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louloulemons-posts · 1 year ago

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Oil At The Coffee Shop IX

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Eddie tells Reader about the Upside Down, but she still thinks he’s beautiful.

Word Count : 2.5k

Warnings : Not proofread, angst, 18+, SMUT, talks of the upside down, eddies issues, vecna, smutty smut, choking, dom!eddie, oral (fem receiving), unprotect sex(for the love of god use protection), sadness then smut, this part is sad and horny 🫶🏻

A/N : This is my first time writing smut so apologies if it’s awful, also if you don’t want to read it, you are more than welcome to skip it 🤍

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You pushed open the door, letting yourself and Eddie in, flicking on the lamps dotted around. You hung your bag back up, dropped your keys, going to the couch so you could take your shoes off.

Eddie mimicked these actions, hanging his leather jacket up, and sitting down next to you. “Do you anything to drink before?” you asked him. “No, thank you though. I think I should just get it out of the way.”

“Okay.”

“And if it’s okay, could you just let me speak before you ask any questions, you can ask me anything after. Is that alright?”

“That’s fine, anything you need Eds,” you could tell he was uncomfortable, frightened even.

He sighed, unable to begin talking, you took his hand gently. “Take your time Eds, do what you need to do.” He nodded, offering a weak smiled.

“Just before the Summer of 86, something started. It started in my life anyways, it actually began in 83. Anyways, I was a troubled kid, was on my third try of my senior year, barely passing anything.

“I was um … selling drugs so me and Wayne could get by easier. Then one day this girl, a cheerleader, her name was Chrissy, she came up and asked to buy from me. Wanted really strong stuff.

“I didn’t keep it on me, it was at my home. The trailer. So after school we went there … I um …” he paused, taking a deep and shaky breath. You squeezed his hand, rubbing your thumb on the back of it.

“Take your time,” you said softly. He nodded, before taking another breath and continuing. “I went to my room to grab the stuff and when I came back, she, Chrissy I mean … she um … was in some sort of trance.

“I tried to wake her up. Her body was thrown against the ceiling. Something pulled her apart from the inside out. Every bone in her body was broken, her eyes were … I ran. I ran out. I left her there.

“Everyone thought it was me, so I hid.” He continued, explained how Dustin had found him, along with Steve, Robin and Max.

He told you about Vecna, about El. About the two other kids who were killed at the monsters hands, Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney.

He told you about the Upside Down. About the great final battle. Him playing guitar.

“I broke the rope, Dustin was stuck in this world and me in the Upside Down. I ran. I made as much noise as I could. The bats they um … they attacked me.

“Ripped me apart. It’s why I look … it’s why I look the way I do. Vecna was doing the same thing to Max that he did to Chrissy. She barely survived, but she’s a strong kid.

“If it wasn’t for El, neither of us would be here. She killed Vecna, saved Max. She was hurt, but she was alive. Steve, Robs and Nance came back, dragged me to the trailer.

“The doctors saved me. Well El did most of the work. Then … then Hopper came back, vouched for me. It got blamed on someone else, Jason Carver.

“Not everyone believes that. I’m still the town freak. People think that I summoned Satan to destroy the town. I didn’t. I was so scared. Then the earthquakes, the landslides, I was just hoping Wayne made it out.

“I didn’t care if he hated me, I just needed him alive. He’s all I got.”

“All you had,” you corrected, “You’ve got me now.”

“I do? You believe me? You don’t hate me?”

“Yes, yes and no.”

“I was so scared that you’d never want to see me again.”

“I believe you. I’m sorry that all happened to you Eds and I’m sorry people still judge you for it.”

You could now recall the times people looked at him funny, or stopped talking when he entered the room, or when they crossed the road to avoid him.

“I um … I’ll let El and Max tell you their stories, it’s not for me to say anymore. I still don’t really understand myself.”

“Thank you for telling me. You did so well.”

“I-I’m sorry that I had to tell you, but you needed to know. I couldn’t have you see me and not know what happened. That’s if you still want to see me?”

“Eddie you might not think it, but you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I want to see you, I want to see all of you if you’ll let me. No matter what you’ll be beautiful to me.”

He pressed his mouth to yours, face damp after what he’d just told you. “We don’t have to do anything, but if you want to stay you can.”

“I’d like the company if that’s okay?” he says, almost shyly.

“That’s more than okay. Hey I’ve got Cherry turnovers downstairs, let’s go get some.”

“What time do you have to be up tomorrow?” he asked.

“Shop opens at 9, but the girls get here at 8. I have to finish up stuff so I’ll be up around 6:30.”

He hummed, nodding. “Okay, well I have to get to work too.”

“Okay, now come on. Let’s go get treats.”

He laughed, as you pulled him with you.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You headed into the kitchen and opened up a box full of the turnovers, handing one to Eddie and taking one off yourself. Both of you stood close together, chomping at the delicious pastry.

You smiled at Eddie before you eyes caught something else, “Oh my god,” you said.

“Hm? What?” he asked.

“That’s why you freaked out about the cake! Oh Eddie I’m so sorry!” you said, remembering the small fondant creatures.

“Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I was just having a rough day with it. Was dealing with my feelings about you too.”

“Oh yeah? How long have you had these feelings?”

“A while.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that Munson.”

“No way!”

“Mean,” you pouted.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you smiled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Mean,” you spoke, voice almost a whisper.

“Am I? Am I mean?” he asked.

“I-I …”

“Come on, what happened to the mouthy girl here a few minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed your forehead, “It’s sadly too late for that. I’ll show you how mean I can be.” He attacked your lips, holding you close to him. His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing and biting, just like how you’d been doing to him, hours before.

“E-Eddie we can’t h-here,” you stuttered, breathless at the feeling of his lips on your neck. “It’s n-not hygienic.”

“Not hygienic,” he laughed into your neck, “Okay then Sweetheart, jump for me.”

You did as he asked, he caught your thighs, legs wrapping around his waist. “Would your bed be more hygienic?” he asked.

“That does sound better.”

“Okay baby, whatever you want,” he said, stealing a kiss.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

As soon as you made it into the apartment, Eddie was in your room. Dropping you on the bed gently. Leaning up on your elbows you smiled at him. “God Sweetheart you’re so fucking beautiful,” he spoke, climbing onto the bed and between your legs.

Mouths on one another, tongues fighting, but somehow in sync with one another. Hands grabbing anything they could. “Can I take this off?” Eddie asked, playing with the hem of your shirt.

You nodded. “Use your words Sweetheart.”

“Yes.” Sliding off your cardigan first, you raised your arms above your head, letting him pull the shirt from your body.

Sat back on his knees, Eddies eyes were filled with lust. You were the most stunning person he’d ever seen. He began kissing down your chest, leaving marks along the top of your breasts.

“Can I?” he asked, dragging his fingers up to the back of your bra. “Yes,” you say, breathless. Undoing it, the bra was thrown somewhere in the room - frankly you couldn’t care less where it had landed.

“Fuck baby,” he said, taking your breasts in his hands, squeezing them lightly. You moaned out at the feeling. Leaning down, he placed his latched his mouth to one of your nipples. Sucking on it, twirling his tongue around.

“E-Eddie, oh fuck baby,” you cried out as he bit down lightly. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling on it, he nipped more. “God I feel like I’m neglecting the other, better fix that. Right Sweetheart?”

You hummed in agreement, making Eddie cock his brow. “Y-yeah better fix i-” You didn’t get chance to finish as Eddie already began his attack.

You hips bucked up into him, making him grind down his own. Feeling his bulge grow in his jeans, your hands wandered down, squeezing him through the denim.

With a pop, he let go of your nipple. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “I need you, please I need you,” you almost begged.

“I told you, I’ll give you anything you want. But you called me mean, so maybe I should make you work for it?” You eyes widened, you’d love to take him in your mouth, god he’d feel so good down your throat.

“Oh no, I’ll give you everything. You want me to make you work. Well no can do. You’ll take what I give you.” He began to unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs.

There you were, in only panties whilst he was fully clothed. He reached for the edge of his shirt, but hesitated. “It’s okay,” you said, sitting up to kiss his mouth.

Slowly you lifted his shirt up and off of him, there were scars and bite marks everywhere. You could see the doctors had done what they could, but the wounds were deep, ragged.

“You’re beautiful,” you spoke, kissing his chest, right above his heart. “So fucking beautiful Eds.” Your mouths connected again as Eddie climbed out of his jeans, pushing you down on the bed.

Lay in between your legs, his fingers trailed up your thighs. Biting, licking, sucking at your neck, his fingers found their way underneath your panties.

“God you’re so wet, all for me baby?”

“A-all for you.” You moaned when he brushed your clit, he smirked at that, rubbing again. “I bet I could just slide my fingers right in, better take the rings off.”

He went to move his hand, but you stopped him. “Please baby I need you,” you spoke, begging him. “What a dirty girl.” His fingers slid into you, making you cry out, the cold metal stretching you.

“F-fuck Eddie.”

“Already such a mess, better clean up,” he spoke, more to himself than anyone. Making his way down your body, he kissed everywhere he could.

Placing a gentle peck to each thigh, he let his tongue lick your slit. “Fuck!” you screamed, hands tangling in his hair. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking on it, as his fingers curled upwards hitting that spot over and over.

“F-fu-Fuck .. E-Ed .. oh my god,” you babbled. “Does it feel so good?”

“Mhm,” you moaned.

“I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes, it feel so fucking g-good,” his fingers hit the spot again. “Who’s making you feel so good?”

“You!”

“Who’s that?” You could feel his smirk on you thighs, mouth licking you again. “You Eddie fuck. I’m gonna c-cum, fuck Eddie I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah baby, give it to me. Cum for me, come on Sweetheart, cum.” You let out a cry of pleasure, clenching around Eddies fingers as you came. Legs shaking, he pressed soft kisses to your clit. Moving his fingers until your fingers weren’t so tight in his hair.

“Shit Sweetheart,” he laughed. You lay there trying to catch your breath. “You good?” he asked. You hummed, “Yeah.”

“Think you can take more?”

“Please,” you said, meeting his eyes.

“Do you uh … do you have a condom?”

“N-no, but I’m on birth control and I’m clean and I .. I trust you Eddie.”

He smiled softly, planting a kiss on your forehead. He slowly slid your panties down, his boxers following soon after. Fuck. You knew he’d be big, but fuck. He was thick and long and … well shit.

“Can you open up for me Sweetheart?” you legs spread for him, allowing him to line himself up. Slowly he slid into you. “F-fuck,” you moaned, he stretched you out so much. It felt so good.

“God baby you feel so good,” he moaned into your neck. Soon enough he was in you, bottoming out. “Can I move?”

“Please!” you cried out.

He did so, starting slowly, then building up a nice pace, nice and deep. You were squeezing around him. He smirked, taking hold of one of your legs, resting it over his shoulder.

Moving again, he was so deep, you could see him in your tummy. Each time, hitting that spot, making your body shake with pleasure. “Eddie oh my god,” you cried.

“I know, it just feels so good doesn’t it, fucking you so nice and deep,” his hips slammed into yours roughly, again and again, making you loose your voice.

You mouth was wide open and no sound was able to come out, eyes in the back of your head as he fucked you hard. His hand slid up to neck, squeezing softly. Rings cool, but sticky as they sat there.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum soon, your pussy’s gripping me so good,” Eddie moaned. “Cum-cum in me p-please,” you begged, voice weak as his hand squeezed.

“Yeah you want all my cum?”

“P-please,” you said nodding, crying out again, “I-I’m gonna cum again baby f-fuck!”

“Cum all over my cock, come on Sweetheart, squeeze that dick.”

You did just that, body shaking, a loud moan leaving your body as you came, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Eddie groaned, thrusting his hips a few more times, “Fuck Sweetheart, fuck fuck fuck fu-“ hot ropes of cum filled you up.

The curly haired man dropped into your shoulder. Both of you breathing heavily. He kissed your shoulder, and neck where his hand had been. “You okay Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

He pulled out as gently as he could, making you whine. Climbing up from the bed, you reached out for him, “I’m coming, just getting a washcloth hang on.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the faucet run for a few moments. Footsteps came closer and soon enough a warm washcloth was being rubbed gently on your lower body.

“All clean baby,” he said, kissing your stomach. He slid his boxers back on and helped you into his t-shirt. Pulling you into him, you listened to his heart beat.

“I don’t think you’re mean,” you spoke up, which made him laugh. “Oh I know, but I wasn’t lying when I said, I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“Kiss me?”

He chuckled, pressing his mouth against yours softly. “I adore you,” he said, making your face flush. “Now Sweetheart, let’s get some rest, we’ve gotta be up early.”

“Okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight Sweetheart.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : uhhhh so i may have got a little carried away 👀

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire @lma1986 @squidscottjeans @eddiesguitarskills @nanas-lasagna @halialex1119

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

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steddiebang · 1 year ago

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Steddie Bigbang 2023 Weekly Round-up: October 1 - October 7

From Hell and Back (October 1) Author: @rindecisions / Artists | @lady-lostmind & @feralsteddie One Halloween, years after the fall of Hawkins, Steve and Robin end up summoning Eddie from the depths of Hell. Steve, not knowing the ways of the occult, accidentally frees him and has to deal with a mischievous demon on the loose. Eddie drives Steve insane with various shapeshifting antics, both in and out of the bedroom, while Robin tries to find a way to send him back to hell. But, when faced with the opportunity to return his life to normal, will Steve even want to go through with it?

Lots of supernatural, hentai-esque smut with a playful, romantic plot.

Steddie’s Anatomy (October 1) Author: uhhhhjhfrogs on tumblr, tttrash666 on A03 / Artist: BrainyArts on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, Tumblr Steve was not going to leave Eddie to die in the Upside Down, no fucking way. He didn’t know what compelled him to give every last ounce of strength to rescue him but being confined to a hospital room together was about to make him figure it out.

Made of Light (October 3) Author: @hitlikehammers / Artist: @becomingfoxes Soulmates are anything but de rigueur in polite society—more like foolish nonsense, fairytale child’s play: embarrassments. Inconvenient, at best. But the people who have them, and still seek them out; who believe despite the odds, who still commit to finding them and binding their souls to them despite the naysaying and the backlash? Those people know the truth.

Because Soulmates? Don’t force love. Aren’t bound without choice. Are built instead on pure potential, of proportions never fathomed—and certainly never found—outside those so-called ‘old fashioned’ Bonds. They are the potential to protect love. To save love. To save the lives that kind of ineffable love holds more than just dear; the kind it holds as essential. Some people even say Soulbonds can almost change the whole world, defy the laws of physics and nature, but then—even among the believers: those stories are relegated to legend. At best. And so: this is the story of two boys from Indiana who—dodging dangers and demons and near-death experiences—wind up in a love never seen before, somehow writing out the kind of legend no one ever dared to dream.

(You got me) in the palm of your hand (October 4) Author: just-my-latest-hyperfixation (tumblr) / just_my_latest_hyperfixation (AO3) / Artists: xgumiho (tumblr) / xgumiho (instagram) / jul2ja (twitter), peachypurr (tumblr) / peachypurr (linktree) “Fortunes told, futures unfold.”

The sign at the local ren faire looks tempting. After all, Steve is one year out of high school and has no idea where his life is going. Sometimes he wishes someone could just gaze into the future and figure it out for him.

In the fortune teller’s tent, Steve has a run-in with his past. And if he doesn’t turn on his heel and leave, it has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty Eddie Munson looks in his costume, all gleaming jewelry and dark tendrils of hair spilling out from under a patterned headscarf. He lets Eddie read his palm, because why the hell not? It’s all bogus anyway!

Except, as the summer goes on, Steve finds that Eddie’s cryptic predictions somehow, inexplicably keep coming true. As they keep running into each other, almost as if orchestrated by an invisible force, Steve can’t help but be intrigued with the other boy. He also can’t seem to forget how pretty Eddie’s eyes look in black liner, or the way his fingers feel on his skin, but that is an entirely different problem.

11 upcoming projects to be posted next week (Oct 8 - 14).

*To keep up with all the Steddie Bigbang 2023 posting, be sure to follow us @steddiebang or track tags like #steddiebang23, #steddiebang23 masterposts, #steddiebang23 project promo, and #steddiebang23 upcoming projects.

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 weekly roundup #steddiebang23 project promo

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skeletinmoss · 8 months ago

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The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 4: A legend’s childhood

First | Previous | Next

Roman was alerted to the hour having passed by Virgil’s shadow blocking the shine of one of his lights while the Great Mage was trying to read a scroll Logan had deemed interesting.

He jumped up in surprise.

“Hm, a tracking spell huh? That could be useful if it hadn’t been fifty years,” Virgil mused.

Roman looked down and back up. He’d been trying to make sense of these scribbles for the past ten minutes and Virgil saw it upside down in bad light… Upside…

Roman turned the scroll around. Oh. Now it made more sense, though a tracking spell still wouldn’t be his first guess.

“Thanks,” he muttered a bit frustrated.

“You are growing tired,” Virgil observed. “Put the papers away. It’s time to have a proper talk,” Virgil suggested stepping towards the desk and settling down on the floor in front of it with one fluid motion.

“That goes for you two to,” he called to Logan and Patton.

After exchanging a look among the three of them, Patton and Roman went to sit down in front of Virgil, Logan joining them reluctantly. Patton took up the middle, Roman the right and Logan the left.

“Right. Guess I should say sorry about waltzing in and just kind of… not explaining anything really. So… I guess each of you ask a question and then I ask one. Flowerboy can tell you if I’m speaking the truth,” Virgil assured them.

“What do you mean?” Roman asked surprised.

“Roman, don’t let him make you waste a question,” Logan chided.

“It is a good question though. Considering he clearly didn’t cast the bond on purpose,” Virgil mused. That got everyone’s attention, making the mage smirk amused.

“When you freed me, did you use magic on my ashes, any kind?” Virgil asked.

“I um… Got some on my hand and tried to get it off,” Roman recalled. “Sorry about that by the way. I kind of feel weird about it now that you turn out to um… reassemble yourself,” he offered.

Virgil waved him off and nodded as if that explained everything. “That would do it. No worries though. The bond isn’t strong as far as I can tell. So no summoning one another in times of crises, or feeling each other’s pain. That’d be annoying. But I’m sure you noticed you could more or less understand me while I was in my other form,” Virgil explained.

“Yeah, I guess? Still not sure what a magic bond is though. And summon each other… That is something that could happen?” Roman asked, only realizing after that that was another question. Virgil didn’t correct him though. He looked at him surprised and then at the others to see if Roman was the only one confused. He was not.

“You don’t know what a magic bond is?” he asked astonished.

They all shook their heads.

“That’s… We used to cast minor ones on friendship bracelets back in the academy. You guys never made magic friendship bracelets?”

Patton let out a gasp. “I want magic friendship bracelets…” he whispered as if he’d just learned about the greatest thing ever. And to Patton magic friendship bracelets were probably just that.

Virgil let out a long sigh. “Magic bonds tie our magic together. They can be undone of course, but that requires either a ruinous breach of trust or a ritual that’s more trouble than it would be to keep the bond you cast in place.

Like I said, you’ll just be in tune with my emotions and I with yours. It’s an equal exchange and will last for the rest of our lives. So I’ll know if you try to poison me. But I also knew that you were genuinely concerned for my wellbeing when you kept me away from the herbs,” Virgil explained.

“That sounds kind of romantic,” Patton awed.

Virgil shrugged. “There have been mages who entered relationships who bound themselves to their life partner,” he agreed making Roman blush. Now he really felt like he’d done something inappropriate. But he couldn’t really apologize for that in front of the others.

“Now, sunshine, your turn,” Virgil offered.

Patton shifted nervously. “Um, first… Sorry about the… ahm… I just love animals and ah…”

Virgil made a dismissive gesture. “You didn’t know. Though even if I was a real Phoenix, that wasn’t a smart move. They are proud creatures,” he advised.

Patton nodded. “Yes… Thanks… And ahm… How do you make magic friendship bracelets?” he asked much to Logan’s annoyance. “We don’t have time to get sidetracked like this,” he chided.

“It’s alright,” Virgil said soothingly before turning to Patton.

“Basically you weave a bracelet together, letting a little bit of your magic flow into it. The natural oil on your fingers will function as the binding agent for your magics and depending on how much you put into it the spell is stronger. When it’s in bracelet form you can choose to take it off and it doesn’t last as long as when you form the bond with someone directly which is why our teachers allowed us to do it in the first place. The magic can last from anywhere form a week to a few months depending on your focus while making them,” Virgil explained before turning to Logan. “So. Let’s see what the smart guy wants to know?” Virgil wondered intrigued.

Well, Roman was curious too. Considering Logan had made a big deal about their questions being irrelevant.

Logan frowned and seemed to think it through for a moment. “Why did you prioritize… Educating us, over finding your friends or figuring out who stabbed you?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded. “Good point. Well, I’d had some time to observe you, I couldn’t do much in my guidance form and I haven’t managed to switch at will all day. I was starting to worry I was stuck that way. You can’t imagine the feeling when I realized the lock on my form seemed to weaken with the setting sun. Though I can’t turn back right now either…” Virgil seemed frustrated by that.

“In any case. I observed you three working today and using magic and well…

Imagine you are a painter, you’ve seen your fair share of artists and then you see some guys who you can just tell are bursting with talent. But they settle down to work on something and they blindfold themselves and pick up a pencil with their bad hand and struggle to draw a circle. They are good circles. But…” Virgil made a face.

“So I’ve been mentally cringing while seeing you three stumble through today while handicapping yourselves. This little course correction was the very least I could do. Hopefully you guys figure the rest out going forward,” Virgil shrugged.

“And this does not count towards the favor you said you owe us?” Logan pointed out, probably trying to test out how Virgil would handle follow up questions when he was not taken by surprise by an apparently common spell going out of fashion the past… however long it had been since Virgil attended the academy.

“No. If I owe you a favor it would be rude of me to pick what it is I do for you. Giving you three some pointers was more for my piece of mind. You still have the favor,” Virgil assured them.

“I suppose it is your turn,” Logan allowed apprehensively.

They all were rather curious what this mage would want to know first.

“Okay… Well how old are you three exactly?” Virgil asked.

That… Would not have been the first thing Roman asked in his position. He didn’t think.

“I am the oldest. I am 28,” Logan said weightily.

“You are only a few months older than us Logan,” Roman pointed out.

“Aw, you guys are babies,” Virgil coed.

“We are adults!” Roman protested.

Virgil cocked his head. “Actual adults or adults by technicality?” he wondered. “Not being mean I’m just not sure anymore… It’s been a while since I was 28, if you couldn’t tell,” he offered.

That was a good point.

“Um… You are a minor until you are 18,” Patton offered.

“Hm… I guess maturing for a decade after that would be enough to count as an adult,” Virgil allowed before turning to Roman expectantly. Right. More questions. This time he perhaps should ask something about Virgil.

Otherwise Logan might actually hit him with one of his books.

“We told you our specializations. What is yours?”

Virgil quirked a brow. “To be perfectly clear, I’ve practiced every magic ten times over by now. But I started out as an herbalist, like you,” Virgil explained, then he made a face like a memory struck him.

“It was kind of annoying. Didn’t matter how many healing spells I improved on or the fact that I came up with the revitalization meditation. It didn’t count towards my Great Wizard exam. Remus and Janus had done their thing already and I was just sat there with ten new spells that didn’t count. Coming up with self cleaning fabric was such a relief,” Virgil sighed.

The three Great Mages exchanged looks. “Did I say something?” Virgil wondered as he caught it.

Roman bit his lip, not sure how the older mage would react. “What’s a Great Wizard?” he asked.

Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise, again. “That… Explains so much actually…” he said before explaining himself. “When I was on the road to being a mage, you could earn the title of Great Wizard by creating your own spell. It was not mandatory but it came recommended and me and my friends decided to go big or go home.

It was a good way to learn to understand magic and the properties of ingredients in practice. I suppose they scrapped it for some reason and now I get why you guys are so by the book. You were never encouraged to step out of what was written were you?” he realized. It was phrased as a question, but it seemed like more of the rhetorical kind.

“Ahm… Mister Virgil,” Patton said carefully. “What did you mean with ‘guidance form’? I mean I know you meant the phoenix but…”

Virgil sighed. “Wasting this round on what used to be common knowledge I see. Not your fault, by the way.

When you guys connected with your magic to become Great Mages, you saw it take the shape of a magical creature right?” Virgil verified. The trio nodded.

“Well, to become High Mages. You get a lot better at magic under the guidance of that creature and then after some more meditating and stuff, you will become one with it. Allowing you to take on some of it’s traits and even take its form. In my case, the dark phoenix,” he explained.

Roman felt his eyes widen. That… But that was so dangerous… it was forbidden… But there was something in Roman’s heart that was set ablaze at the thought. If Virgil felt any remaining horror at his reveal, he didn’t mention it.

“Whoever put me in the box, also went through the trouble to mess with my transformation abilities. If I can find my friends I’m pretty sure I can make a remedy. With some trial and error… Bringing it back to you smart guy. Make it a good one,” Virgil said.

Logan thought for a long moment.

“You cleared the skies earlier without any aid from ritual or herbs. How did you do that?” he asked.

“You mean you are a diviner and didn’t even learn that? That’s the first thing diviners are supposed to learn so they can have an unobstructed view of the stars when they need it. These weren’t even rainclouds. Why would I need any sort of boost or guidance to shoo them along?” Virgil scoffed.

Logan just nodded. Roman got a feeling that Virgil had just told him more than just that he didn’t think it was that impressive.

“My turn. What are your guidance animals? Considering you now know mine that seems fair,” Virgil smirked.

Roman frowned. He hadn’t asked anything about the past fifty years or what they were doing in this tower. Which was what they’d expected him to be the most curious about.

Instead his questions were so… Like getting to know new friends… Was that it? Were they being vetted to see if they could help him on his quest to save his friends from their prisons?

Was he going to offer his aid in finding The Arch Mage in exchange?

Roman didn’t think he was lying when he said he just couldn’t watch them do spells incorrectly without helping, but maybe he also wanted them to be ready to help him on his journey.

Aside from Virgil was a High Mage. Those haven’t been seen since the dark magic plague. And if his friends were High Mages too… Surely Logan and Patton would agree it was important to save them.

Chances of finding the Arch mage alive (though Roman no longer thought they were entirely zero given who was sat in front of them) were slim. But if they could find not one, but three mages who had long forgotten knowledge and the power to step up and fill the void he left behind…

At the very least they should be convinced about the dangers of black magic.

The stories of the Night Flame Mage always depicted him as a good guy. He had helped found Sanlow by turning away a grave beast and putting a protective spell in place that lasted to this day. And he never came to collect a reward. Other than showing up for a jubilee party it seemed. Those weren’t the actions of a bad person… Virgil didn’t even seem to expect any sort of praise or gratitude from Roman considering he probably wouldn’t have been born if Virgil hadn’t given his ancestors a safe haven to raise his grandfather.

Roman was pulled from his thoughts by Logan clearing his throat nervously.

“Mine is the white unicorn,” he admitted a bit embarrassed. Logan had been teased about it by other mages, to which Roman and Patton happily reminded them that they didn’t even know theirs because they hadn’t been able to finish the ritual.

Virgil though, simply nodded in approval. “The guide of those with a curious heart,” he surmised. Logan scoffed. “Do not mock my intelligence!” he insisted.

The High Mage cocked his head. “I did not. I said you were curious,” he pointed out.

Logan rolled his eyes. “It’s childish and unprofessional,” he bit.

That upset Virgil. “If you truly believe that then maybe you deserve to have your intelligence mocked. You just rejected your kin! Curiosity is the birth of knowledge. You should know that Unicorns are the second smartest guide out of all of them. Second only to dragons who, as you should definitely know, tend to only appear to those of royal lineage,” he stated in a way that reminded Roman of their instructors whenever they’d made a grave mistake. Logan had never been on the receiving end of one of those rants before though.

Roman and Patton looked at Logan, wondering how he’d respond.

He seemed taken aback, but thoughtful...

“I see… I’ll take that in consideration,” he agreed.

Virgil seemed to calm down at that and turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said, trying to go back to non-threateningly, but there was still an edge to his voice.

“Um, mine’s a jackalope,” Patton said a little bashful.

Virgil immediately softened. “The playful spirit. Your friends will appreciate your love for joy when things get though,” he assured their fighter.

Then Virgil turned to Roman expectantly. Roman couldn’t quite meet his eyes though.

“Ahm… I’m… I’m a phoenix too. Though mine didn’t look like yours. It was, white and gold and red,” he recalled.

Virgil nodded. “A light phoenix. Like all phoenixes they are enduring, inclined to those who chose to heal and mend and to many a symbol of hope. But more than the other variants, the light phoenix is known for unmatched bravery. The dark phoenix is more associated with loyalty,” he cited.

Roman blushed. He remembered meeting his guide. It wasn’t that long ago after all.

Meditating for so long had been maddening, but he’d been determined to make it. To be there for his friends on the journey to solve the mystery.

And then he’d seen a light in the darkness he’d created by closing his eyes.

He'd moved towards it, finding himself not physically moving, but still making progress.

And then there’d been a flame in front of him. It was hot and bright and he could feel pure power emanating from it. And there’d been something inside it. He knew the fire might burn him. But he also known that if he didn’t retrieve what was at the flame’s source, this journey was for nothing.

And so he’d taken a breath and reached inside. It had burned, but not as painful as he thought it would. His fingers closed around the something at the heart of the flame and pulled back. It was an egg…

Then the egg hatched and a blazing inferno burst from it, Roman had fallen back -much like he had earlier that day- and looked up at the gorgeous creature forming from the blaze.

It had landed in front of him and inspected him. Roman had stood up and faced judgment. Pass or fail, he’d face this. He’d come too far to turn back…

The bird had let out a cry and for a moment, Roman had felt as though every secret magic had to offer was presented to him if he wished it.

Part of him had wanted to accept, consequences be damned. But he’d shown restraint. Not yet, he’d insisted. Not ready.

For a moment he’d worried that this was a final test and he had failed. But instead of rejecting him, his guide had approached him and nuzzled him in comfort. He’d felt… He had felt like they were filled with sorrow for him.

When he opened his eyes, back in the meditation room where he’d been undergoing the ritual that hadn’t been performed in five decades, he found his face wet with tears, but a gentle burning in his heart. And he knew that his guide was ready to aid him when he was ready.

Roman wondered if Virgil felt that same burning. Or if it was different since he and his guide were one… That sounded like something truly amazing to Roman. Though he knew it was a dangerous want, he wanted it all the same.

“Thanks,” Roman smiled.

“Just citing the book of guidance,” Virgil pointed out. “But that brings the question back to you. What do you want to know birdie?” he asked teasingly. Roman didn’t take it as an insult considering he wasn’t the one who’d spent most of their acquaintanceship so far as an actual avian.

Roman thought about it. They’d danced around it. Assuming Virgil would bring it up. But this was their quest. So it should be them who took this first step.

“Do you remember a man called Gustav Noctora?” he asked. Patton and Logan both turned their heads towards Virgil expectantly.

Virgil blinked a few times… And then snorted.

“Don’t tell me… He’s the one who has you all call him ‘arch mage’? That’s so him…” Virgil laughed. Roman wasn’t sure if this was good news.

Virgil stopped laughing and observed Roman, feeling how his reaction affected him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t judge,” he acknowledged. I hadn’t seen him in a decade before I went under so he might’ve done some impressive stuff. It’s just… Hard to unsee the kid he was when we first met at school,” he explained.

“You taught him?” Logan wondered, interested in the line of conversation.

“I mean… In a sense? But I wasn’t a teacher. He and I were in the same class,” Virgil specified.

That… They needed a moment.

“So he was unkillable too?” Patton gushed excitedly.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, he did the ritual,” he confirmed. Though Roman got the strange sense that he was holding something back.

“What do you know about him?” Roman pressed.

Virgil pursed his lips. “He started out as an alchemist. He got frustrated whenever he didn’t get something right away. He got it eventually. But he had… High expectations of himself,” he recalled.

“He wasn’t very socially skilled. Not when we were at school at least. He got better at it later in life. So like I said. Don’t let my memory of him at his worst be any indicator,” Virgil insisted.

“You are holding back,” Roman pointed out.

The Dark Phoenix Mage sighed. “I guess, I am. Listen. I get you guys are super excited about finding him. But at least when it came to me… Especially at school, but also later on… I didn’t like him. He had a bad habit of trying to put my friends down and expect me to laugh at his ‘joke’. It irked me. Like I said, he wasn’t good at peopling. But he could’ve changed for the better after graduation for all I know.

In short. I knew Gustav Noctora, he was a jerk I wanted as little to do with as possible. But the guy I knew is pre Arch Mage shenanigans,” he explained. Roman nodded in understanding. Virgil had tried not to upset them by dunking on their hero despite his personal dislike for him.

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t a little disappointed to hear about this side to his hero. But no one was perfect. And like Virgil said, the Arch Mage might’ve grown out of whatever he was struggling with as a child.

“Do you maybe, know if he might’ve had another home? Somewhere not known by everyone?” Patton asked.

Virgil thought on that for a bit. “I mean… It’s not unusual. Janus has a fancy tower and a cottage that’s a bit more low key… I think Guss mentioned something secluded during our last conversation… Hidden among ruins. I wasn’t paying super close attention at the time…” Virgil admitted.

Logan frowned. “Ruins… This would be sixty years ago then, yes? You mentioned you two hadn’t seen each other in a decade,” he recalled.

Virgil nodded. “Come to think of it, that was the longest I’d gone without at least getting some kind of message from him… directly at least. He did come up in a few conversations. He’d apparently been traveling a lot and gathering a ton of rare and hard to achieve materials last I heard,” he recalled.

That was honestly a relief to hear. That sounded a bit more in line with what they’d known of The Arch Mage.

Logan hummed, deep in thought.

“Not sure if it would help, but Gustav was a bit neurotic about taking notes. He always carried some kind of notebook with him. So there’s probably a few journals around here that will tell you exactly what he was up to before disappearing,” Virgil offered.

“Yes, that would help. Thank you. One more thing. You didn’t know what we were here for or who this tower belonged to when you reformed, yet you saved us a lot of work. How and why?” Logan asked.

“Honestly, that was for my benefit. I was looking for anything useful. As for how. I let my guide lead me. And before you give me a heart attack by asking how I’m just going to assume you don’t know. It’s an instinct. The way migratory birds know when to fly south and such,” Virgil surmised before getting up and summoning the scrolls he’d picked out earlier, which Logan had put to the side during their own search, towards him.

“Hm…” he mused as he unrolled them. “There’s layers of protection on this… I could probably whip something up or divine it… Don’t have the time though…” Virgil decided, putting the scroll back and rummaging to the box of herbs Roman really wished he would leave alone.

“Okay… Final question for me,” Virgil stated as he turned back to Roman with his selection of illegal herbs. “Why do you get a heart attack every time I come near these?” he asked, waving the bundle of slow and painful death.

“Because. They are forbidden. Using them risks damaging yourself. It’s dark magic!” Roman insisted.

Virgil just rolled his eyes and turned to the desk to prepare the dried herbs.

“Dark magic is all in the way you use it. Curses are dark magic. Remus learned that the hard way when he picked a fight with Gustav at graduation,” Virgil mused. Okay… What? Roman needed more context please.

“Magic is a two way street, always,” he continued as he turned around, rubbing the herbs between his fingers. “If you use it to hurt others it hurts you. If you use it to protect, to help or just to do some cool shit cuz it’s fun, it will embrace you,” he stated, tracing a pattern in the air that left Roman breathless. He had always thought that spellcasting looked pretty. But never before had it looked breath taking.

Virgil’s eyes started to glow and he released his spell, and a phantom of a phoenix swept through the room and then down the stairs.

Virgil looked around before heading downstairs without a word.

Roman looked at his friends a bit bewildered. Logan frowned and got up, prompting Roman and Patton to follow suit. They headed down and found Virgil had gone to the Arch Mage’s sleeping quarters and had moved the bed.

Roman would have protested, but he saw Virgil had found another hidden compartment and had retrieved stacks of journals and was feeling around for any remaining items.

“Found you you little bastard,” Virgil stated triumphantly as he got back up and held a stone in his hand.

The High Mage looked back at them and gestured to the journals.

“These are also protected, but I’m sure Logan can work his way past it. Might be a good exercise in relying on your guide a bit more,” Virgil offered as he got up and took of one of his earrings.

“Like I said, you guys are owed a favor. Don’t waste it on something dumb okay? One favor. When you are in agreement on what you need from me you just say: Virgil Night Flame. I am ready to return what’s yours. And I’ll be there in a second,” he explained as he offered the earring to Roman who just stared at it as everything that just transpired hit him.

“You are leaving?” he asked disappointedly.

Virgil sighed. “Look, you guys are talented. I know I made it clear that I’m not impressed with your education so far, but that has nothing to do with your capabilities. Your guides would not have even appeared before you if you were not ready to be Great Mages.

You don’t need me to decipher the scrolls or the journals or follow whatever clue. I’m sure you’ll make it to the ruins, whichever he meant, and find any clues left behind in there as well.

But I need to see if my friends are okay. Like yesterday. Good luck,” Virgil bid holding out the earring again. Roman’s jaw set stubbornly. “Let us help then,” he insisted.

Virgil blinked a few times in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Roman righted himself stubbornly. “As far as we know you are the only High Mage alive. If the arch mage is dead, the council will look to you for guidance to restore whatever was lost in the plague. I’m still not entirely sure about the herbs and I know you aren’t sold on the plague… So if you start to show symptoms I want to be there to help. We wouldn’t be able to face the council if we found a living High Mage and lost him right away,” Roman insisted.

Virgil looked at him for a long moment. “Fine. But my friends come first. I don’t want to hear any of you complaining about needing to get to the ruins while I’m looking for them,” he warned.

Roman scoffed. “Like finding two more high mages would be considered a waste of time,” he countered. He looked to Logan for confirmation though. Just to be safe.

To his relief, Logan nodded. “Deciphering the scrolls and the journals will take time anyway right? I can do it on the road,” he stated.

“He really can,” Patton giggled. “He’s mastered walking and reading.”

Virgil let out a sigh. “Fine. Guess I’d feel a bit better knowing you guys finished your quest thing safely,” he allowed.

“Good,” Roman nodded. “Where do we start?”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #logan sanders #patton sanders #ts logan #ts patton #prinxiety #the dark phoenix au #ao3 fanfic

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typewriting-robin · 4 months ago

Text

The Way I See You

Victor/Robin MC (M x F)

cw: angst, nightmares, ptsd, negative self-esteem, age gap relationship (MC is 24, Victor is...god knows how old), daddy issues, nsfw (rated e), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex

Word count: 5476

note~ it is recommended but not required to read the OC/MC master list and scroll to the very bottom for Adaline, the Robin that corresponds to Victor.

Deep down inside, Adaline knew that her relationship with the leader of Crown was odd. He would catch her in one of her daydreaming spells. It would usually start with an attention grabber. A tap on the shoulder, or a rose would manifest in her lap.

“How about a magic trick to turn that frown upside down!”

Victor’s magic tricks varied. Sometimes they were card tricks. Other times he would pull impossible things from a hat. On one or two occasions he used a tablecloth and summoned a very angry Jude, who threatened to leave him bloody.

Each time, the memories would evaporate, the way the sun would evaporate the ice surrounding a flower, breathing life and nurturing it.

Their relationship began to change rather quickly. One night she had a nightmare. It was her most recurring one. The fire that broke out at her childhood home when she was 11.

After waking up, she walked around the corridors of Crown manor in an effort to calm herself. That she was in no danger.

“Little Robin,” Victor’s voice cut through the darkness as he too wandered the halls.

“I know, I should be asleep,” she said before he could scold her.

A smile played on Victor’s lips. “I usually would say that but my Robin isn’t quite an ordinary lady. If she happens to be up, then the reason must be important.” There was a pause. “Did your typewriter get swallowed up by an alligator?”

Adaline laughed at his words and the sheet improbability of it, momentarily forgetting her nightmare. “No, of course not!”

“I’m sure you can tell me all about it while I have my boys deal with our pesky alligator. Come follow me,” he said, continuing the joke and beckoning her.

Adaline breathed in before following him. He pulled her into a room that was only just smaller than the ballroom. “Where are we?”

“Home in a home! My room, of course! Now my guest…do you desire for water, milk, tea, perhaps. Chamomile works wonders for sleep!”

“Chamomile will do.”

Minutes passed before he served her a cup of warm chamomile. “Thank you. I used to drink a lot of this when I was young. I was always a little anxious growing up, you could say.” With her finger, she twirled a lock of her honeyed blonde hair. She had inherited the color from her mother. In fact, she strongly resembled her mother rather than her father, who was tall and almost always draped in black. Ellis reminded her of him in terms of his style, but there was something about Victor that truly reminded her of him.

His chamomile tasted like the one her father made, with a dollop of honey for extra flavor.

Victor likely knew she was having nightmares but he didn’t question her nor probe her, only offering her his company and attention. And then one minute she was awake, the next, it was broad daylight and she had woken up in Victor’s bed alone, without a single nightmare.

That’s how it began.

It started off once every few days but lately her sojourns to Victor’s room were becoming more frequent. He was always so kind with her, so patient and never probing. The members of Crown didn’t seem to mind seeing her with her veil off, least of all Victor, who helped her meet Roger, who treated her burn scars with various salves and took notes on her progress.

“You have such lovely hair,” Victor said one night. The nightmares were now gone since she started sleeping with Victor. “Beautiful, beautiful hair. I can tell you take perfect care of it.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me knowing you have such radiant hair as well.”

Victor motioned her to sit down on a chair facing a mirror where he ran a hairbrush along her long, honey colored hair while humming softly. He moved the brush slowly as if fearing he’d pluck out one of her strands of hair even if by accident, which made her heart flush with warm feelings.

The fire had singed all of her hair, marking her as unrecognizable alongside her burn marks. She had been mistaken for a servant child and sent to an orphanage. Her hair didn’t grow, not immediately as she recovered, passing off as a boy. But when she was just shy of turning thirteen, a miracle happened: her locks had begun to take root.

Adaline would refuse to cut her hair if she could help it, as her hair served many purposes. It was, to her, her one remaining beauty, inherited from her mother. It also hid her for when she didn’t wear the veil, falling down her waist. She didn’t trust her hair with just anyone, but Victor was so unfailingly kind to her.

She saw his violet eyes focusing on her hair, now applying some kind of lotion on it. “What is that?

“This? A lotion made to make your hair glow. The queen uses it every night before bed.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

Victor smiled. “Indeed. And don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around.” He rubbed the lotion all over her hair, which had a rich fragrance that she couldn’t pin down.

“Does my hair have split ends?” she asked. “I don’t get it cut very often. Sometimes when I say to just trim it, the salon instead makes a mess of it.”

“A little, yes. One of the maids here is an expert at trimming hair. Allow me to help you tomorrow with that and you’ll feel as good as new!” Victor drummed on her shoulders, indicating he was done. “Ready for bed?”

“Yes.”

Victor’s bed was twice the size of the one in her room, giving them their own space to lay. He tucked her in. “Do you want to read a story? Or perhaps I’ll tell you one?”

Adaline yawned. “No, thank you. I’m sleepy tonight.”

“Very well. Pleasant dreams, my Little Robin.”

Adaline quickly drifted off to sleep, her world sinking into the comfortable inky black shades of sleep amidst acceptance and warmth.

…Except, when Adaline woke up, the moon still shone brightly outside, indicating she had risen far too early. Victor was asleep next to her, appearing peaceful and years younger than the likely age he was, which dispelled the notions she had grown to have about him as her father figure. Adaline stared at his features, admiring his beauty.

She slipped out of bed to use the privy. Predictably, Victor had the best one in Crown Castle, with plumbing she wasn’t even used to before cleaning up and returning to bed.

Victor had turned in the interim, facing her side, but still asleep.

She could see his beauty mark as he slept, his lips upturned. It was on his left side of his face, on the very border of his lips. Adaline recalled how her father and stepmother would kiss her goodnight. Without thinking, she leaned over and kissed his beauty mark, her lips grazing over it.

Instantly, regret pulled at her, gnawing at her insides as heat rose in her lower back. What have I done?

Victor didn’t react, as none the wiser.

Her heart raced as she tucked herself into bed, praying to every known deity that Victor didn’t stir or that he had even felt that kiss. Why did I do that? He’s a man, not your father.

Yet he was so kind to her, so funny and gracious and patient with her.

She had a fitful sleep that night, unable to get over the regret she faced as new regrets kept swarming in. Did that count as a kiss?

She left the room and got ready for her observations the next morning before Victor could even wake. There was no way she could ever meet his gaze today.

She sat in the lounge, taking notes with her pen.

“You’re sighing,” a slinky voice said, coming from the depths.

Adaline didn’t even notice she was sighing. “Good morning, Alfons,” she said, ignoring him. She had attracted his interest upon moving to Castle Crown on account of her being difficult for him to enchant.

But Alfons plopped up next to her, sitting too uncomfortably close. “You don’t appear to have writer’s block. Is it matters of the mind? Or perhaps that of the heart? Hmm?”

“Be quiet,” she said, wanting to shoo him off. Since she covered her neck in its entirety. Alfons could only be seen as a nuisance to her. “I’m trying to think.”

“Might I help you? I enjoy thinking as well.” He grabbed a lock of her hair, fingers deftly running down. However, she quickly swatted him.

“Stop that!”

“It’s shinier than usual today. And softer. Reminds me of our leader’s hair.”

“Go touch his hair then.”

“Ah, but Victor isn’t a lady like yourself. A lady’s hair is much--”

Adaline grabbed her pen and moved to face Alfons, as if ready to stab him. “Not a word more or else I will draw on your face.” She hated being teased. Roger was enough already but she benefitted from him so she was able to grin and bear it. Alfons, on the other hand, had nothing of value to her.

Then she paused in realization now that she was close to him.

Being this close to him reminded her of last night, when she kissed Victor.

“You’re doing it again. Is that a sigh I’m about to hear once more?”

Adaline sighed-- in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll ask you since you’ve kissed people.”

“Kissing? Is my Robin--”

She rolled her eyes. “Nevermind. I can’t ask someone like you anything. It’ll be better if I ask Roger.”

Instantly, Alfons relented. “I’ll stop.”

“What is a kiss?” she asked. “Don’t laugh at me. Are kisses--specifically the ones on the lips-- supposed to be romantic or sexual? Like a stimulant?” Then she realized that Alfons was the perfect person to ask this. She gripped her pen, the edge of it near her lips. “Actually, say you use your…ability on someone, yes?”

“Yes? Keep going.”

“And you kiss someone, does that count as a kiss?”

“Of course it does. They believe me to be whatever they desire.”

“I see. And what if they’re in a state where they’re prone or asleep or perhaps don’t react. Does that count, even if the one being kissed is unaware?”

Alfons rubbed his chin with his gloved hand. “If a tree falls down and no one hears it, does it make a sound?” he asked her.

“It does since it fell, didn’t it? It doesn’t negate the fact that the tree fell in the first place.”

“But no one heard it,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “Therefore it did not happen. Not truly. That is why my ability does not count,” he paused for a beat, “to some, anyway. Are you going to write that in your little fairy tale book of secrets?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Now go away,” she said, properly shooing him off with her pen.

Thankfully, Victor wasn’t present for most of the day, so she was able to get her work done and meet with Roger for treatment and to help him with his research on her scars and the pain that would flare in her right shoulder.

When the time came to go to bed, Adaline opted to sleep in her room.

Her world turned black, then morphed into red. Not the familiar red of the fire that consumed her and snuffed out everything dear to her. She was back to that night when she met Crown, the man standing in his pool of blood. She remembered Victor was not there.

“Take the knife and slit your own throat,” William’s voice commanded and Adaline’s arm rose, knife in hand. She was powerless, out of control. Just like the man she found laying in a pool of his own blood that night.

“Please…no…don’t make me do this!” She was shaking but her arm was no longer hers in her final moments. All she could think of was how she’d never see Victor again. He’s never show her his magic tricks, his jokes, nor comfort her when she--

“Now!”

She rose from bed, touching her neck. The scars were still there but she was here. Alive. And healthier than before. “I can’t go to Victor. I’m too dependent on him,” she murmured. She thought of the kiss, the stupid kiss she initiated. He was her father figure and those were her feelings towards him.

Victor never came that night but he was at breakfast and had instantly called for her attention when she arrived in the room. “Little Robin! Over here! Yoo hoo!” Yes, he was a little embarrassing but it was endearing and a smile slipped out of her lips.

I can do this. “Good morning, Victor.”

“How did my Robin sleep?”

“Okay, I guess,” she said, lying.

Harrison, who was nearby, let out a hmph noise.

“I have a mission for my Little Robin today. You shall accompany me to a ball tonight!” He let out a boisterous chuckle. “And you shall be my lovely, lovely date.”

“Huh?” She hadn’t been to a dance since she was a child but-- “date?”

“Of course! I asked for you, yes.”

“He wants to present ya to Queenie,” Jude said over his paper. “G’luck. You’ll need it with this clown.”

With a flick of Victor’s hand upwards, Jude’s newspaper tore into fourths, then eighths, then sixteenths.

“I was reading that ya annoyin’ git!”

But Victor did not care one bit, running out the room and giggling. “Meet me in the courtyard!”

After she ate, Victor was indeed inside the gazebo. “Why did you want me here?” she asked.

“Simple! Because we’re going to practice dancing together.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to do it in the ballroom?”

“Indeed, my precious and sound minded Robin, but we are going to an outdoors event, with fireworks!” He made motions with his hands and sound effects simulating fireworks, which made her laugh. After her laughter died down, he bowed to her, which made her heart race. “May I have this dance?”

Adaline was trained to dance a long time ago, before the fire. She was trained to dance at the same time she learned to walk. She had even taught her stepmother the basics. Doing this with Victor was like returning to a warm, cozy room with a blanket, coming to her like second nature. He was strong, his movements confident. Even when he danced, Victor’s personality seeped forth.

“You’re a natural. I don’t even have to recite the steps,” he said.

He never said anything bad or remotely negative to her, even when she made a mistake. “I enjoy moving with my body.” Regaining control of her body was a long and arduous process but now she was committed to keeping it that way. She danced back in her apartment sometimes. Running was primarily her way to keep her body in her control. She was swift, lithe. The picture of a Robin.

“Very graceful.”

“So are you.”

“I love a good dance, even with only the music of the outside playing.”

“Me too,” she said, meeting his face.

That was her mistake. She saw his beauty mark, the same one she kissed, and fumbled, losing her rhythm and stepping on his toe. “Ahh sorry! I lost control! It won’t happen again!”

But Victor was unphased. “It’s quite alright! We must keep practicing!”

***

It had turned out that the reason why Victor was out for most of yesterday was in preparation for the ball.He had gotten everything ready for them, including her dress, accessories, and makeup. Her dress was pink, which added an innocence to her look and Maria, her maid, had her hair in an elegant half updo.

Victor’s words rung in her head. “I’d like to offer you a choice to make for tonight,” he said after he concluded dance practice. “I prepared makeup for you tonight, but you needn’t wear it, my dear Robin. The choice you make is up to you.”

Maria gestured to the makeup box. Everything was in here. Lipstick, rouge, powder, shadow, and makeup for her brows and lashes. But most critically, there was a liquid there that matched the color of her skin. This is what Victor meant.

She stared at the liquid for a spell, pondering if she ought to wear it. It would conceal every last one of her pink and white burn marks, mostly the ones on her face and neck. For just one night, she could live normally But…

“Use everything but this one, please.” If the partygoers couldn’t take her face, her injuries, then at least she had Victor on her side.

***

Victor gasped when he saw her. “You look positively radiant, my Little Robin! A perfect vision!”

Adaline’s heart was already racing in adrenaline when Maria finished her makeup job. She knew Victor was waiting for her as she walked down the stairs. When he said those words, she felt like running as a reflex.

Her cheeks were completely red. “T-thank you.”

“I see you chose everything but the foundation. A wonderful choice you made!” He leaned and took her gloved hand, kissing her palm. A subtle heat bloomed from the core of her belly upwards, spreading, spreading until she felt entirely flushed.

He was her father figure, right? So why was she feeling this way? Like she wanted to both run away from and collide with him.

When they were in the carriage, she spoke up. “It’s because of you,” she began as she stared at the window, watching London’s scenery. She turned to face him. He was already gazing at her.

“What was?”

“I didn’t wear the…paint because I knew.” She met his jewel-like eyes. “I knew you’d be there with me every step of the way. You’re always on my side. Since we met.”

His hand moved over hers, causing her heart to race. “And I’ll always be.”

His hand covered hers for the rest of the carriage ride.

The band played a lively tune when they arrived at the ball. It was an outdoors affair, with rose gardens and marble statues.

Victor wordlessly offered her his hand after he made his greetings and presented them to the Queen, a larger than life woman wearing all black. They danced slowly in time to the music, two bodies dancing as one.

“All eyes are on you,” he said.

Adaline wanted to dismiss it as something someone with a silver tongue would say. “You jest.”

“Look beyond you.”

She felt her cheeks redden, feeling glad yet again that she opted to wear rouge. “I think…” She looked beyond them at the onlookers. She recognized William and Elbert there, and not too beyond Elbert was Alfons, looking at them with a sly expression. It took every fiber of her being not to stick her tongue at him. But all were looking at them. “I think you’re right. Let’s keep dancing.”

It was just as they danced earlier in the courtyard, only in fancier dress. There was no one but her and Victor. She was used to his touch, his gaze, his warmth. They were all things precious to her. Things she thought she had lost, but now found.

Their palms touched and they swayed. Then they heard an “ahem”.

“William! My eldest and co-conspirator. How are you tonight?” Victor’s tone was not unlike a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

William’s arms were crossed, his gaze playful. “How long will you continue to hold our Robin hostage?” his ruby red eyes gazed from Victor, then hers.

“I am not held hostage!” she said, interrupting their conversation, but William ignored her.

“You’ve kept her caged to yourself all day and all night. Allow one of us to have her.”

Victor pouted, but acquiesced. “You may have her. For now. Do take care that our adorable hedonist does not lay an arm on her.”

William was also an adept dancer. “I understand why Victor won’t let you go. You’re an accomplished dancer. Few can keep up with him.”

“I have a lot of deficiencies but as a Robin, I have the best speed and stamina.”

“Nonsense,” William said. “You have a surplus of admirable traits. Otherwise our leader wouldn’t be at your side the way he is. If you left Crown, he would be heartbroken.”

Adaline didn’t say anything, not immediately. “I…” William knew Victor best and he was confirming that Victor cared just as much about her as he did. “They need me at the post office but…”

“No one loves his magic tricks more than you do.” He glanced at Victor, who was standing near some of the Queen’s family, pulling a turtle out of a chalice, which elicited horrified stares.

“Oh dear. Should we do damage control?” she asked.

“Victor must reap his consequences. This is the norm.”

She laughed.

“You love him,” he said.

His words echoed in their mouth and Adaline was momentarily lost for words. “As a daughter would a father,” she said too quickly.

William smirked. “Is that what you believe?” His eyes narrowed.

“Y-yes,” she said, showing hesitation. She recalled the way she felt when she kissed the corner of his lips. How her heart, her body, her mind were consumed by it during and ever since then.

William let her go. “Then go to him and do what your heart tells you to do.You are in control of yourself, Robin.”

Victor was waiting for her, having given the turtle to a noble’s child, who at least found amusement in his antics. “My Little Robin. Did my eldest fill your head with his pretty little words?” His palm touched her. Despite them being gloved, she felt as if they were bare.

“He tried, but I can resist him.” Her words weren’t necessarily true, and she wondered if Victor could also detect her lie.

“A valiant effort!”

They danced until the fireworks commenced, which signaled the end of the event. Their hands found each other as they sky lit up in various shades of gunpowder. “Should we go with the other Crown members?” she asked him as the crowd began to disperse.

Victor shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s too much of a risk to travel this late and with this many nobles afoot.” Adaline’s stomach dropped from his words. “But you shall be safe with me!”

“Do they want to kill us?” she asked as they departed to the carriage.

Victor took out a pocket watch and began to time the carriage. “My darling Robin, everyone does. Now if this carriage goes over seven minutes, we must make our disappearing act.”

Luckily the carriage stopped just after six minutes. “Did we arrive?”

He looked out the window. “We did, and not a moment to spare! Now, shall we?”

They were not at Castle Crown, but at a hotel.

“I had the servants help with our booking. Will you be alright with this arrangement?”

She nodded. “I understand the travel risk so yes.”

Naturally, this was one of the most well regarded hotels in all of London, and for England, for that matter. It was opulent, with it having a royal theme. Adaline found a mirror, where she saw her makeup had begun to run and her hair had loosened.

“Are you feeling alright?” She saw Victor’s expression through the mirror. His eyebrows were knitted in concern. William’s words echoed through her ears. If you left Crown, he would be heartbroken.

She turned to him. “Yes. I’m fine. Just a lot of things on my mind.”

He sat on the bed, patting the side for her to sit next to him, which she did without a second thought. “Won’t you tell your dearest Victor what’s on your mind?”

Adaline hesitated. “Just tired,” she lied.

Victor’s hand moved to her chin, tilting it in his direction. His eyes were so gentle, yet carried a weight to them. Much like she did. “My Little Robin…you know it’s not good to lie.” So he did detect when she had lied to him.

Adaline decided to come clean. “William said if I left Crown, you’d be heartbroken.”

The words hung in the air, sucking all the energy out. “Well…he’s….” Victor began, faltering. “He’s right. I wouldn’t make heads or tails without my swift Robin. She’s become important to me. More than she’ll ever know.”

His beautiful jewel-like eyes softened. William said she loved him but her own heart had to tell her. She closed her eyes, listening to her heart. All she could hear was it drumming in her chest as the memory of kissing his lips flooded to her again. She had lost count of how many times she replayed the memory.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Victor’s soft gaze on her. So she moved forward and raised her body, her lips once again grazing his beauty mark.

Victor didn’t react, which brought Alfons’ words back to light. If a tree falls down and no one hears it, does it make a sound?”

But her lips very much did that and he was awake this time.

“Sorry, I won’t do it--”

“My Robin!” he said, moving forward, his lips meeting hers again. He was soft, caring, and warm. All traits she had thought of him since the start. His kisses taste like champagne, like a celebration. He broke the kiss, adding small pecks. “Do not apologize,” he said between kisses. “Ever. Kiss me anytime. Anywhere.”

Her arms encircled around his neck, deepening the kiss.

“Just as you did the other night,” he said, to which she stopped the kiss.

“Huh?” She pulled away from him, but he kept his grip tight on her.

“It left me in a state of shock when you did that! Whatever impulse did you go through to kiss me like that in my sleep?”

“Wait. You felt that?” she was mortified. Now, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there.

“Of course I did! To know my Robin loves me back…is that why you didn’t come the next day?”

“No! I mean…yes. I won’t ever--”

Victor interrupted her again. “Always kiss me. You have my heart, Robin.”

With that, she leaned in and kissed him again. Victor’s kisses were bountiful, each feeling like the sparks she saw in the sky that night, like magic. Pop. Pop. Pop.

He laid her down on the bed, her hands moving to run her fingers through his silky black hair. He was everything to her and so much more.

“My Robin,” he said.

“Call me by my name.”

“Adaline,” he said and he was rewarded with more kisses.

She broke for air, but kept her grip on him. “My family would call me Della.”

“Della,” he said, his voice soft. Kiss. “A beautiful name.” He moved to kiss the scars on her neck. “Della…” Goosebumps littered her entire body. No one called her Della since the fire. Not until tonight. “Della, my Della.”

His words were like the wind to her, compelling her to take him. “Victor.” She deepened their kisses, sliding his coat down. She knew this was the man she wanted to spend her life with. Their relationship may have been odd, but this was what her heart wanted more than anything else in the world.

“Della,” he slid the dress off, leaving her in her corset. “I’m afraid I have to make you undergo another choice tonight. I’m sorry I keep doing this to you, my dear, but it is life altering.”

“I want to,” she said without hesitation. “It has to be you. Tonight. On the day when I’ve felt like…no. I’ve become Della again.” She unbuttoned his black undershirt, exposing him.

Victor nodded. “My Robin…er, Della--habit--a wise, confident decision on your part.” He pushed the strings of her corset, laying it beside them as he worked to free her from her chemise.

Adaline suddenly felt nervous, as if the reality of the situation was finally hitting her.

Sensing this, Victor spoke up. “We can stop. No one will fault you for this.”

“I want to. I want you.”

“Then…” he kissed her scarred cheeks. “Allow me to teach you everything you need to know.” He placed her between the pillows after exposing her, his lips leaving no place unkissed. Every scar, everything white and pink and red and in between was blessed by Victor's lips. She thought of earlier as to why she didn't wear the foundation. She didn't need it. Not when Victor would always love her.

“Let me see you too, Victor,” she said after he fully undressed her.

He did as told and revealed himself to her. His hair appeared even more luxurious in this bare state.

“You're gorgeous,” she whispered.

Victor kissed her earlobe. “Would you like to learn a magic trick?” He asked, his voice lower than before.

“Please. I adore your magic tricks.”

Victor's hands tickled her abdomen before lowering, lowering between her legs. One finger slid inside her, her walls contracting. “It appears you're more than ready for my trick.” She kissed him deeply as he moved his finger inside her, circling around her nub inside her. But what surprised her was a second one being inserted at a different angle.

“Victor!” She moaned.

“Let me teach you, Della,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. He moved his fingers at two different angles. “Move your hips for me. Up and down. Set a nice rhythm. Like we're dancing again.” She did as she was told. “A perfect dancer. So pretty.” He said amidst her growing moans. “Keep going, my darling Della.” She moved in tandem with his fingers, her noises growing louder and louder.

“Sing for me, my Little Robin!” His fingers were now edging her decisively as she felt her entire body lighting up like the fireworks again but this time it wasn't a pop but rather something greater than that. She trembled, her body ringing out for him, moans echoing throughout the bedroom.

He slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her. “You were so wonderful,” he said. “Would you like to stop here?”

She shook her head. “I want you to teach me everything, Victor. I'm certain.”

He leaned in to kiss her, which she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. His now dried fingers were weaving through her hair as their bodies aligned.

She breathed in and Victor cupped her cheek. “I've always desired you,” he said. “And when you were in my bed…” he slowly began to push inside her.

“Yes…” she said as she felt his intrusion. A sweet pressure as he entered her. She had been stretched out thanks to his fingers and she had never felt so complete, so full the way she did now with Victor.

“I wanted this too. Now let's do one last dance for the night, shall we?”

Their hands found each other’s now stripped free from gloves as he made love to her, each and every one of their fingers intertwined so intimately, like the strings of a piano key, striking a nerve inside her as they moved as one.

“My dance partner,” she whispered between their kisses and thrusts.

Their movements became more frenzied but their hands never unlocked as they kept going. “I'm afraid I'm about to…”

“Let go,” she said, her hands gripping tighter as she moved even more swiftly underneath him. She was the fastest of the Robins, after all.

Victor's climax came and he spilled himself inside her, slowing down. Adaline gripped her hands tight, hoping to come again but she couldn't achieve it the way it had happened with his fingers. Victor pulled out of her swiftly and began working his fingers inside her again, this time pumping in and out of her, his fingertips grazing the sweet spot that made her react in increasingly louder moans and whimpers. “I want to make my Robin sing all night. It’s one of the most wonderful sounds I’ve ever heard.”

It only took a few moments for her body to respond the way he did, her body shaking as she cried out his name.

His arms went around her, spooning her from behind. “You're precious to me, Della. Thank you for choosing me. For wanting me back.”

Adaline smiled as she closed her eyes.

“And it seems my Della requires less teaching than I thought. She'll be an expert by the end of the week.”

She turned around to face him, kissing his beauty mark again, her leg wrapping around his. He gave her his widest, most sincere grin. “End of the week? How about the end of the night?”

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil victor #victor ikevil #ikevil oc #tw: age gap #tw: age difference #ikevil fanfiction #ikevil fic #Hi yes this is my first time posting my writing here because the Victor demand is there and you guys are in a crisis #I've never posted my writings to tumblr so pls <_>#tw: angst #oh god what other tags do I add???#I'm going to crawl under a hole now #pls lmk if I missed up and forgot a warning #also despite the age gap they're very positive idk it was my 2nd time writing age gap chronologically the 1st was with ellis & his robin #ironically Della was birthed when I wrote that piece

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ghuleh-recs · 1 year ago

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hi lovely, do you have any multi-chapter fic recs? like slow burn/tear my heart out type fics?? <3

sooo you have probably read most—if not all of these already. i try to only rec things i have actually read and unless you’re into papa x reader, i don’t have a ton of multi-chapter offerings for you. an actual travesty! i will say, these are all excellent as rereads. thank you so so so much for the ask! i am truly so obsessed with your writing/gifs/etc. i hope one or more of these piques your interest ♡♡♡

Born Under a Troubled Sign / @iamthecomet / aether x dew x mountain

Dewdrop goes from water to fire. It goes about as well as can be expected.

Bury Me Alive / @high-imperatrix / aether x dew

The ministry performs an unorthodox summoning ritual in their desperate need for a new water ghoul, and Aether finds his life unexpectedly turned upside down. Aether struggles to balance his increasingly more intimate friendship with the new little ghoul with his serious relationship back home—and his growing fear of getting sent back to the pits.

love is all you need (series) / @gayrickgrimes / dew x rain x swiss

a series where i explore swiss, rain, and dewdrop’s developing relationship. featuring polyghouls. they’re all dating, i just want to focus on these three.

The First and The Last / @anamelessfool / omega x terzo

I AM OMEGA. I AM THE FIRST AND THE LAST. I AM THE FIRST OF YOUR GHOULS, AND I WILL BE THERE AT THE VERY END. WHEN YOU DIE. Terzo manifests his first ghoul, Omega, in his first ritual using the gift of the Infernal Eye.

and to anyone else reading this: feel free to add recs of your own either in the replies or reblogs!! i want some multi chapter slow burn tear my heart out fics toooooo (╥﹏╥)

#and go read something p1nk wrote too #my fic recs #nameless ghouls fic #nameless ghouls fanfiction #the band ghost fic rec #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #liss answers

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phoeebsbuffay · 2 years ago

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Imagine you are a peasant who happens to save Darth Vader after his meeting with Ahsoka left him unconscious—and you have no idea who this man is. Part I.

Warnings: drama, unburnt Vader, angst—but fluffy endings as always, naturally.

Warnings 2: not recommended for minors or those who are sensitive to the themes aforementioned.

Warnings 3: slightly/loosely inspired in “La Belle et la Bête” (the one with Léa Seydoux).

Warnings 4: references to the “Rebels”, final episode season 2.

Recommendations: “This Love” by Taylor Swift; “These Days” by Foo Fighters.

***

Intro.

You are a daughter of a local merchant who is widely respected by the village that is located somewhere at the planet Y/C. You have two oldest brothers, being the youngest and only girl of the family.

You love reading. Books are a great passion of yours and your father, though he is not a man of great possessions, doubles his efforts in gifting you these seeing as precious as they are to him.

You delight in your father, he is your only family you have: your mother died in childbirth so you never met her. You are very attached to your family, devouting yourself to him. However, these are days of wars. You already lost one brother to the clonic wars and now that the Empire is rising again, another joins it.

It is you and your father until he is summoned to make a long journey to a far away part of the planet. So he leaves you instructions to take care of the household in your absence.

“If anything the neighbors will look after you”.

Back then, you are no more than six and ten summers of age. Despite your fears, you are eager to prove him you are as fierce and brave as your brothers.

“You will be proud of me, papa”, you tell him. “I will be able to take care of myself.”

He smiles at you, though uncertainty lies in his eyes. To leave a damsel such as yourself behind… it does cost him a great deal. But encouraged by you, the older man eventually aquiesces.

“I promise you, my dear, that I will come back as soon as I can.”

He assures you, placing a kiss over your temple. You say goodbye to each other, but as you wave, wishing him luck, you are struck with a bad feeling that he is never to return again.

***

Ten years later.

Empire rises and, as result, violence emerges. Yet, though you despise it, you learn to live in the shadows, far from getting in the sight of the stormtroopers. These are the men who serve Emperor Palpatine and are always present in your life, ensuring there are no rebellions against his power.

You know very little about it, though you do wonder about your father’s whereabouts. Where did he go? Why hasn’t he sent you any letter? The first years were moved by anxiety, with you trying to do all you could to find about him. But now you accept he is gone.

As you carry on with your life, you start teaching local younglings all the whilst you dismiss potential suitors. A young woman such as yourself should not live by yourself, you are often told. You smile and often are agreeable, but you bow to no one.

Such has been the quietitude you surround your life with: living on your own, reading books, teaching in order to pay your bills, making charities… Until one day your life turns an upside down. Not too far from where you are, an explosion is heard.

You, who often preferrers to be far from trouble, are somehow attracted to it.

“Miss Y/N! What you are doing? That tower over there was under attack of the Sith.”

You have read very little about Sith or Jedi, but you don’t care. What do you have to lose? Instead you smile and dismiss the concerns of others.

“It’s fine, Mr H/N. I am just checking if someone is hurt. The explosion might have hurt people there. I am not taking very long, I promise you.”

And that is how you don’t come back to people’s eyes again.

***

Lord Vader is unconscious, almost engulfed by flames that resulted from his conflict with Ahsoka. His former Padawan, the one whom he trained and was attached to… Seems to overcome him little by little. She is now his equal in many ways, as if they are two sides of the same coin.

“Vengeance is not the Jedi way.”

“I am no Jedi”.

And here he is. Defeated is not the right word for his situation, though when Lord Vader starts to open his eyes, he removes his broken helmet instantly. He coughs, weakened by the smoke, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck”, he curses under his breath, his curls dropping over his face as he tries to stand. “Fuck!”

Fire starts to spread in a clear point of explosion. The Sith Lord, however in pain he might be, manages to leave the destruction spot he’d been engulfed after a long battle with Ahsoka.

To stand amidst the ashes requests more than abusing of his physical force, which is limited…far more than he likes to admit, restraining it to scarce moves, is a task no broken pride bends to it willingly.

Yet, he rises. But at what cost? What did he lose? His mind is purged by its demons and his soul is tormented by an endless path of suffering. Accostumed to it, though, Lord Vader clenches his jaw as he slowly escape through the flames that seem to refuse to let go of its prey.

He coughs. Will the simply smoke wipe out the existence of the great Darth Vader? The mere idea makes him snort…and it costs his stability. He grows weaker and his eyes are blurred. The more effort he puts in it, the harder it gets for him.

Death does not seem to be so welcoming now. Not when the demons seem close to stretch their claws to grip his soul. It is only fair they do, so he thinks to himself.

His pride, however, accuses him of weakness: is he going to let it go this easily? Is he accepting the flames under the excuse to purge his sins?

His mind begins to get unclear. Words are dissociate of his own control. No more than being the phantom of a great Jedi, the existence of this great villain seems to cease to exist.

And his last words are:

“Forgive me, Padmé.”

But when he collapses, he does not so into the ground, rather so in somebody else’s arms. And his eyes finally close before making this last assumption: perhaps his late wife finally came for his rescue.

***

You are baffled by how you are able to carry a taller and heavier man in your arms to some nearby abandoned castle. It does exhaust you, though, but you are amazed by how you managed to carry him somewhere safe. And far more so to see how this castle is completely left to dust.

“Well, looks like I have a lot to do here”, you sigh in content. Your years in solitude have been boring to say the least and here’s an opportunity to make yourself useful.

You start cleaning the quarters where the unconscious man is going to stay. You do so rather quickly, removing the dust of it and making his bed proper to sleep. As you leave him there, you go to your own household and fetch your cleaning things—besides new pillows, blankets—before going back and assuring this castle is back to life.

It is rather a heavier task you take to yourself, one of that kind that involves dealing with neighbors who want to meddle in your business; a lot of dust, and looking after this mysterious man.

And as you do, you are at first starstruck by the sand shade that colors his curls, the scar above his left eye—as well as other scars in his chest when you helped him change his clothes for more comfortable ones that you got from your elder brothers—, the strength of his physique… all of which makes you blush.

It is when he notices your long gaze, the contemplation coming from your messy thoughts—who is this stranger?; how come did he stop by in the midst of destruction places?; what brought him there; how handsome he is, almost an angel…—which makes him open his eyes wide and hold your wrist with quite some intensity that makes you scream.

“By the Maker!”

“Who the fuck are you?”, he inquires you impatiently. As he stands, you realize how tall this stranger is, which makes you pale—specially when realizing his eyes are yellow. “Where am I? What are you doing to me?! Answer me!”

“S-Sir! I am not someone important! Please, Sir. I… I am just helping you! I took you out of the ashes and…”

Vader narrows his eyes as he reads into your thoughts. He is tempted to suffocate you: he does wrap his hand around your neck, but when pulling you closer, he discovers everything about you.

Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to him, his eyes scan your y/c eyes, your y/c skin, your y/c hair, eyeing up and down the simple gown you dress. You detest to feel the heat that paints your cheeks, but to his surprise you don’t run from his intent gaze.

“Very well, Y/N.” He lets go of you and when feeling exhaustion taking over you, he is surprised—so are you—when you help him take a seat. “Why are you helping me?”

“I don’t know.” You answer sincerely, your body shaking of fear despite the bold there is in your eyes.

An interesting contrast, so judges Vader. He lets go of you.

“You may leave”, so he demands, back to the bed he notices has been poorly cleaned. Vader takes a look at this wounds, noticing the bandage there had been none before.

“No”, your voice comes out softly, but your words are firm.

Vader is rarely surprised but you manage to get his attention. Others in your position would be thankful for the opportunity to be dismissed of his presence.

“What do you mean by “no”? I am not asking you to stay”, says he rudely.

“I heard very well in the first time. There is no need to say it again.”

Vader looks at you, perplexed. He could have killed you, but your courage earns him some degree of admiration—though he is not admitting that out loud.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No”, you answer sincerely, all the more getting from him perplexed expressions. “Should I?”

“I am dangerous”, he warns you.

You know he is willing to play that game. But what is more surprising is that you are prompted to play it.

“I can tell that. But you are also wounded, sir. Let me tend you, and after that…”

Vader shakes his head, his eyes glinting in between amusement and annoyance.

“Get out of here, I am saying one last time! I can kill you.”

“You can”, you agree with a small smirk twisting on the corner of your lips. “But you are also more likely to die if I don’t help you healing. Unless you have some ability to heal yourself?”

And that is how starts.

***

A week later.

Vader is pacing around this castle that, until recently, had been covered in dust, left to it’s complete abandonment. He perceives in the smallest details how the building has been carefully uncovered of darkness and local ignorance. He finds no need to discover that the locals thought this castle to be a residence of ghosts.

Considering whom he once was, Vader laughs quietly to himself. A beast to many, he was once a charming prince. The comparison draws him a disdain.

As he paces around this rather astonishing castle, detesting how his wounds are far deeper than he thought—which requires a more primitive medicine used by your skillful hands, something he takes no pleasure at—he comes to find you at an abandoned library.

To his surprise, you are humming as you clean shelf by shelf. Vader cannot look away from what he sees: your hair dropping in long waves of curls, the determination stamped in your features as you bite your bottom lip, looking at every book with delight. You do not content yourself with what you are doing, though: you want to know what stories lie behind the velvet covers.

Vader stands there, unnoticed. He is partially annoying by how you ignore him, unaware of his identity. Worse, you are not frightened by his presence, by the demons found in his eyes, assaulting his soul.

It is only when you twirl happily that you find him observing you.

“Staring is rude”, you point out rather shyly.

Vader is not going to admit he likes the heat that paints your face.

“Is it?”, his voice is soft for the first time.

“It is.”

There is silence hanging in between you two, which makes the whole moment awkward. It is then you notice the bandage you made in his arm is loose. So you move towards him, but when you try to fix it, he removes it away.

“Stop”, he says abruptly, threatening to suffocate you. “Or else you die.”

You levitate and your eyes go wide, but the fearlessness in them make Vader furrow his eyebrows and eventually let go of you.

“Please”, you ask him, softly so. “Let me heal you, sir.”

He snorts at you, yellow irises flaring with anger.

“I am not here to be fixed, Y/N. I am completely…” He interrupts himself, feeling a strange pain in his abs and arm.

“You nearly got yourself burned”, you tell him as you help him go back to bed. “Allow me to heal you.”

“There is better medicine to be put in use than yours”, he scoffs at you. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

You frown.

“I don’t like how you talk to me, sir. I am only trying to help you staying alive. If you feel like dying so soon, spare us time and let me know that is your true wish.”

The Sith Lord stares at you in bewilderment.

“Very few are bold to me. Those who dare to be so are not here to tell their tales.”

You sigh and shake your head. Ignoring what he is saying, you lie him down and start to looking after him.

Vader gives you a long look, annoyed, but says nothing—he is indeed in pain and, besides, you are not an entirely bad company.

“Why are you doing this?”, he asks.

You feel his gaze on you. But for some reason, you keep concentrated in what you are doing without looking back. It is safer for you, or so you think.

“Because I want to”, you respond him.

“Do you have no family?”

Vader knows it’s a sensitive topic by how you shuffle awkwardly on your seat. Your silence makes him sigh, so he tries again, unsure why he is trying to engage in a thread with you.

“You have no Force”, the Sith Lord observes.

You raise your head, frowning in confusion.

“What?”

For the first time in seven years, Darth Vader is brought to laughters. He gives you a quizzical look as a result:

“How on earth do you ignore the Force?”

You blush. Unaware of his disconcerting growth of admiration for you, you don’t understand why he is making yourself a fool. Part of you wonders if helping such a handsome man is worthy your time, but the good in you prevails such thinking. So you say:

“Excuse me, sir, but what do you take me for? I am but a peasant with scarce access to knowledge.”

“I thought you liked to read.”

Vader is amused for finally annoying you.

“And I do. But what does this have to do with anything?”

“I get you don’t read about that then.” Without taking second thoughts, Vader adds: “What do you often read?”

You cast him a distrustful look, but a smile softens your features. And as you look at him, you seem to start losing the fear of facing those yellow flaring eyes.

It’s how everything starts: with books.

(To be continue)

#star wars #star wars imagine #Darth Vader x female reader #Darth Vader x you #Darth Vader x y/n #Darth Vader #la belle et la bête #beauty and the beast #imagine Star Wars

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imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs · 2 years ago

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Always Clear Filming with the Property Owner

Sexytimes with aged up characters on the horizon. You have been warned.

“Please, Mako!"

Makoto huffed and moved over to the second to last fern on her watering schedule for the day. Minako hovered after her like a lovesick puppy.

"For the twelfth time, Minako, No! I don't want to do... that."

Minako threw up her hands.

"OH COME ON! You remember how many views your last sexy cooking vids got! And this won't even be posted. It'll just be for four people."

"Those were both accidents," Makoto said, feeling her cheeks heat at the memory, "and I don't want to share my whole..."

"Woo pitching?" Minako said slyly.

"Right," Makoto replied, "that with anyone but Nat."

"Please, Mako," Minako said, pressing her hands together, "I promise! I want to do something new for Valentine's Day. And I swear, this one won't go on your website."

Makoto sent a glare of suspicion towards the blonde.

"Or mine! Scout's honor!"

Makoto said nothing, only putting her watering can down and moving to her kitchen to go over the inventory she'd printed out. Minako, meanwhile, continued to watch her with baited breath and a possible fake innocent expression.

As she read, possibilities began to form in Makoto's mind. About her boyfriend, her friend and her friend's boyfriend.

Could there be an upside to Minako's scheme? Maybe. Makoto was no stranger to doing something risque in her relationship. And promises had been made that it would remain private. And the thought of certain... positive outcomes did make it all the more enticing.

Makoto sat the inventory down.

"Alright," she said, with a heavy exhale, "I'll do it."

Minako whooped with joy and nearly tackled her in a bear hug.

"Thank you so much!" she cried, "I promise, you'll have the time of your life! I just need to get some things set up and..."

"But we're not doing this here!" Makoto said firmly, crossing her arms. Minako's face fell instantly.

"But why?" she asked.

"My kitchen," Makoto said, "my rules."

Minako grumbled something about 'last times' but nodded and left, probably to find a locale for their video.

The ping of an incoming message on Karim's laptop broke his concentration on adjusting the light saturation on the landscape photos that would be due in a week. Before he could try to get it back, his phone buzzed, alerting him to the arrival of a text message.

Nat's coming over. Don't open the video link I sent you until he gets there.

Karim frowned. Video? From Minako?

Realization hit the pit of his stomach as his mind put into context the message. Minako had once told him (during the act of making love) that she had wanted to send him a "special video" in anticipation of valentine's day.

That part he didn't mind, but the idea of sharing it with Nat? The man who was probably the most oversexed of the Endymion's little band? The thought made his blood run cold.

As if summoned, Karim's door swung open to reveal the very object of his dread.

"Did Minako send you a text about a video or something?" Nat asked, kicking the door shut behind him and depositing himself on the couch as if this were his apartment.

"Yes," Karim said cautiously. This would require tact.

"Any idea what it could be about?" Nat continued.

"No idea," Karim continued, trying to get back to work. Hopefully, hot-blooded Nat would get bored and go find something else to do. The line "Good morning starshine, the earth says hello" rang out at the same time that Karim's own phone buzzed again.

"My new ringtone for texts," Nat said with a grin, "Ami taught me how to do it. By the way, we're in a three-person chat now."

"What?"

Grabbing his phone, Karim looked down at the screen to see that Minako had, indeed, put the three of them into a three person chat.

Did you turn on the video yet? read the text. Karim's phone buzzed as Nat's reply of no appeared.

Karim read Minako's next text, open the video link!

Why? Karim texted.

Pwetty Pwease Minako replied. For me

Normally, he would. But there were extenuating circumstances.

I can't. Nat's here

I'll be your girlfriend.

Aren't you?

In retrospect, he could kick himself. Because it was only out of the corner of his eye that he managed to catch sight of Nat's hand receding from his laptop, the video opened.

"Nat!"

"What!?" Nat threw up his hands defensively, "I just opened the video!"

"I have work on that computer!" Karim seethed, "important work! And I can't--"

"Holy Shit!"

The moment Nat's gaze left Karim's face, it shifted from startled to entranced by the sight on the monitor screen. Huffing, Karim looked himself to see just what was so interesting on hiscomputer and felt his mouth go dry at the sight.

There, on the computer screen, side by side, stood both their girlfriends. It looked like they were standing in a kitchen (not Minako's or Makoto's by the looks of it) but before them were bowls, cooking utensils, and ingredients for something that could only be some kind of dessert. But the most eye catching part of the video was what the wore. Or maybe it should be what they weren't wearing.

Minako Aino, his counterpart (likely soulmate really) wore an orange apron that read "kiss the cook" on it (and he could swear she'd bought it a size too small, with how the words stretched across her chest).

Makoto, on the other hand, wore a pink apron with frills and white spots she seemed to be tugging at (meaning it was definitely too short for her tastes).

But, even as she blushed, she waved at the camera alongside Minako.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii," the both chorused.

"and welcome to AmillionMakomeals's special two viewer only Valentine's Day episode. Why don't you tell us what we're making today Mako?"

"Cinnamon rolls," Makoto said brightly, holding up a large bowl to show that it had been filled with dough, "and we've already let the dough rise last night...

That's not the only thing rising," Nat muttered. In any other situation, Karim probably would have shushed him, but right now it was unlikely he'd register a plane crashing into his apartment.

Karim looked over at Nat, who was staring at the screen with a 'resting goldfish face.'

"Did you ask them to do this?"

Nat shook his head.

"I wish I did... God, just look at her."

Karim felt a surge of possessiveness flare up in his chest.

"Who?"

"Makoto," Nat said hoarsely, his hand heading for his belt, "she's so fucking sexy."

"Anyway, my rolls never come out fluffy like yours," Minako said on the video, "what's your secret?"

"Well, if they're coming out chewy, then you've probably over-kneading the batter."

Makoto picked up the bowl and dumped the dough onto the counter.

"You want to make sure you treat the dough with love."

That would probably be informative, if it wasn't for the fact that Karim was watching Minako's every movement on the screen. Like how she dipped a finger into the cinnamon sugar mixture and slowly put it between her lips... while looking at the camera?

She had to be doing that on purpose.

There was rustling to the left of him and some muttering.

"That's it... roll that dough... gives me a good look at your tits."

Here he was, watching porn (there was no other word for it) in his apartment with another man who was obviously masturbating. How did his day end up like this?

"And they go in the in the oven," Makoto said, sliding the cinnamon rolls into the oven. "these should take about seventeen minutes to cook, which gives us about as much time to make the icing."

Makoto sat a bowl of icing on the counter and picked up a spatula.

"I made some the other night, and the recipe is so easy..."

Makoto wouldn't have picked it up, but Karim did. Even through the computer screen. That wicked gleam in Minako's eyes that was precursor to some mischief or hairbrained idea. There was a lightning fast flash and Makoto shrieked as the top of the apron she wore fell forward, revealing what the group continued to (for reasons beyond him) call her "talent".

"Minako!"

Minako smirked, tooked the icing and ducked behind Makoto. What happened next was mind blowing.

Minako's hands, sticky and covered in icing reached and and groped Makoto's breasts. The other girl cried out, her blush intensifying as Minako stared slyly into the camera.

"Hey! Those are my boobs!"

In spite of Nat's outburst, Karim could only stare at the screen

"We know you're watching, Nat," she said, "are you touching yourself?"

Wait... what?

"Is this... live?"

A quick check of the four corners of the screen revealed that yes, the video wasn't a video at all, but a live feed from somewhere.

"Want to be part of our special episode?"

There was a loud thud and a muttered "shit" from Karim's right. Nat, in his infinite wisdom, had tried to leave with his jeans unzipped and falling half down his legs.

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever the hell those two are," Nat replied, clambering to his feet while trying to pull his pants up, "did you not see that icing!?"

"We don't even know where they are," Karim said, exasperation growing by the minute.

"Well, someone does," Nat said, buttoning the fly on his jeans, "now come on."

Karim groaned as Nat headed for the door. As good as Minako looked on that video, he wasn't about to run all over town to try and find his girlfriend to satisfy some lustful urges. Another "Good morning Starshine" rang out.

"I've got the address!" Nat crowed from outside the door.

Hitting 'save' on his work, Karim stood and went to get his coat. He wasn't about to let Nat drive when he was running on libido.

(*)

"Minako!!!"

Finally, Makoto threw the other girl's hands off of her. Makoto might have been stronger, but Minako was more slippery than an eel when she wanted.

"What the hell was that?"

"Think they're on the way here?" Minako asked.

"Here!? Minako what are you talking about?"

Minako shrugged.

"I told Usagi to wait fifteen minutes after we started filming and text Nat our location."

"What!!?"

This was supposed to be a goofy video, not a sex tape! She couldn't let anyone see her like this, tits out, sticky and bedraggled! Especially not her boyfriend!

Would it people consider murder if Minako mysteriously disappeared in this kitchen.

Thoughts of capital punishment left Makoto the moment she heard the sound of a door swinging open hard enough to bang against a wall.

"Oh," Minako sing-songed, "They're here!"

Makoto's blood ran cold.

Here? *They're* here!

Makoto didn't have time to make a dash for the bathroom before her boyfriend's burly frame filled the kitchen doorway and his brown eyes landed on her.

"Nat," she said, almost covering herself before she remembered that she was covered in sticky icing. "I... didn't realize Minako was..."

Makoto was in the air before she knew it, supported by one of Nat's arms (in spite of herself, she felt her cheeks heat up) while the other arm swept everything on the counter to clatter to the floor.

The cool countertop caused Makoto to shiver as she was set upon it, a sensation that soon abated when Nat took one of her nipples between his lips while delivering a slap to her bare thigh.

"Mako," she heard him mutter against her skin, "Mako... Mako... Mako..."

Nat took one of her nipples between his teeth, and Makoto gasped.

"Nat," she said, "wait... I'm all--ngh--I'm all sticky."

"And so sweet too."

Nat's tongue made a circle around her areola before holding up a hand covered in melted icing for her to see.

"You're my little sweet treat," he said, licking the icing from between his fingers.

(*)

"So," Minako said as she pushed Karim down onto the couch, "you didn't think it would work, didja?"

"Between you and Nat," Karim said, "who knows what could happen?"

It wasn't like he ever doubted that Nat would move heaven and earth the moment Makoto's breasts became visible. And it wasn't that he himself didn't want to come over. Minako in nothing but an apron was temptation itself.

It was more a case of... how to proceed.

"Still not an admission," Minako sang, undoing the fly of his pants.

"I'm not admitting to anything," Karim said, bemused.

"Really?" Minako smirked up at him. "So, you won't admit you like it when I do this?

Minako's head dipped to Karim's fly and he yelped as he felt her pull him into her mouth using only the suction of her breath.

Where had she learned to do that?

From the kitchen, a squeal reached Karim's ears.

"Sounds like Nat's enjoying his sweet treat," Minako said, "I'm so glad."

She spat on Karim's dick and began servicing him while leaning up to kiss him.

"Think they'll go for another round?"

"Considering how much of a jock he is, I think it's a safe bet."

Minako giggled from behind her smile and started to work on his shirt.

"Yeah, remember kiss when she kissstarted wearing his kiss jersey kiss after they started dating?"

"Why are we talking about them?" Karim asked. Boldness surged within him and he delivered a slap to Minako's bare bottom.

"I'd like to focus on us."

His face was burning, but his heart was soaring at the noises and expressions Minako was making.

"Oh yeah," Minako said breathily, "we can do that."

Minako stood up and slowly removed her apron up over her head.

"Do you ever get tired of this view?" Minako asked, gesturing to her body.

"Never," Karim said. He rose and began to remove his own garments, trying to take his time.

Minako whooped as Karim finished removing his shirt and started removing his pants

"You always get so excited," he said.

"Maybe because you're a snack, remember?" Minako said

Karim smiled and finished taking his pants off, leaving them both stark naked.

"So," he said, "what should we do first?"

Minako cocked an eyebrow at him before running over to the sofa and grabbing one of the cushions.

"Definitely let me at that dick!" Minako said, dropping to her knees once the plain pastel blue pillow was at his feet.

Karim nearly dropped to his knees when Minako hilted him and moaned deeply. He was completely in her power at this point, gripping the sides of her head to coax her to go faster.

(*)

Ami entered her building, greeting the doorman and picking up her mail. She'd had a pretty good day. Clinic duty had been forgiving, she'd be able to take some time off soon, and she was planning on maybe inviting the girls over for supper that night if none of them had any plans. She was ahead on her reading. She could afford a little personal time, she thought as the elevator doors opened on her floor. Ami arrived at her apartment door, sliding the key in and wondering who she'd call first.

That is until she beheld what was going on in her living room.

Minako Aino, naked as a newborn babe, on her knees in front of her boyfriend in an equal state of undress and aparantly "servicing" him.

"Minako?"

At her voice, Minako seemed to freeze, her lover's eyes opening wide as his gaze slowly landed on the doorway.

"Mizuno?"

Minako removed Karim's anatomy from her mouth and smiled sheepishly at Ami.

"Hi Ami," she said, wiping her mouth, "I... didn't know you'd be home this soon..."

Karim looked down at Minako.

"This is Mizuno's apartment?"

Minako threw up her hands defensively.

"Makoto didn't want to do anything in her own kitchen!"

"Kitchen? What about the kitchen?"

Both Karim and Minako shared a look that sent dread down Ami's spine before both of them spoke in chorus.

"Don't go into the kitchen."

As if summoned, a naked and incredibly messy pair of brunettes exited the kitchen bride and groom style, whispering what looked like sweet nothings to each other. Ami's heart leapt into her throat.

"What happened in the Kitchen!?" she cried.

#my writing #sailor moon #It's Lemon Scented #aged up characters #senshi/shitennou #sen/shi #Makoto Kino #makoto x nephrite #minako x kunzite #Minako Aino #kunzite #ami mizuno #reincarnated!Shitennou

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uptoolateart · 2 years ago

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If I Let Myself Love You - Ch 8

My fic for @mlbigbang 2022!

PREVIEW from Chapter 8:

‘He just invited himself over at the weekend?’ Alya said on their way home that afternoon. ‘Just like that? Didn’t even ask you?’

‘Well, I….’ Marinette wrapped an arm around her own waist. How did she explain that it had just felt so…natural? ‘I want him to come over.’

‘Okay, girl, but….’ Alya touched her fingers to her forehead like she too was trying to think of how to explain something. She splayed out her hands. ‘It’s weird, Marinette.’

Marinette shrugged but privately worried her friend was right. If the shoe were on the other foot, she would express the same concerns. Maybe even think Adrien was…controlling? But no, that wasn’t it. He was nothing like the picture she’d built up in her head of Gabriel. He was just….

‘I think he’s not used to how these things work,’ she said. ‘Being home-schooled and all that.’

Alya shook her head. ‘Home-schooled kids still know about waiting for invitations.’

‘Yeah, but….’ They had reached the park, where just outside the gates was one of those larger-than-life perfume ads featuring Adrien leaping through an unnaturally blue sky. That ‘radiant, carefree, dreamy’ expression on his face suddenly looked so hollow – a mask, hiding the real boy underneath. A smile designed to keep the world at a distance.

She looked back at her friend. ‘He’s about a million steps beyond home-schooled, really. If you knew about his life….’ She shuddered involuntarily at the memory of all his extracurricular activities. ‘…it’s pretty crazy. I get why he’d be a little…socially confused.’ She tossed one her pigtails back over her shoulder as they walked through the park. ‘Anyway, I don’t mind. Like I said, I’m looking forward to it.’

‘…to…showing him how to sew on a button.’ Alya squeezed her eyes shut, as if summoning inner strength, then opened them again. ‘Marinette, this is the strangest first date I’ve ever heard of.’

‘It’s not a date. He’s just a friend.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I mean it! I’ve….’ Marinette’s voice dropped and she stared at her shoes as they stepped through the exit gates. ‘It took me all this time just to talk to you again. I don’t even have it in me to sit with the rest of the girls at lunch, yet.’

‘But you can have this super-famous gorgeous model boy over to your house on a Saturday.’

Okay, this is coming out wrong.

Keeping Reading at Ao3

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again. How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. Half funny / fluffy and half heavy but with a happy ending. Please read tags. *** Rating: Teen and up

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trashywormeateroffics · 2 years ago

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The right universe.

Summary: After Y/N's life turns upside down, she's full of grief. Somehow, one day, she manages to travel to the MCU, where she meets her favorite characters, including a certain god who seems willing to establish a friendship with her. Suddenly she's enwrapped in this new world, where everything she loved in a screen is now reality. How will she react? Will she be able to deal with the ghosts that haunt her? Or will she let them consume her? Will she be open to accept the love she is offered? Read to find out!

Read this on AO3!

Category: F/M.

Relationships: Loki/reader.

Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Vision (Marvel), Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Stephen Strange, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, other minor appearances of other characters but these are the main ones, Pepper Potts, Loki (Marvel).

Additional tags: Loki/reader - Freeform, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Loki & Tony Stark Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluffyfest, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining a lot because we love to suffer, Domestic Avengers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a parental figure, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Everyone is a good bro, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, y/n, After Infinity War but no one died and the purple bitch was defeated, Missions, Y/N is a universe traveller, Grief, Therapy, Protective Loki (Marvel), Loki in love.

MASTERLIST OF THE STORY

Chapter 13: Powerful magic.

“Okay, so all I have to do is concentrate on one feeling.”

“Yes, only one, vehemently.” Loki responded.

They were currently in the training room, practicing for the first time to teleport, only a few centimetres away, since it was already a very difficult skill to achieve. Thor was not there, a while ago Loki had explained to him that Y/N was finding it hard to forget her surroundings and concentrate on her magic since he was watching. He told him that a student must learn only with their teacher and no one can be there while that happens. Thor was not convinced, but then Loki mentioned their mother and how she said this to him, and he agreed, staying close of course, in case something happened. But nothing ever happened, nothing bad at least. Loki was patient with Y/N, and very careful.

Concentrating on the desire to move a few centimetres away with magic, she closed her eyes and summoned her powers. It was weird, she didn't have to use strength to summon them, it was more of a call. She only had to, however she did, let them know they needed to come up to the surface. And they did, almost always.

Right now was not one of those moments. She couldn't feel them, which made her feel helpless. She groaned in frustration.

“Are they literally against me?” She asked in annoyance. “Aren't we supposed to be a team or something?”

“You are, but a team takes time to ensemble itself. You must learn to trust yourself and your powers, that are also a part of you.” He told her.

“It feels as if I'm never going to be able to do it.” She sighed.

“It might feel like that, but it is just a feeling. Eventually you will be able to bend your magic in whatever way you desire.”

“Okay, let's go again. I'll focus more this time.”

She stood there, in the middle of the training room, with her eyes closed, and concentrated on what she wanted to do. She even went as far as to imagine herself doing it. But nothing was happening. She sighed out in frustration, but kept going. Nothing. Still nothing. After all this time, all this training with Loki and Strange, she couldn't even muster up a twinkle of her powers. Would anything ever turn out her way?

She didn't realize that Loki was calling her, nor did she realize that magic was starting to form in her fingertips until a blast came out of her hand and threw everything around her flying, including Loki. When she opened her eyes and saw him on the floor she ran to him.

“Loki! I'm so so sorry! Are you okay? Should we go to the infirmary?” She asked, worried.

“No, it's alright.” He said, but saw that her frown was still prominent on her face. Did she really care that much about him? “Y/N, really, it's okay. That was actually really cool.” He said, the word feeling unusual on his mouth.

“What? I literally threw you across the room.” She said, confused.

“Yes, but it was a very strong throw. I have always suspected that you were much more powerful than you or Strange thought. This, right now, just proved it.”

“How did this prove anything?” She asked, still confused.

“You are forgetting that I am a sorcerer too. I can feel other beings' magic. And you just threw me across the room with yours,” she gave an apologetic smile, which he shook off, “which means that I was in direct contact with it.” Y/N started to understand. “So, I can now study it more closely and figure out what type of magic it is.” He finished and got up from the floor, dusting off his pants. He offered his hand to Y/N and she accepted it and got up too.

“Okay, so this was a good thing?” She asked and yawned after.

“It was a useful thing.” He handed her a water bottle. “You should go rest now. That level of magic usage consumes a lot of energy. We are done for today.”

“Okay Loki, thank you.” She turned to leave but he didn't follow. “Aren't you coming?”

“I'm going to stay here for a bit longer.”

“Oh okay, see you later.” And she left.

He stood there, thinking. What she didn't see was that he tried to stop the blast of magic from hitting him, but couldn't. It was incredibly strong, not the type of magic that only a mortal or even witch possesses. There was something more, but what? He thought. He conjured an old asgardian magic book from his space pockets and started reading. Asgardian. Her magic did seem familiar, but it made no sense, unless what Strange told her was true and she was adopted. He continued reading and stopped at one paragraph that, translated roughly to English, said: The völva will leave a child on a foreign land, for them to be the communicator. His eyes went big with realization, yet he couldn't say anything to her until he was certain. He wouldn't risk hurting her.

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

“Hello Nicky!”

“Y/L/N,” he said through the camera, feigning annoyance. “How are you? How is training going?” She sighed.

“It's definitely going somewhere, don't know if it's a good place…”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what? Nothing, it's just me worrying as always…” She shook her head and smiled. “How is everything there?” He looked at her for a moment before answering.

“It's going well, same as always.” He sighed. “Are you going to your therapy sessions?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And how is everything Y/N?” He knew her better than most, apart from the fact that he knew how to read people, so she couldn't lie to him.

“I'm a little overwhelmed to be honest, it's a lot, everything.” He nodded.

“You know that I am here, for anything.”

“Yes Nicky,” she said, smiling and he rolled his eyes. “Thank you.” He nodded. “Oh! I wrote another song, do you want to hear it?” She said, suddenly excited.

“Sure Y/L/N...” he said, smiling a bit. Everyone knew he had a soft spot for her, even Y/N.

~taglist~ @mischief2sarawr @midnights-ramblings

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jlalafics · 3 years ago

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"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill—almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

#Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #Royal!Peeta #Commoner!Katniss

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | collect

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The mind seeks to understand, to categorize, to make something out of nothing. You are a vessel of this Disorder, driven to collect the final two souls your body is tasked to hold. One, the right-hand of the Devil, Jeon Jungkook. And two, the Devil himself, Min Yoongi. How to obtain them? By fucking, but on the Devil's terms, because when the Devil is involved, his domain regains supreme.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; supernatural and horror (extra arms / hands, eyeballs, mouths); smut (fem reader, unprotected sex (you're getting fucked by the Devil, STIs and pregnancy are the last of your problems), a collar and leash is involved, voyeurism, scratching / marking, choking, nipple play, cowgirl, creampie, m and f-receiving oral, double penetration, (double?) handjob, penetrative sex on top of a puddle of cum on JK's abs, spanking); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs

yes, you read the horror warning correctly

–

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

The Disorder is a strange thing.

The world attempts to make sense of and organize things as if it knows. Everything must have a reason, an explanation, a why, until you get deeper and deeper, realizing biology is only chemistry, and chemistry is only physics, and physics is only math, and math is… simply theory. A hope of truth, clawing together the chaos. But the real truth is, all order comes from disorder. To organize means to be disorganized from the start.

Beings of Order are not supposed to touch Disorder, not directly. It trickles down, slowly flowing though, a part of life everyone has, but no one can harness. Senseless moments brushed off as nothing. To encounter such a concentrated form, well, surely, nothing good can come of it.

Then again.

The Devil wasn’t good. Far from it.

Would he learn anything at all? Doubtful. Did he care? No. But he had time. He had forever. And he had souls, for he could consume them, an amalgamation of all the previous consumptions combined. The original Devil. The many faces thereafter. The current, Min Yoongi. If all you wanted was a little piece of one, well, he wouldn’t even miss it.

Jeon Jungkook?

His right-hand demon would lose a soul shard and become yours, just like the rest of them. Infatuated, consumed, blinded. He was a fool for agreeing so easily, clouded by anger and lust. But that was no matter. If eventually the Devil decided he wanted to change faces, it would no longer be a problem.

Yoongi had plans.

He would see them through.

You sat in the center of the bed, holding the black goat-man plush to your chest, squeezing his leather hooves, legs tucked under you.

They were at the end of the bed.

Jeon Jungkook, long black hair in messy and tangled curls, clinging to his cheeks and forehead. A cut on his high, tanned cheekbone from fighting the chains, dark red blood coagulated. Sharp jaw tensed, borderline fury and uninhibited deviance. Dark brown eyes with an exquisite shape, forever memorable. His black suit was torn up, blazer and dress shirt hanging by threads and exposing his toned chest. He made no move to correct it.

The Devil's right hand.

Your gaze shifted to the Devil.

Shorter black hair, pointed, more intrusive dark eyes. Paler, standing out against the black. The faintest trace of a smile on pink lips, a face with predatory feline grace. He was shorter than Jungkook, not as heavily built. Slim and sharpened, deadly like a sword. Hands in his pockets, suit pristine. There was no mistaking who was in charge here.

You squished the goat-man to your breasts.

The human heart was beating.

Singing.

Fuck me.

"Hyung."

Yoongi was observing you carefully.

"What is she?"

The Devil chuckled. "Does it matter? You love to fuck."

"But she has the soul shards of the five highest ranking demons in Hell," Jungkook hissed in his ear. Goosebumps on his skin at the younger demon's hot breath. Yoongi felt the sides of his lips curve upwards, tilting his head slightly so Jungkook's voice drifted on more of his neck. Still not looking at him, eyes on yours.

You kept pushing the plush into your chest, dark lips parting.

Jungkook stepped closer, body barely brushing against his, body heat radiating. "Why does she have them? Where are they?" he breathed, head lowering, so close his black hair feathered onto the Devil's neck, his lips almost touching Yoongi's skin.

Yoongi's eyes bored into yours, his own flaring with sparks of red. Voice deepening, taking up the whole room. He doubted you would be affected by his persuasive power. It wasn't for your sake.

"Show me the shards."

Jungkook moaned softly in his ear, shuddering.

You smiled that little smile. Yoongi held up a hand, preventing Jungkook from touching him. The younger demon whined, but he paid it no mind. You lowered the little goat-man, placing him on the nightstand.

To watch.

You reached to the high collar, to the zipper of the dress. The pull was shaped like a cross. Yoongi’s smile widened. A cute joke. Down it went, smooth, revealing your neck, waiting to be bitten. Exposing your collarbones, a small tattoo in the center just below them, at the top of your sternum.

Now the Devil was grinning.

An upside-down pentagram with two rings around it. Black. Simple. Most likely christened on that smooth skin before you became what you are now. A sweet little foreshadowing.

Lower.

Then Yoongi’s expression hardened.

Right below the tattoo, there they were. Thin diamonds, needle-like black gems that gleamed red and purple, pulsing as if they were alive, embedded in your skin below your tattoo and above the swell of your breasts. The demon soul shards, five of them in a semicircle, with an empty space at the center and one at the bottom left, not yet filled. Your flesh was indented in those two spots, clearly waiting for Jeon Jungkook and the Devil.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, removing his hands from his pockets.

They were part of you.

That made you a human, bedded with shards of high demon soul, soiled with Disorder. Yoongi eyes widened, realization streaking through him. Something flickered in the vacancy of your eyes, torn back down by ice-silver. Like a spider’s web suspended delicately in air, you were wound with silken string, demon soul shards penetrating the human shell.

Is that what was keeping you, the Vessel, from collapsing?

The four horns protruded from Yoongi’s head, black-red and wicked. He narrowed his eyes as you lowered the zipper more, revealing the black lace bra molded to your breasts.

“Let me bring part of me to you,” he rasped, the power soaring through him, dark smoke simmering from his lips. He heard Jungkook suck in a tight breath, pressing himself against Yoongi, drawn to the power, intoxicated by it.

The Devil’s voice boomed, resonating to an inhuman octave.

“Domain Expansion: Devil’s Advocate.”

The room rippled, his power manifesting in time and space, creating a pocket of Hell itself. Black shadows wrenched open every crack, snaking out and crawling all over, long spider-liker arms ending in elongated claws, skittering, skittering, rushing towards the bed, pawing at the black sheets. Advancing on you, threatening, more and more and more, black shadows twisting and writhing, trying to get to your legs. The air shimmered with red, almost as if it was on fire.

You tilted your head, pausing.

Seams on the thin shadowy arms opened, bloodshot eyes rolling in their sockets until they fixated on your form on the bed, quivering slits of black pupils surrounded by red irises. The hands sank into the sheets, claws flexing, almost touching you.

But not quite.

“Jungkook, leash her.”

Like a black arrow, Jungkook lunged at the bed, launching himself above the eyeball-covered shadows, crushing them, sending jets of gushing blood across the sheets, soaking them red, and yet the hands stroked his muscular fit body, lingering before he appeared before you, dark brown orbs gleaming with red and black flecks, his power amplified by Yoongi bringing Hell to the surface. His horns protruded from the sides of his head, swirled like ram’s horns, blacker than they were red. They were large and sharp, framing his strong features with more strength.

His hand raised, voracious grin on his face.

“Let’s begin, pet.”

And then it was on your throat, you gasping in his tightening grasp, cutting off your circulation, hands falling into your lap, leaning into Jungkook’s hold. He hesitated, seeing the look in your eyes. They weren’t void of emotion.

An ice-silver shimmered through them, and there was a flicker of something.

Need.

You dug your fingers into the bed and whimpered, catching your lower lip between your teeth, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes.

“J… Jungkook…”

He pulled his hand away, but it was already done, the thick black leather collar on your neck, imprinted with red pentagrams and a silver center ring, black leather leash extending in Jungkook’s fingers, tangling him in it. It had already begun and the lust was brimming within him, insatiable, eager to consume, no longer worried about that small flicker of humanity he might have imagined. To be a demon is to be cursed to feel, emotion and free will entangled, a servant of the Devil but not without indulgence.

Full of sin and prepared to act on it.

Jungkook grinned, long black hair wild and curled around his horns.

“What’s your name, pretty pet?” he purred, flicking his middle finger on your chin, your dark mauve lips parting, looking up at him.

You told him.

He savored it with his lips, already aroused by it. He lowered the hand with the leash, snaking it between your legs, lowering his face to you and your hot breath, moaning at the intensity of the feeling, not quite human, but something more and something familiar, demon lust and human reaction mixed with an unknown drug.

Jungkook loved to fuck.

“Can’t wait to make you my plaything,” he breathed against your cheek.

You whined as his hand trailed down your ass, pulling out the end of the leash between your legs, gripping it from the front and back, snapping it up into your clothed pussy. A loud, sharp slap cracked the air as it connected, making you moan depravedly and tremble in his hands, your own coming up to grab his torn shirt. He ground the leash into the folds of the clothing, hot friction and unforgiving leather. He could feel it, the pleasure and the pain radiating off you, sparks of heat as you bucked down into the strap, the sweet scent your juices soaking through your panties.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, the taste at the tip of his tongue, shoulders shaking at the scent of sex, invigorating his veins, heart racing. Your fingernails dug into his chest, your eyes reflecting his high, his pleasure in abusing your pussy, tainting you with him in this Hell domain.

The Devil leaned over, tongue sliding out. Jungkook stiffened, biting his lip, watching intently as Yoongi neared, closer and closer to your ear. When was the last time Jungkook was allowed to indulge with the Devil? Even if it wasn’t, it felt like forever ago. Too long. His blood was boiling, singing to the Devil, praying for more.

Yoongi’s dark eyes shifted to him for a moment.

Jungkook’s lower lip popped out of his teeth, small whine in his chest.

The Devil smiled knowingly, leaning even farther in so his soft lips brushed against your earlobe, the taste of your skin on his wicked tongue. An interesting taste, but distinctly human. Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, nearly a moan, eyes shifting back to your profile. You were staring at Jungkook and Jungkook was staring at him.

“Five demons this body has withstood.”

The thought made him hard.

“What’s two more?” Yoongi chuckled deep in his chest, placing his hand on your heaving chest, right above the soul shards.

No.

It hovered, the faintest sliver of space between his hand and your breasts. The more he pushed, the more it pushed back, gleaming sparks scalding his palm. Yoongi gritted his teeth, seeing the black tendrils laced with ice-silver snake around his fingers. The scent of burning flesh stained the air. Not holy magic. Something else. Something far less controlled. The Devil could feel pain, but it was nothing more than fuel for his emotions, a means to an end.

You lowered more of your weight onto the leash, moaning as the leather dug in deeper, the scent of sex stronger, rocking your hips back and forth. Yoongi suddenly felt the pain lessen, the black tendrils retreating, ice-silver fading into nothing. His eyebrows raised, fascinated. The introduction of passion and your human body reacting to it. The disembodied black arms around them scabbed around, nonsensical red eyes veering in all directions, crawling across the sheets, desperate to touch and soil the human.

His palm was getting closer.

Closer.

Closer to your chest.

Yoongi’s hand touched your shuddering breast.

Instantly the shadowy, eyeball-covered hands were on your body, clawing at your clothes, caressing your skin, up your back and to your head, pulling you by the hair and making you moan, Jungkook completely letting go of the leash and placing his hands on your breasts, one over Yoongi’s, curling the Devil’s fingers under the lace cup, pulling hard.

Yoongi made no move to stop him.

Jungkook ripped your bra apart, sucking in a tight breath as your breasts bounced free, diving down to latch his lips onto them, his hot mouth to your cool skin, moaning at the taste of human mixed with demon, the five shards on your chest glimmering, his five hyungs infused into this body with the exception of the Devil himself.

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

He shoved his hands under the ribbons of your dress and yanked your body up to his greedy mouth, biting and lapping at your skin, flickering his tongue over your nipples, your hands finding his shoulders, wanton whimpers quivering from your chest to Jungkook’s mouth. He drank it all up, the sweet taste of flesh, the heavy scent of sex, the sound of tainted lust, whining as his shirt was torn to bits by exploring shadowy hands. The Devil’s work. Jungkook looked up to see Yoongi on the other side of you, one of his pale hands in your hair and the other pushing your chin back, his head descending.

“A kiss from Hell, just for you,” Yoongi murmured.

The Devil’s lips on yours.

You audibly moaned right into Yoongi’s mouth as he tilted his head, fitting his lips to your dark mauve ones, soft but rough, tongue sliding in, fucking you with it, slow and maddening, the aphrodisiac of his kiss turning even the most prudish of humans into a sobbing mess, begging and pleading for more.

But, as he suspected, you were no ordinary human.

Your tongue wound around his, pressing your lips harder to his despite his hold on your hair, exhaling in his mouth, intoxicating all on its own, pushing your chest into Jungkook’s face, your arms held back by Hell’s shadows, your muscles tense and shivering.

Yoongi felt it, the hot spark of near pain.

You could break out at any time.

Yoongi broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes finding yours. Like small mirrors, they reflected himself back. And yet. There was definitely something underneath that standing water. Poison? Or something else?

Jungkook grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, moaning at your taste and the Devil’s lingering saliva.

“Yes, fuck, yes…”

Your dress ripped apart, the demon hands doing the Devil’s work, leaving red scratches on your skin, Jungkook doing the rest, rough fingers shoving the fabric scraps out of the way, bits of your bra thrown aside, shreds of black adding to the shadows already surrounding the bed. All eyes on you and your exposed body in Jungkook’s arms, his hard bare chest pressing into yours, skin to hot skin, lifting you like a doll, one hand winding around the leash.

Kissing you like he owned you, already his possession by the way you gasped into his mouth, breathless as he took your sweet exhale with his fiery inhale, his fingernails scraping down your back.

“Stop playing around,” the Devil commanded harshly.

Jungkook started, breaking the kiss as the shadowy arms encircled him and you, locking your bodies in a tight embrace. The red eyes in the shadows flickered, blinking, morphing, changing.

Into mouths.

Into tongues.

“H-Hyung…!”

Yoongi smirked behind your head, eyebrow cocked as Jungkook shuddered and moaned, red forked tongues from ghostly arms flickering across his skin, grasping you so tightly that you whined against his chest, the tongues on you too, drenching you in swipes of Hell’s saliva.

As if the Devil himself was licking you, but all over.

“Hyung, w-wait…” Jungkook managed to get out, hands on your shoulders.

Like two star crossed lovers, except one was a demon and one barely had any humanity left.

Yoongi cracked his neck, grinning widely, all malice and no mirth.

Devilishly, even.

“Can’t wait any longer. I just have to know.”

The Devil’s hands swooped down, twisting between your body and Jungkook’s, undoing the button and the zipper of Jungkook’s slacks impossibly fast, the shadows aiding him, pulling them down, ripping apart the underwear, Jungkook gasping as Yoongi’s long fingers closed around his hard, leaking cock.

“Ah, don’t–”

But it was too late, the Devil’s hand wrapped around him, pleasure sprinting through his veins and swarming every nerve, Yoongi’s other hand pushing your wet heat closer, closer, dark chuckles and fiendish words invading his senses, the Devil himself pulling all his strings.

“Ah, I know all the things you like, Jungkookie…” Yoongi drawled, placing the head against your slit, coating it with your slick but not letting Jungkook enter you, making the younger demon growl with want. “I know you love playing with the humans for hours…” Leaning in, putting his face above your left shoulder, hovering with a sinister smirk. “And I know you secretly love it when you’re being forced to do something.”

The Devil’s pink tongue snaking out, licking Jungkook’s cheek, making him moan in your face and lean his forehead against yours, the lust overwhelming, unable to move due to the shadowy mouth-covered arms and the Devil’s power. Your body trembled in his embrace, your whimpers against Jungkook’s lips and Yoongi’s cruel, raspy laughter ringing in his ears as Jungkook’s cock swelled in his hand.

“You just love it when it’s me ordering you around, don’t you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook was staring in your eyes, seeing his own desperation and shameful happiness reflected back at him, admitting the truth because there was nothing he could hide from the Devil.

“Y… Yes, hyung,” he breathed into your mouth.

Yoongi let go of his cock the same time he pushed your dripping core onto Jungkook, sinking you all the way down, two simultaneous moaning screams intertwining and filling up the entire room infested with Hell’s domain.

Inside.

You felt it, a tiny pulse.

You looked around in the abyss, not expecting to see anything.

How long had you been here? Ah, did it matter? Nothing mattered. In this world, there was only emptiness. You saw nothing, heard nothing, remembered nothing, cared about nothing. If there was no sadness, there was no happiness. If there was no existence, there was nothing to worry about, cry about, feel pain about. Nothing to live for. Nothing at all.

And yet.

You had sensed something.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You looked up.

Four black horns adorning a head of black hair and fair skin, lips peeled back, eyes glittering.

Menace. Amusement. Glee. Lust. Fascination.

Passion.

Who was that?

You squinted.

You… had eyes.

And suddenly it all rushed to the surface, jammed into sensory overload, tongues on your skin, heat overwhelming, a sweaty cheek pressed against yours, your chest prickling with sensitivity, pain from a tight embrace, and you gasped a lungful of air as you felt the demon’s cock enter your tight, wet hole, saturated with arousal, eye to eye with blazing dark brown orbs surrounded by wet black curls, your pussy stretched too far too fast, but adrenaline adapting the pain into even more pleasure.

Felt.

You could feel everything.

“J-Jungkook…”

Words.

You could hear the demon’s lips curve into a wicked grin.

“I love it when you’re whimpering my name, pet,” he drawled.

There was nothing to wonder about. No desire to know your past or if you had a future, no desire to know why you were here, what was going on, not even the need to know how you were aware of the demon before you and his name, Jeon Jungkook.

There was only one goal.

Chasing all aspects of pleasure and passion.

The shadows around your two retreated slowly, forked red tongues sliding back into shadowy pits surrounded by crevices slashed on black disembodied arms, but none of that mattered as you leaned in to Jungkook’s face, hands rising to grip his shoulders, cracking pleas in your throat at the sensation of being too full and sensory overload dominated by lust.

“F-Fuck me, please…” you panted, adjusting to straddle his lap better, his raw cock twitching against your throbbing walls. “Please, Jungkook…”

His hands were on your shoulders, his head lifting and eyebrow cocking, arrogant expression on his face.

“Of course, my little human.”

He lowered his hips, nearly pulling out, leaving you in a whine, almost empty before roughly shoving himself back in, filling you all the way to maximum ecstasy igniting all of your nerves, your nails digging into his skin and a choked moan as you took it all, straining against the brink of almost too much but not quite.

Utter perfection.

How did he know?

He didn’t.

Jungkook was a demon. And demons intuitively delivered the exact amount, instinctually sensing how the human body desired more, every brutal stroke a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, every rock of his hips matching yours, you involuntarily bouncing on his cock with his hard thighs in between your soft ones, cries bubbling from your throat. Every rush of stimulation potent, Jungkook panting intoxicatingly in your face and you drinking it up like a starved hyena, your hands clawing up, tangling in his hair, gripping the curved black horns on the sides of his beautiful head, staring into his enchanting eyes.

The demon smiled at you, almost lovingly, as he fucked you raw from below.

“That’s it…”

Rising from Jungkook’s left shoulder, four horns and glittering dark eyes.

A devious, open-mouthed smirk.

Your grip on Jungkook’s horns tightened, staring into this new, yet familiar gaze. A smokey whisper, rasp infesting your eardrums, reaching in to the humanity inside you. Your ice-silver irises reflected in the endless darkness of those ravenous orbs.

“Fuck him harder,” the Devil coaxed.

Sin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Body automatically reacting, crashing your mouth into Jungkook’s, wild kiss punctuated by your hips smacking down hard onto his crotch, walls clenching around his stiff length, his moan and words filling your lungs.

“H-Hyung, fuck!”

You threw your weight onto him, slapping your hips together violently, repeatedly, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, pressing his body into the Devil, Jungkook’s nails digging into your shoulders and his cock swelling inside you. Pale hands coming up to grip Jungkook’s broad, tan shoulders, pink tongue sliding out and stroking the demon’s ear wetly, scorching breath on your fingers.

“Take it,” was the animalistic growl from those perfect pink lips, the low octave on an otherworldly level. “Cum in that pretty little pussy. Warm it up for me, Jungkookie.”

So hard, turning you so wet, greedy kisses and bites not enough, more, more, Jungkook groaning and powerfully thrusting up as you squelched down, splattering your juices all over his balls, pussy throbbing with the intensity of pleasure, staring into beautiful eyes and the hauntingly handsome angles of Jungkook’s face soaked with sweat on glistening tan skin, one of his hands grabbing your head and kissing you back with just as much fervor, filling you again and again, your name dancing on his lips.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, you humans are so fucking good at serving us…”

“J-Jungkook, ah, f-fuck… I–”

“Give it to me, give it to me, delicious little pet,” he growled in your throat, harder, faster, rougher, racing to the edge and flying off.

A millisecond of euphoria.

You gasped out his name, saturated in mindless ecstasy.

“Jungkook.”

The Chaos swallowed you up, leaving you in nothingness once more.

Yoongi noticed it immediately.

He could feel it course through him, your orgasm explosive and mixing with Jungkook’s crescendo, invading the Devil’s senses and igniting throughout his body, feeding off of every throb of your pussy as Jungkook moaned and pumped you full of his hot cum, packing you with demon seed that your human body could do absolutely nothing with, soaking it into your abused walls, painting your sweetness with his heat.

Demons purely had sex with humans for the sake of pleasure. Nothing could come of it other than the obscenity in enjoying primal passion.

Fucking delightful.

Palpable and intense, Yoongi’s tongue slid out and tasted the air, his hands moving up and caressing Jungkook’s horns, making the younger demon shudder and squirm with pleasure, rutting into you more, squishing his thick cum around inside you, your eyelids fluttering and shivering gasps grasping your lungs.

But your eyes.

While you were fucking Jungkook, your eyes had turned that icy silver.

Now your irises were that reflective mirror.

The Devil felt it.

A pulse.

Jungkook’s naked body trembling against his, tantalizing moan implanted with lust incarnate, lost in the throes of passion, unable to get out until his orgasm was over. His voice sounded thin as if there was pressure in his ribcage.

Yoongi looked down at Jungkook’s heaving chest.

It was glowing.

He couldn’t stop it.

Spider-silk thin strands of ice-silver plunging inwards, needles of power forcing its way inside Jungkook’s chest cavity, all the way in. Yoongi was so close that he himself could feel it, the power of his domain letting him feel everything that happened within, from your passion to Jungkook’s desire, and now he could feel the needles pouring in, chipping away at the vibrant demon soul of Jeon Jungkook.

Collecting.

Jungkook whimpered, head falling against Yoongi’s shoulder, turning his head to kiss the Devil’s cheek.

“H… Hyung…”

The slim, black-red diamond extracted from Jungkook’s chest in glimmering lines of ice-silver, suspending it in the air, so spellbinding that even Yoongi could do nothing but watch in awe, the strings winding around the shard of demon soul and affixing it to your chest, the spot to the bottom left below the center. Six now, the filled semicircle underneath your pentagram tattoo, center empty.

The shadowy arms, covered with red eyeballs and tongues, rose.

Your eyes reopened, cracks of ice silver in those vacant irises.

Now, the Devil, Min Yoongi, understood.

What were demons cursed with?

Emotion and free will.

The Vessel was using the soul shards to stabilize the Disorder. The human body was too weak alone and those high above had nothing to give, for they gave away all they had to serve his father. That’s why you needed demon soul. Not just any demon soul, but the six most powerful ones, driven to finalize your collection with the most powerful of them all to contain what was within.

The Entropy.

The Chaos.

A slow, greedy grin graced his lips.

How interesting.

A tiny blip.

You had one piece of knowledge. Six.

In the nothingness, the only knowledge you possessed was the number six.

Six.

The resurfacing.

You gasped for air, lungs expanding forcefully, chest burning and heart racing, sensory overload, knowing only what you needed to know, the demon Jeon Jungkook in front of you once again, except this time he was leaning against the headboard, breathing hard, his tan shoulders crisscrossed in red from your nails, his two curved black horns luminous, arrogant smirk on his face.

You were on your hands and knees.

No.

Your arms were being held up by dark shadows of disembodied hands, eyes and tongues surrounding you, shoulders bowing a little from the strain, but not enough to be unbearable.

Jungkook licked his lips, slow, glossing them with wetness.

“Pretty pet,” he purred, gripping the leash and tugging on it, your breath dying in your throat, circulation cut off by the leather cutting into the sides of your neck. “Don’t waste any of it now, or you’ll anger him.”

Dancing fingers sliding up your hips, the space in between your legs achingly sore and full, but demanding more punishment, unable to look back to see, but already knowing who it was. You whimpered in your throat, shuddering at the light touch.

Jungkook quirked his eyebrows. “You’re right, little pet.” He yanked your body to his lap, jerking you forward unforgivingly, forcing you to stumble, the hands on your hips holding you up, your arms jostling in the grip of the shadows, their forked tongues swiping across your skin.

“That mouth needs something to fill it too, doesn’t it?” Jungkook drawled dangerously.

Your eyes widened, the scent of sex attacking your nose.

“Down,” he snarled.

You gasped, the grip on your neck lessening, Jungkook’s large hand fitting behind your head and forcing you to lower, your open mouth suddenly filled with his already rock-hard, cum-covered cock, yours and his, sex painting your tongue, swallowing his huge length in one gulp, tip engorging in the back of your throat, filling it to the brim of near-choking, but not quite.

Leaving you on the edge.

The edge of too much and not enough.

Perfection.

“I love to fuck,” Jungkook sighed above you, audibly savoring the feeling of your tight mouth around his length, your shaking eyes looking up at him. “And I’m the second best at it.”

He was.

You didn’t have to wonder. You just knew.

He leaned down, his thumb caressing your forehead. “Guess who is the best, pet?”

You yelped around his cock as forked tongues brushed against your flesh, shadows squeezing and kneading your beasts, latching onto your already hard nipples and stimulating them, pinching and tugging at the sensitive nubs. Jungkook’s naughty smirk was right in front of your face, his hardness twitching and pulsing in your mouth, those hands on your hips tightening, the velvety hard head of another cock skimming your cum-soaked folds, slicking with your juices.

Jungkook’s long fingers curled in your hair, gripping your scalp.

His voice a silvery, perilously low octave.

“The Devil.”

The familiar, raspy chuckle drenched in deviance.

“That’s right.”

Jungkook pulled out and roughly thrust in your face the same time the Devil slammed his cock into you, your eyes flying wide, Jungkook’s previous orgasm stuffed back into you by a different cock, slippery lewd squishes of too much thick liquid expanding your walls. Your pussy and mouth both clamped down on the two cocks, Jungkook’s swollen head ramming into the back of your throat, the Devil…

Holy shit, the Devil.

Whereas Jungkook’s cock responded to your body’s needs and kept it at the teetering maximum of lustful pleasure, the Devil had you suspended on his puppet strings, slow pace agonizingly teasing an orgasm out of you, fast pace tearing another out, rough pace amplifying yet another out, every one feeling like an eternity and leaving you craving more, the true meaning of insatiability, moans vibrating Jungkook’s throbbing length as your pussy convulsed from back-to-back orgasms. The surrounding shadows with bloodshot red eyes were watching you as forked tongues and shadowy hands caressed your trembling body all over, two mouths specifically latched on your nipples and one on your clit, rippling against the sensitive bundle of nerves, soaking it with saliva and sucking on it, all while Jungkook fucked your face relentlessly and the Devil drilled you from behind, grunts, groans, moans, mixed together, stifled by cock and accented by wicked slaps of flesh on flesh, all for the pure intent of only obtaining carnal pleasure and nothing else.

Unconstrained ecstasy, pure sin.

And you, suspended between torture and pain of overwhelmed senses.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook panted, black hair sweaty and sticking to his clenched jaw, dark brown eyes glinting with madness, thrusting wildly into your puffy mauve lips while harshly clutching your head, the shadows holding your body and taking the force of his movements off your neck so he could enjoy the delights of abusing your mouth without causing you pain, therefore allowing you to serve him as he pleased, keeping your throat tight for every punishing slide of his thick cock down the wet hole.

“You take me so well, little pet, almost like a demon, but human mouths are always better, so compliant and subservient. Demons are selfish, only looking out for their own pleasure, but your kind… Your kind is always begging to serve and be used.”

Jungkook caught his lower lip between his teeth, the mole underneath bouncing your vision with every plunge of his cock between your lips, large curved horns on the side of his head surrounded by long black curls, deliciously muscular torso right above you, tattoos on his right arm and shoulder flexing with his movements, the epitome of sex.

The entire time, the Devil’s cock was forcing you to new levels of pleasure you didn’t even know existed, blazing hot and intense, the ever-changing pace almost frustrating, but, somehow, he always knew what to do, speed up or slow down, harder or softer, the Devil’s trill sonata a complex and intricate mess being played, your pussy acting as the violin, coating his cock with Jungkook’s cum and yours, so much that it was spilling out and splashing onto your thighs, dripping down in sloppy squirts.

“You going to cum down that pretty throat?” the Devil drawled, his words resonating in his domain. “I want to watch you fill it up with your delicious cum so you can show me, Jungkookie.”

The young demon shuddered, intoxicated and driven by the command, his breathing swallowing, desires brimming to the surface, your name bubbling off his lips and your throat painfully sore but, oh, so good, so satisfying to be used like a toy, leather leash and collar on your neck jangling, inflamed clit pulsating as you came again with a feral moan around Jungkook’s stiff cock, pushing him over the edge with your suppressed cry, spilling into your throat with thick salty strings of his orgasm, shooting streaks all over the insides of your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he gritted out, jerking the last few spurts onto your tongue before removing his cock, smearing residual cum on your swollen lips. “Fuck, yes.”

He snarled and grabbed your chin, other hand on your chest to push you up, up, forcing you to arch your spine to an almost ridiculously painful level, the Devil’s pleased expression halfway in your vision.

“Open,” Jungkook growled.

You opened your cum-smeared lips, showing the Devil the thick white coating the insides of your pink tongue and abused throat, barely able to breathe, almost choking on Jungkook’s orgasm.

The Devil grinned.

“Swallow.”

You did in noisy, desperate gulps, sucking in sweet air, only for the circulation in your neck to be cut off as Jungkook hooked a finger on the collar ring and yanked it forward, his other hand and the shadows preventing your body or head from moving as he did so.

You could feel it, the Devil’s cock jolting, hitting you so deep and so satisfyingly that your eyes rolled back, vision spotting with black, completely and utterly consumed by the bodily pleasure of being forced to take exactly what you asked for.

Your name, so soft and sharp, driving deep into your pounding, rapid heartbeat, soaking your body with unholy touch, craving to be broken.

“Take it.”

The faintest of gasps, nerves a flaring wildfire as the Devil thrust his orgasm into you, euphoric in simply being pumped with his seed, the hold on your neck suddenly gone, air smashing into your lungs and the rush of oxygen making your lightheaded and dizzy, your body flinching as it attempted to drink it all up, shocks tearing through your system, forked tongues lapping up what was slipping out and another thicker, wetter tongue.

Jungkook on his belly, needy wanton moans in his chest, sucking the mixture of cum – you, himself, and the Devil pouring from between your joined crotches.

The ice-silver tendrils creeped from your chest, but shadowed hands forced them back.

Pain.

Yoongi could feel it in midst of the intense orgasm, the pain of his power being disintegrated, but he was no ordinary demon, he was the Devil, and no power, not even the Disorder, was going to take a shard of his soul without a fight.

No.

He pushed back against it, forcing his will upon the power unknown.

You will get your payment.

The pain subsided a little, layering with the shivering tremors of your pussy barely able to hold all that cum. Yoongi clenched his jaw, feeding on it all. He pulled out of you, his cock smacking Jungkook in the face, smearing the demon’s lips and cheeks with his still hard length, feeling the desperate tongue lap at him eagerly before he pulled away, hearing the explicit squelch as Jungkook’s mouth latched onto your pussy, devouring the cum from three beings trapped inside you.

Not until I’ve had a decent meal.

Your irises remained infested with ice-silver.

The Chaos, merely at bay, waiting for him.

Jungkook shoved his tongue into your sensitive hole, licking and suckling on your engorged clit as well as eating the delicious nectar, lustfully groaning at the taste of the Devil, you, and him, so flawless, a meal incomparable, his blood singing with joy.

No drop was to go to waste.

He would grovel at the Devil’s feet to have this taste forever.

Yoongi grabbed you by the hair and pushed you down, kneeling over Jungkook’s hips, letting the younger demon do whatever he wanted down there. He had more pressing matters.

He lowered himself, lifting Jungkook’s still-stiff cock, and dropped his dripping cock and balls on top the other, hissing in satisfaction as his hard length rubbed against Jungkook’s. Underneath you he heard a throaty, gleeful moan, your body shuddering as the sound went through you.

“Hand,” Yoongi commanded.

He grabbed your hand that his servants freed, wrapping it around the two cocks with his own long fingers, rocking his hips back and forth, too much fluid and too much slick making everything slippery, flickering tongues from the shadows adding to the mix, licking at the purple-red heads, adding saliva to the mix.

Your eyes were glued to this downright obscene display of indecent passion, mauve lips wetly parted, gasping with tremors of orgasm, two hands around two cocks and surrounded by shadows with tongues and eyes, Jungkook’s uncontrolled moaning stifled by your lush hips sitting on his beautiful face, his hips still humping your joined hands and smacking his balls into Yoongi’s, begging the Devil to let him cum and for Yoongi to cum all over his stomach as you came on his face.

The Devil chuckled.

He and you pumped together with Jungkook’s thrusting, his eyes roaming all over, drinking in the sight of his favorite demon and his new shiny toy.

No, not a toy.

His possession.

He lifted his free hand, cupping your chin forcefully, staring into your eyes.

Ice-silver, reflective glass, the original human shattered, so thoroughly intertwined and blended together with powers unknown that it was hard to tell what was what, impossible to know if they even could be separated, and Yoongi, the Devil himself, having no personal reason to bring you back from whatever you were now.

The greater good?

Heh.

The Devil cared not for such things.

“Cum for me,” he breathed hotly to your lips.

You blinked hard, gaze unfocused, the edge already in your sights, headed straight for it at an impossible speed. He watched as you tipped into free-fall, eyes rolling back, whining and moaning hoarsely as you came for the umpteenth time, soaking Jungkook’s face with your orgasm, the younger demon yelping and his cock jerking, spurting cum over his stomach with Yoongi’s mixing at the same time, the Devil sharply hissing as his cock violently shivered and pressed against your palm, shooting thick strings of white all over those sculpted abs.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, the ice-silver needles sprouting from your chest once more.

“Your… name…” you whispered, whole body trembling.

Yoongi exhaled hard, locking his glare with your fucked-out expression. The power pierced him, a bizarre feeling of euphoria and excruciating prickling, pressure unbearable, the threads of the Chaos stumbling through the massive collection of souls within him. Skittering, frantically searching.

Pain.

But not from him.

From you.

Your shaking hand rose, your voice thinning out, anguish coating your features.

It was killing you the longer he hesitated in giving you a name.

The Devil could give you any name of the souls within him. The lesser ones, the insignificant ones, the pathetic ones. The contract did not specify. That was his loophole. The ice-silver threads were tearing you up from the inside, pouring more and more into him with every second that he waited. Your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“H…”

Something shimmering in those eyes.

“He… help… me…”

The power within the Vessel a vehement storm, sadistically demanding the contract to be sealed. You were going to die if he withheld a name from you. The Devil reached up and touched your hand, holding it against his cheek.

He smiled softly.

Yoongi would not let his precious new possession die so quickly.

“Hold on,” he rasped.

The Devil pushed back.

He forced it out, taking the pain and using it to fuel his power, pushing it back, back into you, your airless shrieks trapped in your chest as the six black-red soul-shards gleamed, radiating heat.

Helping him.

Even now his six closest confidants were helping him, their small bits of demon soul rushing to his aid, collapsing onto the power of the Disorder, forcing it back, buying him more time.

Yoongi chuckled.

Guess they really were his friends.

Whatever pain you felt became a distant memory the second the Devil lifted your hips from Jungkook’s face, arms wrapping around your body, his knees sliding up a little to hover your two bodies right above the cum puddle on Jungkook’s stomach. The demon beneath you panted, fucked-out, still shuddering with aftershocks of orgasm.

You held his face, looking deep into dark brown eyes full of the knowledge of every sin known to mankind. His lips curved into a sly, open-mouthed smirk.

“You’ve been so good,” he drawled. “Such a resilient little thing.”

Everything was sore, throbbing, muscles burning with exertion, and yet you still wanted more, caressing the cheeks of the Devil with your fingers, leaning against his body for support.

“After this, I think we should be a little closer, don’t you?”

Your body was lowering, abused pussy meeting his hard cock once more.

The Devil wasn’t done until he was done.

And those shadows of arms ending with claw-like fingers, covered in eyeballs and mouths? Always willing to lend a hand, encircling around your bodies, holding up your weak human body so the Devil could fuck you.

“Let’s be together for all eternity, you and I.”

You whimpered as you sank down again, so wet and slick that he slipped in easily, hardness swelling against your trembling walls.

“A contract?” you croaked, barely able to speak at this point.

“No, my pet,” the Devil lured, drawing you into him as he rocked his hips, lowering the two of you on the mess of cum on Jungkook’s abdomen, smearing your thighs in it, sticky and strong-smelling, Jungkook losing it under you, scooping up the demon seed to coat his fingers and palms. “Not a contract. Just a promise. Dedication.”

Now Jungkook’s hands were covered in the Devil’s cum and his own.

He began to spank your ass with every rough thrust of the Devil’s cock burying in your velvety folds, adding stings of pain to the devastating pleasure.

“You have dedication, don’t you?”

Dedication?

Slap! Thrust. Slap! Thrust. Slap!

The Devil leaned forward, raspy laugh deep in his chest.

A trickster’s kiss capturing your swollen lips.

“Faith, if you will.”

Your body instinctively bucking back into the Devil’s cock, Jungkook hitting you repeatedly, cum caked to your ass and thighs, pussy spasming and drenching the impossibly hard and thick cock inside you, taking it all with fierce enthusiasm, now throatily moaning to the bruising pace, ensnared in his words. Fucking you, punishing you, freeing you, violent hard thrusts, smacks on hips on hips and hands on hips, flesh singing with feral pleasure, Jungkook’s nails tearing at your skin and leaving red scratches with his stinging, cum-stained palm prints.

The Devil’s hand closed around the collar around your neck and you felt the leather melting away, disappearing, joining the mass of shadows around you. The black spidery arms flared out, circling around the Devil’s head like black fire, surrounding his four hours as his fingers gripped your neck, his left hand splayed on your back as he choked you.

The shadows opened.

Red eyes with black slitted pupils, watching everything.

Slashed mouths with black lips and forked red tongues, grinning.

They closed in, wrapping around your joined bodies, long predatory fingers tangling in your hair, hands clutching on your breasts, pointed nails clawing at your thighs and leaving red scratches, the Devil’s hot breath in your face as he smirked, wide and open-mouthed, canine teeth glinting ominously, driving his punishing girth into you as Hell’s shadows pushed you back down, Jungkook’s nails digging into your ass and his lustful, throaty moans ringing in your ears as he relished in the feeling of the Devil fucking you on top of him.

Your head clouding, circulation thinning as the pleasure thickened, rising to an impossible crescendo on a scale no longer known to man, consumed by lust and shadows, covered in cum, vision blurring, sound intensifying as one of your senses faded.

All Hell breaking loose.

“Do you have faith in the Devil, human?”

You scarcely managed to croak out an answer.

“Yes.”

A millisecond of euphoria.

A growl so deep it seemed to reign and command all souls within his presence.

“I am the Devil, and my name is Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi let it happen.

He set his jaw and shot into you, once more cramming you full of his cum, the pleasure of your orgasm amplifying his own, savoring the addictive high as the ice-silver filaments crowned from that center point on your chest, eagerly darting forward and plunging into his.

For a moment, he felt nothing.

He looked into your eyes.

You reflected ecstasy.

Then he felt an overwhelming pressure, sedation, and a crushing weight mixed with high-voltage passion, shattering through him, the unknown power pinpointing exactly what it needed and knocking on the door of the current soul embodying the Devil.

He was already waiting patiently.

The tendrils of ice-silver became your hands, cupping together, begging.

“Here.”

He ripped it himself, breaking off the thin diamond-like shard of black-red, a piece of his soul that he handed to the waiting hands, knowing he was forever bound to you, forever drawn to you, the Vessel, the Entropy, the Chaos.

His now.

“And this.”

He pressed a little something into it.

“It’s yours.”

The ice-silver snatched his soul-shard and vanished.

The darkness closed in, leaving you trapped in nothingness once more. The Chaos received what it needed. There was no need for your consciousness any longer, for the Vessel was complete. The nothingness just was and you were in it.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Then.

A pulse.

You opened your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Everything was sticky, covered in cum.

Everything was scattered everywhere, bedsheets and clothes shredded, shadowy arms swaying this way and that, no longer covered in strange eyeballs and mouths, simply all-black and waiting for command.

Why?

You felt something soft tucked into your arms.

Your eyes lowered, seeing the black goat-man plush cradled in the crook of your less cum-coated arm. A pale hand took yours and placed your fingers on the leather hoof. You stroked it, almost innocently.

“Would you like to come with me?” said the deep, raspy voice.

Your eyes flickered to your chest. Six black-red demon soul-shards surrounding a bigger, more lustrous, and sinister-looking one. It sparkled red and purple. Something was trapped inside it, glowing violet from within. It seemed to pulse, slowly, following a unique rhythm.

You looked up.

Into Min Yoongi’s dark, dark eyes.

You felt a strong grip on your shoulders from behind, matched by a teasing chuckle as a playful chin resting against your shoulder. Your eyes flickered to your right, seeing the hand tattoos on that hand, feeling the hardness of the body of Jeon Jungkook behind you. He held you to him, tracing the curve of your neck.

Yoongi held his hand out, smirk on his lips.

You took it, affirming your desire to follow, even if it meant going to the depths of Hell itself.

“What did you do?” you breathed.

The Devil shrugged.

The domain around you was collapsing, but not melting away. Instead, it seemed to cave inward, bowing from strain, surrounding you, Yoongi, and Jungkook, swallowing the three bodies and the goat-man plush in your arms. Yoongi drew close to you, lips on your lips, half-lidded eyes smoked with arousal.

“I gave you a small shred of my heart, pet.”

The fist-sized muscle pounded in your chest as the surface disappeared and the Devil dragged you down to Hell with his right-hand demon.

“Now you have emotion and free will.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to yours, kissing you deeply as the world around you turned into everlasting flames.

666 You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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pet-genius · 3 years ago

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The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

#hp #meta #cults #lucius #snape #voldemort #regulus black #draco #narcissa malfoy

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 15 ~Etched On Wood~

Previously in The Element of Surprise

Annalise perked up at Claire's feeble attempt to sound less grumpy. "Har de har har! I didn't realise you could be funny before coffee. A total package for a marauding pirate if I may say so."

"Tell that to Captain Beard," she mumbled, getting out of bed.

"Aye, matey!" Annalise mischievously winked. "That's if he happens to be in Isle of Harris this weekend. Which is where, by the way, we're going, as in, now! So get packing!"

Claire stilled and shook her head. "Wot?" She began to shake her head, tugging the covers around her as she made her way to the dresser. "Oh no, no, no! I'm not leaving this place for any man or woman, including you, blondie! I've got a pile of work to do. You know I have deadlines."

"Oh no, you don't. You stop right there, missy! Have you forgotten you agreed with Jamie to take a weekend break?"

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh, did he also tell you how he got me to agree?"

"No. But you can tell me later on the plane."

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Claire stood in the quaint wonderland of whisky, gin and assorted spirits, also known as The Island Spirit Whisky Shop. One side of the store was given over to the whiskies, while numerous craft gins and spiced rums were on the other. Absently, she touched one of the bottles of liquid gold, mentally calculating how many bottles she could fit in her small luggage to bring back as presents. When she heard laughter, she glanced up to find Annalise sampling a dram with the owner, effectively ending her dithering and opting to grab just a bottle of single malt in front of her instead. They'd just arrived in Stornaway over an hour ago and decided to put her gift shopping spree on hold .

Annalise raised a whisky glass and winked. "You better start getting busy. Our driver isn't going to hang around and wait for us all day. Found anything you like?"

Claire approached her friend and showed the bottle. "Aberfeldy, sixteen years old. For us tonight."

"Very nice. Glad to see you warming up to this trip for a change. How long has it been since you last checked your phone for Jamie's message?"

"Five minutes," she replied, scrunching her nose at Annalise for bringing up the sore subject. She handed the bottle and her credit card to the shop owner before facing her friend. "I've sent Jamie a message, and he hasn't replied yet. He's got some explaining to do ...sending me away like this with too little notice." She let out an unladylike grunt. "Why can't our men be here? We're in a beautiful location ...romantic even ..." She waved a hand in the air to prove a point. "I don't understand why you're not so bothered not spending time with your boyfriend when you rarely see him, and you're only here until Monday."

"Oh, poor us girls! Without our men! God help us!"

Claire fought a smile. "Hey, now, if I recall correctly, I had to listen to you moan endlessly about not seeing Willie enough. What was that again, you said just a week ago over the phone?" She tapped her chin and pretended to go through her memory bank. "You can't stand living without him."

"Correction, missy. I told you I couldn't stand living on my own in London. Which means I'm not used to not having you around."

"Ah, my mistake. Must have misheard that part." Annalise snorted a laugh and went to grab a bottle of gin from the shelf, leaving Claire once again to thoughts of Jamie. Any day now, John would summon her back to London, probably with Mary Hawkins and Tom Christie in tow. Though she dreaded going back, she'd placated those thoughts by telling herself she'd be moving to the Highlands soon.

Despite the valuable inroads to their relationship, Claire wondered if she would have given up London and her job so soon, supposing that Jamie hadn't had PTSD. Would their relationship have moved this fast? She immediately quelled that thought because deep down, she knew in her heart whatever their circumstances might have been, they would have chosen to be together whether it was too soon or not.

She glanced once more at her phone, inwardly debating whether to call Jamie or not. What the hell is he up to? She hadn't heard a peep from him since she'd left the cottage. Something was definitely up, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"So, this work of yours is moving along fast. I bet you can't wait to start your life in the Highlands with your love, no less. So, what's the plan? Are you and Jamie buying a bigger property together, or will you be staying in the cottage to see how the relationship pans out?"

"His cottage for now. As for what lies ahead, we haven't talked about that far into the future yet."

"Quite right. Future planning is tedious, anyway. It's pretty obvious you and Jamie are meant to be together, no matter what. I saw it coming from a mile away. The way he looks at you ...you can literally see smoke coming out of his ears." Annalise comically waggled her eyebrows as she eyed the other sample bottles on the counter.

"Well, since we're talking about the future and wotnots," Claire began, lowering her voice, "I have been doing a lot of thinking myself. For starters, I want to have Jamie's babies one day."

Annalise's eyes widened.

She frowned. "Wot?"

"Babies?"

"Yes, babies." When Annalise continued to stare at her, Claire groaned. "Not now, though, silly! Our relationship might be going at full speed, but God ...I have other plans in mind before that happens."

"Yes, I get that ...but ...but have you and Jamie talked about babies?"

Claire gave the store owner an apologetic smile and pulled Annalise into the alcove by the window. "No. As I said, we haven't talked anything about the future. What's wrong with you? I know it's too early to be talking about babies, but everyone knows where our relationship is heading to. Eventually, somewhere down the line, starting a family would be the next step. Or did you think my move to the Highlands is experimental?"

"No! Of course not! It's not that ... it's..."

"It's wot?"

"I, ah ...the babies part."

"Jesus, Annalise, what's your fret about babies?"

"There's no fret!"

"What is it then?"

"I, ... I'm not sure if I should be the one telling you this, but ..."

"Tell me wot?"

"I thought you knew because why else would Jamie ..."

"Know what? For God's sake, spit it all out! It quite apparent you know something."

Annalise shook her head and sighed. "It's something Willie told me. It was right after when Jamie started to remember bits and pieces about his past. Willie thinks Jamie may have been deeply affected by what he'd learned. You know ...him witnessing your parents' death and you becoming an orphan at such a young age." She puffed out a breath. "Jamie confided to his brother that ...he doesn't want to have children because he doesn't think he'd be able to bear it if they would go through something as horrible as what you've both been through. I know that's not really Jamie talking, and I understand those fears are coming from a place brought about by his condition. Maybe it's something both of you should talk about. I thought Jamie might have already mentioned it."

Claire paused for a few heartbeats, absorbing Annalise's words. Should I be worried? A part of her knew it was his PTSD symptoms amplifying those fears in Jamie's head. The other part, she wasn't too sure. But he'd made so much progress, she thought. She waved a hand in dismissal and let out a humourless laugh. "Oh ... don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure Jamie didn't mean to say that in its entirety. You know how men are like ...they tend to have reservations about children and stuff like that in the beginning. Besides, he understands how his condition affects his reasoning, decisions and emotions. He's very aware of that. He told me so. So him saying not wanting to have children is not a projection of what's truly in his heart." She gave her friend a reassuring smile even though a smidge of uncertainty was starting to creep in. "Jamie and I are in love," she said with all the conviction she could muster. "And we've proven that with love, we can achieve anything. As for his current views about not having children, they will eventually change. After what he's been through, it's understandable he'd be worried about history repeating itself. He's slowly but surely recovering, and as soon as the new therapist arrives, it can only get better from there. I'm quite sure of it"

"Claire ..."

"There's nothing to worry about," she said firmly this time.

Annalise grabbed her hand. "Claire ...I have no doubt that he loves you. Even a blind man can see that. But think about this. What if ...what if he can't give you what you want? I mean babies. That's what you want one day, isn't it?" When Claire nodded, she continued. "You should talk to Jamie about your dreams of having children one day before moving here to Scotland. I don't want you to invest your time and emotion in a relationship that will probably end in regrets. I like Jamie, and I love you, and I love the love you have for each other. But I don't want to see the both of you hurt ...just because you failed to see each other eye to eye. Please promise me you'll talk about this with Jamie before turning your life upside down and moving here to Scotland and start playing house. There's a lot at stake here, Claire. Please, just talk to him. At least you know if you're both on the same page or not."

"Fine. I'll talk to Jamie. But under one condition." Annalise nodded in response. "If we're going to have this break together, promise me to refrain from any more baby talks."

"You started it."

Claire sighed. "Yes, I did," she admitted. "But it ends now."

"Alright, but I'm only going to say one more thing and then we can go back to holiday mode." Annalise made a broad gesture. "I can see that our little talk rattled you a bit. And don't you dare deny it!" When Claire shrugged and made a gesture to carry on, she proceeded. "I just want you to know, despite the uncertainties you may be harbouring right now, ...thanks to my big mouth, nothing changes the fact that Jamie loves you. I'm sure after you've talked, you'll arrive at some compromise about this baby thingy."

Despite herself, Claire laughed out loud and rolled her eyes. "Holy hell, we sure are a bizarre duo, aren't we? Poor Jamie. Here we are talking about babies when he probably hasn't even thought about marriage. If he could hear us talk right now, he'll probably put me on the next flight to London."

Annalise looked at her sheepishly. "Or perhaps not. Shall we get going?"

She raised a dubious eyebrow at her friend. "Hey. What's that look for?"

Annalise wandered back to the check-out counter, laughing. "That was my wise, venerable sage look. You like?"

"No, knock it bloody off!"

..........

Jamie pressed the cold pack against his throbbing eye and tried unsuccessfully to tamp down his irritation at Quentin. Stood in the cottage's open space lounge, which comprised the kitchen and dining area, he turned away to face one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. For the first time, he noticed the stunning vistas before him. Looking out to the south, there's the view of the village and valley, and the west the vast, beautiful beach, and to the north, the rolling hills. Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed the sceneries, but the crunching sound of Quentin's meat mallet on walnuts might as well have been a tree stump grinder splintering his skull.

"Do ye mind?" Jamie muttered, turning around to glower at Claire's uncle. "That godawful sound is making my headache worse."

"Stop whingeing." Quentin didn't bother to glance up from the chopping board on which he seemed resolved to make continuous head-splitting rackets. "Because of you, I haven't eaten all day. What kind of boys' trip is this anyway? There's no food or booze except for the bottle of expensive champagne... these walnuts ...and that ..." He jutted his chin at the fruit basket and shook his head in disgust. "Sorry I can't accommodate your headache." He watched the walnut shell fly across the counter when his mallet hit the chopping board. "As for the black eye, I'm sorry about that too."

Willie chuckled from behind his open newspaper as he lifted his feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Everyone will now think Claire dropped one on ye. How did it happen again? I didnae quite catch the whole story since both of ye were too busy grumbling at one another when I arrived."

Jamie glared with one eye. "As ye've already gathered, Quentin did this." He pointed his index finger at the evidence and adjusted the cold pack with a free hand. "And I cannae for the life of me understand why it was supposed to be a good thing."

"I told you already ...we had a bit of miscommunication," Quentin shot.

"Miscommunication?" Jamie sputtered, throwing a hand in the air in disbelief. He spun around and faced Willie. "I said to him if I start having one of my panic attacks on the ferry..."

"...you wanted to be knocked out," Quentin interjected.

"Jesus Christ! I never said that, and I wasnae having a panic attack. I was feeling queasy."

"Yes, so queasy he turned green," Quentin added, hammering the walnut with more force this time, making Jamie flinch at the offensive sound. "And here I thought he was having a panic attack. He never mentioned anything about being prone to seasickness. So when he started to act all weird on me, I decked him."

"On my eye of all places!" Jamie shouted, slamming the cold pack on the kitchen counter. "When I said I'd knock myself out, I meant I'd take my medication and sleep it off in the car." He pointed a finger to his eye. "Look at this ...I look like I participated in a pub brawl."

Willie glanced up before turning a page of the newspaper. "Aye, that ye do."

"Well, you should have told me more about your condition," Quentin stressed, pointing the mallet at him. "How was I supposed to know what a panic attack looks like?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "Even if it was a panic attack, what made ye think socking me on the eye is the answer?"

Quentin shrugged. "I guess I get panic attacks too, ...now there!" When Jamie turned away in frustration, he pressed on. "Look at the bright side ...I got rid of your seasickness and saved you from having a relapse."

"I told ye already I wasnae having a panic attack, and I havenae had one for some time now!"

"Hey, may I remind you that I offered to drive Claire and Annalise to the airport and fly in later as Willie did? Your brother would have been in a better position to deal with your condition. I know you wanted to talk more about that bloody bench, but ..." Quentin shook his head as if remembering something. "Say ...I still don't understand why we haven't gone altogether. All this palaver with keeping this whole thing a secret and Willie taking the next plane after dropping off the girls." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Another thing, no one's told me yet where the girls were heading to."

Jamie gave his brother a warning cough.

Willie sighed and lowered his newspaper. "The lassies are somewhere having fun. Anyway, ye'll be getting yer wish granted. Ye'll be flying in my place when we return back to the mainland. Jamie told me CalMac ferries banned ye for a year."

Jamie bit back a smile at Willie's smooth change of subject.

"So Jamie told you." Quentin popped a walnut in his mouth. "Did he also tell you he didn't even try to explain to the police that it wasn't my intention to knock him out cold? That my intention was to help."

Jamie took a slow breath. "How could I? My head was still reeling from your punch. The police could only take in reports from eyewitnesses."

Quentin cast the mallet aside and flattened both hands on the counter. "All right, all right ....never mind that. What's done is done, and I apologised already." He paused for a few beats and frowned. "So ... what's happening now? Why are we sitting around in this cottage when we could be organising some grub and booze?"

"Just hang fire for a little bit more." Jamie took out his phone and pretended to fiddle with it. It was becoming more difficult to distract Quentin by the second, but he needed to do this right if his plan was going to work. "The landlord is supposed to stop by. It shouldn't be long now."

"Well ..." Quentin glanced at the wall clock. "If the landlord doesn't come anytime soon, I'm going to find the nearest pub. I'm starving. And don't tell me to eat fruits. I want a proper hot meal. And I need a drink after the morning we had."

Not happening! Jamie couldn't have him doing that. "Look, dinnae start lining yer imaginary shots just yet. Pubs open much later here. Maybe while we're waiting, ye can show me that bench we were talking about." He gave Quentin a meaningful look. "Remember? It's one of the reasons why we came here for. Ye've delayed it long enough bashing those walnuts."

Quentin lifted an eyebrow. "Can you blame me? If we'd eaten first, we wouldn't be having this discussion, and we could be looking at that bench already. As it stands, I have to settle for walnuts. Besides, can't the bench wait? You said this trip would be entertaining. And smashing walnuts is not my idea of entertainment."

Jesus, why does everything have to be difficult with this man?

Willie finally took pity on Jamie as he regarded them both with a mixture of impatience and amusement. "Look, I ken ye're both a bit on edge and didn't have a good start to the day." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I know ye're hungry, Quentin, and I know yer eye's in pain, Jamie, but bickering at one another is no' gonnae help yer cause." He clasped his hands and gave Jamie a knowing look. "Why don't ye both go and look at that bloody bench while I wait here for the landlord. That way, we're getting something done. Fair enough?"

"Fine." Jamie and Quentin said simultaneously.

Willie's head briefly fell back, and he heaved a relieved exhale up at the ceiling. "Finally, they agreed on something."

Quentin ignored Willie and looked at Jamie. "Right, we might as well." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "If you'll follow me," he instructed before heading for the front door.

Jamie glanced at his brother, who just nodded and returned back to reading the newspaper. Rolling his head on his shoulders, he followed Quentin out of the house and to the back garden.

Halfway, Quentin glanced back at him. "So ...about that bench, you still remember this place?"

"Only vaguely," Jamie responded quietly, overcome with acute nostalgia as he began to take in his surroundings.

The last few nights, while Claire had been cooped up in the shed doing edits, he and Quentin had been trying to piece their history together, mostly to help Jamie understand the past. It had been a frustrating feat at best for Quentin, trying to unravel Jamie's memories as a toddler that they'd almost laid the past to rest. Until Jamie had mentioned a bench with engravings in a garden of a coastal retreat, he'd once visited as a wee bairn. To his astonishment, Quentin had immediately known the place. The more they'd talked about it, the more the memory of that day made sense and became vivid until an idea came to Jamie's mind ...to use this trip for his plan.

When they reached the back of the house, they came to a stop, and there in the middle of the freshly trimmed lawn was the bench. Fragmented images began to flood Jamie's brain, colliding together to form a vivid picture. As if being pulled by an invisible force, he made his way towards the seat. Laying a hand on the surface, he caressed the weather-worn wood, relying on his heart to know what to search for. When he found the familiar yet foreign carving, he knew he'd made the right decision to arrange this trip. "Here it is."

Quentin stooped down beside Jamie to take a better look. "Jesus, it is really here," he whispered. "Just as Henry told me." He glanced at Jamie. "And you remembered. How old were you when you were last here?"

Jamie sat on the bench and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he took a deep breath. "At the most, I must have been four. It was summer. My ma needed a break from us boys, so Murtagh took Willie and me on a trip here to visit Harry. Jenny stayed behind. I cannae mind what Harry was doing here, but I do remember him showing me this when my godfather disappeared into the house." His fingers traced the engraving. "I never understood then what it meant when he read it out to me. He'd told me it was our wee secret."

"It was a secret, alright. Henry wouldn't have wanted Murtagh to know."

"Aye, I sort of caught the gist of it then even though I was too young to understand."

Quentin spoke with a distant look in his eyes. "Henry told me everything that happened that day and how it had been difficult for him to keep their trip here a secret from Julia. It was supposed to be a surprise."

Jamie couldn't help laughing out loud. He knew the feeling. "Aye, I can imagine," he replied, hoping Quentin would finally take the hint and see the real reason behind this trip.

"Did you know Henry had always wanted a son for his firstborn?" Quentin asked out of the blue. "Don't get me wrong, though. Claire was the light of his life, and he loved her. So much so, he would stare at her for hours while she slept. So Julia told me anyway. But he'd always said he wanted a son. I think it had something to do with him spending a lot of time with you and your brother during the summer, even before he met Julia." He smiled at Jamie. "He had fond memories of you and your brother, and it was very apparent from the stories he told me of you."

"A son," Jamie murmured, shifting on the bench as another memory popped up. "Aye, he'd mentioned something about wanting a son. He used to joke about having one, one day ...a strong lad like me were his words." He got up from his position and scoured the seat once more with his fingers and eyes, trying hard to remember where the other etching was. "I seem to recall myself asking Harry what if the baby turns out to be a girl. I cannae mind his reply, but he told me to pick a girl's name because he'd already had one for a boy. After I picked one, he carved both names we came up with on this bench ... it's here somewhere."

"Really?" Propping his specs on his nose, Quentin hunched over and began to search. "Can you remember the name you chose?"

He shook his head. "I probably came up with something daft ...like some cartoon character Jenny used to watch. "

"Or perhaps not." Quentin hunkered down, gliding his hand over the wooden surface of the edge of the bench. "Take a look at this." He stood up and took a step back to allow Jamie to see better.

What Jamie saw next took his breath away and only confirmed that niggling feeling in his guts. It hadn't been a misplaced memory nor a dream. He unseeingly watched Quentin squat down again to take a better look at the engraving, barely able to formulate words to express his emotions over the thoughts running through his head. Was this Harry's way of sending him a message ...a blessing of some sort? Or was it just some quirk in the universe, and everything had been purely coincidental? If it was the former, he'd been taken on a merry rough ride, and he could almost envision Harry's delight at his handiwork, watching them by the sidelines. Like Quentin, he was momentarily at a loss for words.

"You know, Henry's been gone for years," Quentin finally spoke after a long silence. "And it astounds me that you refer to him by his nickname with such familiarity. Only Julia called him Harry. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, sometimes you talk about him as if he's still alive. You may have forgotten many of your memories of Harry, but it's quite obvious the special bond you had with him is still there, and it must have made an impact on your life."

Jamie almost laughed out loud. If only Quentin knew. He debated whether to say anything about Harry's mysterious appearances, but after a few indecisive heartbeats, he thought, bugger it. He might as well let the cat out of the bag. "Harry has appeared to me," he blurted rapidly before he could change his mind. "Numerous time. As solid and as real as we are standing here right now."

Quentin frowned. "What do you mean?"

Briefly, he filled Quentin in on the mystery that was Harry, from the first time the appearances began and everything in between and watched an array of expressions register on the older man's face. "I've only shared this story with Willie and Claire, and now ...you. It's not something I like to share with just anyone. But because ye're Harry's brother, I thought ye ought to know as well."

Quentin let out a low whistle. "That's some story. I don't know what to say. I've never believed in all these mumbo-jumbo spirit sightings, but ..." He let out a huge sigh. "...though your story is bizarre, strangely enough, I believe you. That night when you mentioned this place and this bench, I dreamt of Henry after. For the first time in years. He was sat right here, not saying a word. That's why I agreed to go on this trip. The notion that he may be trying to say something did occur to me and thought I might as well see this special place of Henry and Julia for myself."

Jamie let out an exhale of relief just as he saw Willie walking in their direction. His brother made a motion of tapping his watch, which could only mean one thing. He needed to make a move. Straightening up to his full body height, Jamie faced Quentin and cleared his throat. "Speaking about this place ..." He swallowed and braced himself. "I haven't been entirely honest with ye."

"Is that so?"

Willie came to stand beside them, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Jamie disregarded his brother's knowing smirk. "There's also another reason for this trip that I meant to tell ye."

Quentin muttered a curse. "You're going to tell me this isn't the all-lads trip you'd been going on about, is that it?"

"Aye ...no! I mean ..." He tunnelled impatient fingers through his hair. "What I meant to say is ...with everything falling into place ...Harry, the engravings on this bench a-and how our history are sort of intertwined together ...I -I thought ...right here and now would be a perfect time."

"Perfect time for?"

Jamie puffed out a breath. "Perfect time to ask for your blessing."

"Blessing for what?" Quentin's brow puckered, but by then, he knew Jamie well enough, and it only took a quick study of the situation to determine exactly what was going to be asked. Quentin's eyes widened at the realisation. "Holy hell, Jamie! Are you bloody kidding me? Is this what all this has been about?"

"It's been coming to this, cannae ye see it?" He worked to steady his voice. "Ye dreamt of Harry sat on this bench. That must mean something, and ye know it. Everything that's happened to me ...Claire coming to the Highlands ....those ..." He pointed at the bench. "...those engravings ....they didn't happen by chance. All of it has led to this day.."

"Jesus! I can't believe you're making me want to thump you a few hours after I just walloped you on the eye and apologised for it." He rolled up the sleeves of his top. "I was just beginning to warm up to you, lad. But it has to be done. It's a rule."

"Rule? What bloody rule?" He watched Quentin clenched and unclenched his fist. "Ye really are gonnae thump me, is that it?"

"Rule is rule," Willie murmured, watching them closely while sneaking glances at his phone. "But best get this settled soon because we dinnae have much time left."

"Time for what?" Quentin shot. "What the bloody hell is going on now?"

Jamie's patience was swiftly deteriorating. "Look, Quentin ...ye can thump me later, alright? I'll even offer ye my good eye. But right now, I need yer blessing."

Quentin laughed incredulously. "Listen, son, you don't get to schedule your own thumping."

That was the last straw. Whatever patience Jamie had left dissolved. There was no time for pussyfooting. He took two steps forward and brought his face close to Quentin's. The older man looked too shocked to react, so Jamie took advantage. "Listen to me, ye cantankerous ol' git. I tried being patient with ye because I know ye like me even if ye have a funny way of showing it. But this intent on giving me grief for whatever demented reason ye have and deriving joy out of it is bloody mental. So, I'm asking ye in the nicest possible way ...give me yer blessings. Ye're gonnae give it to me anyway. So cut out all this shite and give it to me now."

A tense silence between the men ensued, and they all stood stock-still waiting for each other to give in, and the only discernible sound to be heard was the waves crashing on the beach.

When the phone notification went off, Quentin and Jamie momentarily forgot their stand-off and whipped their attention to Willie. "So gentlemen, what is it going to be? It's nearly showtime."

Quentin's eyes narrowed. "Showtime?"

..........

"Òran na Mara," Claire read out loud as they drove past the hand-carved wooden sign. "Song of the sea. How very fitting."

"I think it's romantic," Annalise whispered in response, smiling at her from the passenger seat in front.

"Weel, here we are," the driver announced as they pulled into the driveway. "Welcome to yer home for the next few days."

Claire leaned forward to take a better look at the cottage with a thatched roof and stone wall. Though it retained its traditional features, the beautiful structure had all the subtle hallmarks of luxury, and she could tell it had been sympathetically modernised without compromising its original character. She smiled when she caught a glimpse of the white sand beach and the turquoise Atlantic ocean. "This is gorgeous, Annalise. Jamie's outdone himself with this surprise."

"He certainly has," Annalise grinned. "Shall we?"

They both hopped out, and while Annalise sorted out the driver, Claire could only stand there in awe of the surrounding. Everywhere she turned, there was something to look at - beaches, rolling hills, and islands on the horizon. She was so taken by the natural beauty around her, she didn't even notice the car drive away.

"Wait till you see inside. Jamie showed me pictures of the interior." Annalise walked up to the house and opened the wooden door, and Claire followed, hefting her luggage.

Inside was just as breathtaking as outside. "Wow," Claire breathed, admiring the views from the numerous windows. "This place is huge. There's probably enough room to accommodate ten people here. What are we going to do with all this space? The boys should have come."

Annalise just shrugged and smiled as she opened the glass door that led to the back garden overlooking the beach. "Why don't you go out and enjoy the view. There's a seat over there. I'll go and find us something to drink."

She stepped out of the cottage and sucked in a deep breath of salty air, and immediately felt at peace. Shading her eyes from the sun, she surveyed the curved bay of the beach and the peninsula in the backdrop. As far as she could see, there wasn't a soul in the area, nor were there passing cars to be heard, just the sound of nature, white sands and blue skies ahead. Oddly enough, the scenery uncannily reminded her of her mother's painting, which hung in her family home in Oxford, making her momentarily wonder if it was still there.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and swiped the screen. There was still no message from Jamie. She decided it was no use pining over him when he must have spent a fortune sending her here to have some quality time with her best friend. He was thoughtful that way, even though sometimes to a fault. With a shake of her head, she shoved her phone back in her jeans, but something brought her up short as she made her way towards the bench. A familiar scent.

Before she could turn around to seek for the source, a pair of strong arms slid around her waist, soft, warm lips gliding along the back of her neck.

Exhilaration snapped in her veins. "Jamie," she breathed, turning around to wrap him in her arms. "You're here."

"I'm here," Jamie returned gruffly, his big hand rubbing circles on the small of her back. "Did ye really think I'd let ye out of my sight for a whole weekend when ye could be returning to London anytime soon?" He buried his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling his nose against her skin.

"A part of me didn't think so." She tipped her head back and forced him to look at her. When his face came to view, she did a double-take. "Your eye! What happened?"

His lips twitched. "Dinnae fash, Sassenach. It's just a minor accident. So, do ye like yer surprise?"

Her lungs released the pent-up breath she was holding in a rush. "I love it and even more so now that you're here."

He smiled and took a moment to search her eyes before their mouths joined, warm hands cradling her face. His tongue parted her lips and stroked with the utmost tenderness in a slow, savouring kiss making her aware of their hearts pounding in unison.

"Sassenach ..." He trailed off to brush his lips against her temple. "Before anything else, there's something I have to show ye."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Another surprise?"

Tongue tucked into his cheek, he momentarily glanced over her shoulder before his gaze ticked back to hers. "I suppose ye can call it that. Have ye been here before?"

She noticed the immediate gravity in Jamie's expression as he kissed her brow. "No. I haven't. But I must admit this place does feel familiar."

"How so?"

"The views ...it reminds me of my mother's painting. She's probably been here at one point."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "She was."

"She was? How do you know? Uncle Lamb told you?" she asked rapidly.

"Patience, woman! Too many questions all at once." He tugged her towards the bench, and when he let go, he stooped over the seat and ran a hand over the wooden surface. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Come here and take a look at this."

Claire did as she was told, and as she crouched down, her eyes landed on a string of words carved in what looked like a feeble attempt at calligraphy.

Henry and Julia - At the end, as at the start, through all the in-betweens, until the world stops spinning.

A choppy breath passed her lips as she ran her fingertips over the etchings. "It's my mum and dad."

"Aye."

"They were here." She stood up and looked around her, this time, trying to see the surroundings through their eyes. "It makes sense dad brought mum to this place. It's so romantic, and from stories I've been told, he was just ...that. And I can imagine my mum sitting here on this very spot, capturing the moment with her artwork." An intense wave of gratitude suddenly rose, almost making the moisture in her eyes spill. Jamie had done this for her because he knew, just like him, she was trying to put the pieces of her past together. "God, this is bloody insane. I wouldn't have seen this if we hadn't met."

"Ye want to hear the best part?"

She gave him a wobbly smile. "Go on then."

"Yer da proposed to your ma on this very bench."

She let out a soft expulsion of breath. Something expansive and extraordinary stirred within. It was as if, in this very moment, Jamie's revelation had taken back to her parents' past and was there to witness it. "I don't know what to say."

"The carvings on the bench was yer da's tribute to the day he proposed to yer ma."

"And you know this, how?" she asked quietly.

"Yer uncle and I put two and two together," Jamie explained, with a one-shoulder shrug. "I told ye ....some memories of my childhood have started to come back. Weel, this was one of them. When I mentioned to Quentin about how yer father showed me his handiwork on this bench when I was a wee lad, he'd figured this was the place Harry proposed. Yer father must have spoken of this place to yer uncle. I didnae understand any of it back then. I was too young. I wouldnae have realised the significance of it if I hadn't told Quentin about it. After some thoughts, I knew I had to come back and see it for myself just to prove I hadn't imagined any of it."

"But did you have to put me on a charter plane?" she softly admonished. "With Tom Christie? Are you mates with him now?"

"Tom is often hired to fly some goods to Stornoway for some restaurant. When I heard he'd be flying today, I thought it fitted perfectly with my plan. I must admit it pained me to ask him to take ye girls, but he was happy enough to sneak ye in."

"We could have flown here together."

"Aye, we could have." He took her hand in his and played with her fingers. "But I wasnae sure how I'd fare in the plane with my PTSD. Besides, I had a few personal businesses to attend to.

"Such as?"

He shook his head in amusement and kissed her lips, lingering there before drawing away. "Ye're distracting me, Sassenach and I still have something to show ye."

She heard Annalise's laughter coming from the cottage. "I presume Willie is here with you too."

"Your presumption is correct. Now stop asking questions and take a look at this." He pulled her towards the other end of the bench.

She sighed. "Alright, let's see it then."

Jamie let go of her hand and tapped a finger on the spot. "Take a look."

Claire leaned forward and read the inscription.

Jamie/Claire - the promise of greater things to come.

She frowned as confusion settled upon her. "What's this?" She traced the grooved marks of the words with a fingertip. "This has the same indentation as the other engraving. And it looks old. This couldn't have been recent."

"Yer da wrote it."

She straightened up. "Wot? But what does it mean?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "He wrote the names he would name his firstborn. He chose my name for a boy, and I got to pick yers."

Her eyes widened. "You picked my name?"

"Apparently," he grinned.

A laugh bubbled out of her. "God, so much to take in. Whatever next?"

"This." Jamie picked up a paper bag she hadn't noticed before by the bench and pulled out a padded envelope. "It's from yer workplace." He read the sender. "Dreamcatcher."

She sighed, still reeling from what Jamie just told her. "It's probably from John," she murmured more to herself as she took the envelope. She tore it open and was surprised when she pulled out its content and realised it was a children's book. "It's from Louise." When Jamie gave her a bland look, she sat down on the bench and stared at it. "She's a good friend of Annalise and a children's book author as well as an illustrator. I convince her to publish with Dreamcatcher when she showed me her work. I admitted to her a while back I wanted to be a writer. Every time our paths would cross, she'd asked me if I'd done anything about it. And every time I told her I was still working as an editor, she would give me a disappointed look." She smiled and shook her head. "I wonder why she sent this to me." Admiring the colourful print, she ran her hand over the cover. "What a talented woman."

"So ...what is the book about?"

Claire examined the book. "It's about The Unicorn and the Lioness," she answered, reading the title and leafing through the pages. As she suspected, each page was beautifully and colourfully illustrated. "Well, shall we see what we have here?" She opened it to the beginning and began to read aloud.

There once was a unicorn

That fell for a lioness.

She surprised him with her charm,

And her comeliness.

She grinned as she flipped the page. "Unusual pairing," she observed, making a face at Jamie. "...but hey ...the unusual ones tend to be the best."

She licked her lips and continued reading.

The two, you see,

Were from different worlds

So it made him wonder,

How'd it all unfurled?

"Ah ... makes me wonder too," she added softly. "This is getting interesting."

Jamie laughed, angling his body so he could also see the pictures.

In spite of their differences,

It was love at first sight.

Their feelings grew quickly,

Their hearts took to flight.

She smiled and turned to the next page.

The unicorn, his life,

Once troubled and scattered

Now calmed and on the mend

In all ways, that matter.

She glanced up at him and grinned. "Well, love heals, so they say," she remarked with a wink. "And love is all there is."

"Love is all there is," Jamie echoed with amusement.

She took a deep breath and resumed where she left off.

There were simply no words

For how lucky he'd become.

Without her by his side

Life would be hopelessly glum.

She paused for a beat as a peculiar inkling tugged in her guts. Swallowing the odd knot in her throat, she forced herself to say something. Anything! "We wouldn't want the unicorn feeling glum now, would we?" she managed, suddenly unable to draw breath.

"No," he replied. "A glum unicorn would be a tragedy."

Oh, lordy, lordy! Is this what I think what's happening? She took a fortifying breath and lifted the next page with a shaky hand.

It's hard to believe

Just how happy they were.

He could not conceive

Even one day without her.

"Happy is good," she squeaked, working her throat to be heard.

"Happiness is always a good choice ...grab it while ye can," he returned quietly.

Unable to get a grip of her runaway thoughts, a dull pounding began in her chest, gradually accelerating and drowning out the noise in their surrounding, portraying the moment with a dreamlike quality. She peered up at Jamie. Underneath his handsome exterior, she could see he was anxious, the lines around his mouth more noticeable than usual. The bruise on his eye, as much as she didn't believe it resulted from an accident, added a mixture of masculinity and vulnerability. God, I love this man! She wanted to stand up and hug him and let him know she knew where he was going with this. But now was not the time to ease his anxiety. She needed to pull herself together to see through what Jamie had probably painstakingly arranged for this moment.

"Weel, are ye gonnae finish reading it?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Batting a speck of non-existent dirt from the book, she filled her lungs, nodded and read the next lines.

So he got on one knee

To hand her a gift

A tiny velvet box

Holding a silver piece

A silver piece? A record-scratching moment descended upon her like a heavy lead. What's a silver piece? Had she misinterpreted Jamie's intention? But when she glanced up from the book, there he was kneeling in front of her. Holding an expensive-looking velvet ring box, looking determined and brimming with adoration. It's not a ring, Beauchamp! It's a silver piece ...whatever the heck that is. Get a grip. She mentally shook herself. Of course, it couldn't be a ring. It's too soon for him to be asking her hand in marriage. The tiny box had to contain a key to his cottage, ....but he'd already given her one. Perhaps he bought a new house?

"Are ye gonnae to open it?" he asked, breaking her thoughts.

At a loss for words, she took the velvet box with trembling fingers. She reminded herself to calm down. She wouldn't want to embarrass them both into thinking Jamie was proposing.

"It's no' gonnae open itself, Sassenach. Or do ye want to keep holding it until ye're ready?" His lips twitched at its corner, and a spark of amusement lit his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She took a deep breath and opened the tiny box. When she glimpsed its content, she could only manage a weak "Oh!" Nestled in the case was a shiny one-pound coin where the ring should have been. Too confused for words, she gave him a questioning look.

On his knees, Jamie edged himself forward and took her hand. Keeping his eyes on her, he kissed the inside of her wrist. "Sassenach ...ye ken how I've always talked about how fate in some strange, mysterious way brought us together?" Claire slowly nodded in response, unsure where he was going with this. "Weel, to this day, I still dinnae ken how it all works. This may sound mad. But with everything that's led to here and now, I firmly believe some force, unknown or known, has had a hand in bringing us together. And every day, I thank whoever is listening up there for bringing ye into my life."

Her heart swelled with love. "Jamie, you don't have to do this," she said, laying a hand on his cheeks. "I know what's in your heart."

"No." He took the coin from the box and pulled something from the back of his jeans. "I want to do this." Whatever he reached out for inside his pocket, he kept it hidden in his hand. He cleared his throat and gave her a small smile. "Loving ye is the best part of my life, Sassenach. You brought light and colour in, and for that, I'll always be grateful. Ye brought me back to life when I didnae even realise I'd stopped breathing. From the moment I first laid eyes on ye, I wanted ye for keeps. I want to be yers and for ye to be mine, and I promise I will always try my utmost best to keep ye happy."

"I've always been yours. And always will be. My move to the Highlands should have made that clear enough for you."

"Aye, I had no doubt about that. But I ken that stubborn, practical side of ye will try to argue what I'm about to ask ye is too soon." When he opened his hand, she gasped. On the middle of his palm was a three-diamond stone engagement ring with two smaller ones flanking a bigger brilliant round centre. Emotions tangled in her throat as he raised the one pound coin with his other hand. "If ye, like me, believe destiny ...the universe ...yer da or whatever ye wish to call it ...conspired to bring us together, I'm gonnae dare ye to leave it up to fate with this one-pound coin I have here."

"Wot?" Now she was utterly confused.

"I'm proposing a coin toss. The rules are simple, and it only takes five flips. If it comes up heads each time ... ye'll wear my ring. We dinnae have to marry right away. We can wait a day or ten years. Either way, I want ye to know I plan on loving ye straight through eternity. If the coin comes up tails, weel ..." he trailed off, shrugging. "I guess I have no choice but to wait until ye're ready."

She looked down at Jamie's opened palms, a coin in one hand and a ring in the other. He was doing this so she wouldn't feel pressured to marry but feel secure enough in the knowledge he'd always be waiting for her no matter how long. She squeezed her eyes shut and crammed her fingers to her lips to keep a cry from escaping. She was not interested in tossing a coin to prove they're meant for each other. What they felt for one another wasn't based on fate or luck. They'd met, fallen in love, and now they're taking their relationship to the next level. It's something that happened all the time. They may not love each other the easy way, but their hearts were in the right place every single time. They're rock solid, and she didn't need a flipping coin to tell her that.

When she opened her eyes, a sound broke free in her chest. "Bloody hell, Jamie! Just stop with all this silliness, and put the damn ring on my finger," she hiccuped, giving him her hand.

Jamie's shoulders drained of tension as his breath released in a rush. "Did ye just agree to marry me?"

Hot tears rolled down Claire's cheeks as she let out a watery laugh and fell back on the bench, right where her father had proposed to her mother all those years ago. Though it felt right, a slight uneasiness tried to sneak in when she remembered what Annalise had told her about Jamie's doubt about having children of his own. She searched his face, and all she could see was his love and promise to make her happy. Isn't everything supposed to fix itself when two people are in love? She made a decision not to bring it up ...for now. "Yes, Jamie. I did. I want to marry you too," she breathed as she watched him take her hand to slip the ring on her finger. When she gazed at it, she could only make out the twinkle of diamonds through her tears.

"Christ, I cannae believe ye ditched the coin toss. and agreed to marry me ...just like that."

"I don't need the coin toss to know we're meant for each other," she pointed out. "And you shouldn't either."

He gave her a boyish lopsided grin, one that he was very aware always had an effect on her. Damn! He rose to his full height, tugging her along with him. "Ye have no idea how happy you made me, Sassenach," he breathed, pulling her roughly against him and grazing her earlobe with his teeth. "Now, for the love of God, give yer man his engagement kiss."

Committing this moment to her memory, she slipped her hands under his top to feel the warmth of his skin. Standing on her tiptoes, she tipped her head back and laid a soft kiss on his lips. She smiled when his chest and stomach muscles strained and swelled underneath her touch. "Is that better?" she whispered.

Jamie muttered a curse under his breath, rolling his forehead side to side against hers. "Sassenach, I said kiss. Ye cannae touch me like that when there are people that could be watching us from the house."

"Why?"

"Jesus!" Jamie's exhale came out hot against her forehead. "Why? How am I going to walk back in there in this condition? Ye look at me so innocently when ye ken well I feel a little crazy right now. It wouldnae take much to get me going. Look at what ye do to me."

They both dropped their attention to the bulge straining against his jeans. "I see," she whispered with a shrug, drawing away. "Too bad. I guess we just have to have that celebratory kiss later ...when we're alone."

Looking pained, his hand dug into her hair, pulling her back in, in his hold. "Not too fast." His lips swept over hers before his tongue dipped inside to give her his own brand of teasing. Seconds ticked by while he tantalised with a deep kiss, causing a moan to pass her throat. She felt the shudder that passed through him, the ecstasy of this second, his love, the pressure of his lust pressing between their bodies, the awe and gratitude. It was their own private celebration, drowning everything else out and ...

A throat cleared gruffly. Jamie stiffened and dragged his lips from her mouth, pink blooming on the tips of his ears. Just beyond his shoulder, she saw uncle Lamb averting his eyes and rocking on his heels.

"Uncle Lamb?" Claire croaked. "Don't tell me you're on this as well?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, you're not the only one who's been bushwhacked."

"Bushwhacked?"

"I guess this is the part where we say, congratulations." Willie's voice cut through her surprise at seeing her uncle, causing her head to drop forward on Jamie's chest. As the reality of their surroundings slowly began to encroach, Claire somehow found the willpower to unwind her arms from Jamie's neck and turn around. Three pair of eyes were trained on them with a mixture of amusement and joy for their happiness and mild annoyance from her uncle.

"Aye, we're officially engaged," Jamie announced, his arm going around her waist to pull her back against his chest. He pressed his lap to her backside to let her know the situation in his pants.

Claire stifled a giggle and put on her best smile, fully aware of Jamie's mild discomfort. "We are, indeed," she grinned, leaning back to kiss the underside of Jamie's jaw. "I must admit, I never saw this coming." She lifted her hand to show them the ring.

Annalise whooped and clapped her hands. "Well, this call for a celebration then," she beamed, skipping towards them. "Let me see it."

Squeezing her hip, Jamie let her go. She smothered the urge to laugh when she supposed that probably nothing loses a man's erection faster than a sight of her uncle Lamb's tetchy demeanour. Dismissing her silly thoughts, Claire splayed her hand out for her friend. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

"Stunning. I'm so happy for you." She looked Claire in the eye and spoke for her ears only. "Did you tell him what we talked about earlier?"

"Which one?"

"Babies. Hello?"

Claire sighed. She didn't want to lie to her friend, nor did she want to taint the occasion by bringing the subject of future babies up. There was a time and place for that and now wasn't appropriate. She hugged Annalise briefly and spoke into her ears. "Everything is going to be fine."

Annalise brows furrowed, but when she saw how happy Claire was, she immediately dropped the subject. "If you say so."

"I know so," Claire smiled, pulling away from her friend at the sight of Willie approaching. "Now, scoot and celebrate with us."

Annalise did an eye-roll and let Willie through.

"Congratulations!" Willie broke in, raising the bottle of Moët in his hand and giving Jamie a high-five with the other. He dropped a kiss on Claire's cheek and grinned. "Welcome to the family, Claire. My not so wee bràthair doesnae mess about, does he?"

"Thank you," she smiled. "And, no, he certainly doesn't."

Jamie received a back slap and a hug from his brother while Claire watched her uncle slowly approached them, shoulders strained, and hands shoved in his pocket. Something was amiss. Quentin was avoiding her eyes, and she noticed his face was devoid of emotions. She strode to his side. "Seriously, uncle?" she hissed, disbelief colouring her tone.

Quentin ignored her. "You sneaky piece of shit!" he barked at Jamie.

"Oh, dear God, here we go again," Willie muttered, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Again?" Claire gasped as she noticed Annalise and Willie's eyes ricocheting between Jamie and Quentin. She was about to scold her uncle when his face broke into a grin. She held her breath and stilled in anticipation.

"Congratulations, son! I couldn't think of a better man for my niece!"

"About time ye realised it, ol' man," Jamie grinned.

"Who are you calling an old man?" Quentin ground out in mock displeasure.

Annalise, Willie and Claire gaped at Quentin.

"What?" Quentin chuckled. "If I'd come right out and told Jamie right at the start, I couldn't think of a better man for my niece, he would never have fought for her the way he did."

"What kind of logic is that?" Claire fumed.

Jamie crossed his arms. "Oh, this is gonnae be gold."

"It's a men thing, sweetheart and complicated," Quentin muttered, giving Jamie a dirty look.

"I'll try and keep up. Explain."

Quentin released an impatient sigh. "Men in your generation have none to too little backbone. Jamie had to realise he was good enough and strong enough for you. And you had to make him realise it. That's the top and bottom of it."

Her uncle was right, Claire thought. A few weeks ago, Jamie wouldn't have thought himself capable of coming this far with his condition. She might have been instrumental in pulling him out of the darkness where he'd lived for so long, but all the hard work had come from Jamie.

When Quentin took her hand and pulled her into an awkward embrace, she relaxed. "I'm not going to be around forever, darling," he said gruffly before pulling away to look her in the eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were in good hands if anything happened to me." He glanced at Jamie. "I had an inkling when Claire first told me about you, and we talked for the first time on that video chat, that your relationship was serious. The second I found out Henry's connection to you, I had to delve more into your history. When you started talking about fate and all that tripe, I didn't believe in it ...but these last few days, after spending time together, you made me believe in you. I saw something in you."

Quentin gestured toward the double-headed one-pound coin Jamie had left on the bench. "So when you tried to extract a blessing for this proposal after dragging me here under the pretence of a boys' weekend, I thought I'd have a little laugh and grant it by giving that coin Henry gave me and challenging you to leave it to fate ...without telling you it was double-headed. As you know, I was still a bit miff with you for not letting me into this big secret thing. But you surprised me when you agreed to take the challenge and told me you'd leave it to Claire to toss it. You really believe in all that destiny nonsense, don't you?" He shook his head in disbelief.

Jamie just shrugged and smiled.

"Uncle Lamb! How could you?" Claire huffed indignantly, crossing her arms across her chest. "For your information, we didn't toss the coin even if Jamie suggested it."

Quentin's eyes widened. "You didn't?"

"I don't need a damn coin to make my decisions, for God's sake."

Jamie slipped his arm across her shoulder and squeezed her. "It doesnae matter, Sassenach. All that matters is he gave us his blessings and that we love each other."

"I know," Claire whispered before glaring at her uncle. "As for you, no more tricks up your sleeves, are we clear?"

"Jamie caught me off guard with this marriage thing. Can you blame me for what I did?"

"Uncle Lamb! That's not the issue here." She pegged him down with a look. "You've been giving Jamie a hard time from day one. No more tricks and no more taunting Jamie. I love you both, and I want you to get along. Promise me."

Quentin raised his hands in the air before placing them on his chest. "Promise. Jamie's read me the riot act earlier today, and you're speaking to the converted. And I meant what I said when I told him I couldn't think of a better man for you. Honestly, I'm happy for both of you." He opened his arms to her. "Forgive me, sweetheart?"

With a roll of her eye, she stepped away from Jamie's hold and threw herself in her uncle's arms. "You know I'll always forgive you," she mumbled against his neck, hugging him close. "Despite you being such a grouch, I want you to know I am happy that you're here."

"Me too, sweetheart, me too," he said gruffly. "Now, shall we start the celebration? I'm parched and starving."

"About time," Annalise chirped with a little dance and fist pump.

Laughing, Willie popped the cork on a bottle of Moët while Jamie handed out the crystal flutes.

Claire watched as their drinks were being poured and smiled. She said a silent prayer for her parents and thanked them. There were so many things to be grateful for. Life was good, and her heart was full. She was moving to the Highlands, start her career as a writer and marry the man she loved. This was what she wanted, and she was prepared for this whatever may come their way. Her only wish was, her parents could be here today, so her father could see what a fine lad Jamie had grown up to be.

Her attention was brought back to the present when Annalise nudged her with her foot. With champagne finally in everyone's hand, they all raised their glasses to their new beginning.

"To Jamie and Claire," Willie began.

"To your happiness," Annalise added.

"To family and friends," Jamie beamed.

"To what's next," Claire breathed.

"To my next meal," Quentin snorted. "Now drink up, and let's go. I'm bloody starving."

..........

"Did you really mean what you said earlier?" Jamie asked Quentin once they were alone, and the rest of the party walked ahead of them on their way back to the cottage from the pub. "About believing in me and being happy for us?"

Quentin glanced at him. "I always say what I mean, son. Best get used to it," he grumbled.

"Right ..." They walked in silence, watching Claire, Annalise and Willie as they began singing the chorus of Living on a Prayer for the umpteenth time. "About that double-headed one pound coin ..." Jamie began.

"That was a clever touch, huh?" Quentin grinned. "Would have come handy for you if Claire had decided to use it. You still got it?"

"Aye." Jamie handed him the coin. "By the way, I have a confession to make."

"What's that?" Quentin asked, taking the coin and shoving it in his pocket.

"The reason why I readily agreed to that coin toss you suggested earlier is that ...Harry gave me one too." Jamie dug his own coin from his pocket and showed it to Quentin. "I knew the coin ye were giving me was double-headed."

Quentin stopped to look at him. "You suggested the coin toss to Claire even though you knew it was double-headed?"

"Aye."

"If Claire had agreed, would you have used the double-headed or the normal coin?"

"The double-headed, of course," Jamie admitted.

"What about all your bloody talk of fate and destiny and all that?"

Jamie shrugged. "Oh, I still believe in fate, but I couldnae take the chance. I love yer niece too much. I think ye would be inclined to agree that the universe has an odd sense of humour, and I needed to cover my arse just in case it decided to turn against me."

Quentin scowled. "Is it too late to change my mind about you?"

"Aye."

They watched as Annalise and Willie, doubled with laughter, latched on to Claire's arms after she stumbled onto the curb.

"Well, then," Quentin grunted. "What the hell are you doing here still babbling to me? Go join the fun."

Jamie shook his head. "Oh no, ye don't, spoilsport. Ye're here to have some fun too. Ye're joining in."

"I'm too old for all that. Now go and leave me in peace."

Jamie narrowed his gaze at him. "Is that really what ye want? To be left in peace?"

Quentin blew out an exasperated breath, but Jamie caught the sheen in his eyes and the smile he was battling. "No. I want you to get used to me showing up," he growled.

Jamie pretended to sound annoyed so as not to embarrass the older man. "Fine, as long as it doesn't involve ye decking me."

"Deal."

..........

Jamie looked up from the mock children's book, smiling when he heard Claire doing her nightly routine in the bathroom. The book disguising his marriage proposal had been Annalise idea. As soon as she'd heard of his intention from Willie, she'd made the suggestion, desperately wanting to play a part in surprising Claire. She even had him adding a few of his own words to the poem. How Annalise's friend managed to illustrate and have the book printed on such short notice, he had no idea. But he must admit, The Unicorn and the Lioness book had been a nice touch.

Claire walked into the bedroom, looking fresh in his t-shirt, her face still flushed from the champagne earlier. He watched her shiver a little, rubbing her arms to generate heat. The sight of her bare legs kicked his heart rate up a notch. He smiled and drew the bedcover back in an invitation to get in.

As she snuggled under the crook of his arm, she smiled when she saw the book on his lap. "I never got to read the ending," she said with a yawn, her arm sliding across his waist.

He kissed the crown of her head and pulled her in closer. "Shall I read it for ye?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll start from where you left off."

"Alright."

Jamie got comfortable and cleared his throat. "Here goes ..."

So he got on one knee

To hand her a gift

A tiny velvet box

Holding a silver piece

Claire giggled. "You got me right there."

"I know," Jamie chuckled, turning the page. "Now wheesht and let me finish."

Confused and bewildered

That it's not a ring

It became apparent

She wanted the real thing

So still on his one knee

He uttered the plea:

"My dearest lioness,

Will you marry me?"

He felt his heart beating

Right out of his chest.

He could do nothing but wait

And hope she'd say YES.

When he ended and a few moments of silence ensued, Claire twisted from her position and looked up at him. "That's it?"

"Aye," Jamie replied, handing her the book. "Louise said you're a writer, so she left a blank page for you to write the ending."

"Is that so?" she said, laughing, reaching for her specs. "Well, let's see what I can do."

Jamie grabbed a pen from the nightstand and handed it to her.

After adjusting the pillow, she sat up and began scribbling, reading the words out loud as she wrote.

When she finally answered

He could not stop grinning

Because he knew, in his heart,

This was just The Beginning!

Claire closed the book and took off her specs. "How was that?" she asked, sliding back under the covers.

"It was good, but I'm left hanging. I'm dying to know what happened after?"

"Hmmm ..." She climbed on top of him and nipped his lips with her teeth. "They celebrated with their loved ones, ate a lot of food and drank too much champagne." She drew circles on his chest. "Although I have a sneaking suspicion, their night is not over yet."

Jamie flipped her on her back, making her yelp. He scanned her face for a few heartbeats. "Ye're absolutely right. He's gonnae tell her how happy she's made him," he whispered, his words thick with emotions. "And show her in so many ways how much he loves her."

She blinked away the tears blearing her vision and smiled up. "Well, he's got all night to prove he's not just a bunch of talk."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "A bunch of talk, huh? He's a big man, Sassenach, and he makes love twice as long."

She slipped her hand past the waistband of his boxer brief and gripped him hard, making him catch his breath. "We'll see about that," she challenged.

He rewarded her by grabbing her hand and slowly pressing his hips into her. "You're on, Sassenach, you're on," he groaned into her mouth before silencing her with his kisses.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, apologies for the delay in the final chapter of this series. As some of you already know, if you read my Tumblr posts, I've had a bad reaction to my vaccination. Though I feel a little better, I don't feel quite right yet hence the delay of this update. I'm easily tired and have been writing sporadically, depending on my energy level. So, after this chapter, I will take a long rest before starting the next series.

Secondly, I'd like to thank everyone for the kudos and comments on AO3 and on my Tumblr and those who left best wishes in my inbox. I appreciate them all from the bottom of my heart. Though I haven't replied individually, please know I enjoy reading them and look forward to what you have to say.

Thirdly, as you may have gathered, this is the final chapter of this series. There will be a third series. When? I have no time frame yet as I will need time to recuperate. If you wish to be updated, you can always subscribe to the WONDERWALL series by clicking here. Or follow me on my Tumblr site here.

Lastly, I hope you've enjoyed this last chapter. It's the longest chapter I've ever written, with 11560 words. If this update is all over the place, I blame it on my bad days. I personally think it's alright, but I can never be sure. I believe my reaction to the vaccination has dulled me a bit. So, thank you all from the bottom of my heart: for your continued interest, readership, kudos and comments. I look forward to reading your remarks and constructive criticism on this latest update. Kudos to you all, my friends, and be safe. Keep the positive vibe rolling. Much love. X

PS I will compile a Masterlist for WONDERWALL and post it on my Tumblr site, either tomorrow or in the next few days, depending on how I feel.

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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