote this because i need to write but lack motivation, and I’m not posting it because it’s not neatly wrapped up but anyway

“I’m here to see the Sect Leader,” Xichen tells the Nie disciples who greet him at the gates. He’s greeted with a nod and a fond eye roll, his presence here is not unfamiliar, frequently coming to drag poor little A-Sang out of trouble.

(How much of that had always been a lie? How much had these disciples known it was a lie. Is it all an act? All of them?)

“He’ll meet you in his office,” one of the disciples tells him pleasantly, “Feel free to wait for him there.” In the corner of his eye he can notices a flurry of green, but he nods and walks the familiar path.

A-Sang, A-Yao. It’s too late for Da-ge, Mingjue is gone, and it’s like a gaping hole in his chest, but maybe he can stop the rest of the tragic story playing itself out again. Stop Huaisang from ruining himself.

“Er-ge?” Huaisang says warily as he enters the office to find Xichen standing there. His fan is up over his mouth and his eyes are wide, but this is just how Huaisang had looked in the temple, and it sends eerie chills down Xichen’s spine.

His silly, foolish, lazy, idle little brother is none of those things. At least not anymore, but maybe Xichen can restore it. Now that he’s looking for it, now that he knows it’s there, he can see it in Huaisang’s eyes. A certain sharpness, warily tracking him.

Or maybe Xichen’s imagining it, so desperate for it to be there, for there to be a sign of everything Huaisang was and will be (won’t be, Xichen will fix it) again. But if even A-Yao had never noticed...

There is no point in wasting more time, so he swallows everything down and lays his cards out on the table. Mingjue had always valued forthrightness and honesty and had tried to instill those in Huaisang. Huaisang had hated Jin Guangyao because he had lied. Honestly should work, it has to.

“I know what you’re planning, A-Sang,” Xichen says, doesn’t whisper it, says it bravely and solidly so his confidence doesn’t abandon him. He needs to do this properly, needs to save as much of his brothers as he can. He can’t watch themselves tear themselves apart once more.

“Planning?” Huaisang says after a short pause, “I don’t know what you’re talking about? I really don’t know. I promise Er-ge! What do you mean?”

It was one thing to listen to Huaisang’s frantic denials and confusion when he had thought it real. It had been almost endearing, if sometimes a little worrying or irritating. Now, when he knows it has so much falseness in it, it sends a trickle of ice down his spine. He resists the urge to shudder, but maybe not enough because Huaisang’s eyes go wider still.

Xichen reminds himself that his sword is at his hip and his erhu hangs on his other side. Then he mentally prods himself, because why does his brain think he’d need protection from Huaisang? No matter what, Huaisang, his da-ge’s didi, would never hurt him. And, not to be rude, but Huaisang never had a particualry  strong core.

He shakes himself to get over the silliness and takes the plunge.

“I know about Da-ge and what you’re planning with A-Yao. How you want to destroy him, make sure he could never come back and-” He doesn’t finish his thought before Huaisang interjects.

“Er-ge? Are you okay, what about Da-ge? I don’t know what  you mean?”

“No, Huaisang.” He blocks off once more, he won’t play this game now. He fell for it before, in the temple, and A-Yao had died. He had done unforgivable things, but he hasn’t necessarily done them all yet this time. Maybe he can be saved, and he didn’t deserve to die.

“I have,” he pauses, “certain knowledge, Huaisang. I have seen, some things.” He swallows, and sees Huaisang watching him like a hawk over his fan, but his brow furrowed to keep up the illusion of confusion. A-Yao had said he’d never see through Huaisang’s mask, but Huaisang is still early in his game, and Xichen knows, he thinks he might now.

“San-ge led to Da-ge’s death.” Xichen tells the other man, as though  Huaisang doesn’t already know. “And I know you want to destroy him for it.”

There is no response, just the feeling that every inch of him is being measured and none of it is being deemed good enough.

“But why would San-ge hurt Da-ge?” Huaisang asks him eventually, voice trembling- and was Xichen too early? Has he ruined everything? Would Huaisang never have come for A-Yao? Or maybe this is right, and they can talk it over, and get justice together and without utterly destroying A-Yao in the process.

“Their relationship was very strained by the end,” Xichen acknowledges heavily. It didn’t make it right, but it made it make sense in hindsight. “I think San-ge...” he trails off, unsure how to continue. He shakes his head, this isn’t the point anyway.

“I know what you’re going to do, Huaisang. I’ve seen it. You’re going to trick him, and trap him and kill him. But you’re smart- no, I’ve seen that too. If we work together we could help him.” He swallows, “please, A-Sang.”

There’s an odd laugh.

“The way you talk, Er-ge. You make it sound as if you’re from the future,” Huaisang chuckles lightly again, and it is an absurd thought.

Xichen nods.

“Oh,” Huaisang tells him, ugly and flat, fan snapping shut to reveal a very displeased expression. “So tell me, Zewu-jun, did it hurt, what I did to him?”

Xichen gapes, he hadn’t expected this, at least not this fast.

“I’m not an idiot-” Xichen knows that now, “And I’m guessing, despite everything. Despite probably knowing more than me about what that bastard had done, you’ve still come to me first? He murdered my brother, and you’ve come to me to tell me to stop?!” Huaisang’s voice is full of venom, but no louder than a hiss.

The smaller man stands up loudly and clumsily, knee banging into a desk as he does so.

“Leave, Xichen,” Huaisang tells him, full of anger and rage. Xichen doesn’t know how it went so wrong so fast. “I thought you just didn’t know, and that was damning- but this?” Huaisang spits, such an unrefined action for such a carefully composed and elegant man.

“Huaisang,” Xichen says a little warningly himself, “I don’t think you want to challenge me either. A-Yao needs to be brought to justice, but you want isn’t justice. It’s barely revenge- it’s blood thirsty vengeance and I cannot condone it.”

He thins his lips, deciding whether to say his next sentence as Huaisang glowers at him, knuckles whitening around his fan. He needs to save as much of A-Yao as he can, it’s clear Huaisang is mostly gone, but maybe saving A-Yao will help save A-Sang.

“You don’t want the Lan as an enemy, Huaisang. My reputation is far better than yours, I could say all kind of things and they wouldn’t be lies. Please, leave him alone, let me deal with him.” It only feels a little wrong on his tongue, Xichen can live with it.

He’s met with a spluttering laugh from Huaisang, but his eyes are so very firm and steady and hard. Huaisang really is like Mingjue, but not in sharing honesty.

“If you tell anybody about this, about the Headshaker plotting, Zewu-jun, you think anyone will believe you? The only person who would is Jin Guangyao, and then you’ve signed my death warrant as well. Do you want this on your conscience? Can you live with the deaths of both my and Da-ge on your head?

Xichen steps back, his mind screaming at him, and Huaisang takes that as an opportunity to move around his desk and slither up to his side.

“Come back to me with his head, or don’t come back at all, Er-ge.” Huaisang strides back to his desk. “After all, I think we’ve established that I really don’t need you. Maybe I’ll drip all kinds of poison about you into people’s ears. I’m a terrible gossip, and just really don’t know how to hold my drink after all. Someone really ought to stop Sect Leader Nie from spending so much time in Taverns.”

Xichen suddenly has the nasty feeling that he’s walked into a snake’s den. That he really, should never have come.

“But that won’t be you,” Huaisang continues, “Seeing that you don’t like me anymore? Or do you? In which case then I’m still so useless, and not scheming.” Huasiang throws him a clearly false beam, and Xichen just wants out.

“Nice talking with you, Er-ge, now I’m fed up of watching you squirm.”

Xichen leaves as quickly as he can, not taking his eyes of Huaisang, who locks eye contact the whole time Xichen backs out of the door. He doesn’t even try to lay on a threat or impress for Huaisang not to go after A-Yao once more. He’s said all he can say to Huaisang. Now he’s stuck here, in the past with the sick feeling he’s made everything worse.

“The Sect Leader’s a real character, isn’t he?” one of the Nie disciples on the door comments with a slight laugh as Xichen focuses on not looking like he’s stumbling out. “Can really drive you up the wall.”

Xichen looks at him, and can see nothing but friendliness and banter.

“Well-meaning, but dumb,” the woman on the other side comments. The two disciples laugh together again.

“don’t worry, Zewu-jun, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.” They snort.

Xichen looks at them both, tries to see if it’s a facade, if it’s real or-

He draws himself up, “You should show your Sect Leader some more respect,” he intones seriously. “The-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Xichen is interrupted, “We respect Sect Leader Nie. He at least knows when he’s got an enemy in front of him. He’s not totally useless.”

Xichen swallows. He’s not quite sure how. But the only thing he’s certain of is that he’s made everything worse. So much worse.

[headinthestaticsky]

The Dusk Calls for me: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 14

AUTHOR’S NOTE: ALL the characters in Twilight DO NOT belong to me. ALL RIGHTS GO TO STEPHENIE MEYER

“I can see you clear as yesterday Top down, fingers in the breeze Weavin' through the lights in the sky You said, "Baby close your eyes" And I prayed we would all always Hold on to this feeling, stronger, faster Faster.”

Kwamie Liv, Angel Haze: Pleasure This Pain.

I couldn’t remember much of the ride to the airport, nor did I remember much of the plane ride. I was in shock, paralyzed with worry and fear. Not for me per-say but, My dad, the Cullens, they were all at risk. I couldn’t stand the fact that any of them would be killed because of me. I wished my dreams could’ve predicted this, that I had somehow acquired the ability to see the future like Alice did. I could only predict death it seems... I hadn’t dreamed of anyone getting killed. Maybe it was a good sign, we would be fine. Yes, I would convince myself that... I hadn’t dreamed of anyone dying, we would be fine. 

The only thing I could remember was Bella constantly calling mom, she wouldn’t talk to me or look at me. I felt the same tension I always felt when I was around her a few months ago. I was livid with her, not one call to dad... not one. She clearly didn’t give a damn about his safety either, she was ready to abandon him. Throw him into the wolves to save herself... that selfish side to her had never left it seems. I pulled out my phone again, texting dad.

“Made it to phoenix, we’re safe... getting a ride to a hotel now. I haven’t changed her mind yet. I love you and miss you.” 

I read the text again, wishing the contents of it were true. I wanted to be safe, I wanted to be back home. I wish I was sitting across from dad in the diner talking amongst ourselves. I wish I was driving down the forest going to see the Cullens. I wanted to attempt to beat Alice at chess, to joke around with Emmett and Dean. To have heart to hearts with Esme who was more of a mother to me than Renee had ever been. I wanted to be with Jasper, wrapped in each others arms doing random things together. But, I had to come back to reality... I might not be able to do those things... ever again. 

The hotel looked nice and comfortable but I couldn’t stand the heat of Arizona. It was sickening, the hot air struggled to get into my lungs. The rainy weather of Forks sounded wonderful right now. Dean and Alice got us a hotel room and eagerly brought us up to it. I had a feeling they thought we would be fully safe in there. I put my bag down at the side of my bed and clasped on it, my exhaustion was setting in. Bella had sat on the one next to me and signed. She sounded annoyed to me.

“I didn’t want to come here, I wanted to be with Edward.”

I lifted my head and stared at her... I wasn’t going to snap... maybe she was just scared and was lashing out at people... yeah that was it. 

“I’m really sorry this is happening Bella, It must be really hard to be away from Edward.”

“Yeah it is! If you hadn’t said anything...”

“Look this isn’t either of our faults. If we’re going to get pissed at anyone, it’s James.”

Bella looked at, she knew I was right... I could see it in her face. But, she couldn’t admit it right now and just scoffed and went into the lounge area of the hotel room. She was making this more difficult, I wanted to snap at her just as much as she was angry with me. We’re falling back into the dark hole of resentment, it was suffocating. 

“Fleur? Could you come in here for a second?” Alice asked

I groaned slowly raising myself up from the bed, I went into the lounge room, Alice and Dean looked at me sympathetically. 

“How ya holding up?” Dean asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“Look, you’re going to be okay.” Alice said.

“It’s not about me guys, It’s everyone back at home... They could get hurt, and I can’t do a thing about it.”

“They can handle themselves Fleur, I’ve lived with them for decades... the know what they’re doing.” Dean said.

“But what about dad, I know he’s hurting right now.” 

“He’s going to be fine Fleur, I promise besides, Esme and Rosalie will be down there with him as soon as they leads the tracker away.” Alice said

“You guys are right... could we get something to eat, I am absolutely starving.”

“Sure, I’ll order room service.” Alice replied.

Room service had come, the food was devoured quickly. The nerves were still lingering in the back of my mind but I knew I would just have to have faith in everyone back at Forks. We were all sitting in silence, Bella was facing away from all of us, she looked tense. I heard Alice gasp and my heart sunk to my stomach... she had a vision and I knew it wouldn’t be good.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“What do you see, Alice?” Dean asked.

“The tracker... he just changed course.”

“Oh on.” I said.

Bella’s head whipped around coming to sit next to Alice.

Dean grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. He put it in Alice’s hand, she then started drawing where the tracker was going.

“So the tracker is going to be at a... Ballet studio?” Bella inquired.

“You’ve been here?” Alice asked.

“Yeah, I took lesson as a kid, the school had an archway just like that.” Bella added.

“Is the school here in Phoenix?”

“Yeah..” Bella’s phone began to ring, she went to the balcony and closed the door, clearly wanting privacy.

“If the school is here in Phoenix... he probably going to use the place as a trap in some way.” I said.

“Are you sure?” Alice asked.

“Yeah I mean... why the hell would he go to a ballet studio other than the fact that he was trying to find Bella and I.”

“We better leave then, get Bella when she is done and meet us down in the lobby.” Dean ordered.

“Yeah... I will.” 

The pair then left quickly, going to check out. I had just grabbed my back when my phone had rang.

“Hello?”

“Fleur, the tracker... he changed course.” Jasper said, he voice was dripping with worry.

“I know Alice just saw, we plan on leaving soon.”

“I’ll be coming down to find you as soon as I can. Your dad is safe still. We can go anywhere you want as long as it’s safe.”

“My phone’s about to die... I have to go. Love you, please, stay safe.”

“I will, love you too.”

I sat in the room, my body stuck in it’s place. He was coming here... we didn’t have much time to get out. Bella had burst through the balcony door, worry etched all over her face.

“Fleur we need to go, we need to go right now. James has mom, in the ballet studio.”

“Bella, calm down... I think it’s a trap.”

“Like hell it is I heard her over the phone. She kept saying my name she sounds terrified.”

“Think about this Bella... Alice just saw James change his course to that studio... it’s a lure Bella he’s going to kill you.”

“How selfish can you be Fleur!?”

“Excuse me!?”

“Yeah you heard me, this entire time all of this has gone down you’ve been trying to convince everyone you’re right.”

“I said two things Bella, I’m not trying to get people to follow me blindly... I use context clues... It’s been working for me these past 17 years!”

“I mean you just had to butt in that we had to go back to Charlie, you made Edward change his mind about taking me to Vancouver, and now you’re trying to convince me that mom isn’t in any danger at all! How selfish can you be?”

“YOU...” My hands had begun to shake, I pointed a finger at her hitting her in the chest.

“YOU, ARE OFFICIALLY THE BIGGEST HYPOCRITE I HAVE EVER MET IN MY LIFE. YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE DAD ALL ALONE WHILE A VAMPIRE WAS CHASING US... DO YOU REALIZE THAT IF HE DIDN’T SEE YOU LEAVE THAT HOUSE DAD WOULD BE DEAD?! AND DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I MADE EDWARD DO A DAMN THING, HE IS A GROWN ASS MAN... A 108 YEARS OLD TO BE EXACT... HE CAN DO ANYTHING HE WANTS TO DO. AND IT’S NOT “CHARLIE” IT’S DAD!”

“I am going down to that studio whether you like it or not.”  

Before I could get another word in she stormed off. Not matter how pissed I was at her... I couldn’t leave her alone in that studio. I would have to find a way to get there without Alice or Dean noticing me. I snuck my way down to the hotel lobby, I looked around for Bella, she was no where in sight. 

“She moves quick... I’ll give her that.”

Alice and Dean had just made it to the front of the line to check out. That was when I made a run for it. I made out, the sun already blistering my skin even if it was 8:49 PM. I ran to the nearest taxi.

“Hello, where can I take you today?”

“Mimi's School of Dance, please.”

“Of course ma’am.”

I remember the name of that school by heart. I had begged my mother to go when I was younger but, she never let me.

FLASHBACK...

“Oh c’mon mommy please?”

“NO, that is my final answer!”

“Why, Bella gets to go?”

“Because you’re way too lanky, you’d look like a dying deer out there!”

I had looked up at here, tears were spilling down my face.

“Daddy says I look beautiful.”

“Well there’s a reason why I left him... he has no sense to him what so ever.”

“I asked why I couldn’t go... not to get insults hurled at me.”

“Maybe if you’d just keep your mouth shut you wouldn’t have to worry about now would’t you? You’re just like your father... you never know when to shut up!”

“I hate you.” I said. I turned and ran back upstairs, Bella was looking over the corner of the room. A smirk was plastered on her face.

“She’s right you know... you would look like a dying deer out there.”

I didn’t even engage in her conversation, I just slammed my door shut. I didn’t come out for the rest of the day.

END OF FLASHBACK.

I stared out the window, the same mantra going through my mind.

“Just let me get there quick enough, please.”

[heresathreebee]

Bloody Mess

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

AN: ok 1st of all this got Nasty and also I wanted to try a different format

Warning(s): +17 | Hemophilia, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), mentions of abuse, dead body (he deserved it), little rough, sub!Ralph Lamont, cum eating, hair pulling. Masterlist

Alright so I was dragging my feet to watch the episode of Blue Bloods with Alex Brightman in it and I'm glad I did because I got some cool ideas. I don't watch cop centric shows anymore but I thought Ralph would be a cool Italian mob type: turns out he's some dickhead twitch gamer who murdered a girl for stupid reasons I can't remember. 

So fuck cannon, he's a 90's mobman now. 

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Imagine Ralph Lamont is a one man clean up crew. He's the go-to guy for any jobs gone wrong, gone messy. Body needs disappearing without a trace? Ralphie's your guy. 

Kinda like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction (Tarentino, 1994) 

Hydrochloric acid, latex, bleach, bone saw: all he needs is a few hours and it's like there was never a brutal murder here. (Sometimes this is accomplished with a distraction, a staged robbery or shoot out a few counties over if there were too many witnesses)

So Mr. Clean I mean Mr. Lamont gets a job at your home. 

It's a cute little 3rd floor apartment with a Mr. and Mrs. Andersen living in it. 

Mr. Andersen is– pardon, was– a bookkeeper for Dr. Coolidge (friend of Ralphie's; they both like sterile environments), so it's a favor. Dr. Coolidge mentioned over the phone he expected something "like this" to happen sooner or later. He asked Ralphie to be delicate with you– the late Mrs. Andersen. 

You buzz him in without a word. 

He finds you leaning against the kitchen island, putting out the cherry of your cigarette. You put it out right on Mr. Andersen's ugly yellow tie (or he thinks it used to be yellow)

It's a fucking blood bath in here. Mr. Andersen was a bleeder. Red splashes and streaks cover the counters, the toaster, the oven door, the fridge. There are bloody footprints on the floor and an honest-to-go pool of it dripping off the counter right next to Andersen's final resting place. You left the steak knife in his throat and he must have sat down in that island chair never to get back up again. His eyes are listless and grey. 

Ralphie walks around you, careful to keep you in his peripheral just in case you weren't done "expressing yourself." The linen of your frock is stained, your feet are bare, and your eye is black and swollen. Some of your bruises are old. 

In his sweep, he finds three bloodied knives in the sink: a bread knife, a fillet knife, and a cleaver. 

"Mrs. Andersen," he says as he turns back to you, "if you wouldn't mind moving to the bedroom for me? You've made quite a mess and I'd hate for you to have to see anymore violence." 

"You gonna fight him for my honor? He's already dead." 

Ralphie chuckles. "No ma'am. I'm gonna cut him up into pieces so the gallons of acid I brought with me dissolve his corpse efficiently. I'll need to borrow your bathtub for that, and you don't want to try getting cleaned up after the fact. It's no good for the skin." 

He's circled around the white marble kitchen island to stand before you. He's calm. The smile on his face is easy and it soothes you. You drop your eyes and catch an unexpected sight. 

"Are you…" you wipe at your mouth a accidentally leave a crusted red streak. "Do you get off on this?" 

Mr. Lamont shifts his stance; no doubt you've seen the light tent in his pants. "What can I say except I admire your handiwork, Mrs. Andersen. I imagine you may have wanted him to die slowly and painfully. Was it all that you hoped for?" 

You turn sheepish (incredible, really, surrounded by such admirable evidence of your own rage) and nod. "It was…" 

"Glad to hear," he says softly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..." 

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder but you step away from the island and change his distant, guiding gesture into an intimate embrace. He looks at you in surprise when he feels you wrap your hands around his back beneath his blazer. 

"I seem to suffer a similar affliction," you tell him and press yourself into his erection. "You wouldn't mind giving a girl a hand, would you?" 

Well it certainly wasn't part of the job, but he was eager to please. 

“As you like it,” he whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss. 

Your blood sings in your veins. You’ve just killed your no good louse of a husband and now you’ve got your tongue down a stranger’s throat. And a handsome one too, so polite (you were still wary of him but if Dr. Coolidge sent him perhaps he couldn’t be all bad)

You tug at his tie as if it would make him any closer to being inside of you. The smell of copper is a never ending assault on your senses, but you also smell wood smoke beneath it on his collar. 

Mr. Lamont’s cheeky hands find your hips and a second later he’s helping you sit up on the kitchen counter. You can see your husband from the corner of your eye, his mouth hanging open in eternal anguish. It just serves to intensify your lust for life. 

You give Mr. Lamont's belt a meaningful tug and slip back down to the floor to turn around

You mean to ask him to help you with your zipper, but instead you feel his lips at your neck just before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes you down, face first into the counter inches away from the pool of blood. 

Your hand slides through the sticky essence and you feel Lamont draw your skirts up and your underthings down. 

You gasp with a shriek as you feel something hot slide up your slit and over your other hole. Did he just lick you??? 

The living man growls in what sounds like pleasure, pulling at his sleek tie just enough to loosen the constriction at his throat and then he’s shucking his pants down. 

You’re not sure if you want him to work you up slowly or take what he wants but you hold your breath and let him lead. You’re far from disappointed when he massages the meat of your rear and leans over your back. 

“You can still change your mind, doll,” he whispers, “not too late to go shower and forget today.” 

You consider it but you don’t want to forget. You want the feeling of Georgie’s life slipping through your fingers to soothe you to sleep every night. You want to carry the pleasure of giving your former husband a reason for his rampant jealous streak and know that for once there was nothing he could do about it. You want this living man to make this strange and terrifying day to end in bliss and solidify everything like lightning striking sand.  

You lift your head and run your dripping red hand through his pristine locks. He locks eyes with you and a shiver runs through him as a droplet lands on his nose. “I don’t want to stop, Mr. Lamont. Now be a good guest and fuck me.” 

“Call me Ralphie please,” he breathes, and he’s all too happy to comply. You feel his cock slip between your folds and as he enters you as he promised, you lick your lips and taste cherry and rust. 

“Ralphie… Ralphie…” He loves the sound of his name on your lips, the squishing sound of your lovely womanhood taking everything he gives it. He puts a single hand on your hip leans back to take it all in: the bloody kitchen, the stiff, the lecherous moans, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, the misleading cleanliness of the back of your dress…

Mr. Lamont runs his hand through the slime in his hair but that blood is already drying. He splashes it into the pool next to you and leaves a bloody print on your back, holding you down to the counter by your shoulder and driving his hips into you harder. 

He can hear you’re close by the crescendo of your voice. He’s close too, and ever the gentleman, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back, pulling up a dainty leg in your daze so he can re enter your heat like he belonged there. He’s resumed fucking you in mere seconds and he likes this position because now he can see your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Where do you want it,” he grunts out. He’s trying not to come but he doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. He needs your answer, and fast...

For a moment your eyes go hard. Mr. Lamont gulps and worries for a second you’re going to pull the steak knife out of your husband’s throat to slit his, but instead you take a hold of his hair and pull his head back into an awkward but commanding angle. 

He feels your breath ghost over his neck. “My house, my rules. Make me see stars and I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

You sink your teeth into his neck and reach down to circle your pearl. Mr. Lamont does as he’s told, hissing and grunting but he holds off his release to give you exactly what you want. 

He has to stop thrusting when you start those delicious rhythmic tremors. He has to hold you up as you throw your head back and lose your balance, dependent on him to keep you upright. He takes over rubbing your pearl with a similar pressure as the one he watched you give yourself, and eased you back down from heaven into the bloody abyss on earth. 

For a second Ralph fears you’ve got too much control. What will he do if you tell him not to come at all? He’ll do as you command, of course, but how cruel were you going to treat him now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? He’s seen your handiwork all around, remember that. 

But your eyes turn soft and he’s worried you’re about to cry, that is until he watches you slip down to your bruised knees and ease your dress down your shoulders. Now you look positively debauched, breast bared and eyes turned up with a pleading look. 

“Finish on me, Ralphie.” You bit your lip and hope to god he’s still listening. “Right over my heart.” 

Ralph Lamont has never whimpered before. He’s doing it right now. How the fuck did he end up like this? 

He strokes his cooling cock, taking everything in from his position above you and feeling his drumming heartbeat in the throbbing of his member. The only word going through his head is yes

Ralphie gives one of you tits a squeeze, then gets an idea

It's a little awkward trying to get you to understand, but you catch on and there's this eager glow in your eyes

You help him slot his cock between your breasts and continue to jerk him off, using your hands as necessary to assist

He's not far now seeing you-- feeling you like that

Ralphie comes with a groan, a white rope painting your chin and splattering cockeyed down over your neck and onto the tops of your breasts. He has to catch himself on the counter as the next rope dribbles lower, half slipping into your cleavage and the rest staining the neckline of your ruined dress. His hips jerk once, twice. You let him slip from your embrace and twist your hand over the head just to milk whatever he has left into your mouth, and then he collapses into a heap beside you. 

You let him catch his breath for a minute, then grasp his jaw and turn his head towards you. You’re looking down your nose at him again and his vulnerable eyes beg for more. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” you gesture to the milky essence covering your skin in mock annoyance. “Clean it up like a good boy.” 

Eyes half lidded, Ralphie leans towards you in a trance, tongue swiping over every pearlescent trail and stray droplet until you’re ‘clean’ again

Completely spent, the man rests his head against your shoulder. Your hands come up to cradle him, stroking his matted hair as if you've not a care in the world

When he's ready he helps you stand up and straightens his clothes

Instead of helping you back into yours he strips you of them

"These will have to be burned, I'm afraid," he tells you. "Go on now, take a nice long bath and I'll call Kevin to see if he can take you somewhere for the night

You have to clear the tub and run it again to get truly clean. All of that grime builds up thick on your skin while you were having your acts of catharsis. 

You slip into a satin frock in your favorite color and let Kevin whisk you away to a movie for the night

As you fix your earring in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of Ralph Lamont on your balcony. He waves down at you leaning against the ledge and unbothered by the state of his clothes. From this far down, it doesn't look like blood

But you know better, don't you?

@hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape

[captaincravatthecapricious]

I Thought I Could Trust You- Prompt Fill

 CWs: panic attacks, mental health issues, suicidal thoughts kind of? (Jon wishing that if someone is going to kill him that they would just get it over with), paranoia, insomnia, season 2 Jon and all his issues. Yes basically same as last chapter.  Oh and Food and asthma.  

This is basically a follow up for It Was My Job to Protect You

For Someone on Ao3 whose name escapes me because I haven’t slept well or recently and I am so sorry.  If it’s you please let me know!

LAST BINGO! FINALLY.  I am taking "things you said" prompts, come drop me one of those prompts for Jon, Martin, or Tim!  I am very tired and can't remember if I proofread, so sorry in advance, or in past tense I don't know anymore time is fake and so is the order in which we perceive events.  Have a lovely stretch in your existence.  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  Also very much inspired by @janekfan​

Jon can hardly keep his eyes open.   The stairs were almost too much for him.   Wavering before his eyes and pulling on his heavy limbs, aching and shaky from his earlier panic attack.   

It’s not like he can ask for help.  And even if he could, Martin is just as badly off.  And Tim... Tim scares him.  

Tim is loud.  Tim is angry.  Which is Jon’s own fault.  If he hasn’t been following Tim, Tim would be boisterous, not shouting.  Jon wouldn’t have learned to flinch when he talks.  To flinch when he moves.  

And he wants to trust him but he’s afraid.  And if Martin didn’t kill Gertrude, that makes it all the more likely that Tim did.  

But no.  No.  Tim is his friend, right?  Was his friend.  

But all worry of letting him into his flat vanishes when the climb steals his hard-earned air from his lungs.  Leaving him swaying and gasping on the landing.  

Tim’s speaking and Jon flinches away.  Almost teetering down the stairs, before he’s caught.  By Tim.  

“Oi, steady on, boss!”

Almost drown out by his breathing.  Narrow chest heaving with effort and none of it reaching his brain.  

“Hey Jon, could you maybe hold off on passing out on me until you give me your keys?”  

Is that what Tim had been talking about?  

Keyes, he can do that.  Right?  

But enervated fingers fumble with them in his pocket and he can’t grasp them.  To his unending shame, he feels tears on his cheeks.  

At least Martin is too out of it from his own panic attack earlier to notice.  Much as the comfort would be welcome.  It would also be stifling and even more embarrassing.   

“Jon?”   Still too loud.  Tim’s too loud too close still steadying him physically which is still sending him further off balance.  “Never mind, I’ll use mine.”  

Because right.  Tim had a key.  Which Jon has been regretting because too loud too angry Tim could slit his throat while he sleeps but he doesn’t have it in him to change the locks so he’s been putting wedges under all of his doors.  Ugly old wooden things that scuff the floor but that’s fine if it keeps him alive a little longer.  Warns him early enough to arm himself.  Although.  Dying quickly without any fuss sounds... like a luxury.  

Tim guides an overly pliant Martin to Jon’s understuffed and threadbare sofa.  He tries to guide Jon to the bedroom before Jon’s knees buckle but Jon doesn’t want to be put to bed.  He doesn’t want Tim in attended.  He wants to trust Tim.  But he can’t.  

Much as Jon wants to sink into his bed and make up for all the sleep he’s missed over... well over the course of his whole life, he can’t leave Tim alone.  Unsupervised.  

Can’t let Tim kill him.  Or poor, exhausted Martin on the couch.  Or risk some other person breaking in and killing them all.  

Jon isn’t sure if it would be better to be killed by someone he knows and once called a friend.  

He isn’t sure.  

But when Tim goes to the kitchen to make them all some food which Jon’s lackluster supplies, Jon follows. 

Jon can’t keep his eyes open.  Hyper vigilant to the sounds of the kitchen.  But he can’t keep his eyes open.  And… it might be welcome if Tim’s curry ends up killing him.  So long as the poison does its work quickly.  

He doesn’t want to die, not really.  He’d very much like to survive, but surviving is exhausting, and maybe he wouldn’t mind too much if he just… wasn’t.  He doesn’t want to be a mystery, but he doesn’t want to be afraid anymore… to Hurt anymore.  And he is so exhausted that he does Hurt.  Endlessly.  Not to mention the ragged holes in his skin, still inching ever closer to being ugly scars… or they would be if he could stop worrying them… making them bleed.  

But as tired as he is, it doesn’t stop him from being afraid.  Afraid of dying?  Or maybe just the fear of not knowing When the end is coming.  If he only knew, then he could relax until it was actually imminent.  Not just remaining alert every moment.  

Christ he wants to sleep.  

And… he does… in a way.  He dozes while Tim cooks.  

But he’s afraid that it’s poisoned.  He is afraid Tim will be angry if he can’t make himself eat it for fear… then again it probably won’t be dangerous because Tim and Martin will presumably also be eating…

He wakes up to a clatter of something.  He wakes up with numbed arms and a pounding pulse.  He wakes up with Tim too close holding a knife.  

And later he can parse out, Tim is only too close because he is picking up the cutting board that fell off Jon’s cluttered and diminutive counter, but all he sees is Tim with a knife, Tim cursing loudly.  And he can’t even scream because his chest is too tight.  

This is it.  This is the end of Jonathan Sims.  

He’s going to die.  He is certain he is.  

He shrieks.  And aborted, choked off sound.  Pathetic.  

And he almost thought he could trust Tim.  He almost thought he could trust him.  Almost.  

When Tim drops the knife and makes his posture as non-threatening as possible, Jon hates himself.  Still unable to draw a full breath, and he Hates himself.  

He’s broken Tim’s trust again by not trusting him.  Again.  Not even the first time today.  He wants to tear himself up from the inside out, flacking little bits of old and poorly preserved parchment.  Wants to make those lines appear and send tiny flakes of paper and dust flying and have no more of himself.  Nothing left.  Just this gaping chasm.  Which is all he deserves really.  Leaving nothing but a mess, just like always.  Horrible… wretched… selfish… guilty… pathetic…  What is WRONG with him.  This is Tim.  Tim.  His first friend at the institute.  Tim who has always been there for him.  Until Jon went and Fucked it up.  Properly fucked it up, with no way back.  And.. And… FUCK.  

He’s crying again.  Making a proper fool of himself.  

“Jon?”  

He can’t look at Tim.  Can’t catch his breath.  Catching and wheezing in a way that is pitting the asthma against the panic and making them both all the worse.  

Tim isn’t as gentle as he can be when he shoves the inhaler at Jon for the second time today.  But Jon’s been sitting at the edge of a panic attack for weeks, and this time, it had been his fault.  Not his fault that Jon’s been a jumpy paranoid wreck, but his fault for being loud and angry and threatening and waving a knife around in front of the nervous wreck that used to be his friend.  

“Jon, you’ve got to use the inhaler.  If you don’t breath, I’m gonna wake Martin from his nap.  And he’s gonna be pissed at me, and if he gets pissed at me, I’m gonna get pissed at you, and you don’t want that.”  

Probably a mistake to threaten the person afraid of you, but he can’t fix his anger in one day.  Not until Jon puts in the work too.  

Okay he gets it.  Jon can’t exactly help being paranoid.  He isn’t gonna shame Jon for having shit mental health.  That would make him a bloody hypocrite.  But… Jon did not handle it well.  You’re supposed to reach out if you’re having a breakdown!  (Yes he knows… he’s still a bloody hypocrite but Less of one).  So… Jon’s gonna have to make an effort, and Tim… will try to be less …threatening?  Loud?  Big?  

Jon stops stalking him, Tim takes a good snoop around his flat, they take turns keeping watch for monsters so maybe they can get some goddamned sleep.  Simple enough!  

If Jon can stop having a panic attack while he’s trying to cook!

No… No.  Not gonna be angry at Jon for having another panic attack.  Hardly even came down from the last one.  Still too paranoid to leave Tim alone in the kitchen, stubborn bastard.  And what kind of an idiot only has a few withered vegetables in his fridge?  

(The kind who is too paranoid to eat non-packaged food, Tim does NOT think to himself).  

Still.  Jon should have reached out.  should have said something before it got this bad!  This isn’t Tim’s Fault.  He didn’t help, sure, but it isn’t his Fault!  And he isn’t going to apologize and he isn’t going to forgive Jon.  (At least for now).  

Jon has to be better.  Try to be better.  Tim will meet him halfway, but Jon has to make the first step, and use the goddamn inhaler.  But the threatening just made it worse.  

Jon looking frail and skinny and tired, hands over his head again, bracing for an attack.  Just like in his office, just like on the stairs.  Crumped up in such a way that even if he weren’t having an asthma attack and a panic attack, it would probably still be hard to breathe.  

“Boss, you’ve got to breathe.  We did this earlier, I didn’t kill you then.  Not gonna kill you now.”  Tim moves slowly so Jon isn’t surprised, and guides him a little straighter in his chair, holding the inhaler for him, as Jon’s finger tips (and lips) are going blue.  

And Jon’s still fighting him, although quickly losing what little strength he had to begin with.  

It takes some soothing before Jon lets him near enough to get the inhaler in his mouth.  “That’s good, boss.  That’s it, bud.  Now breathe with me.”  

He has a hand on Jon’s narrow chest now.  Sticky with cold sweat, heaving unevenly.  And Tim can’t believe how fragile his friend(?) has become.  

But as soon as Jon has breath in his body, the apologies start flowing out.  

“Hey, now.  None of that now.  You can apologize until you’re blue in the face once you’re not, ya know… literally blue in the face.  I do want those, but not until you’ve gotten some sleep and you eat some of this damn fine curry that I am somehow making from your truly pathetic supplies.  I’ll take the first watch, then we can talk about it, and you can actually start doing better.  Because that’s what I want.  I want you to stop hiding from us.  I get it, you can’t trust right now.  Fine.  But what you’ve been doing isn’t okay.  You don’t trust me.  That’s …well not fine, but I get it.  I do.  But stalking us, and yelling at Martin, and hiding from us isn’t how to deal with that.  You don’t trust us, so tell us how to help.  How can we prove to you that we aren’t gonna hurt you?  So you can’t help being a paranoid wreck, that’s understandable, but you can’t take that out on us.  That isn’t okay.  So first curry, then sleep.  Then we’ll talk.  Okay?”  

And Jon nods.  Allowing himself to be helped to the couch while Tim finishes dinner.  

[yoditorian]

lacuna- part 5

din/reader

i want to say a massive thank you for everybody who’s supported the content creator strike, it’s really important to draw attention to the issues we face and hopefully it’ll mean that engagement goes up and people will start respecting creators more 💛 as always, a massive thank you to @brothersdrxke for drifting with me on this

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.4k

warnings: probably some swears, poetic allusions to smut, din experiences emotion, 18+ no babies thanks

You don’t see Din for years, but he never fully leaves your mind.

Green Squadron gets pulled every which way across the galaxy, and you follow your orders. From the outer atmosphere above Scarif, to the Battle of Yavin, to some Outer Rim planet you barely spent a day on where the white ground turns red with every footstep. You see more stars than you ever thought possible. Mercifully, the endless missions and drills leave you little time to wonder what the Mandalorian might be up to in your absence. 

You’re not thinking about him under hails of blaster fire and explosives, nor while you duck and weave through smoke and flame to cover your teammates in the air. But he comes to you in the small hours, hours you spend trying to sleep, hours you spend wishing you were tucked up close against his side. You still claw through your memory for his smell, long since disappeared from the blanket you keep with you. Metallic and warm and home.

You’ve not used that word to describe anything for a long time, but it feels right.

Still, you live. Life in the Rebellion keeps you busy. Between meetings and missions and drills, you barely have enough time to eat, or sleep, or think some days. You’re grateful for that. The people around you are just as engrossed by war, but they don’t seem to let it get in the way. There’s love and light and laughter and you let it engulf you when you can. Nights spent in the rec rooms on your assigned cruiser, playing games of sabacc or keeping friends steady on barstools at the tiny cantina. People don’t stop living, so neither do you. Shara and Kes had married as soon as he was between missions, not long after she’d held your hand in a death grip at the prospect of her possible pregnancy. And you’re the first to hold their little boy when he comes, a week earlier than expected and furious, screaming into the galaxy. Life is good. But it’s missing something.

You try to live, at least. You freely give out smiles and stories and time, but you can never bring yourself to take it further. They always lean in close and you keep the distance. Break eye contact. You can’t do it. It’s not right. To do that to him. Even through the radio silence, even through the way you feel him just out of reach. You’re always kind about it, and nobody ever takes it badly, eyes soft as you apologise and tell them you’re spoken for. He hasn’t, but you are. That’s how it’ll always be.

He creeps into your dreams until he’s always there, his arms the only thing you can think of in the moments before you sleep.

Somewhere outside, you’re always outside with him. And there’s no armour or uniforms or obligations, just you and him and the sky as it turns a soft shade of pink. He’s not wearing his helmet, something you know as solidly as you know how to fly, but you can never quite stretch up to see his face. You don’t mind. You don’t mind because in this reality, he loves you. He tells you he loves you, over and over, and that’s enough. It doesn’t last long. The clouds roll in, dark and heavy, and Din’s warmth disappears from beneath you. Instead, you’re swallowed into the black as Captain Antilles tells you to suit up and move out. You don’t know where you’re going, but the weight sitting in the pit of your stomach makes you certain you’re not coming back.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, and try to bring your heart rate down. Other pilots in the barracks are fast asleep around you, breathing in unison. Except one.

“You have a lot of those,” Shara whispers, the rest of the squadron still snoring, “Bad dreams, I mean.”

“Did you get a holo today?” You don’t want to talk about your dream. The fear still courses through you, it seemed so real. Missions are getting more and more dicey as each side gets more and more desperate, it’s not clear who’s winning anymore. If anybody. You can count on one hand the number of pilots who’ve come back completely unscathed in the last few months.

“He’s talking properly now, I swear every time I see him he’s bigger.” She’s trying not to cry, and you have the good grace not to mention it. Being away from her son for this long leeches at Shara’s spirit. Little Poe is safe and happy and being doted on by a relative of Kes’s, far away from the Empire’s reach. But sleep escapes her most nights, replaced by the pain of watching him grow from a distance, and the very real threat that she won’t get to see him grow up at all. You stretch your arm out across the narrow gap between your bunks and find her hand in the darkness. It’s all either of you have.

“We’re flying out to the Endor system in 36 hours. The second Death Star is mid-production, not operational, we’ll hit it before it’s done.” There’s none of the sarcastic warmth you’ve come to expect from your team commander over the years, this is it. The final stand. The noise of the cruiser’s hangar fades away as your brain switches to fight mode and you process your orders. The end of the Empire, or the Rebellion. Three possible outcomes: you win and live, you win and die, or you lose and die. The Empire will not leave survivors. Like any good pilot, you pretend that the odds don’t scare you.

You’re going to lose people. Friends, colleagues, strangers will fall, but that’s the risk you run in the Rebellion. Every single person would lay down their life at a moment’s notice if it meant the chance of success. You’re the best you’ve ever been, a veritable armoury of skills that would make your sixteen year old self faint. If it was down to just you, you’d make it out of any dogfight no doubt about it. You have no fear when you’re in the air. But it’s not just you, is it? It’s Shara, and Green Squadron, and the Rebellion at large. If any of them go down, there’s no question that you’ll follow.

You’re fumbling through your pack the moment you realise you’ve made it back to the barracks, alone, the solitude is far too rare and you’re not about to waste it worrying. You’ve pressed the talk button and brought the comm up to your mouth before you’ve even figured out what you want to say. Hopes that he’ll answer, or hear you at all, aren’t exactly high. But you’re desperate enough to give it a go.

“I’m going to the inn at Mos Espa. The one from before? I’ll click when I’m there, if you’re around.” You don’t tell him that it’s because you’re pretty sure you’re going to die. And you love him, even if he doesn’t know. And you’re selfish, ultimately. You just hope he can’t tell you’re trying not to cry.

“-if you’re around.”

Your voice echoes around the cockpit of the Razor Crest, and Din tries to ignore the way it ties his stomach in knots. He misses you, so much more than he thought he would. It’s like there’s a space inside him where only you fit, like his lungs threaten to collapse without you.

He should pretend that he didn’t get the message, like the way he pretends that he doesn’t keep the long-range comm pinned to the control board of the Crest, like the way he pretends he doesn’t think about getting in touch with you every second of every day. It’s the first time he’s heard from you in a while and there’s a new bounty puck burning a hole in his pocket and he really shouldn’t be thinking about going. Except there’s something in your voice that he can’t quite work out. He doesn’t want to go so far as to call it fear, but he can’t sit there wondering. He can’t sit there as if he hasn’t missed you.

So, Din powers up the Razor Crest, and locks in the coordinates for Mos Espa.

You hadn’t even needed to ask Shara to cover for you, she offered the second the word Mando slipped out. You’ve held her through nights where all she can do is miss Kes, she understands the pain you feel every time you spot the comm in your pack. You’d asked her once if she thought you were being silly, pining over a man whose face you’ve never seen. She’d only told you to shut up, that he’s clearly not just some guy you sleep with when the opportunity arises.

“You don’t lose sleep over dick, Lieutenant.”  

And she’s right, even if you’re afraid to put any other word to it.

The room hasn’t changed, although you’re not sure why some part of you had expected it to. The desk and chair are still in the same place, the bedding still a faded red, even the light in the ceiling has the same tattered lampshade. You stand by the small window, watching people’s shadows grow long as the day comes to an end. Still no word, no sign, nothing from Din.

The suns set, and he’s not here. He’s not coming. You hate how much you want to see him, just once, before you have to leave. You’re about to curl up on top of the bedcovers and sleep, until two knocks on the door echo loud and clear.

You look rough. Din doesn’t want that to be the first thing he thinks about you when he opens the door, but he can’t deny it. Your shoulders sag with exhaustion, stress, and there’s that fear he didn’t want to admit to hearing before. It’s not him you’re afraid of, but somehow he knows you won’t even acknowledge it.

“Been a while.” Years. It’s been years and that’s the first thing he can think of to say?

He’s here and now you can barely move. You spent so long preparing yourself for him not to show that you have no idea how to react now that he has. It feels like you’re walking through cobwebs.

“Yeah, it- it has been.” This is really not how you envisioned this would go. But he’s right, it has been a while. Maybe the more hopeful part of your heart wanted you to just pick up where you left off, but you’re not even exactly sure where that would be.

Din makes the decision for you. He strips his armour slowly, setting it on the desk in the same way he did the last time you stayed here, and never once takes his eyes off of you. You can feel it, like he thinks you’ll disappear if he looks away. Maybe you will.

Your jacket is already draped over the back of the chair, the night not yet cold enough to warrant more than your tattered t-shirt. It’s the one you wear under your flight suit. You’d left your old blanket on your bed back on the cruiser, you need his scent on this instead. You need to keep him with you when you take to the skies, just in case.

He steps closer to you, helmet still in place, until he’s all you can see. The cold metal presses down firm against your forehead, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels right. In any other context, it might scare you.

“I need you.” You can’t keep the tremble out of your voice, only hoping it makes you sound desperately horny rather than terrified. Your hands knot themselves in the thick fabric of the flight suit over his chest and he just holds you there for a moment. Bare hands skim your back, reaching up underneath your shirt to find your skin. They freeze when he finds a symmetrical set of scars. The marks feel old, settled, but still carry a heat that feels more recent than the ones he’s used to feeling.

“Prod, I think the medic said it was. Don’t recommend that.” Your half-hearted laugh travels up his fingertips.

Din’s mind flashes back to years ago, to the crime syndicate he slaughtered, the ones who’d treated torture like it was dinner and a show. The rebel pilots he’d freed-

“We had the bantha-prod on the other one yesterday. Oh, the screaming.”

He decides it probably wasn’t you, the galaxy is a big place and there’s more wannabe crime lords than womp rats. The chances of you being the second pilot are slim, and if one group was using bantha-prods on prisoners there’s no doubt there would be more. They’re convenient, easy to get your hands on, and pack a decent punch. He lets his fingers rest on each of the pronged scars for a moment, and leaves it at that.

You keep your forehead pressed to the helmet and let Din strip the layers between you, breaking only when he leans back to lift the old t-shirt over your head and your eyes slip shut against the dim moonlight. You can’t see much with them open but you need to feel him, all of him, and you know he trusts you not to look. Your mind is reeling so much that you don’t even hear him slip the helmet off, you don't register that he’s bared himself to you as much as you’re bared to him until he’s pressing you down against the threadbare blankets.

It’s there that you let him consume you, take over every square inch of your skin until you belong to him completely. Just for this isolated moment, as if the war doesn’t exist. And you revel in it, you lose yourself and let him guide you through it all. Committing his every touch, every kiss, every breath to your memory. This is what you’ll think of when you go down tomorrow. You’ll think of him and the tight feeling in your heart when he kisses you and you’ll remember that he took care of you. Even when you can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

You’re in your head, he can tell. But Din knows you, far better than either of you are willing to admit, and he knows you won’t tell him. So he throws everything he is into it. Into this time with you, no idea when he’ll get to be with you again. If ever. And for once, the fear for his creed is silent. He pulls you into him until it’s impossible to tell that you’re not one single being. You need this, clearly, and his heart is so firmly in your hands that he’ll give it to you. He’ll put everything on hold for you, every time.

You’re the first one to rise from the bed, barely having caught your breath before you’re rummaging for your clothes on the floor with your eyes still clenched shut, and that’s when Din knows something’s definitely wrong. He can hear your hands shake as you pull your t-shirt back over your head.

“Hey,” He leans forward to catch your elbow, but you shrug his fingers away, “What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to base.” Is the only explanation you offer. Din huffs and the sound makes you flinch, too sharp in the dark, as he pulls you back to the scratchy sheets. Your hands find his broad chest and you take a second to focus on his breathing, on the way his ribs expand, until you can find the right words.

“Cyar’ika.”

“I think I’m dying tomorrow.”

He says nothing. You don’t expect him to. What are you supposed to say when somebody tells you they’re going to die?

“Din, I-”

He surges up to kiss you, breathing you in and surrounding you until he is all you know. All you ever want to know.

“Tell me when you live.” He whispers, pulling his lips away just enough to speak, and hopes you’re tired enough to forget the way you promise as you tuck yourself back into his chest. He can’t let you say the words, he knows he’ll never leave if you do.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you to stay. A few hours, he says. He’ll wake you up when you need to go, he says. You know he will, he’s never given you a reason not to trust his word. And you let yourself relax into him, curling into his side and wondering what would happen if he didn’t wake you up. What if you just stayed here, the two of you in this room, for the rest of forever? It’s a nice enough thought to clear your mind and let sleep take over.

You wake before he does, hours before the suns are meant to rise and you know it’s time to go. It hurts, to think about leaving Din here in this bed to wake up alone. Like the last time. You hope he’s not too upset with you as you fumble blindly for the rest of your abandoned clothes.

While he has seen far too much cruelty, and been far too kind to you to deserve this, you leave him sleeping. Better for him to wake at dawn and be angry with you than to wake now and convince you not to go. You know he would. You’ve never much believed in the Force, or love for that matter, but every path you’ve ever taken has led you straight back to him. That’s got to count for something.

But love isn’t something you get to have. You’re not foolish enough to convince yourself that it is. Although, if anything in the galaxy could come close, it would be Din. You leave your heart behind with him, tucked up close beside his in the tangled sheets. He’ll keep it safe, you can trust him, of that you’re certain.

“You ready?” Shara’s trying her best to sound upbeat, and you have to hand it to her. It’s difficult not to feel like this is the end, hers is the first smile you’ve seen all day.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” You reply as you tug her into a hug. You squeeze each other almost uncomfortably tightly, but part of you feels like it might be the last chance you get to hold your best friend. She’ll feel every ounce of love you have for her, even if you crack each other’s ribs. Your matching dark green flight suits feel far too new, too starched and solid, for the firefight you know is coming.

“You smell like boy.” She mumbles into your shoulder and you huff out a laugh.

“I’ll see you after.” You say when she pulls back. Neither of you are sure you’re right.

But you are. The comms fill with cheers as you watch the second Death Star crumble, the remnants of the fleet around you falling. And you can breathe. Your work, the Rebellion’s work, is far from over but this? This is everything you’ve been working towards for years. It’s hard not to feel relieved for just a moment. You catch Shara as she zips by, following her down to Endor’s surface.

You’ve barely unclipped the safety belts before she’s wrestling you out of the cockpit and down to the forest floor. You land in a heap of laughter, maybe a few tears, and wait for the adrenaline to settle.

“We did it!” Shara’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it as you clasp her cheeks in your hands and hold her there. You’re both swept up into somebody’s arms only a moment later, Kes Dameron’s booming laugh filling your ears, and you let the joy wash over you. You’ve gotten through the worst of it with this, your little found family of rebels, intact. If only it wasn’t so glaringly obvious that someone is missing.

Later into the night, you pull yourself away from the party, slipping down a ladder from the treehouses and making your way to the ships. It takes a moment to remember exactly where your A-Wing is, and another to dig around in your pack to find it, but you breathe a sigh of relief as your fingers close around the comm. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever will come.

“I made it.”

There’s a second, a click from the comm, and then another.

Din finally lets the tears fall, and he can breathe again.

As though the man on the other end thought better of what he was going to say. The party still rages above your head, and you try not to let it get to you.

-

TAGLIST (lmk if you want on or off):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars @wille-zarr @rebloogggs @thevoiceinyourheadx​ @plants-are-better-than-humans @schreibsuchtis 

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

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

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

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

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

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

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

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

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

part 12

ink was getting nervous. Error was coming by at night, and since every other vampire was sleeping, he couldn’t do anything but wait in his garden-

Something wasn’t quite normal with error. He looked pretty anxious, wary even-

 Ink sighed. Life was so empty- not even death could fix that

 He discovered that over time, most vampires could get used to the sunlight after being exposed to it very lightly. He also noticed that vampires couldn’t be murdered unless they were shot or stabbed in the soul

He not only wasn’t affected by the sunlight in the first place, but he had no soul to begin with-

Death wasn’t an option.

Boredom was the only thing that was “killing” him

 Ever since he could remember, life was always so boring

 Empty

 Without any goal to achieve or get going with

 He clenched his fists

The only thing that was following him around and that let him stay alive was…

 Guilt

 For something he could never forgive himself for

Maybe he could fix it?

 He didn’t want to think about it now-

 He traveled inside his garden, wandering around his maze, then sat down near some bushes

He was an immortal being with barely no will to live, but he did have a passion to stay sane

And it ended up being art.

Painting, sewing, designing, sculpting-

Creating was a nice compensation for destroying everyone’s lives…

 Now that he was thinking about it…

…….

 Wait, who was that?!

 Ink noticed a shadow fly away from his garden. ‘Right when he had some inspiration to draw’. He ran to them, but he realized they already left.

It was probably another vampire, but the vast majority preferred to go out at night since they won’t be so visible to the mortals. Though it was unusual for a one to fly off so fast and early in the morning. The sun was bright, and even he felt pretty nauseous staying on spot without anything to shield himself from the heat of it.

Even so, he stared at his surroundings, curious to see if the person left something, when he noticed a crispy letter on the grass.

Ink sighed, who could it beee?

He painfully leaned down to catch the letter, and opened it.

Right, it was him.

Just when he thought he’ll get to talk to him personally-

He sat down and read the long paragraph that decorated its paper.

 …

 “…oh-“

 He got up and dusted off his clothes from the remaining dirt and leaves that stuck to him, then trailed off to his castle-

 “Looks like the meeting is still ongoing”

 ******

 His steps were heavy,

And he was getting weaker-

He collapsed on the ground

It was so painful to be alive

And he hated it

He HATED ink for what he did!

He-

He…

….

Well, the forest wasn’t a good place to fall unconscious in, so he painfully got himself up.

He could hate ink all he wanted, but the mortals were even worse

If only he could just KILL THEM ALL

ALL OF THEM

Ugh-

 “…”

 Huh

Crying?

Him?

Out of character, right?

He wiped away the tears that were slowly forming themselves in his sockets. He had to- he had to go and ask for help like the idiot that he is! He…he didn’t want him to-

…

Die? Who? What the flip was he even doing in that forest anyways?!

Oh yeah, heal himself

Obviously

He sat by a tree and painfully tightened the holes and scars with bandages after carefully removing the bullets and disinfecting the injuries with his magic. He really didn’t want to see him again,

But he didn’t have a choice anymore

********

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

He sat on his sofa, slowly waiting for his guest’s arrival in front of his large window.

He closed his eyes patiently, then sighed calmly

 “nice seeing you again, error”

His silhouette slowly appeared in front of him, threatening as always.

“…”

He looked away, a frown still in place.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to see me, but god can you be stubborn!” ink pouted. They knew each other for years, but one thing that didn’t change was the fact that error was never happy to see him

Nor to spend time with him

Actually, the times where he’ll be “happy” is when he almost “kills” him, or when he leaves-

Yeah, a nice “friendship”

“I swear if it wasn’t for an important reason I would’ve never stepped a toe in your hell of a castle!”

“but you still came here. And I’m sorry if I am worried about this reason that’s so important it actually made you sit here, and talk to me for once.”

Error flinched at his sarcastic tone, and he thought about giving a spiteful remark back, but he sat on the sofa in front of him, directly facing the window, choosing to ignore his off handed retorts to leave that place as soon as possible.

“… well-“ error tried to collect his words, obviously tired of what had happened to him this past weeks.

“there is a small town very far away from here who sent a…detective? Spy? Whatever, A trained mortal to hunt down the vampires while being hidden amongst the normal villagers, and he’s been very wary of YOU especially.”

“He had been giving some “ideas” to the mortals, and if he manages to convince them to overthrow your rules and influence, he’ll quickly discover your intentions and the hidden place of multiple thousands of vampire, causing the extinction of the race in a second. And while I flipping hate your guts and I despise you all so much, vampires and mortals alike, I can’t really be all that powerful and safe when the humans can win over me; the amount of vampires decreasing giving them “courage” to kill the remaining.”

He stated the last sentence with disgust. He didn’t give two cents about vampires, even less monsters or even humans, which he hates even more, but ink’s motives were vastly different

ink loved vampires, because he had to; Being the original vampire who first existed. He was the reason so many mortals turned into those people, feared by the pitiful society called the living. And just like that he and the other vampires that followed began growing stronger in number and power.

You could say that he didn’t have a choice- that it was in his nature; he’s a vampire! He can’t help but drink blood, in the case of monsters, magic-

But

No

Not only can vampires resist the urge to drink blood, by simply eating meat, but in ink’s case

He doesn’t even like drinking blood nor magic

He was more into literal ink

The only reason he drank blood in the first place was to get feelings

The first vampire didn’t have a chance to get a soul, so he discovered he could get feelings another way.

And he despised doing that

Because

Of how he discovered

That-

“INK!”

Ink looked at error, realizing he must’ve been daydreaming for too long

“…”

Ink got up, then undressed himself from his coat.

“Huh? What the he- what are you doing???”

“Well, suffice to say we’re going to catch that little comedian and eliminate him as soon as we can”

Error didn’t expect such bluntness from ink, but he couldn’t care less about that, more like, he was caught off guard by the “we”

“Hey, hey, hey- this is YOUR job, mister! It is not my business to attend”

Ink looked back at him, and gave him a warm smile

“Didn’t you say earlier it affected you if all the race disappeared? Wouldn’t you want to stop that from happening? I might add that you wouldn’t come here unless you really had to, so is it just for a message or did you need my help?”

He hated it when ink gets smart

But at the same time he was right

Though there was still another reason on top of it all, but he kept his mouth sealed

That bastard didn’t need to know

“…fine. What to do now”

Ink’s smirk became predatory

“What makes you think we’ll need to do anything?”

Error flinched

“What?”

Ink giggled-

“Well, it’s getting quite late don’t you think?”

Error looked back at the window, the moon shining bright in a cold, dark night

“Ink! I need answers!”

Ink paused his laughing, then smiled

“I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll be my guest.”

He bowed slightly, still keeping eye contact with the other

Error tensed- he didn’t know what to do now

“…is this a trap?”

Ink looked surprised at that statement, but quickly rectified

“Not at all!”

“Then what makes me believe that you’re not going to kill me in my sleep!”

Ink paused a second, kind of offended by the other’s skepticism when he just wanted to welcome him

Well, guess it can’t be helped

“I promise you that I will answer your questions tomorrow, It’s just that you might be exhausted from the constant travelling- the bruises and scars look like they just need a bit of attention, and you-“

He trailed off, citing multiple reasons why he needed a shelter from him, and error quickly cut him off

“Okay- okay- I get it”

It did make him feel a bit better though, considering ink takes his promises very seriously, so he might as well stay for a night

“Just ONE night”

He crossed his arms, and ink chuckled

“Sure, sure-“

He smiled

“Goodnight then, error”

*******

“well, how about we talk more about it in a more...private environment, yes?”

**********

ink belongs to @comyet​/ @myebi​

error belongs to @loverofpiggies​

dark cream belongs to @zu-is-here​

well, it took a while to update you guys, but i’m really happy about it!

error holds a huge grudge against ink- what is it? still haven’t finished that part yet guys ;D

also, the illustration is a spoiler for the next part focusing about ink, but as they say- it’s not a real spoiler if you have no context right ;)?

((remind me not to paint an illustration for a writing i haven’t updated in a while it just makes it worse))

also, the reason i haven’t drawn error once is because i can’t decide on a design he often hides his face with a very dark cape. i will give you guys a sheet with everyone’s faces (protagonists only) their mouths (the difference between their fangs) and their markings/eyelights

very exited to write more about ink though- it’s going to get interesting very soon ;)

first- previous- next

[lumosandnoxwriting]

I’d Rather Be a Lover Than a Fighter - Harry Potter

Title: I’d rather be a lover than a fighter

Pairing: Harry x fem!reader

Summary: Harry decides to go back to Hogwarts for his 7th year after the war is over. He didn’t think being back in those walls would affect him as much as it is, and his girlfriend helps him through it

A/N: Harry never should have been an auror and I stand by that. Requests are open and feed back is welcomed!

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

The train ride back to school is different this year.

He, Hermione and Y/N are occupying the same compartment they always do, but they’re missing some pretty important pieces. For one Ron had decided not to return to Hogwarts to complete his education. He’d called Harry mental for deciding to go through NEWTS, considering the fact that Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic, declared that NEWTS were no longer a job requirement for Aurors as long as they fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.

“If anyone is ready to be an Auror its you, mate,” Ron had said indignantly when Harry told him he’d be heading back to Hogwarts last month. “You defeated bloody Voldemort for Christ sakes.”

Harry knows he’s qualified to be an Auror, he just isn’t sure that’s what he wants to be anymore. Before the war he would have given anything to just skip over his time at Hogwarts and be out in the world, hunting down dark wizards and trying to keep the world safe. But now, now he’s looked the darkest wizard of all in the eyes – he even managed to kill him. Without Voldemort out there, lurking in dark corners and waiting for his turn to strike Harry isn’t sure that being an Auror is for him.

Which is why he’s back on the Hogwarts Express, zooming towards the old castle that always felt like his home. Without his NEWTS his job prospects in the wizard world are bleak, unless he wants to end up working at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Which wouldn’t be so bad, but he wants to do something worthwhile with his life. Even after defeating Voldemort he still feels like he has to do something good with his life, so that his parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and everyone else who died fighting in the Wizarding War didn’t die in vain. Didn’t die protecting a directionless, unaccomplished git.

He’s brought out of his stupor by Y/N gently shaking his arm and gesturing to the woman with the Trolly. He gives his girlfriend a quick reassuring smile, before he gets up and buys their usual stack of treats. He sits back down and starts in on a pumpkin pasty, almost subconsciously turning to give Hedwig some.

But that’s the other missing piece. Hedwig had died protecting him over a year ago, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to enter the Magical Menagerie to get a new owl. She was so much more than an owl. She was the first real creature to show Harry genuine love, and she brought him much needed companionship during his long summers with the Dursleys. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to replace Hedwig.

He quickly shoves the rest of the pasty into his mouth, chewing slowly as he brings his attention back to Hermione and Y/N. They’d been chatting amongst themselves for most of the journey, allowing Harry some much-needed quiet time.  

They don’t even seem to notice that he’s paying attention again, too engrossed in a story of one of Hermione’s adventures in Australia. Not too long after the war her and Ron went to find her parents to restore their memories. It took a few weeks, but they were successful, and even though Ron returned to The Burrow, Hermione had stayed with her parents, only arriving back in England yesterday.

Before long everyone around them starts rustling, changing into their robes as the castle grows nearer. Harry mindlessly gets ready, just as he has done countless times before. But the usual feeling of comfort in his stomach has turned into a hardened ball of anxiety.

-

“Those Thestrals really are something, aren’t they? I never imagined they’d look like that,” Y/N whispers to Harry as they make their way into the castle, her hand lightly brushing his.

They had agreed that they would keep the PDA to a minimum, not wanting to draw even more attention to Harry. He always hated being the Boy Who Lived and now he was the Boy Who Lived Again. The Boy Who Killed Voldemort.

But in this moment, as they enter the Great Hall, where Voldemort’s lifeless body had laid only a few months ago, there’s nothing more he craves than the touch of his girlfriend.

He grabs her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I told you, not your fault you never believed me.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, squeezing Harry’s hand back even tighter as they take a seat at the Gryffindor table. Harry can feel everyone’s eyes on him, he looks down at his plate, letting their stares burn a hole in the back of his head. Some students had only heard stories of what happened in the castle that night, too young to fight they had been ushered out by McGonagall before it all began. Others though, others were there the whole time, fighting alongside each other.

“Just ignore them, love,” Y/N whispers in his ear, placing a kiss on his temple.

Luckily Professor Sprout is bringing in the first years to be sorted, and all of the attention is off of Harry. He looks up towards the head table, and his eyes meet Hagrid’s. He gives Harry a wink before turning his attention back towards the sorting.

Harry looks towards McGonagall next, and he can’t help but think that she looks like she belongs in the Headmaster’s golden seat. Her eyes don’t meet his, but he somehow knows that the smile on her face is for him.

-

Hogwarts is different. Everywhere he looks he is reminded of the Battle of Hogwarts, unable to escape those memories. On his way down to potions a few weeks in to term he stops dead in his tracks, positive that Lavender Brown is laying on the floor in front of him, bleeding from her neck.

He feels someone squeeze his shoulders, and with a blink the image is gone.

“it’s alright, love. Nothing’s there,” Y/N speaks softly into his ear before pressing a kiss into the back of Harry’s neck. They stand there for a few minutes, her hands massaging Harry’s shoulders as his heart rate comes down. It had looked so real.

Thankfully when they slip into potions a few minutes later Slughorn doesn’t even acknowledge that they’re late.

-

Things go on like this for weeks. Y/N doesn’t say anything to Harry about it, letting him deal with things himself. Her only interference is words of encouragement and soft touches, letting Harry come back to reality on his own. Until finally it all comes to a head at the end of October and Y/N has no choice but to get involved.

They’re halfway through a double charms lesson when McGonagall comes running through the closed classroom door. Y/N and Hermione had been glancing at the door for the past hour, waiting for Harry to show up from Divination. She looks flushed, and she gestures for Y/N and Hermione to follow her.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion Professor Flitwick, but I need to borrow Ms. Y/L/N and Ms. Granger for an urgent matter.” The door was still cracked open, and the class could now hear a loud commotion coming from somewhere below them.

Y/N and Hermione share a worried glance before they leave their seats and follow McGonagall. As they follow her downstairs and past the great hall the noise they heard earlier grows louder until all they can see in front of them is a sea of students. Y/N and Hermione share another worried glance before they follow McGonagall into the crowd.

“Out of the way! Students make your way to your classes now!”

Some of the students start to move towards their classrooms, while others merely move out of the way, still looking at something on the ground. They finally make it through the students and Y/N gasps sharply.

Harry is sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest with his head down as he silently rocks back and forth. His body shakes with uneven breaths, and Y/N is sure he’s crying. She looks around and it dawns on her. Fred. They are standing in the corridor where the oldest Weasley twin had died, the ghost of his last laugh still on his face.

Y/N rushes over to Harry as Hermione helps McGonagall and Professor Slughorn disburse the large crowd that had gathered around him. She kneels next to him, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“Shh, love. It’s alright. Everything is okay. Harry look at me. You’re fine,” Y/N tries to reassure. But he continues to rock, a mess of words quietly spilling from his lips. She leans in closer, trying to make out what he’s saying.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Y/N can only make out a few phrases, but her chest aches with the pain that Harry must be feeling. Almost all of the students have vanished, so she can clearly hear someone rushing towards them. She looks up just in time to see Madam Pomfrey reach them.

“I’ll take it from here, Y/N dear. I’ll take him up to the hospital wing and I’ll give him a sleeping potion. I can’t imagine he’s slept much these past few weeks. It’ll be alright dear.”

Y/N hugs Harry tightly one last time before she steps away. Madam Pomfrey whispers something to Harry before helping him to get up. Professor Slughorn joins the pair, and they head off towards the hospital wing, most of Harry’s weight being carried by the other two.

Y/N, Hermione and Professor McGonagall all stand in silence, looking at each other. None of them know exactly what to say. They knew coming back to Hogwarts would be hard for all of them, especially Harry, but they had no idea it’d be this hard.

“Don’t worry about going back to class, girls. I’ll let Professor Flitwick know what happened and that I gave you both permission to not return,” McGonagall says with a sad smile before she hurries off towards the hospital wing.

Not knowing what to do with themselves, Y/N and Hermione trudge up to the Gryffindor common room. They collapse on to their favorite, softest couch in front of the fire, and Y/N can’t help but notice how quiet the common room is.

“Guess I’m just not used to being here during the day when everyone is in class,” Y/N thinks to herself, her eyes gazing at the empty fireplace.

Y/N and Hermione don’t speak, unable to find the words to express what they’re feeling exactly. It’s not until Ginny comes through the portrait hole with their things and settles onto the closest armchair that they find the words.

“it was so scary,” Y/N expresses once they’ve filled Ginny in on everything that has happened. Ginny looks horrified, and Y/N is sure that she and Hermione have similar looks on their faces.

“I’ve never seen him like that. I mean I could tell that he was having difficulties,” she pauses so they can all share a look of agreement. Harry and his small episodes had been a frequent topic of conversation in their dorm room at night. “But I never thought they would get to be that bad. He didn’t even look like himself.”

Ginny shakes her head and looks down at her hands.

“I mean I’ve felt, things in that corridor too,” she explains with a shaky voice, still not looking up at them. “But never anything like that.”

“I thought you said everything was getting better with him?” Hermione asks, turning her attention to Y/N, referencing the conversation the three of them had before Arithmancy a few days ago.

Y/N can feel Ginny’s eyes on her too, her cheeks heating up a bit at the harsh attention. She knows that Hermione and Ginny are just being intense because they care about Harry, but she can’t help but feel like she’s on trial.

Y/N just nods, giving herself a second to find the right words.

“I did say that, but only because that’s what he told me last weekend.” She pauses to clear her throat. “He had another episode on Saturday, up in the owlery. He went with me to mail a letter to my parents, and his eyes just glazed over. It was like he wasn’t there anymore, like his mind had taken him somewhere else.”

Y/N shivers as the blank stare Harry had comes rushing back to the front of her mind.

“I made him sit down and talk to me that night. I told him how scary those episodes or whatever were getting and that I thought it was time he talked to someone about them. I told him it didn’t have to be me. It could be Professor Flitwick or McGonagall or even Hagrid, that he just needs to talk to someone,” she pauses to look to Hermione and Ginny, who both give her reassuring glances.

“And he told me that he was getting better. That whatever happened in the Owlery was the first episode he’d had in a week and that his nightmares were getting better, that he hadn’t had one in days. I’m sure that was a lie though. With what happened today, and the fact that Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn had to basically carry him all the way to the hospital wing I don’t think he’s slept in days,” she trails off, leaning back into the couch.

They don’t say anything as the common room begins to fill with students as everyone heads down to dinner. As they head through the portrait hole, trailing behind everyone else Y/N sighs.

“I just wish he would open up to me.”

-

The girls decide to do their homework in the common room that night, partially so Ginny can catch them up on what they missed in Charms, but mostly so they can wait for Harry to return from the Hospital Wing. However, he doesn’t return until well after midnight, long after Hermione and Ginny had gone to bed. Y/N had just begun to fall asleep on the couch, the fire dying in front of her and her mind heavy with thoughts of Harry when her boyfriend ambles in through the portrait hole.

“Harry!” she breathes excitedly, her energy somehow returning. She rushes to her boyfriend’s side, grabbing his hand gently and ushering him over to the couch. They both take a seat, but Y/N fights her urge to cuddle up close to him. They need to have a serious conversation, and she wants to be able to look Harry in the eyes. She, however, doesn’t release his hand.

“Alright, love?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Yeah, ‘course, just worried about you,” she pauses, pursing her lips. She wants to let him go up to bed, but if she doesn’t talk to him now she’ll lose all of her nerve. “You wanna tell me what that was?”

Harry looks away from her gaze, a red blush blossoming on his cheeks.

“I bet the whole school saw, huh?” he asks nervously, still refusing to look Y/N in the eyes.

She shakes her head. “Not the whole school. The only reason me and Hermione,” she pauses when Harry lets out a grunt of annoyance that Hermione had witnessed his episode as well. “The only reason we saw is because Professor McGonagall came to fetch us from Charms. She probably was hoping we could talk you out of it.”

She pauses, giving Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I figured something was up since you didn’t show up to Charms. So, you wanna tell me what happened?” she asks, letting a little bit of annoyance creep into her tone.

Harry blushes harder, ashamed that he had tried skirting the question. Y/N is the only person that he’s never lied to. Partially because he can’t bring himself to ever hurt her, but also because she is the only person he’s been comfortable enough with to share every single thought and feeling he’s ever had.

“I’ve been trying to work that out myself on my way back here from the Hospital Wing,” he admits sheepishly. “One second I was on my way to Charms and the next I was sitting on the ground with you next to me.”

He pauses, swallowing the lump that appears in his throat. Y/N squeezes his hand, encouraging him to continue.

“I was coming from the North tower; people were everywhere walking to class or outside for their break. Everything was normal. I was thinking about tomorrow’s quidditch practice when all of a sudden I realized where I was, where I was standing and then suddenly I wasn’t on my way to class anymore. I was back in the castle that night, watching Fred, George and Percy walk down the corridor. They were talking, getting along and then I watched it, like it was in slow motion, Rookwood was casting a curse at the wall next to them, the wall crumbled, and Fred was trapped underneath it.”

Harry pauses to take a deep breath. He had started to shake slightly and could feel cold sweat running down his neck. Y/N rubs small circles on the back on his hand with her thumb, letting him collect himself.

“I felt so helpless,” he confesses. “Like I could have done something to stop it. Like it was all my fault.”

Y/N waits a few minutes to see if Harry is going to continue before she speaks.

“But love that’s the thing, there was nothing you could do. Everything that happened that night, Lavender, Fred, Tonks, Remus, they chose to fight. They knew the risks and they did it anyway. And that’s not your fault, Harry. Harry, look at me.”

Harry blinks away the few tears that were puddling in his eyes before he turns to look Y/N in the eyes.

“It’s not your fault.”

Harry feels like she’s speaking directly into his soul.

“But I feel like it is. Like there was something more I could have done. Like there’s still something I can do,” he explains.

Y/N scoffs at Harry, shaking her head.

“You are so daft Harry, honestly,” she says, tugging him closer to her. “Nothing that happened that night is your fault. Without you doing exactly what you did Voldemort wouldn’t have been killed. If it wasn’t for you the diadem wouldn’t have been destroyed. Without you going into the forest when you did the horcrux in you wouldn’t have been destroyed. Without you we’d all be living in a different world.”

Harry lets her words settle in before he speaks again. “But even so, it still feels like there’s so much more to fight for. Like I need to fight every day so that they didn’t die in vain.”

“So, who didn’t die in vain, love?” Y/N asks, though she has a feeling she already knows the answer.

“My parents! And Sirius, and Mad-Eye. Fred, Remus, Tonks. Dobby, Lavender. Hedwig,” his voice cracks on the last word, a small sob coming from his throat afterwards.

“Oh love,” she whispers, fully embracing Harry now. “You can’t carry the weight of all that on your shoulders. All of those people, they didn’t die in vain. They died knowing that you were going to save the world. And you did, love. It’s sad that they died, yes, but you can’t keep fighting a battle you’ve already won.”

Harry presses his face into Y/N’s neck, taking a deep breath. Her scent washes over him and he can’t help but feel like he’s at home. He peppers a few kisses to her warm skin before pulling away so he can look at her.

“You’re right, love. You’re absolutely right, and thank god you are,” he chuckles, for what feels like the first time in months. “I’ll work on dealing with this, I promise. Because it’s honestly dreadful, today was the first proper sleep I’ve gotten in weeks. It’s exhausting feeling like this.”

Y/N smiles at Harry, leaning in to give him a deep kiss.

“Thank god I can stop fighting, because honestly I’d rather be a lover than a fighter,” he says as he pulls away, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

He leans in to kiss her again, but Y/N only lets his lips brush hers before pushing him away with a laugh.

“Whatever you say, lover boy. But you better still fight on the quidditch pitch because there is no way we aren’t bringing home the Quidditch cup in our final year.”

Harry laughs along with her, kissing her fully this time.

[magioftheseas]

Rose Stem Asphyxiation

Summary: In one life, Hilise and Gabrielle try to be sisters.

Rating: T+

Warnings: References to violence, murder mostly fraticide, suicide, child abuse... Canon-typical stuff, tbh, even if this is canon divergence.

Notes: I just don’t get enough opportunities to write fucked up sisterly relationships and if Untouchable Lady is going to give me a dynamic that I think has potential, then I’m gonna go for it. Sorry that there’s no Axion. There’s no male characters at all beyond a couple of cursory mentions. Sorry~

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Hiliseeee!”

Gabrielle tackles her arm with innocent glee, but there’s a maid nearby who flinches. Unperturbed, Gabrielle beams up at her. The perfect image of the adorable little sister.

It should be satisfying if not endearing. No matter what Hilise does, it’ll always be Gabrielle who is the darling of the Inoaden household.

And yet, Hilise remembers the first time she saw Gabrielle embrace their father.

The way Gabrielle embraces her right now.

And the bitter resentment that stains her soul burns like a fresh wound.

“Are you going out, sis?” Gabrielle asks, and her bright inquiry snaps her from her dark mood. “I can come, right?”

No, it’s different.

The way Gabrielle squeezes her arm is with a hint of desperation. Unease. Gabrielle’s usually effortless smile twitches at its edges.

“Of course you can come,” Hilise says, watching Gabrielle relax.

Gabrielle who nuzzles against her, giggling all the while.

Gabrielle who has never had to fear their father, but her fear here is quite justified.

Hilise could kill her, after all. Has killed her before, in fact, albeit in a past life.

And she could never quite forget that look of sheer terror.

How Gabrielle cowered, scrambling back pathetically and looking up with those usually bright eyes torn up with hideous tears.

Hilise had let her scream her throat out raw. Begging for someone—anyone—

That...had perhaps been too cruel of her.

Next time, she’ll just snap Gabrielle’s neck first. What good came from saving her for last? If it was meant to be mercy, it was a poor execution.

The two sisters go shopping and it’s overall an uneventful trip.

--

She already knows there’s no usurping Gabrielle’s status as a darling, but at the very least, she can play the role of a loved older sister. Rather, she can pretend.

Unlike her father and her brother who will never truly love her—will never even pretend to love her, Gabrielle is different.

Gabrielle will give her easy smiles and shower her with easy affection. Gabrielle will offer her jewelry and adornment and this time, it wouldn’t be a mere childish prank. Even now, Gabrielle enjoys treats with her, humming with pleasure.

Hilise smiles at her mildly, but it feels miserable. Doesn’t fit quite right on her face, either. Well. It’s not too bad. Better than her disastrous relationship with Christian. At least Gabrielle lacks the depth to hate this arrangement.

Gabrielle is happy as long as she is doted on and spoiled.

It’s as enviable as it is contemptible.

“So, for the next ball,” Gabrielle is saying. “There’s this dress I really want to wear. You should see it! It’s going to be the start of a new fashion trend!”

She is well aware.

“I’m sure,” she replies simply, meaning it. “However, you are looking to impress Christian Parvenon as well, right?”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gabrielle asks, eyes alit with anticipation. She’s so radiant it makes her stupid. “I don’t want him able to keep his eyes away! Oh, but, you should get dressed up too all nice and pretty too, sis.” A touch of discomfort at Gabrielle’s smile. “As long as you don’t distract Christian, then it’s fine...”

Even now, Gabrielle can’t help but be a little entitled. It’s fine. Hilise doesn’t have any interest in him.

“I...” She doesn’t... “I don’t really care about getting a husband.”

“You don’t?!” Gabrielle gasps, aghast at the idea. She’s just too naïve to not be sincerely surprised. “Do you not like anyone?!”

“No.” There is no use in hesitating or drawing it out. “I’m not.”

“You should let me introduce you,” her sister says, already excited. “There are plenty of handsome bachelors from good families! I hear aaaaaaall about them!” She brags, proud of the social life she has that Hilise was never allowed. “I know all the gossip, too! I’ll make sure not a single scandalous guy enters the equation! You can count on me, dear sister!”

...the thing is that Hilise doesn’t doubt it.

That’s the thing, isn’t it, that Hilise never doubts a word Gabrielle says.

Gabrielle can play pranks, but like this, Gabrielle would never lie. In fact, she offers up answers without even needing to be prodded. Hilise nearly needs to sip her tea like so, and Gabrielle is already chatting up a storm about the aforementioned gossip. Quite spiritedly, at that.

She’s so eager.

So desperate.

As if this is life or death, when it’s just another vapid method of filling space and passing time. Something to do as Hilise waits for the end of this loop.

How shall I attempt dying this time?

She considers, for a second, pushing Gabrielle into it. But with how Gabrielle is still yapping away, Hilise thinks it would be too tedious an avenue to pursue.

It’d be a change of pace, but she’s not like my father nor my brother. She doesn’t have the bloodlust nor the blood running through her veins.

(Or so she thought.)

“Sis!” Gabrielle exclaims, realizing that she is not being listened to. The indignance has her cheeks puffing out. “Are you paying any attention?!”

“I am,” Hilise says simply, thinking of puncturing those perfectly round cheeks with thorns. “It’s just—that I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“Why not?!” Gabrielle demands, more out of confusion than frustration. “Don’t you want to...?”

“No.” Hilise doesn’t care to hear the rest. “I don’t want to court, much less marry.”

There’s no point. I won’t be loved either way.

“Y-You can’t just stay alone forever,” Gabrielle points out shakily. “I mean, that’s just...that’s really... Hilise...”

Oh?

Is that pity?

Is that sympathy?

Is Gabrielle sad for her?

Hilise straightens up. She sets down her cup. She folds her hands into her lap. She stares, bores holes into Gabrielle’s twisted-up face from her trembling downturned lips to her downcast eyes.

Gabrielle is at a loss for words for once.

It’s quite the sight.

“Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle perks up immediately. Attentive. Outwardly anxious. Adorable. Precious.

“If I have you,” Hilise says smiling. “I won’t ever be alone, right?”

Gabrielle doesn’t smile back.

Not at first.

When she does, it’s clear she has to make an effort.

“O... Of course...!” She trips over her words. “You’ll always have me...!”

I think...

“I’m glad,” Hilise replies, still smiling. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gabrielle insists. “We’re sisters, aren’t we? Obviously, I’ll always...”

When I get bored of this...

“...be with you...”

I��m going to throw myself off the roof without a bed of roses to embrace my fall.

--

She had dreamed of having a normal family once, but it was always a distant, childish dream. Even when given other chances, she had known on some level that it was impossible for her. That she wasn’t meant to be loved by her father and brother—it just couldn’t be helped.

As for Gabrielle, well—Gabrielle filled the void of beloved little sister and daughter. Even if it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault, that was the simple fact of the matter. At least she was still innocent, Hilise thought.

And  Gabrielle could be swayed and won over with such ease. What was the harm, then, in indulging a little? What was wrong with wanting some familial love? Even if it was shallow, it was Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was innocent and lovely, right? Everyone loved her for a reason. Even if Hilise couldn’t be her, she could be with her and pretend, if only for a moment, that Gabrielle loved her.

Gabrielle was bright. Gabrielle was lovely. Gabrielle—was never going to understand.

“You’ll die for Gabrielle’s sake, won’t you?”

Whatever sisterhood she may have wanted, had wanted dearly at that, was just another pipe dream.

There wasn’t much point in wanting it. Not when she was never going to get it no matter what she did. Illusions were always meant to fade and the loop was always going to restart.

“It’s fine, you can come back, so it’s fine. Just bear with dying one more time.”

Her father was always going to hate her. Ricardo was never going to love her. And Gabrielle, well—she was too innocent of the world. Even when she snapped, she was going to be sheltered and protected. Gabrielle could be persuaded to love her, but they weren’t ever going to inhabit the same world. Not when one of them only knew love and the other...knew nothing of the sort, even as she longed so much for it.

Whatever.

Just.

Whatever.

I think I’m done with everything, with both love and family, Hilise thought tiredly. I don’t even care anymore.

--

The truth is that I could have been fine never being loved. I just wanted someone to worry about me. Did I ever have that, even for a moment? Or was that just a delusion?

It didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t.

She couldn’t do this anymore. Because regardless of the end, they’re never going to care about her.

Trash till the end, Hilise thought, exhausted. Still...do you want to know something? It wasn’t too bad to pretend for a bit. Thanks for that, Gabrielle.

But I’m still going to throw you away with everything else.