#it was the candle's flame by which the stories that soothed them and so many others of all ages were penned by

[coconuthorses]

Hmmmmm. I think I'm going to have to say candlelight for you, Sarah!

[bratkook]

tied up. (m) jjk.

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship word count. 6k of just filth <3 warnings. light bondage, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, spanking, begging, sweet dirty talk, cum play/stuffing, oc tries to be in control hehe summary. jungkook would do absolutely anything you asked. which is how he found himself on his back, arms tied up above his head, with you perched on his lap and a look on your face that meant trouble. note. little valentine’s day special for deep six!couple (it’s a pwp so no need to read the original story) i hope you enjoy it, lmk what you think ❣️

Never in a million years did Jungkook expect to be in this position. He’s a tough man, always clad in leather and thick rings, covered in dark tattoos, riding around on a loud bike with his club patch adorning his back. 

Yet here he was, laying on his back with his arms above his head, while your cute self sat perched on his hips, eyes sparkling and a giddy smile on your red coated lips. All because he was so inexplicably weak for you. 

“This is what you want?” Jungkook questions for the first time in the span of ten minutes. 

When he arrived home earlier, hands holding a giant plush teddy bear with a bouquet of sunflowers and baby’s breath between it’s paws, his attention was momentarily on the two dogs at his feet yapping for him to acknowledge. Jungkook had been too focused on petting the tiny furballs to notice you weren’t in the room, but when the usual feeling of your hands sliding around him in greeting was missing, he stood back up with a look of confusion. 

It wasn’t until he wandered further into the house, following a small trail of rose petals that lead from the front door all the way to the bedroom, that he finally spotted you. Sitting on the center of the bed in the dimly lit room, a few candles scattered on the dresser and nightstands, flames dancing and illuminating the scene in a warm glow, casting your form in a golden hue that left you looking unreal.

A silk ribbon lingerie set that matched your lipstick hugged your curves, tied up bows covering your nipples, completed by a matching garter belt hugging your waist with gold detailed chains dangling down to your thighs. It was as if you had taken a screenshot of Jungkook’s deepest desires and brought them to life, placed right in front of him, positioned perfectly in order to pull him in.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you had murmured so sweetly, hands placed delicately over your thighs with your legs tucked under your butt, slowly beckoning him over when he had stood in a state of shock at the door. 

It didn’t take much to get Jungkook wired when it came to you, but seeing you covered in silk ribbons, looking like the perfect present he wanted to unwrap, made his mind blank. It’s that same horndog dazed look on his face that you knew so well, roping him in with your tender kisses and roaming hands, marking his skin in shades of red in a trail from his neck to his ear. This is not entirely how he thought the night would go, his earlier plans blanking from his mind, the teddy bear he held now placed on the nightstand while you lured him in.

“I wanna try something,” you had suggested, soft breath tickling his skin and turning him into a puddle at your feet. 

“Anything.” Jungkook meant it, always willing to do whatever you wanted with unmatched enthusiasm. So when you brought out a jute rope and used your sultry voice to ease him onto his back, slowly undressing him until his top half was bare, he could feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest. 

The question he had asked minutes prior continues to hang in the air as you loop the rope under a final time and pull the bight through, pulling tight to lock the knot in and tugging gently to double check that it wasn’t pinching his skin. The red rope compliments his skin, the double-column tie keeping his hands snug against the bed frame in the perfect position. 

“This is what I want,” you confirm, fingers trailing from his bound wrists, down the veins that covered his arms, and the black ink that painted his skin. Jungkook felt a trail of fire that followed your touch, burning his skin with molten pleasure while you continued down onto his chest, fingertips feeling the bumps of the golden chain he always wore with your initial on it. You admire it for a brief moment, loving the way it glimmers on his chest before your hands continue their path, sliding down until you reach his sides, hands cupped over his ribs and feeling the racing of his heart. 

“Nervous?” you tease, teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your thumb gently soothing his skin. You had half the mind to be a brat and tickle him, knowing he had no way to swat you away like he always did now that his hands were tied to the bed frame, but you could see the small shivers racking his body from being in this position. Jungkook was horny, and a little intimidated by you. 

“You make me nervous. Always look so pretty,” he trails off softly, eyes glazed over as he observes you. There would never be a time where Jungkook wouldn’t stare at you like you were the reason the sun came up every morning, your scattered kisses mimicking the constellations you swore he placed in the sky. Everything on this earth reminded him of you and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“Yeah, you like this?” you wonder, hands coming up to trace along the straps of your lingerie with a knowing smile. He takes another minute to admire the silk fabric, eyes focused on the caged bralette hugging your boobs, ends of the ribbon covering your nipples and bouncing when you lean back to give him a better view. The matching underwear with a tiny heart cut out of the front was the cherry on top, silky material felt along his skin from your position. “I bought it just for you.”

A small groan escapes him, tongue coming out to swipe at his piercing before he’s biting down on the soft flesh. Jungkook loved you in absolutely anything you wore, but knowing you had gone out of your way to pick this out had him wondering just how many other options you had hidden away. He’d definitely be bringing that up once he wasn’t focused on the sweet sound of your voice.

“That makes me feel special.” His hands move to touch you, so accustomed to gripping your hips whenever you’re on top of him, he forgets he’s currently restrained until the bed frame rattles and a small burn is felt around his wrists. A wince reaches your ear before he’s relaxing once more, briefly looking up to remind himself that he was tied up before looking back at you with those doe eyes that always swoon you, just now understanding what a compromising position he’s in.

“Nuh uh,” you tsk, wagging a finger at him playfully. “You can’t use your hands today.”

Jungkook honestly didn’t think this through before accepting, not realizing just how much he loved to grope and hold on to you at all times. “What's your plan? Tie me up and use me until you’re satisfied? Because that sounds like one of my fantasies.”

A sly smirk curls your lips, eyes clouding with lust, and it makes his stomach flip. He knew you meant trouble whenever you had that look on your face, and the current situation leaves him a little wary—and excited—for what you have planned. 

“Should I blind fold you too then?”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you, a small frown turning down his lips, clearly displeased with the suggestion. “Alright, that's taking it too far. You know I love staring at you, baby.” 

Jungkook slowly ruts his hips up, cool belt buckle felt along your clothed core, pushing against you when he repeats the motion once more. It makes you shiver while you lean forward, resting more of your weight against him and seeing the teasing grin on his face. Tie him up all you want, he’d even let you contort him into a pretzel if that's what you were into, but blindfolding him and preventing him from seeing the pretty faces you make as you moan over his cock? That was sick torture. 

Thankfully you weren’t totally cynical, agreeing that Jungkook bound to the bed frame with his muscular arms held up was more than enough. “I’m just teasing, Guk. You look good like this though.”

Wiggling a perfectly shaped brow at you, he already feels his cock hardening underneath you, the small ruts of your hips joining his only spurring him on further until he’s aching in his jeans. “C’mon, do whatever you want to me baby.”

Jungkook holds his breath when you lift your hand up, slowly reaching across to tuck a strand of his long hair behind his ear, thumb gently tracing the tiny scar marking his skin with a smile on your face. 

“I will,” you whisper with mischief in your eyes as you shuffle off his lap, nimble fingers undoing his belt clasp with ease, enjoying the way his stomach tenses with anticipation while you unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. His impatience shows when he lifts his hips, eager to have you yanking the denim from his thick thighs, not satisfied until you’re tossing the material aside, landing in a heap right beside his leather jacket on the floor. 

The black briefs he has on do a good job showcasing his growing bulge, slowly tenting the fabric when you gently trace your finger along his thighs, following the bold lines of ink on his skin. Almost like a ritual, you place a soft kiss to the double-headed wolf shaded in black before your fingertips dip beneath the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down his hips smoothly. 

Jungkook audibly groans at being released, hard cock bobbing in the air slightly with small beads of precum collecting at his tip, already hard and heavy just from looking at you. The prettiest veins line the underneath of it, guiding your eyes all the way up until you reach the pink mushroom head, just waiting to find its way into your mouth. 

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you marvel, pulling his underwear down all the way and letting it join his pile of clothes on the floor. He lay completely naked now, chiseled body out in the open for you to drool over, and he’s not opposed to it. The fiery look in your eyes while you trailed your gaze over every inch of him only made him squirm, desperate for you to touch him, to show him just why you wanted to have him tied up. 

“Show me how much you love it,” he rasps, teeth sinking down on his lip when you stare up at him, slowly lowering yourself until he could feel your breath hitting his skin. Your eyes are trained to detect any of his movements, from the bob in his throat when he swallows as you wrap your hands around his cock, to the tensing of his thighs when you place a teasing kiss to his swollen tip, taking note of his reactions to your touch.

A shuddering breath escapes him at the contact, once again forgetting about his limited range of motion when he goes to touch you and the headboard shakes behind him. It makes his wrists sting as the rope rubs against his skin in the same spot from before, but he couldn’t help it. The way you’re kneeling between his legs, back arched while you lean forward with your ass jutting into the air, he just wants to reach forward and give it a good smack like he always does.  

You know Jungkook inside and out, so as much as he was trying to act like he was okay with not being in control, you can tell he’s edging closer to becoming a desperate, frustrated mess underneath you. The small whine he releases when he settles his arms back into place shows you that much, and another glance up at him allows you to see the tiny grimace painting his features now, brows pinched together while you continue to tease him. 

“Wanna hear you beg for it,” you sigh, loosely pumping him in your hand, hovering your mouth above him when you stick your tongue out and let a thick trail of spit drip onto his cock. Jungkook hisses slightly at the visual, eyes focused on the way your spit mixes with his precum as you swipe your thumb along his slit. 

“Baby,” he whines, rutting his hips up and frowning when you inch back to prevent his cock from nudging your lips. The wicked smile on your cherry coated lips sends his mind spinning, fingers clenching in his palm when you tilt your head at him innocently. 

“Beg Jungkook. Wanna hear you.”

Your hands tighten around him, making his thighs tense as his hips rut up once more. “Fuck,” he cries out, raspy and desperate. “Please baby, make me feel good. Ah, just wanna feel your mouth please—“

His rambling gets stuck in his throat when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, gently flicking your tongue against him and having the salty taste of his precum fill your senses. Jungkook’s chest heaves when you hum around him, red lips circling his length as you slowly sink down, the warm wetness of your mouth making his blood simmer. 

The weight of his cock on your tongue has you mewling, eyes fluttering shut when you take him an inch further, gently hollowing your cheeks to suck in time with your hand. Jungkook can’t form a coherent thought now, focusing on the messy way you suck his cock, leaving it nice and shiny each time you pull back. Strings of spit drip down his length and gather around your palm, the wet thump of your hand coming down mixing in with the obscene slurps of your mouth.

“I like you like this,” you breathe as you pop off his dick, hands gliding across his length with the help of your saliva. It’s a torturous rhythm you have going, knowing exactly what to do to make Jungkook writhe around, applying just the right pressure, focusing on all the parts that you know would drive him crazy. 

“Yeah?” he manages to speak, arms flexing in their restraints when you lick a stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around his pink tip with a smile on your lips. 

“Mhm, you sound pretty when you beg.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re lucky I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you hum, the familiar warmth filling your chest at his confession just as strongly as it did when he first said it. Although he’s being playful you know how deep his words go, you can tell by the look in his eye, and if that wasn’t enough then the mere fact that he was allowing you to tie him up said it all. 

“How much more do I have to beg to get you to sink onto my cock?” The muscles in his neck tense when he throws his head back, gasping as you take him back into your mouth, sliding further down than before. His stomach hiccups once his cock nudges the back of your throat, muscle tightening around his length when you gag slightly at the feeling. Jungkook’s lungs forget how to function at the sight, your red lips pulled taut around his girth as you slurp back up only to repeat the motion again and again until he’s tensing underneath you, stomach caving in each time he hits the back of your throat. 

The breathy whine that spills past his lips has your underwear dampening with arousal, thighs rubbing together when you lift off of him once more, feeling the lust growing inside of you with each moan he releases. Very rarely did you ever get to see Jungkook like this, pleading for you to make him feel good, nights like that typically reserved for the days where he was exhausted from the club, easily becoming a needy mess in search of a stress reliever. But this version of him was new, and you wanted to savor it a little longer.

“Beg a little more for me, yeah?” Your eyes sparkle while you speak, sitting back up between his legs. His cock is left alone when you bring your fingers to the sides of your underwear, gently tugging at the knotted silk on each side to undo the garment, allowing you to slip them off while keeping the golden garter chain attached. 

Once Jungkook gets the view of your glistening folds, he doesn’t need you to ask twice. Instantly, he’s pleading to feel the warmth of your pussy around him, begging to see the look on your face once you sunk onto him, needing to hear the wet sound of his cock slipping into you. “P-please, wanna see my pretty baby use me. Wanna—fuck—wanna feel you cum around me.”

The soft skin of your thighs rub against his when you reposition yourself, straddling his lap with your pussy hovering a few inches above his length, and Jungkook can’t look away once you slowly lower yourself onto him. His lips press together at the sensation, the wetness coating your folds helping you grind against his cock, lower lips parting around it as you rock forward. It’s a teasing motion that tortures the both of you, the head of his cock just barely nudging against your clit each time, but it’s enough to have him groaning.

“Baby,” he whines again, jaw dropping open, brows furrowed together as his eyes move from the spot between your thighs, looking directly at you and seeing the sinfully evil smile you have on. The weight of you on him, keeping his cock pressed against his stomach while you grind against him, has a pool of precum gathering below his belly button, leaving a sticky mess on his warm skin.

“You wanna feel me?” you tease, letting your hands rest on his chest, tracing the skulls marking his skin and gasping when he ruts up in time with you. Your nails lightly dig into him when his cock rubs against your swollen clit with precision, biting down on your lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

“Please, let me feel you,” he whispers breathlessly, mind hazy with lust, skin tingling with each roll of your hips. You let his pleading go unanswered for a minute, enjoying the way his abs clench in time with your hips, smiling when his arms yank at the restraints in his dazed state, small moans leaving his swollen lips while he stares at you.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you smirk, bending forward to place a tender kiss to the edge of his lips, pulling back for a second as he chases your mouth before appeasing him and allowing your lips to meet in a heated kiss. Jungkook gasps into your mouth when your tongue slips past the seam of his lips, tangling with his while you reach between your bodies and grab his cock.

A slight raise from your hips allows you to lead him to your entrance, bulbous head prodding the tight ring of muscles, slowly breaching through in a familiar stretch. It didn’t matter how often Jungkook felt the warmth of your walls, his reaction was the same every time, moaning unabashedly into your mouth, the glide of your walls against his cock leaving him breathless. He’s patient as you ease onto him, continuing to kiss you, swallowing each other’s moans and pants until he bottoms out once you’re fully settled on top of him.

The full feeling of Jungkook’s cock would never fail to make you weak, curving just right inside of you, nudging the perfect spots like it was meant to be there. Your palms on his chest let you feel each rise and fall of his lungs, skin slightly sweaty to the touch, heart racing even faster than before. The wet smack of your lips separating fills the brief silence, faces inches from each other and the half lidded gaze Jungkook gives you makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

“You always feel so good,” you keen, lifting up slightly before sinking back down, becoming more fluid as you get used to his size. His body trembles slightly underneath you, rugged pants felt against your face when he groans at the feeling of your velvety walls wrapping around him beautifully. 

“Don’t tease me,” he sighs, arms flexing and mind going foggy from the slow pace. The pretty pout on his lips when he whines makes it all worth it though, lets you relish in the small sense of control he’s given you. 

You give in to him though, knowing just how bad he wanted this, allowing you to do what you pleased to him, and the least you could do was give him what he wanted too. With a soft smile, you’re bending forward and placing a kiss to the golden chain, not feeling the way his heart skips a beat as he stares at you, the warm light of the room casting you in an angelic glow that only made him fall for you further. 

“Sorry,” you giggle, grabbing his chin before you kiss him, sweet and tender as if you didn’t have him bound to the bed frame. Jungkook can’t even make light of it all, a choked moan of your name reaching your ears when you pick up the pace of your hips, skin slapping together each time you come back down. 

His hooded gaze meets yours, locked onto your every move: the bounce of your breasts while you ride him, still caged behind that bralette he couldn’t rip off with his hands, thighs tensing with the rise and fall of your hips, pussy sucking him in each time, arousal dripping down his length and staining the sheets below you.

“Fuck baby, just like that.” The husky drawl to his voice ignites a small fire within you, hot desire building inside you. The euphoric feeling spreads to every limb on your body, the thickness of his cock spreading you apart deliciously, taking over your rational thinking the way it always did, leaving you drunk off his cock as you succumb to the feeling of it all. 

He smirks lightly when you quiver above him, core tightening each time the head of his cock nudges deep inside you, rubbing along the sweet bundle of nerves he knew all too well. Your hips continue to lead you back to that same spot, cursing each time the jolt of pleasure courses through you. A trembling moan blends in with the sounds around you, walls tightening around his cock when you lift up, resting more weight on his chest when you lean forward for leverage. The angled position has your clit brushing against his pelvis, delicious friction that makes your orgasm creep up on you. 

“Fuck Guk,” you whimper above him with your eyes fluttering closed, missing the awed look he gives you, how his eyes trace the arch of your brows when you pull them together, following the curve of your mouth pushed into a pout with lips coated in a sheen of your saliva—something he desperately wants to feel against his own lips. Jungkook doesn’t fail to see how the table has turned, how easily you’ve become the whiny mess you were so determined to have him be. He loves it like this though, loves to see you shuddering with ecstasy, all because of him. 

“You gonna cum?” he wonders, voice thick and dripping with want. No longer passive, his thighs tense as he starts to fuck up into you, chuckling when you lean fully over him, allowing him to do more of the work once you start to lose momentum. A strained moan is your only response, cheek pressing into his chest as he pistons his hips into you, the lewd sound of your skin slapping together louder than before. Jungkook smiles down at you, seeing the way your body rocks in time with his thrusts, mouth dropping open while you drool over his cock. 

“C-close,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, half moon indents blending in with his chest piece while you try to find your bearings. With a bit of struggle, you lift your head once more, eyes glazed over with lust and you frown at him. “This was s-supposed to be about you.”

His hips speed up now, fingers itching to reach forward and cup your jaw, wanting to bring you closer to kiss the frown from your face. “This is about me. Love seeing you like this.” Jungkook groans as you get impossibly tighter around him. “Cum for me baby, please.”

His begging is what pushes you over the edge, wet gasp sticking to your throat once your climax washes over, incoherent mumbles of his name sounding like music to his ears. Your body trembles above him as your juices soak his cock, slurred curses spoken into the air while another gush of wetness escapes you, leaving his thighs wet with remnants of your orgasm. 

“My pretty baby,” he coos, continuing to rut into you as you whimper, sensitive walls pulsing around him, sending light sparks of overstimulation through you. “Let my arms go angel, wanna make you feel special too.”

Still drunk off your high and vision spotty, you weakly nod, fingers slowly undoing the knot you made until his hands are finally free.

In a flash, he’s pushing you back onto the bed, messy cock slipping out of you in the process. Once his large hands are gripping your skin, everything feels right with the world, soft flesh between his fingers when he grabs your ass as he flips you over, exactly where they belonged. 

Jungkook takes his time, allowing his palms to roam your skin, acting as if he hadn’t been in this exact position last night. He traces over the golden chains along your thighs, admiring them like you had admired the chain on his chest, following them to your waist, up your back until he’s unclasping your bra and finally discarding it to the side. 

The sudden movement has you dazed, not even realizing when he had pushed you onto your knees with your hands holding you steady. The soft material of the sheets is felt beneath you, fingers gripping them while you whimper in anticipation.  

“You had your fun baby,” he sighs, fisting his cock and leading it back towards your drenched entrance. “Let me have mine.”

“Jungkook,” you mewl, arching your back further for him. His palm soothes your skin once he gently sinks back into you with a wet squelch, both hands now gripping your hips when he starts the quick pace you were both accustomed to. Your thighs spread further apart for him, keening when he sinks deeper into you, fisting the sheets as he filled you up. 

Jungkook is focused on the view of his cock stretching you open, how you’re creaming it each time he pulls back out, more of your arousal coating your thighs in a sinful mess. “Love this view,” he groans, one of his hands rearing back to deliver a rough smack against your ass, smirking when the flesh jiggles from the force. The sting spreads to your core, makes you squeal in surprise as your skin smarts and tingles, warmth intensifying when he swiftly delivers two more smacks to the same spot. “Love you.”

The sweet confession makes your walls tighten, a small cry released into his sheets as you rut back into him, meeting his thrusts in time with your own in a messy rhythm. “Love you too, so much—fuck.”

“Do you?” he jests, leaning over your body until his golden chain dangles against your shoulder, free hand clasping over yours and digging into the mattress. “Is that why you wanted to tie me up?”

A playful laugh escapes you, turning into a filthy gasp when he speeds up his thrusts, thighs smacking against yours, bed creaking under the movement. “Yes,” is all you can choke out, shivering at the ticklish feeling of his chain rocking along your skin. 

“You gonna let me tie you up next time and do whatever I want to you?”

“God, yes. Whatever you want Jungkook.” He huffs out a laugh, knowing you mean it, knowing you would indulge every one of his desires with no questions asked. You were his match made in heaven, aligning perfectly with every one of his wants and needs, and he’d forever wonder how he got lucky enough to have you enter his life. 

His right hand reaches for your face, cupping your jaw and turning you to face him, lips meeting yours in a frenzy. His fingers dig into your cheek, tongue slipping into your mouth with a shared moan, hips never losing their momentum. It leaves you in a haze, sighing into the kiss when his tongue tickles the roof of your mouth. 

“Wanna fill you up,” he whispers between smacks of your lips, letting his tongue trail against the seam of your lips before kissing you again. “Leave you nice and messy.”

“Please,” you pant, jaw slack when he angles his hips, cock hitting your gspot with precision, your sensitive walls spasming around him. “H-harder.”

“Whatever you want baby,” he murmurs, giving you another kiss before straightening up, both hands tightly gripping your hips while he gives you the rough pace you asked for. Your upper body gives out on you, face burying into the sheets as your senses overflow with him, body jostling forward with each snap of his hips, nipples grazing the sheet beneath you and making you mewl.

The sweet moans of your name he lets out, fingers burning your skin as he holds on to you, cock filling you up perfectly, it's all you can think about. And when he sneaks a hand around your body, fingers meeting your sensitive clit, you nearly shriek at the stimulation. 

Jungkook feels his own climax creeping up his spine, giving your ass another slap and groaning when you tighten around him. Your thighs tremble against his, hands yanking the sheets while you melt into his touch, moans getting breathier with each flick of his fingers. The pressure builds in your core, whole body tensing up when your second orgasm of the night makes itself known. 

“Guk.” It’s a guttural moan, needy and drawn-out, your hand mindlessly reaching behind you in search for his. He grabs it instantly, lacing your fingers together and anchoring you to him as your mind starts to float, continuing to circle along your clit with his hips never slowing down their intoxicating pace. 

With a final flick against your bundle of nerves, you’re pushed over the edge once more, falling head first into your orgasm so fast it shocks you. Your eyes slip shut, flashes of light displayed against your lids, goosebumps flaring across your skin while the white-hot pleasure consumes you. 

Jungkook curses at your walls sucking him in, attempting to milk his orgasm out of him as he continued to fuck you through it. Your hand grips his tightly, soft mewls filling the air while your body twitches and shudders, breath hiccuping as you come down, knees barely able to hold yourself up. His strong hold keeps you steady, golden chains around your messy thighs swinging from the force of his thrusts. 

“Shit baby,” he grunts, thrusting into you in quick bursts, desperate to feel his release. Your thumb gently rubs along his palm, quiet pleas begging him to fill you up, wanting to feel his cum drip out of you the way you loved. Jungkook’s hips lose their rhythm, fucking you with urgency, jaw clenched tightly when the familiar feeling overtakes him. With a few shallow thrusts and another quiet proclamation of love, he’s pushing deeper into you as he cums, warm bursts of white painting your walls, filling you up until it drips out of you around his length. 

The harsh breaths of both of you fill the now silent room, the thrumming of your heart felt in your ears as everything settles around you. Your limbs feel sore already, ass aching from where he delivered the harsh slaps, but the dopey smile on your face shows no complaints. 

You’re the first to move, gently prying your hands apart and allowing him to slide out of you. The slight gush of his cum escaping only makes you squirm, more so when his fingers stuff it back into you with a chuckle. He can’t look away though, focused on the thick globs of cum coating your folds, disappearing once more as he fills you up again. When you whine in protest he slips his fingers back out, smiling sweetly before he peppers kisses onto your back.

“I’m just trying to prevent the sheets from staining.” 

“Yeah right,” you snort, flipping over onto your back and smiling up at him. These sheets were as good as ruined, they typically were whenever you two decided to roll around and make a mess. “You’re trying to knock me up aren’t you?”

He only rolls his eyes while he crawls over you, long hair framing his face while he gives you his boyish smile. “Maybe,” he shrugs, placing a tender kiss to your lips before kissing the tip of your nose. 

When he pulls back, you let your hands cup his face, taking a good moment to admire your boyfriend, tracing every one of his features that you had memorize, your favorite being the slope of his nose leading to the curve of his lips, second favorite being the tiny mole below his mouth that you loved to kiss. Jungkook always let you take as long as you wanted, staring down at you with glimmering eyes and a sweet smile, taking his own moment to admire you as well. 

“Did you even notice the gift I brought you?” he questions lightly, eyes looking over to the teddy bear and bouquet of flowers. Your head cranes back to see what he was talking about, letting out a delighted gasp when you spot it. He snickers when you twist around on the bed, scrambling over to grab the cute gift in your hands, sniffing the flowers once you do. 

“I love them,” you beam, fondly staring down at the plush toy with the sewn on heart, both your initials embroidered onto it. “Sorry I ambushed you earlier.”

Jungkook grabs a pair of his sweats from his drawers, slipping them on before handing you one of his shirts once he stands beside you. He didn’t mind his own plans for the night being slightly derailed if it lead to this. “Ambush me all you want,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just remember, you told me I could do whatever I want next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” His playful laugh fills the air when your elbow digs into his side, making him squirm, arms refusing to let go of you despite your attack. He only loosens his grip when you turn around, hands falling around your waist as your own hands settle around his shoulders. 

“Happy Valentine’s day. I love you.” His smile is wide as he looks down at you, cheeks pushing out in a way that keeps his innocence and makes you want to pinch them until they’re pink and he’s giggling for you to stop.

“I love you more,” you breathe out with a matching smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He sighs into it, letting himself melt into the slow motion, hands bringing you closer to him as he deepens it. But before it could go any further, a yap and a few scratches to the door pull you apart. 

“You sure you want kids?” you joke when he walks over to open the door, the two dogs rushing into the room for attention, stretching out their legs onto you as their tails wag. 

Jungkook settles onto the floor, allowing the youngest dog to climb onto his lap, standing up to lick at his jaw. “If it's with you, I want twelve.”

You can’t hold back the loud laugh you let out and he joins in, turning to stare at you when you playfully nudge his shoulder with your foot. “Keep dreaming Six. You know you’re not ready to give up your bike just yet.”

He knew this, perfectly content with the two dogs you currently had, only enjoying teasing you with the ridiculous number of kids and dogs he suggested. But Jungkook also knew that when the time was right, things would fall into place. And as he stares at the room, seeing an abundance of photographs of the two of you, newer photos showing the puppies you had adopted, there's only one thing he’s certain about: as long as he's with you, nothing else matters.

[amr-hossameldin]

The Light Shines in the Darkness

'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.' - John 1:5    I recently came across this excerpt and couldn't help but smile. I pictured a small candle with a flickering flame, swaying. It dims and glows, and ebbs and flows. But just as sure as the blood runs in your veins, it shines. The candle is in a pitch-black space. It is so dark you would not see your hand if it was right in front of your face. The further away you go, the greater the darkness, and the smaller the flame. On and on till the faint glow becomes indistinguishable from a star in the night sky.    The tiny flame is alone facing the huge, engulfing, and heavy darkness. It alone shoulders the hopelessness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

   I thought about how some people are just like the candle, shining and flickering in the darkness. It reminded me of an episode of Sarde, a Lebanese podcast, with Omar Alshogre, a Syrian who was imprisoned at fifteen in Assad's prisons. He was relentlessly tortured, physically and psychologically. He witnessed the horrific deaths of all his friend, some of which died in his arms. What he described is enough to break any man, as it did many who died out of fear. Yes, just pure fear with no physical torture. Yet, you wouldn’t be able to tell from his face that he was describing one of the most terrifying human experiences. His face was glowing, and the smile never left it. He kept on smiling, even in hopeless darkness of prison. He talked about how this smile was the last thing he had. How it was the last thing he had to inspire his fellow inmates. He talked about his friend who used to hold this ‘smile mantle’ before him, and how he decided to play this role after his death so that he lives on through him. I can't imagine the resilience, the unbreakable will, and the strength it takes to be able to smile in the face of all that horror. In the interview, he said that going to prison was the best thing that happened to him, because now he has a story that enables him to help others and have an impact. He says he was lucky to be in such an environment to help him be strong, and that he’s not special and anyone could achieve this with the right help. He gives credit to his friends for making him the person he is today. He also still has the capacity to think of other people's struggles and not belittle their pain or suffering compared to his own. Such selflessness, such kindness, and such light.

   Equally inspiring is the light that Israa, wife to the late Mohamed Abo-Elgheit, represented in his life (something I talked about more in review of his book(https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5186348697?book_show_action=false)). She took care of him through sickness and health. She inspired him to hold on to dear life through the horrors of cancer. He dedicated his book to her saying: ‘ To who lit up my life; so I borrowed from her light to show me the way, mercy to sooth my pains, and kindness to house my soul…Israa’.

   You never forget such people; you carry them with you. Their influence flows through you to others as well. On and on through the darkness of night and darkness of day. On and on till the end of time their light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.  Such light is as real as sunlight, if not more so.

“I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright

I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright

Blinded by the light that’s inside

Blinded by the light that’s inside you.”

Untouchable, Pt.2 - Anathema

[babbushka]

These Wounds Which Need Not Heal

Triplet!Kylo x Reader ; Triplet!Ben x Reader ; Triplet!Matt x Reader 

A Vampire AU

5.5k ; Content Warnings: General vampiric activity, graphic depictions of blood (bathing in blood, having sex in blood, drinking blood), NSFW (Foursome [F/M/M/M], double penetration/double vaginal penetration, PIV, fingering, masturbation, dirty talk)

Available on AO3!

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

Rain, heavy and cold.

It slams against the windows of wrought iron and stained glass, the windows of your rooms as you settle in for the night. Aches and pains in your wrists and knees throb, and you look forward to the thought of a long soak in your private tub which you have been so graciously awarded. The bed is screaming your name, and you yearn to rest your weary head – until you reach for the candlestick you leave on your nightstand, and you find it is not there.  

You freeze, for you know at once that something is wrong.

Someone has been here. Someone has touched your things. The rivulets of rain on the window cast shadows onto the floor behind the light of the moon. She is large and low in the sky, a rich red that glows sinister and deep, and you are reminded that tonight is Hallow’s Eve.

In the distance, wolves howl one by one, and you swallow hard.

The candlestick finds itself on the wrong nightstand, after a moment or two of searching in the dark. You strike a match by the heel of your shoe and cup the flame gently as it licks up the wax which burns, softly illuminating the room.

Thunder crashes and were this castle not a thousand years old, surely the sound would have shaken the foundation, lightning pealing across the sky. You cannot sleep now, you cannot think of such a thing, when this newest mystery fills you with dread.

You need to speak to him, to your boss. For the first time since you arrived at this castle, you would have to come face to face with him and hope he does not think you so insubordinate for the act.

Glad that you had not yet undressed, you take your candlestick and make your way down through the halls of this drafty castle, on the search for the Lord of the manor with whom you might address.

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

He had said his name was Matthias.

An old fashioned name for an old fashioned man, it would seem, if his clothing and demeanor were to give anything away. Matthias was kind, his blonde hair curling around handsome cheeks, a bespectacled smile offering you good morrow that fateful day. You met him just one week ago, one week to the day on this evening. He had been the one to give you the job, to bring you to the castle where now you live.

There had been rumors, about the castle. They say the place is haunted, brimming with frights which terrorize the town, with shadows that cling to the cobblestone streets, with evil lurking behind false doors. Every time you went to town, the elders warned you vehemently. But ghost stories do not frighten you, for they cannot be real, and when Matthias offered you a more than generous salary for the position, you were eager to accept.

He is lonely, Matthias.

They all are.

In the week you had lived here, you had learned that much. The man rarely left the house, in fact, other than that day in town, you’ve never seen him step foot off the property. Lonely yet not alone, for he had two brothers, Benji and Kylo – the three of them a matching set, although wildly different all the same. You rarely saw them, for they had secret matters to tend to, and they were always kept so busy tending to them. However, on the occasions that you did have to observe them, they could not have been more different.

Matthias is a man of the book, and spends much of his time poured over his Torah in the temple which faces the south of the property. He gardens, and he paints; grand oils which he has hung up on the stone walls. You dust their frames, and as such you’ve become acquainted well with them. There is one oil in particular which you are most fond of, for you think it looks like you, although you know that that cannot be.

Benji is a man of sport, raucous and filled with a chaos about him as he rides his black stallion around the grounds. On one occasion he had ridden the beast through the great hall itself, and if you listen carefully, sometimes you think you can hear the echoes of the neighing as it hides up in the rafters.

And Kylo…well. You did not know what Kylo does, what he likes. Of all the brothers, you have seen Kylo the least.

You had no inkling of an idea how they lived in this place, this lavish and ancient castle on the hill. You had no idea where they earned their money which they use to pay you so handsomely, unless it was by living off the land as so many Lords have done throughout time.

But the time of Lords was coming to an end, this you knew.

Still, no one ever went in, and no one ever went out.

At least, none that you saw.

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

You walk through the halls, your heels on the stone and marble flooring alerting any to your approach. Matthias would not have done this. He would not have crept through the castle in the middle of the night, would not have gone through your things. And someone had most definitely gone through your things – as head maid you kept your rooms orderly, nothing out of place.

“It’s late.” A voice sneaks up behind you, and you whirl around with wide eyes, searching for him in the dark.

He does not make it easy to see him, standing in the shadows the way he does. You hold the candlestick out, and the glow casts a circle onto the floor which he carefully steps into revealing himself to be the very same man you had just been thinking about.

“Lord Organa!” You curtsy at once, worried that perhaps you had wandered down a wrong corridor and into his private chambers. “Please forgive me, I did not mean to trespass.”

“There is no cause for alarm, Miss (Y/N). This castle is your home too now, is it not? There is nowhere you could go that would be out of bounds.” He cocks his head and regards you with interest, and when he speaks, his voice is warm.

You have never heard him speak, not in the whole week you’ve been here.

“Someone has been in my room.” You announce, apropos of nothing.

“I know.” He nods with grave seriousness. “It was me.”

The admission creates more of a mystery than it solves, and you wait a while to see if he has anything further to say. The two of you stand there in the middle of the hall, candles flickering on sconces on the wall, as rain comes down in sheets against the window.

He’s handsome, you’ve always thought so, have always thought them all handsome. Proud noses and plush lips, calculating eyes and ramrod straight posture which brings them to a towering height. Kylo’s hair is the longest out of the three of them, oft tied back with a silk ribbon to keep out of his face. There is no ribbon now, and his dark waves cascade beautifully onto his shoulders.

“Lord Organa, I don’t understand, was there something you needed?” You clear your throat gently, his beauty doing nothing to assuage the confusion you now feel.

“You, Miss (Y/N), I wanted you.” Kylo says, and you frown, more confused than ever.

“I don’t understand.” Shaking your head, Kylo comes closer closer closer, stepping towards you, crowding your space. There is the urge to step away, but you ignore it. He is fascinating, this man, and you know so little about him, you do not want to pass up the opportunity to learn more.

“Have you been happy here? Have you enjoyed the castle, the work?” He whispers, eyeing your lips. It is a strange question, and you blink, not having expected it – not having expected any of this.

“Yes, although…” You keep your voice low as well.

Thunder cracks and lightning streaks and you do your best not to flinch. Kylo’s hands come up anyway, resting atop your arms to soothe you. His palms are cold, ice cold, and you take in a sharp breath at the feeling.

“Although?” He prompts, after a moment where you seem to be lost in his eyes.

“I worry that you are not happy with me, I never seem to catch you in good spirits. If there is something that I have done please tell me now so that I might correct it I – ”

“We are not angry, not at all.” He stops that train of thought in its tracks, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. Kylo’s chilled fingers carefully, ever so slowly, brush against your cheekbone, his eyes never leaving your lips. “Tonight is a special night for us, for me and my brothers. A very special night indeed. We are hoping that you might join us in the celebration.”

“I beg you to speak plainly.” Your eyes widen, heart beating harder in your chest.

A celebration? Tonight? Halloween rituals were a thing of ghost stories in the dark, were they not? The village…perhaps they had been telling the truth, those elders who eye this castle with such disdain. Perhaps they had been warning you all along, all your life.

Why had they warned you and you alone?

Kylo licks his lips and in the glow of the candlelight, he makes a daring move to lower his mouth against your pulse, places the barest hint of a kiss there. You wonder if he can feel it under his tongue, when it swipes a hot, thick stripe up your jugular.

“We’ve been watching you – I have been watching you for many moons. We believe you are the one we have searched a millennia for, the one who will bring us peace.” He murmurs against your skin, and when his other hand slides around your body and splays across your back, you nearly drop your candlestick in a strong desire to hold him. Especially when he hums, “The one who will bring us pleasure.”

Pleasure.

Pleasure.

Oh how you are familiar with such a thing – do they know? You feel dizzy at the thought, the thought that they might have heard you one night wailing into your pillow with your hand between your legs. Is that what this is about? Do they want to fuck you too? Kylo licks across your throat once more.

“This celebration, what does it entail?” You breathe, leaning into his touch, his embrace.

The most mysterious of the brothers, the most restrained, the most reserved, and here he is wrapped around you. It is your wildest dreams come true, feeling the hard length of his cock against your dress as it fills out in his linen trousers.

“A long bath…and an indulgence of the pleasures of flesh which we have been so long denied.” He guides your hand down to the line of his cock, and wish to pop open the buttons and drop to your knees, your knees which have gone weak in his presence.

“What will be expected of me?” You worry that you ask too many questions, but you are eager to know, you want it, want what you desperately hope he might be offering.

Kylo grins and kisses at your jaw, working his way up your throat to end at your lips.

“Nothing that you don’t want to give, this I promise you.” He speaks into your mouth, presses the words onto your tongue, words which you cannot hardly believe, “We have agreed we would like for you to join us, and stay with us here. If you should so desire that, wait until the bells chime three, and come to the master bath in the East Wing.”

You suck in a breath at the thought, at the promise. Three bells is only an hour away, and that seems like such a long and yet such a short time. Your mind is made up, you want to go with him now, you want it, you want him.

Kylo mistakes your silence for apprehension, you can tell by the way he pulls away and his brow furrows as he sighs.

“If not, it will be as if we never spoke of this.” Kylo’s hands leave your body, and you feel empty somehow, incomplete as he begins to step out of the light cast by the dying glow of your candlestick. “The decision is entirely yours, Miss (Y/N). But I do hope you’ll think carefully about which you choose.”

Out of the light, and into the dark, Kylo goes. Instinctively, you take a step forward, wanting to follow him, yet you do not hear anything, no footsteps in any direction to know how to find him.

The East Wing, one hour. This you could do, and for this you would be ready.

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

You realize now, why Kylo was in your room. You hadn’t noticed it before, too caught up in the way that things had been changed around, touched. A garment is folded atop your dresser, with a small card resting in the very center of the thing. Handwritten in red ink, the card reads a message which makes you sweat;

Wear this, and only this. Should you join us, we do not want you to ruin the clothes which we think you so beautiful in.

Eagerly, you pick up the garment and it unfolds and unfurls as you hold it up. In the light of the candles you see it is a robe, one which goes all the way to the floor, made of the thickest and softest velvet you had ever felt. Expensive, oh it must be so expensive, and very old, you think. You do not waste any more time, removing your clothing layer by layer as instructed.

Once naked, you admire your shape in the mirror. Running your hands up and down your body, you wonder what they will think of you, how they will take you. If this is to be messy, so messy that it would ruin your clothes, then surely you were in for a long night.

But they have decided, which means they have thought about it, which means they have craved you all in their own way. It is thrilling, knowing that when the bells toll, you will find out the true extent of that hunger. You are hungry too.

You put the robe on, admire how it fits you perfectly, how it wraps around your body just so.

All there was to do now, is wait.

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

The doors to the East Wing are grand, and heavy. It takes two servants to push aside each, and as such, they are rarely open. They are open now, open for you as you cross the threshold into the private chambers of the Lords of the house. Kylo had said there was to be a bath, and your joints are eager for it, they have been all night.

Doors are open for you, lit by dozens of candlesticks whose wax has dripped down for so long that you can barely see the stand through it. You follow the pathway the candles give you, not realizing, not noticing at all, that once you move past them they snuff themselves out.

There is a smell, before anything else. Copper in the back of your throat as your nose stings up high, right in the bridge. The air tastes salty as you near the sound of water running, and you wonder what they must have added to the bath for it to change the atmosphere of the room so much.

It does not take long to find out.

“You came!” Benji calls in delight, from across the bathroom.

They are there, all three of them, in the grand tub. It must have been custom made, for it looks more like that of a small pool than a tub. They are naked, you can only assume, can assume with the way they have asked you to be naked too, sitting chest deep in dark, thick, near-black liquid. It bubbles and boils and when Kylo raises his hand with a grin, you realize the liquid is not black at all.

It is red.

It is blood.

But what’s more disturbing, more harrowing, is that when Kylo grins at you, he grins with teeth which grow so long that they barely fit into his mouth, pointed fangs in his canines that glisten in the low light, glisten just for you.

With a shocked gasp, your hand flies up to your mouth, your throat. You can hear your heart hammering in between your ears, the pound pound pound of your pulse. It is that, that sound and how they purr for it with hands outstretched beckoning you to join them, that makes you realized the scope of who they are, what they are.

No, these were not mere men who stood before you and welcomed you into their home, these weren’t men at all.

“You’ve joined us!” Benji’s deep voice is loud with excitement, and you stare at his mouth as he grins too, stare at the fangs which he sports as well.

“You – you’re not human.” You blurt, blunt and dizzy. So dizzy, how could this be? How were they real?

Do you want to run?

No, you think for a moment, no you don’t. If anything, if you were to run at all, it would be towards them, not away. So you walk.

And as you walk, as you allow that velvet robe to slink off your arms and pool onto the cool marble tile of the bathroom, as you take the first hesitant steps into the tub filled with something far more sinister with water and they rejoice around you...you find that perhaps, you needn’t not be afraid.

“We won’t harm you, you have my word.” Matthias says, and that calms you, he’s always been so calming.

It is Kylo’s arms who claim you first, who wrap around you and pull you further into the tub. It is far deeper than you thought, but it must have been to accommodate these large men, these men who must be well over six heads tall. Kylo pulls you into the tub and you go, your legs straddling around his waist as he tucks his face against your neck and nuzzles his nose against your pulse just as he had in the hall.

“What do I do?” You automatically move to hold him, the blood warm and thick, inviting, enveloping you. It is opaque, you cannot see through it, cannot see anything at all, but you can feel the way they move in on you, feel how they grow ever closer. “What are you going to do to me?”

“You smell so beautiful, gorgeous girl, perfect girl, you’ve joined us.” Kylo murmurs, sounding as if he is over the moon. And maybe, for all you know, he is.

Matthias brushes your hair out of the way and his hands caress your back, smearing the blood onto your flesh, warming you. It must be fresh, and you are more impressed than you are afraid, when you think about how they must have gotten it.

“My darling, we’re going to have our fill of you.” Matthias says softly, sweetly, “If you’ll let us.”

“Let us, join us, please.” Benji’s voice rumbles quickly out of his chest, and you smile. It’s flattering, all of this is so flattering.

“Be quiet.” Kylo snaps at his brother, making the youngest scowl. Kylo pays him no mind, and sludges blood onto your cheeks when he cups your face so delicately in those big palms of his and asks, “Will you let us?”

You know what it is he’s asking.

What it is they’re all really asking.

“If I do this…do I get to be like you?” Your heart pounds pounds pounds, hoping, hoping beyond hope.

“Yes.” Matthias turns your chin so that you might look at him. You smile, fondness blooming in your chest for the way he still wears his glasses. He does not smile back, wanting to impart the finality of this act, the seriousness, when he continues, “For all eternity. There is no going back – once we start, there will never be a time where this is finished.”

“Then I ask again, what do I do?” You say.

They grin.

They move into a better position so that they all might take more advantage of the space of the tub. Kylo refuses to let go of your body. He lays back against the edge of the tub, and pulls you flush on top of him. His hair floats in a dark halo and you cannot help but thread your fingers through it. It doesn’t feel sticky, although it should, and you moan against his lips when he kisses you properly.

Kylo’s tongue is hot, so hot for someone with such cold hands. You taste the iron and copper in your mouth and realize he must have already begun to drink, must have started to lap up the sustenance around him before you had arrived. Something in you is strangely jealous, you had hoped that whatever tonight was going to be, it would be done together.

But you are here now, and Kylo kisses you so excellently, sucking and groaning softly at your bottom lip, the corner of your mouth, your teeth. Benji takes the opportunity to shift behind you, draping himself over your back while you make out with his brother. You drool into Kylo’s mouth and moan when you feel Ben’s fingers work themselves into you, stretching you, getting you open and pliant for what’s to come.

Kylo’s teeth are sharp, so sharp, that it leaves a hairline cut along your lip in its wake, enough to make you wince and hiss at the momentary pain. Your hips push back onto Ben’s hand, onto his fingers, pulling away from Kylo’s mouth just for a moment. It is good, it feels magnificent, those fingers are so thick, you can feel them plunging inside your pussy and widening, spreading spreading spreading you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I have dreamt of kissing you for a hundred years, it has burned behind my eyes.” Kylo says softly as he chases how you move, how you sit up to rock back onto Ben’s fingers. Kylo licks across the wound on your lip to soothe it, and that makes you moan as you think of the weight of the admission.

“The painting, is she me?” You have to know, you have to know if that smile which you have dusted so many times this week, is a smile that reflects back at you.

“Yes, oh smart girl, beautiful, yes she is you. She is you and I have so hoped you would notice, so hoped you would find out. She is you and you are here, here at last.” Kylo cannot wait any longer, and you do not want him to.

Benji holds you steady as you sink down onto Kylo’s cock. Ben’s hands grip either side of your hip and he immediately latches his mouth to your throat. You anticipate the bite, the searing pain – but none comes. No, he too merely kisses your shoulder, the junction where it becomes your neck, laving his tongue hot and heavy over it as you adjust to his brother’s hard length inside you.  

“Oh – ah, you’re big.” Moans and gasps spill out of you, and you want to move faster than they do, want it rougher than they’re going at present. “Hhnn, Lord Organa, please I – ”

“No, no titles. Just names, call us by our names.” Matthias interrupts, and you don’t even realize that he’s come to sit right next to Kylo, his hands are the hands that you feel as they come up out of the tub and cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples.

You nod, and it’s then that you feel the brother behind you line himself up, push himself inside your cunt as well.

“Ben!” You whine, loud and high in your throat as he and Kylo compete to see who can bottom out first. It is slow, it is torturously slow, deliciously slow, and you want more, you want as much as they’re willing to give you.

“Relax, it’s easier if you relax.” Ben whispers against your cheek, his teeth – his fangs – grazing your earlobe. He licks and nibbles you there as you try your best to do as you’re told, but,

“It’s good, that’s – fuck you’re big.” You laugh, delirious, already consumed with lust and desire and pleasure that the hand in Kylo’s hair tightens and pulls.

Kylo hums in his chest, his cock pushed all the way up against your front walls while Ben’s fits in just behind, and he laughs, a hearty throaty sound when your eyes fly open and you shout in delight once they begin to thrust.

Blood sloshes and drips over the edge of the tub, once Ben and Kylo begin a rhythm, a steady pace to fuck you inside out. Ben’s mouth is against you ear and whispers filth that aids in your delirium, Kylo’s mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting and moaning as they move in and out of you in tandem.

Where Ben pushes, Kylo pulls, stretching and filling your cunt with their hard cocks, leaking all over themselves, leaking onto one another as they fuck you slow and steady.

“Perfect girl, what a good pussy,” Ben grunts in your ear, “So hot, so tight. And all ours, all for us.”

“Yours! I’m yours – eternity, that’s what I want.” You’re loud, too loud, but you don’t care. The rain still plunders on outside, it drowns out anything beyond these walls, you know, and even if it didn’t you’d still be shouting, “Fuck me like this for all eternity.”

Ben’s grip on your waist turns harsher now, and your body falls forward, suffocating Kylo underneath your breasts. He doesn’t need to breathe, you realize, as he continues to massage and squeeze at your body, continues to worry your nipples even with his head pushed way under.

“She smells so good, Matt, I need – ”

“You will wait.” Matthias shakes his head, fishing for Kylo and pulling him back up.

He looks devilish like this, with the blood slipping sliding down his skin, his face slicked with red. It beads and coagulates and Kylo licks it off his lips. You find yourself mimicking the movement.

“M-mattie, do you not wish to…?” You frown, wondering where he will get his pleasure from, wondering if he would want you to wrap your tongue around the head of his cock instead of the palm he has working at himself instead.

“Thank you sweetheart,” Mattias hums and the shock of how they can read minds is almost absorbed by the way Kylo has just found your gspot. You gasp and shout out and ride their cocks, and Matthias smiles, pets back your hair, and pulls your wrist to his mouth. “But not right now, we’re thirsty, you see, and you smell so good.”

“Now?” You hiccup, cocks spitting you into pieces as you bounce and moan and they groan in time. Kylo surges up, his mouth on the other side of your throat, sandwiching you between these two brothers, and tethered to the third.

“This will not hurt, I promise.” Kylo sounds as if he’s about to weep, and you do not know how to anticipate the feeling, but you can hear their fangs grow longer longer longer, and there is pleasure all around you, hands and bodies and you are so filled, you are so warm – you barely feel it when their teeth pierce your flesh.

You do feel it, when they begin to suck.

It sends your eyes flying wide open, your entire body seizing and relaxing again and again as you come from the sensation, as orgasm rips through you. It is like you are being stimulated right from your nerves themselves, your body writhes, and they all tighten their grip on you so that you stay still, so that you simply revel in the pleasure they take, that they give.

“Oh!” You cannot help but scream their names as they suck and suck and suck, drinking from your throat and your wrist, drawing it out of you in a heady rush, “Oh Ben, Mattie – Kylo!”

It is otherworldly, and you rock back onto their throbbing aching pulsing leaking cocks inside of you, you cry, wail loudly as they feast themselves on you, as you grow lightheaded in the best way. It is draining out of you, they are taking you, each of them taking their share. You hope that when this is done, there will be marks of this evening.

You hope that you’ll have evidence of their teeth stabbed into your flesh, for there are some wounds which need not heal.

“We have been waiting for so long.” Matthias groans against your wrist as you twist your hand to caress his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch, and you think that perhaps, perhaps they will not be lonely at last.

“Where can we come?” Kylo rasps, tongue fumbling over his lips to try and catch every last drop of you.

“In me – please I beg you, come in me.” You demand, command, for now you feel invincible, you feel as though something incredible is coursing through you, licking up your spine, your veins, your nerves. Something sings inside of you and you pant, “Let me be yours, and be mine. Mark me, claim me.”

“I’ll fill you up so fucking good that you taste it in the back of your throat, taste it forever.” Ben grunts and plows hard hard hard into you, spilling his load hot and thick up into your cunt, fucking it in, deep deep deep as his mouth sinks back down into the meat of your shoulder, fangs breaking the skin and sucking.

“Forever, yes! I – oh yes, yes!” Stars explode behind your eyes, and you shake, you tremble and sob as Kylo is soon to follow, his whole body tensing underneath you before he pinches your nipples hard enough to get you to wail out loud, and he comes.

They still, all three of them, but they do not finish their meal. Your heart is still beating, you can hear it, can feel it, although it is sluggish. There is something in you, something replacing the blood which they draw out with their tonguesteethlips, but whatever it is you do not know.

All you know, is that the world is beautiful and calm, and the rain has stopped outside, and you feel better than you have ever felt before. They have latched themselves to you, like lost boys with no mother, and you want to hold them close and caress them, run your fingers through their blood sweat tear stained hair, and give them all you can.

“How do I taste?” You slur, your body slowing down. It becomes harder and harder to move your limbs, so you simply do not, giving in to allowing the triplets to hold your body up. Your head lolls to one side, and they all move slowly, time stands still, you can feel yourself freezing.

“Like the sweetest wine, so fragrant, so rich.” Matthias drinks from your wrist.

“Such a strong heart.” Kylo admires from your throat.

“Such a pretty girl.” Ben purrs from your shoulder.

“What happens now?” Your eyes are wanting so badly to close, but you worry, worry that this will be the end, worry about what you will see when you shut them.

“Now you will go to sleep, and when you wake up you will begin the first night of your eternity.” Matthias is calming, always so calming, soothing as he kisses up your forearm, as he makes more bites along the way, fangs injecting you with something that chills you down to your bones.

“With you?” You ask weakly, a blissful smile on your face as the darkness creeps in all around you and you give yourself up to it, trusting them, trusting all of them.

“With us.” They echo inside your mind, until there is nothing.

Nothing at all.

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

In the morning, when the sun streams through the stained glass windows which shine down onto Kylo’s bed, you open your eyes to find he is already looking at you.

With a grin, you hold up a hand, and he meets it halfway.

And this time, he doesn’t feel so cold.

[deffleur]

amour | a lim jaebeom imagine

— japan’s sengoku period au

possibly multiple parts to this.

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the sky began to morph into a gentle marmalade, autumn’s fingertips weaved through the apricot leaves and her breath spun pirouettes throughout the atmosphere, kissing the cheeks of whomever remained wandering the streets of the village. the young woman’s bright scarlet nose ran due to autumn’s unforgiving chilly breath, the air frosting ice over the surface of her skin.

the locks of her ringlets flew behind her, the pads of her fingers burrowing into the silk of her kimono to keep the material in place. cold tears brimmed the outskirts of her eyelids and her throat burned with excruciating flames, as if autumn had simply taken a match and threw it down her throat.

yet, she paid her pain no mind. agonizing as it was, her feet moved nimbly against the village’s pavement, her head bowing in greeting to the reverent villagers’ salutes as she passed by. she grimaced herself discreetly, veiling her expression behind her own tresses.

she should have known it would be hard to lay low and saunter through the streets unnoticed— she was the chatelaine of lord jinyoung after all. the whole village knew of her, knew of how she had single handedly saved their lord— her popularity was practically inevitable.

perhaps, if underneath different circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded the sudden traction, after all— who wouldn’t fancy being the talk of the town?

of course she wouldn’t have minded— if she hadn’t been trying to sneak around.

it wasn’t an easy task, even disregarding the fact that she would have to mindlessly amble in front of the entire village with every single person on the street ecstatically exclaiming her name. indeed, it was definitely not easy to manage her way past lord jinyoung’s vassals, as well as lord jinyoung herself.

difficult, that man was. he was quite the unopened novel, his story a million pages long at least. throughout her time as his chatelaine, she had made countless attempts to figure him out, desperately trying to open the cover of his book. alas, it was as if he had sealed himself away, thick chains and heavy locks around the surface of his novel.

even so, there was one thing that he had made clear from the very start of her occupancy as his chatelaine.

“my lucky charm, you are,” he had said, a cheshire smile plastering over his lips, which up until this moment, had always been pressed into a firm thin line. “i believe that as long as you are at my side, never will i fail. i believe that because you are at my side, i will succeed in unifying this entire nation.”

she scoffed at the mere memory. what a chore, he was.

swiftly, she disregarded the thought of her lord jinyoung, disregarded her occupancy as his chatelaine, disregarded her castle life and everything related and in between. as she scuttled into the inn and nimbly made her way through the rather unimpressive corridors compared to the castle’s, her mind became a murky slime, her brain intoxicated by the sound of merely one name.

jaebeom. jaebeom. jaebeom. jaebeom. jaebeom.

she made her presence known with a quiet knock on the shōji screen door, brisk to tear it away, as it was the only barrier blockading her away from him— the only one she craved.

and there he sat, his weapons and armor stowed away in a dark corner of the inn room, charcoal silk sewn into a kimono complimenting his physique as sat upright on the futon, the tips of his fingers teasing at his lips as his elbow rested upon his kneecap. her feet shifted underneath her weight as she stood in front of the shōji, her insides churning at the mere sight of him.

“i’ve been waiting,” his tone low, laced with the hint of something menacing, a sinister echo concluding his words. she shivered, as if his voice was ice, the bitter feeling of frost stiffening her limbs gluing her into place.

he must’ve sensed the sudden discomfiture, the unveiling of his pearly whites prodding at her nerves, knees visibly buckling underneath the putty her legs seemed to melt into. he watched with curious eyes as she scurried over to his place on the futon, hastily dropping to her knees before him.

the gleam inside the ebony of his pupils did not go unnoticed. she felt meek, feeble even as his leering eyes fell upon her like a minacious shadow, irises outlining her figure, seeking every curve and venturing through every mark he had mapped out on her body. he leaned forward, stature eclipsing the small matrix of light from the candle, the only thing keeping the small room from complete darkness.

her skin swelled with heat as his fingertips ghosted over her clothed skin, toying with the fabric of her kimono. the room was quiet— with the exception of her shuddering breath permeating the heated atmosphere between the two. the air was thick with unequivocal libido, the fog of lust that came thick with each of his chest enough to weigh heavy on her own lungs, so much she could have sworn that she would simply suffocate.

“i apologize for having kept you waiting, lord jaebeom,” her voice wavered, her feeble tone strumming his strings, a stroke of laughter emitting from his lips. her cheeks-- which had already been tinted with a bright scarlet-- darkened, ripples of crimson waving over her flesh. the pad of his index finger waltzed over her skin, outlining the edge of her jawline, pirouetting back up to the soft flesh of her ear.

with the same finger, he beckoned her forward, eyelids hooding over the warm umber of his irises, the sinister shadow cast upon his face as menacing as ever. her nerves tied themselves into miniature, twitching balls-- and never before had she ever felt this meek.

“enough with the formalities,” his tone echoed-- not only throughout the room, but throughout her body as well, the smooth water that was his voice rippling throughout her mind, trickling down her esophagus as if it were a waterfall, and flooding her core, burning her arousal with a bittersweet passion. the heat at her center was utterly unbearable, the matches of his fingertips driving her closer to the point of no return. “i plan on wasting no more time, tonight, i want you-- all of you.”

it was silly how she had already been left speechless, breathless even, when he had done something only as simple as graze a single digit over her skin. she scolded herself mentally for being so vulnerable, so submissive and willing. however, the more he touched her and cooed, the more she could feel herself sink deeper and deeper into this void of subservience, blinded by the darkness of his lust.

he advanced closer, striding like an eager predator until he neared his prey, making it to his destination. for a moment-- just this moment-- she disregarded the fact that he was supposed to be her enemy, that he was a trespasser, that he was a blood-thirsty lord, lord mark’s-- of all people--’s most sensible and reliable vassal. for just the current moment, she disregarded the fact that the blood of a century ran down his hands, that many men of various classes and titles have been at the mercy of the very man she had a blooming fondness for. for a moment, she disregarded the fact that the very hands touching her so tenderly right now were the very hands responsible for the deaths of many men.

as she gazed into the menacing sea of carob that raged within his irises, she found herself swimming through the very sea, eager to venture for more-- more of him. his pupils glimmered, gleams beaming reflecting onto his waters as though a comet had been shooting past his night sky. beautiful-- he was undeniably, utterly beautiful.

he stared back, and for a moment, she was so entranced underneath whatever spell he had cast upon her, that she hadn’t even the slightest idea that he had worked the silk of her kimono down past her shoulders, the smooth material gliding its way down her arms to pool at her thighs. his fingertips were of matches, each stroke of his hot skin leaving trails of burning scarlet along her flesh, igniting flames and scarring her with the remnants of his own selfish ardor.

his matches reached her swollen nipples, her lips falling agape at the simple touch of his skin against her own, eyelids weighing down heavy upon her corneas before they eventually sealed themselves closed, losing herself in this wondrous feeling.

“please, do not close your eyes,” he husked, fingertips grazing an astray strand of hair back behind her ear as his other hand roamed the side of her body, soothing over the curve of her hip. her lids slowly heaved themselves back open, melted irises flooding into his. just staring at the look inside of his eyes reduced her to a gooey pool of magma at his feet. “i’ve been deprived of them for so long, please don’t veil them away from me. i want to cherish every single part of you.”

the arch of his hand curved as it reached to cup her cheek, tugging her even closer than before. his lips-- plump and lush-- were nearing, their breaths mingling until they became one in the same. his eyes-- they glimmered with the radiance of something that up until this point, had been foreign to her, an enigma-- he was an enigma in itself. but no longer was he an enigma, for she was certain that she finally had him all figured him out.

his pupils sparkled with desperation, of longing, of need. the message was crystal clear before her, no words to be required. before her lips could even finish their smile, his lips were upon her own, their dampened flesh molding into one. his nectar fell from his mouth and streamed into her own, his flavor soaking her taste buds and mixing into her own. her arms leaped away from her lap, enclosing around his neck and pulling him in even closer-- as if it were possible.

she was entranced, bewitched, mesmerized by his spell, she wasn’t even sure when he had laid her down on the futon, the plush of the thin mattress beneath her relaxing the knots of tension within her body. his hands continued their venture, mapping out each mark and delicacy upon her skin, as if the first few times he had done so were not enough. she worked at the charcoal colored silk of his own robe, itching to tear it away from his skin so that once more, their skin could connect, mold together, become one.

“jaebeom,” she mewled his name as his growing erection grazed against her nude arousal, sucking in air between her teeth as his lips tore themselves away from hers, imprinting his mark on the flesh just below her jaw. her fingertips weaved themselves through the forest of ebony tendrils atop his head, tugging at the roots of his tresses, as if her goal was to rip his scalp off from the top of his own head. “jaebeom!”

his lips trod down the valley of her breasts, down the river stream of her stomach until finally, they found their destination at the heated bundle of nerves, teasing just above her clitoris. noises spewed from her lips, her tongue swiping over the flesh of her bottom lip before her upper layer of teeth replaced the soft muscle, gnawing on the moist skin.

“i love you, my princess,” he murmured, his tone a low hum, his hot breath against her throbbing clit driving her over the edge. she was unable to control herself, she had become animalistic, obsessed with the idea of having him close, of having the two of them become one. she yearned for more, she wanted more, she needed more.

and with one kiss against her heated arousal, she even began to ache for more-- so much it began to hurt.

“i love you,” she broke into a soft, quiet cry, streams of tears rippling down her face. he glanced up, lips curling into a soft smile as a chuckle emitted from his lips. a hand of his ascended until it reached her cheeks, the back of his index finger swift to swipe away her droplets of tears. she sniffled, skin sticky with the remnants of her own tears. “please amour, engrave me with the memory of you.”

yet another chuckle slipped past his lips as he straightened his posture, sliding the ashy robe the remainder of the way down his arms until he too sat before her-- completely nude, his everything exposed to her--

-- and only her.

“what would your lord jinyoung think when he sees the mark of another man upon your skin, hm?” he rasped as drew nearer, teasing her aching cunt with a single prod of his cock. she whimpered, mewled, squirmed, writhed around underneath his weight as the tip of his tongue lapped over the sensitive flesh of her earlobe, icy breath a stark contrast to the heat of their skin. she shivered as his air fanned over the place he had just coated with his own saliva, her head shaking.

“i don’t give a damn,” she had been so out of breath, it had barely been audible enough to decipher. his irises-- those hypnotizing irises of dark umber-- gazed down into her own yet again, and yet again, did she feel herself sink deeper into the rabbit hole of intimacy. “i am his chatelaine, nothing more. why would he care?”

his smile was blinding, hypnotic enough to make her unaware of the fact that his cock had been ripping through the entrance of her throbbing cunt, her face only morphing into one of pure ecstasy a couple of skipped heartbeats later. she mewled his name, the bridge of his nose tucking itself into the crook of her neck. she shuddered underneath his weight, arms tight around his neck.

“right,” he murmured amongst the series of pleasured groans permeating the inn. “right, he wouldn’t.”

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.14

God’s Will and Fate’s Jokes

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 2900

Summary: Steve is not the only man out of time to be found in New York, Manhattan. And he sure as hell isn’t the only one struggling with what he’s done and lost.

Warnings: mentions of violence, guns and death, swearing, a bit of a talk about religion

A/N: Ah, you want to know how the reunion will turn out? Understandable… So I’m gonna insert a Bucky chapter, with fragments of how he had been. I promise two little cameos from a Netflix TV series in exchange though, so hopefully I can be forgiven.

Story masterlist

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The wind was gradually getting chillier with New York City further diving into autumn. Bucky readjusted his leather jacket to shield himself from it, but it was just a force of a habit. He had been frozen – several times, as he remembered now – and cold didn’t bother him for a while now. This was barely ‘cold’. His boots shuffled on the pavement with each step, a noise that seemed to drown in the busy streets.

The evening was slowly drifting into a night time, but in Manhattan, the streets never really fell into silence, always pulsing with life, sometimes calmer, mostly rapid though.

Bucky shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed, stopping in front of the rather tall building – then again, this was New York, tall meant something different here – , his destination.

His mind was preoccupied, for the millionth time lost in the past; for a change, not in his own.

The fact he had been unfrozen during the decades gave him an advantage of being able to keep up with modern times; and there was nothing that couldn’t be found on the Internet, especially when one knew where and how to look, maybe even peak where others couldn’t for the lack of access or ability.

Then again, Captain America’s life story wasn’t exactly a heavily guarded secret and Bucky couldn’t decide whether he couldn’t believe his eyes while reading, or whether he actually wasn’t surprised at all when learning what his former best friend had been up to after he (and the rest of the world, for that matter) thought Bucky was gone.

He had dived a plane which was about to level New York and other great cities of America to the ground. Everyone thought he died, but instead, he was trapped in ice; Bucky prayed Steve had been unconscious the whole time, not feeling the biting cold. Then, the proclaimed war hero was found and been woken up seventy years to the future, throwing himself into a fight as soon as it was needed.

And wasn’t it damn necessary – aliens attacked the Earth. Bucky now remembered seeing a lot of weird inexplicable shit. But still, this? What the hell.

The thing was, despite that, Steve’s life wasn’t all bad. He became a part of a band of superheroes and… the punk finally found his soulmate, the one he could never find before, because she hadn’t been born yet, which was insane enough on its own. However, he seemed happy.

Naturally, it had to nosedive after that; the woman of his heart and soul was dead.

Some nuthead – and to Bucky’s rage, a nuthead Bucky knew, he had been part of Hydra, which he now hoped didn’t exist anymore, because he read about Pierce being locked up along with others – had murdered her in the worst possible way right in front of Steve.

If Bucky ever considered becoming a murder machine again, after everything he knew he had done, it was upon that revelation. He wanted that man’s head. He wanted to tear him limb from limb. He was a villain, sure, that need was natural, but he had hurt Steve on top of that. No one hurt Steve and got away with it.

Apparently, the man didn’t, because he was blown up along with everyone in the building minus Steve.

Still. If Bucky ever questioned whether he still had a heart, he was sure upon that realization; he did have one and it bled for his best friend.

He wished he could be there for him, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he could even show up after everything his hands had done, no matter who forced them. He didn’t know if he could mug up Steve’s life even worse.

It was weeks now since he had been freed and his feet led him to a church – the one church where people said goodbye to Steve’s soulmate. Bucky had read about it too, her funeral; a small service for her friends and family, but many others wished to express their condolences, say thank you to the poor soul who lost her life to theirs and their loved ones and they chose this church to do so.

Bucky had figured he could pay his respects as well.

What he didn’t count on was the roller-coaster of emotions hitting him when seeing her picture, her smile radiant and brighter than the candles illuminating her photograph.

She was pretty, there was no denial. The photo printed was from Avengers’ archives, he read as much – Bucky had no doubt that it was Steve who put that bright smile, lighting up her eyes, on her face. He believed Steve had found true happiness with her and it wasn’t just because she was his soulmate or because Bucky watched the video evidence as she faced her death and showed great bravery and kindness or because he saw Steve’s desperation in the very same footage.

Bucky simply knew; the woman seemed to truly love Steve and that was all Steve ever needed. A woman to love him unconditionally.

Life was cruel and fucked-up to take that away from him.

No, Bucky didn’t count on the rage and heartbreak chasing tears into his eyes. Neither did he expect someone to pull him out of his musing.

“Did you know her, son?” an amiable male voice caused him to wince and mentally yell at himself for a dumb lack of awareness of his surroundings. Had it been a Hydra agent, Bucky would have been dead.

He forced himself to calm his sprinting heart, the rush of adrenaline unnecessary when the only person disturbing him was an old priest with nearly bald head and a soft soothing tone of voice.

His breath shuddered.

“No, Father. I didn’t.” I knew her soulmate, Bucky could have added, but he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself; everyone knew who her soulmate was and it would lead to uncomfortable questions. Instead, Bucky’s mind supplied him with an easy lie. “But she had her life ahead of her, all of it. She must have been happy with her soulmate if he made her smile like this.”

The shorter man nodded, removing a candle that burned out from the altar with her picture – Bucky hadn’t noticed before with many others still warming up the space with their tiny flickering flames.

“Indeed. And she surely made him equally happy,” the priest hummed, sorrow darkening his face. His eyes carried a hint of curiosity, watching Bucky inconspicuously. ”It’s a shame for such joy to be stolen by madmen. Her soulmate… I pray for him as much as I do for her soul. Broken heart heals much longer than broken bones.”

No shit. Especially when it comes to supersoldiers with enhanced healing.

“Not wrong there,” Bucky whispered, hesitantly reaching out to the small metal basket with candles and a thin piece of wood to borrow the flame from another.

Bucky didn’t believe in God for almost seventy years now. Still, when the wick caught fire, he sent a silent prayer for both Steve and his gal.

“Still, you seem troubled by more than that,” the priest whispered and made a kind offer. “You could confide me in. It is what I am here for. Perhaps it would ease your sorrow.”

I don’t think so. Neither will it ease the craving after tearing a dead man’s head off.

“I don’t think you could help, Father, no offence. I’ve never been a good Catholic and lately even less so. And you sure don’t want to hear what troubles me.”

Despite a gentle nod of understanding, he nudged Bucky once more. At the very same moment, the soldier could hear the heavy door of the church open a crack and a man walk in with a periodic taping of a thin stick.

“I only wish to help you. If something of what you possibly have done heavies you… I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. I’m not allowed.”

“I believe you, Father. But I’m not sure your own conscience would allow you to keep quiet in my case,” Bucky admitted honestly, shifting under the presence of another man despite the fact he wouldn’t be able to hear them. A periodic tapping the man carried with him was getting to Bucky’s nerve already.

He should leave. Another lost soul seeking the help of a church was a good excuse anyway.

“Trust me, son. Whatever your sins are, I’m certain I have heard worse.”

“No, Father. You haven’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath, aware of the stranger getting closer.

He turned to him, surprised to find a man of such built, carrying a walking stick for blind. His stance and body was one of a fighter, even when cladded in a cheap suit, red-tinted glasses preventing his real thoughts from displaying on his face. He appeared blind but not quite. To Bucky, he was giving an impression of pretence, at least partial.

He could only wonder why; however, he could do so on his way out.

“I’m pretty sure he did,” the newcomer joined their barely audible conversation without permission and a scowl twisted the Father’s face.

The fact that the not-so-blind? man could hear what Bucky was saying had everything in Bucky scream fight or flight.

“Matthew. What brings you here at this hour?”

The suited man shrugged light-heartedly; Bucky didn’t believe him for a second. “I thought I’d stop by. See how you’re doing.”

“Always with the jokes, Matthew. It’s not decent.”

It wasn’t. Except if Bucky was more comfortable at the moment, he would have snorted in amusement. This man was clearly comfortable in his own skin, but the skin was a charade too. Bucky didn’t want to stay to crack the mystery though.

“Forgive me, Father, then.”

“Did you come to confess?” the Father continued and Bucky recognized this was as good opportunity to leave as any, making space for the blind man to approach the priest more easily.

A brief smile passed over the Matthew’s lips. “No. Like I said, only wanted to make sure you were alright.”

The backing out of the soldier was less inconspicuous this time, caught by the priest.

“You don’t need to leave, son. Matthew is a dear friend.” And there’s more to him than it seems, Bucky was certain.

Were his the sins Father had mentioned? This man’s? Bucky wouldn’t be surprised considering the dangerous vibe he was radiating.

“I’m Matt,” the man offered swiftly and held out his hand for Bucky to shake.

Bucky was stupid enough to accept it and really, wasn’t he out of his game to make such an idiotic mistake. “…James.”

“Rather hot for gloves, isn’t it?”

Bucky fought the urge to punch this man for pointing it out and took a deep breath.

“My past injuries can… make people uncomfortable when seen.”

“I won’t see them,” the blind man challenged with the light tone to his voice again, his head tilting to side and Bucky could see the corners of his mouth twitch. It gave him the impression of the man wanting sent him a wolfish grin.

And that was the time to get the fuck out. What was Bucky thinking anyway, showing up in here?

“Matthew… perhaps it would be for the best if we leave James to his prayers and have a talk over a latté, if you’re interested at this hour?” the priest offered in a conciliatory manner, beckoning to the back for Bucky’s benefit – or for Matthew’s too?

How deeply ran the lie, the pretending? Bucky didn’t want to hang around to find out.

“Yes…” Matt hesitated, but nodded. “Perhaps. James.”

“Matt. Father.”

Bucky strode between the two lines of the pews, kind words reaching his sensitive ears.

“My invitation still stands, if you ever feel like talking. If you’re not comfortable confessing the traditional way… there’s always coffee. Same rules apply for me.”

Bucky nodded, definitely not planning on taking him upon the offer. “I appreciate the offer, Father. Goodnight.”

Since fate was a cranky bitch, a night full of horrors of the past had him wandering the streets before the sun even began to rise to the horizon.

The Father didn’t seem overly surprised that Bucky showed up again, at such ungodly hour no less.

“James. Latté?” he asked, unfazed almost.

Bucky wanted to question his decision. But he was an old man, older than the priest himself and he could believe his secret would be kept.

He nodded.

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Opening to someone about the horrors he had lived through and had been a source of was surreal. No, scratch that, it was fucking weird and telling that to a priest was twisted and seriously messed up.

Yet, once Bucky started, he couldn’t stop the verbal vomit, his hands in his hair, tears welling up in his eyes and the hoarseness of his voice that seemed to be impossible to disguise.

And the whole time he talked, the man sitting opposite to him – not touching his latté either – listened intently with compassionate and understanding eyes full of sorrow and offering kind words and his own insights of a person watching the event from a reasonable distance, far enough not to get tangled in the emotional turmoil.

It caused Bucky’s breathing to turn so difficult that he thought he might actually suffocate, but he didn’t. He might be close to choking on his own spit though at priest’s forgiving words several times, words of redemption, a chance on it only proven by a mysterious man building miracles by a flick of a hand.

“You were a victim, James. Just like anybody else,” the Father explained his point of view slowly and with patience battling the one of saints themselves. “These are not your errors to carry with you like a burden. Forgive yourself. And allow your friend the same thing. I’m sure he could benefit from having someone by his side in a time difficult like this.”

Bucky gulped, looking away as he felt awkward burn in his eyes again, a lump in his throat never disappearing.

“I can’t. At least not yet, I’m-“

The sudden change of atmosphere was palpable, the safe environment carefully created by the priest vanishing at instant as Bucky’s instinct screamed about someone else’s presence in the church – someone else’s besides the God’s servants. His senses tingled, hairs rising at the back of his neck.

“Someone’s coming.”

Father Lantom seemed once again rather unfazed, his gaze shifting to his watch.

“Well, it is after six a.m., James.”

“Father-“ the soldier warned him breathlessly, otherwise rising to his feet soundlessly, sneaking to the door, opening them for a crack to glance at the newcomer that made his heart beat out of his chest.

One peek and he swiftly pressed his back to the wall, his head hitting it with a soft thud, eyes falling shut. Even with eyes closed, he could still feel the priest’s worried gaze.

“James?”

Bucky took a deep breath, arguing with his frantic mind and heart to calm the fuck down.

It was alright. He just needed to get the Father to cause diversion and he would sneak out, making no sound. He excelled at disappearing.    

“Go greet him, Father. Don’t tell him a word about having me here. Please.”

The desperate plea was enough to light up a flare of recognition in the priest’s eyes, no matter how hard it made him frown.

He sighed, sounding resigned.

“I cannot do that choice for you, James, even if I wished. I promise to keep quiet.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, beckoning to the other man to move.

The soldier stayed aligned with the wall, waiting for the right moment. It was killing him, freaking him out and yet luring him in, a mess of emotions, memories and possible scenarios of reunion playing out in his head, ranging from a fistfight to a hug even.

He needed to snap out of it.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Steven. What a nice surprise,” the priest greeted softly and Bucky barely contained the whine drawn to his lips. His hands curled up into fists and he bounced off of the wall, quickly assessing the most secure escape route. ”Do you require my assistance?”

“Not today, Father Lantom, but thank you.”

It was like a slap to Bucky’s face, a punch to his gut, hearing Steve’s voice; the melancholy in it and the burden he was never supposed to carry only making it worse.

For a second, Bucky wavered, faltering in his steps. His friend – former friend, still, his best friend – was right behind that door, needing someone and hurting and what was Bucky doing? Running away, like a coward?

“Are you alright?” the punk continued, expression concern for the not-exactly-older man and that was it. He caught a scent of something fishy right away.

Bucky’s mind yelled at him to get the hell out. His gaze returned to the door leading to a chamber and bathroom, hoping to find a small window. He crossed the distance in long quick steps.

“Yes, Steven, thank you. I simply have another troubled soul in the back room...”

Bucky slipped through the other door, finding what he wished for – an escape route. As he opened the window, taking care not to make the tiniest sound, Steve’s voice was slowly fading away.

“Don’t let me disturb you then, Father.”

By the time Father Lantom returned to the chamber, James Buchannan Barnes was gone. The priest only sighed in resignation; he more than half-expected it would come to that. He only hoped that the troubled soldier would find his way back eventually.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 15

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

So… am I? Forgiven? Please? I prooooomise the Steve/reader reunion will take place in the next chapter and it might actually be worth the wait ;)

Thank you for reading!

[solynaceawrites]

End of Sanctuary

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins           Characters: Mael, Meliodas Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Character Death, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort written for @nntzine​​ Summary: After the defeat of the Demon King, Mael returns to the only home he knows and engages in a festival to honor the ones who were lost.Originally written for Nanatsu no Taizine: Volume II and published in celebration of autumn.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is low in the sky when he reaches his home. Former home, he supposes, landing lightly in what was once the grand courtyard: the immaculate marble has cracked and fallen, the flowers overgrown by thistles and weeds. Mael tilts his head back, taking in the ruins of the spires of the Supreme Deity’s palace, listening to the wind whistle forlornly through the shattered windows and holes in the walls, and wonders if this is their punishment for their hubris. Dead leaves whisper through the grass, like the voices of so many ghosts; with a sigh, he kneels, sweeping dirt away from the walk. This is the place of his birth, and he remembers with a fond sort of ache the feasts and festivals that were held here, one in particular which was always dear to him.

The Feast of All Souls began as a prayer. To remember those who’d come before, goddesses lit candles within their homes and laid offerings of food and wine on their doorsteps. Eventually, with the war looming over their clan, the Supreme Deity had made it a public event, one which all were encouraged to attend. Private offerings were still left, yet the majority of the evening was spent in the city streets, buying masks and scraps of finest parchment upon which to write hopes, dreams, or words of remembrance. And, once the sun had set and the world was cool and quiet, in the grand courtyard a chosen member of their race would light the torches and dance, and those little bits of people’s lives would be fed to the bonfire, to reach the next life. Mael rubs a dandelion between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There is no one here, and yet . . .

He has no place in Britannia, nor a reason to return there. Too much suffering is on his shoulders, too much grief for him to express his own. And with the role he played in Escanor’s passing — how foolish he had been to believe that Elizabeth could heal the damage inflicted by Sunshine, how naive to trust in Escanor’s words over his own understanding of the man’s life — he would no doubt face scathing ire from the Sins, who loved Escanor as a comrade and a friend. And the Celestial Realm is in ruins, hardly fit to live in. Mael is well and truly alone in this world, and he presses himself to his feet and lifts his gaze to study the first blooming stars. He does not know where he will go from here, but he decides that, before he meets whatever fate is in store for him, he will honor those who lost their lives in this senseless war. 

He will reignite the flames of the Feast.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Mael stands in the center of the courtyard, watching as the sun begins its slow trek below the horizon. It is cold now, the seasons caught between autumn and winter, and the ivy that climbs the stone pillars is a vibrant, otherworldly green against the tawny hues of the rest of the world, and his breath condenses on the inside of the mask he wears. Only the Grace that had returned to him keeps him from truly feeling the chill; he is shirtless, his feet bare, and without Sunshine he would be trembling. Surrounding him are torches, burning brightly against the oncoming gloom, plates of food and wine at their bases, and a pile of dead branches waits for him to set it alight. His mind is as clear as it can be, his limbs tense for the dance he will perform. When the sun kisses the edge of the sky, he leans over and presses one of his own torches to the kindling, and the bonfire, soaked in oil, roars to life.

Then Mael begins to dance.

It is Ludoshel he thinks of first, the brother he had all but worshipped in his youth. He remembers his first flight—more of a glide, really, his wings too small and his feathers too new to hold him aloft for more than a few moments—how Ludoshel beamed with pride as he landed awkwardly on his feet and ruffled the hair that never laid as prettily as his own. Nights passed with stories, his brother tracing the constellations in the sky and telling them how they came to be: the Warrior, forever chasing the Queen he loved; the clever Fox that marked the beginning of autumn, the Saint and the King and the Dove, until Mael’s head was full of starlight and dreams. Ludoshel’s comfort when he was injured, his hands calloused yet soothing as he bandaged scrapes. Ludoshel, his voice hoarse with held-back tears as he clapped Mael on the shoulder and congratulated him on becoming an Archangel. His brother, and confidante, who had his flaws yet was always good to him. 

Mael flicks out an arm, the torch in that hand dangling by his fingertips. To my brother, without whom I would not be. I thank you.

Escanor comes next. Though they had barely known each other at all, the man had been full of kindness and love, the type of person Mael wished he had been three thousand years ago. Their meeting had been violent, to be sure, but even then, even as Estarossa, he had felt a genuine respect for the one who stood against his decree, and knows now that Sunshine did not aid him in that feat. Escanor had not been capable of hatred; his heart was too pure, his capacity for understanding too great. Even in his grief, he had not been cruel, each action meant to end Mael’s life as quickly and cleanly as possible. Well, perhaps that is too generous, but whether or not Escanor knew that Cruel Sun would cause a slow death, Mael does not know. They had been bound by Sunshine and Mael had found him, and Escanor had pleaded with him, not once but twice, refusing to accept the self-loathing brewing within Mael’s chest. 

He crouches, twisting the torches over his head in a shower of sparks. To Escanor, who was all that I hoped to be and more. I thank you. 

Sariel, who taught him to read the affection that lurked beneath abrasive words, and Tarmiel, the one who had never given up his hope that Mael was good, both dead by his hands. Sariel’s tongue had always been like sandpaper, yet he had been the one to teach him how to be agile, how to stay moving in the air so no one enemy could get close enough to do him harm. Tarmiel, gentle and sweet, had encouraged him, shown him the proper way to grip a sword and how he could use his size to make his opponents think he was slower than he was to keep the upper hand. Monspeet, an unwilling victim of the illness that had festered within Mael as the decree at away at his sanity; Derieri, who sacrificed herself in an attempt to save him; Oslo, who was Rou, a loyal companion that devoured Mael’s magic so that the Fairy King could live. 

Without that, without them, he would not have survived, and he lets the fire lick his shoulders as he draws the torches along his chest. To those who gave themselves so that I would be free. I thank you.

In one fluid movement, he lunges forward and places the torches atop the fire, his magic working to heal his hands even as they burn. Then he steps back, removing the mask he had carved from silver aspen and the ceremonial trousers woven from red-dyed wool before placing them within the pile as well, the flames devouring the hopes and prayers held within the objects, turning them into smoke that will hopefully reach the souls they are meant for. The sun is long gone now, the moon at the apex of its journey, and the sweat that had formed as he danced grows cold along his legs and back. Mael picks up the flask of wine he’d brought for himself and opens it to drink, uncaring of his nudity. He must watch until the fire dies, and then he can rest until dawn. Checking the offerings will come in the morning; so he sits and drinks and fasts till only embers remain, smoldering against the shattered stone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The next morning, he exits his makeshift home, exhausted and more than a little hungover. A quick Invigorate cures him of the latter, but his bones ache as he treks by to the courtyard to clean up the remnants from the Feast. It is an unusually bright day, the sky clear and free of clouds, and the sun warms his back as he kneels down to inspect the first of the offerings, finding it nearly gone. With a faint smile, he moves to the next, and the next, and the last, and each of them has been disturbed more than the birds are capable of, the gifts picked thoroughly and more than half-missing. The sign of a good Feast and answered prayers lifts a weight Mael hadn’t realized he was carrying from his shoulders. He knows that he is by no means forgiven for the atrocities he committed, yet the sight of empty baskets puts him at ease; perhaps now those left behind can begin their healing. He pauses next to the remains of the bonfire to tilt his head back, studying the clear blue stretching endlessly above his head. 

“Autumn,” Ludoshel says, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “is a time of rest so that we can be reborn anew, like all that the Supreme Deity’s light touches.”

“I miss you,” Mael replies.

His voice echoes flatly in the air, and he closes his eyes against the grief that swells within him. Rest to be reborn anew. 

Footsteps crunch over the dirt, drawing Mael’s attention to the ruined stairs. To his surprise, Meliodas is standing there, his hands in his pockets as he surveys their surroundings, his brows furrowed with what can only be contemplation. Then his green eyes cut across the theater to Mael, and his usual grin slides into place. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says cheerfully, crossing to him. “Or hoped, actually, but Elizabeth said this is where you were most likely to go.”

Mael can only stare at him while his mind tries to comprehend Meliodas being in the Celestial Realm. “Why?” he asks.

He supposes it could have meant why are you looking for me, or why did Elizabeth send you, and Meliodas chooses to answer the former. “I have a proposition for you.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, the Sins do. With Escanor gone, we’re short one, and all of us are used to fighting with Sunshine around. So we want you to join us. There probably won’t be much fighting,” Meliodas adds when Mael stiffens, “since the war is over, which means you’ll mostly be helping run the Boar’s Hat and keeping the peace when we have to.”

He isn’t sure what to make of the offer. “I’m not sure I’m suited to becoming his legacy.”

Meliodas waves his hand dismissively. “No one’s asking for that, or for you to become the Sin of Pride. We’re offering a home, and a chance to do something other than stay here, alone.” His gaze is calculating now as he looks at Mael, almost as though he is daring him to refuse, and he nearly smiles as the old, Estarossa-like desire to meet the challenge swells within him.

“Alright,” Mael agrees. “I’ll go with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy me a drink.”

Meliodas grins, holding out a hand that Mael clasps warmly within his own, and there’s a rush of fear, longing and hope that makes him tremble. Be reborn, he thinks. I’ll try my best, brother.

[boushh2187]

The Festival - Rumbelle Secret Santa Gift

Title: The Festival

By: boushh2187

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Rumbelle :)

Rumbelle Secret Santa 2020 Gift for @peacehopeandrats​

Prompt: winter, fire, stroll in the snow

Word Count: 2220

Rated: PG

Author’s Note: @peacehopeandrats it was a pleasure being your santa! I hope you enjoy this little story. I really liked the prompt and tried going for something wintery and heartwarming. :)

Summary: A visit to a nearby winter festival continues the unusual relationship between the master of the castle and the caretaker.

“There you are!” Belle stood indoors at the top of one of the castle towers. The wind whipped through the open window where Rumplestiltskin stood. She had been looking for him for quite some time. It wasn’t terribly unusual for him to up and disappear occasionally, but overall he would let her know if he would be leaving the castle. Belle suspected that he knew she would get frustrated if she was alone in the castle and didn’t know it, especially if she expected to have a dinner companion. 

He stood by the window, and the wind blew at his frayed cloak and his hair. He looked quite human when he was silhouetted, and Belle knew that he must have been a man once. Even through his unusual sparkling, scaly skin, and odd eyes, one could see the man that was once behind the beast. He turned slightly so that she could see his profile more clearly and he nodded to acknowledge her presence.

She moved forward and stood next to him, trying to get a peek out the window. Something had caught his attention, and as usual, Belle was curious. “What has your attention at such an hour? Your dinner is going to get cold.”  He stood aside slightly, so that she could stand next to him and have a look out of the narrow window. She shivered and rubbed at her arms. Her peasant dress was not for this weather, at least not without a warm cloak.

Belle looked into the distance and she assumed she saw what had interested Rumplestiltskin. The nearby town was brightly lit, much more so than usual. There seemed to be much more activity. She could even make out more pillars of smoke when the moonlight shone through the clouds. She squinted her eyes and asked, “Is it… is it a winter festival?”

“Indeed.”

“Have you ever been? What am I saying, of course you must have gone. It’s so close…”

“It’s been many, many years since I’ve been to such a thing. I don’t have time, nor interest in festivals unless they serve to close a deal.”

“You’ve been to a winter festival in the past though?” 

“Of course. I am hundreds of years old, and my… and I knew someone who enjoyed these festivals very much.”

Once again, an allusion to his life before. Belle would get glimpses into his past, and even though she found his magic and his adventures interesting, she was even more curious about his life before… when he was an ordinary person.

“Come along now. You said our dinner was getting cold!” His cloak billowed behind him as he walked by. He took the stairs swiftly, and Belle followed with a final shiver from the cold. She found it worth noting that even with all of his magic, Rumplestiltskin rarely used it in the castle for mundane things such as traveling within the large estate. She supposed that’s why he needed or wanted a caretaker… well except for the obvious fact that he was lonely.

*****

Belle sat near the fireplace of the great room in the castle. It had gone out while she and Rumplestiltskin were finishing their meal. She set about arranging the logs and lighting the fire. It wasn’t a moment too soon as there was a chill in the air already. She watched as the kindling started to catch and the flame lifted upwards into a nice warm fire. She held her hands out to warm them. Perfect. 

Rumplestiltskin was nearby spinning, deep in thought as usual. This was around the time where she would bring out some tea and read for a while before it was time to turn in for the night. She walked up to Rumplestiltskin and watched him spin for a few moments. She enjoyed watching him spin. It was soothing somehow. “What is it, dearie?” His voice startled her out of her quiet reverie. He seemed to reproach himself immediately when he saw her reaction. 

Belle shook herself and replied, “Oh, I wanted to ask you what type of tea you would like this evening? The Greenleaf, perhaps?” 

“Fine.” He glanced at her briefly before continuing with his spinning. 

Belle watched the gold string fall softly into the basket below. Something was clearly on his mind. She smiled softly and set off to prepare their tea.

A short while later, she sat reading her latest discovery from the castle library, which was also her bedroom. She tried not to chuckle at that. If she was going to be stuck in this castle for the rest of her life, she couldn’t think of a better spot to call her own.

She closed the book with a satisfied sigh. The ending of this one was perfect, unlike the last one she read, which left her wanting to toss the book into the fire… not that she would ever really toss any book into a fire. Sometimes though, she wondered what the author was thinking with an ending like that! So many loose ends… but this one was wrapped up neatly and it was just perfect. 

“Enjoy the book?” Rumplestiltskin asked. He was standing quite close to her and she had been so wrapped up in the story that she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh yes.” She held the book out to him. “Would you like to read it?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “I’ve read every book in that library.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“We need to get you some new books!”

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly. She enjoyed when he was so amiable.

“Perhaps you can do so tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“How would you like to accompany me to the winter festival in town?”

Belle stood up. “Oh, I would love to! I haven’t been to one since I was a child! My mother used to take me and then the ogres began to act up and my father forbade us to go out of the castle walls without an armed guard. It just wouldn’t have been the same to visit with a group of soldiers following us around.”

“Then we shall go tomorrow. No need for an armed guard. I shall protect you from any foe,” he said it with a silly tone in his voice, but his expression betrayed him and she sensed that he was truly quite serious.

*****

They took the carriage late that afternoon. Belle convinced Rumplestiltskin to take the horses out for the evening and not rely on his magic to propel the carriage. In truth she did find the horseless carriage fascinating, but she also knew the horses needed a good work out and she loved helping get them ready. It was also something that the two of them could do together in companionable silence. She enjoyed moments like those. It was as if they were almost friends.

At the moment, they sat together in the carriage. He had draped a blanket over the two of them, as he had done on a few occasions where they had gone out. He still directed the horses using his magic, but at least the poor beasts weren’t idling in the castle all day. It was cold out, but the horses could handle it, especially since they were moving at a nice pace.

There was a light snow falling, just enough to look pretty. It would be nice to take a stroll in the snow at the winter festival. As they neared the village, Belle could make out the abundant candles lit throughout the village. She could smell the fresh bread and pastries that were being made in the kitchens too. 

Rumplestiltskin stopped the carriage just outside the village and helped her down. She shivered a bit as she stepped into the slightly snow covered ground. Perhaps this peasant dress and this floral patterned cloak that she wore weren’t enough to keep her warm outside of the carriage. She picked up the pace towards the village, and Rumplestiltskin followed. He was dressed more warmly than she was, in a heavy cloak and boots. “Hurry!” she called out to him. I think it would be nice to get some warm bread!”

They walked through the village pathways that were lined with cottages, smoke billowing through the chimneys. Both she and Rumplestiltskin had their hoods up, though Belle suspected that Rumplestiltskin did this so that he would not get any attention. She wondered if the villagers knew him at all? They stopped at the baker’s shop and Rumplestiltskin purchased a nice warm loaf of cinnamon bread. The village was now dark except for the moonlight that filtered in through the trees and rooftops, and of course the candles and crackling fire pits. They shared the warm bread as they browsed the shops selling trinkets, clothes, books, and supplies of all kinds. They purchased candles to celebrate the occasion and walked along the light crowds just like the regular townspeople were doing.

They went in and out of the shops. The snow had coated the ground and frosted up the windows. It was perfect timing for such a festival. Belle browsed the dresses in one of the shops and stopped to look at a red velvet dress that looked to be much warmer than what she was wearing now. Of course, it was something that was meant for a party, and not maid attire at all. 

“Go try it on,” Rumplestiltskin said from behind her. She jumped slightly. She had been so engrossed in running her fingers through the fabric that she had forgotten that he’d come in the shop along with her.

The shopkeeper was all too happy to usher her into a dressing room, and was chatting about coming in for fittings as Belle stepped into the room. The shopkeeper drew the curtains behind her, and she was alone there for a moment and about to hold up the dress to see how to loosen the fastenings, when it glowed and disappeared from her hands. She was suddenly wearing the very dress that she had held in her hands, and it fit perfectly. The garb that she wore from the castle was in a satchel at her feet. Rumplestiltskin, she muttered under her breath. How am I going to explain this? She couldn’t help but smile subtly as she stepped back into the shop. 

Rumplestiltskin stood there. His hood was down, and the shopkeeper looked taken aback. He held up a heavy, red velvet cloak with white fur trim. “To complete the look,” he said, and twirled his fingers for her to turn around. She turned her back towards him, trying to keep her small smile from turning into a full fledged silly grin. He placed the cloak on her shoulders and drew the clasps closed in front of her. “There,” he said. “Now your attire suits the occasion, and the weather.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Belle said as she turned to face him.

“Think nothing of it. I grew tired of seeing you dressed in the same old thing!” he threw a hand up in the air and stepped away from her. She watched as he emptied a bag of gold onto the shopkeeper’s counter. “Please, let my maid choose whatever else she likes. I will be waiting outside.” He glanced at Belle and smiled softly. Sometimes, he was something else, and certainly not the monster he appeared to be. She wished those moments were more frequent.

When she met him outside the shop a short while later she had something for him. She held out a package wrapped in brown paper and a red ribbon.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Just a little gift. You said that I could get anything else I liked in the shop. Well, I thought you could use this.”

The snow had stopped falling and they both had their hoods down. The cold air had turned Belle’s cheeks rosy. She could feel it. Rumplestiltskin placed their large candles down onto a nearby table, and opened the gift. As he unwrapped it, he looked surprised and touched that she had thought to give him something, even though he had brought up that very thing last night. His hands ran along the leather-bound book that Belle had chosen for him. It was a dark brown color and the title was stamped in gold foil. “The Unusual Affair”

“The shopkeeper said it’s brand new! The ink is barely dry, she said. I’m sure you haven’t read this one.”

Rumplestiltskin looked at her with a gentle expression. “I have not. Thank you, Belle.” He chuckled as he added, “I must say that it sounds rather scandalous.”

Belle laughed. “It does… And thank you for the new dress and cloak.” She looked down, suddenly feeling her cheeks grow warm. Hopefully, he would think it was just from the cold.

He reached down and took the satchel that held her everyday clothes. “Come along now. It’s getting late and I want to start reading my new book!” he exclaimed, as if she was holding him back. He held his arm out with a flourish for her to step ahead of him. She chuckled at his antics and took the candles from the table, lighting their way back to their carriage and their way home.

[erzherzog-von-edelstein]

Weine nicht um mich

Characters: Prussia, Freidrich the Great

Ships: PruFritz

Summary: Prussia reflects on important personal moments with his best king.

Words: 7.2K

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

Prussia took a familiar route to the all too familiar place, his feet carrying him there without any conscious thought. He knew how conspicuous he looked clad in his black dress uniform, walking in this small town with a white chrysanthemum in his hand. But, he couldn’t care less. Let people look at him questioningly; he did not care. He had performed the same ritual every year for more than a century and he was not about to give it up just because Hitler wanted to have some dinner with his commanders.

Prussia had made all the proper goodbyes, stating that there was a pressing matter that needed his attention before grabbing the key to one of the Mercedes and driving to Potsdam. He was not usually so reckless, but this was far more important than another night of nationalistic pomp.

He reached the old church with its soaring spire; it still looked like it had, like the albino, become unchanging. The years of its creation were long gone, but the gothic architecture harkened back to an older age. The wars had not yet touched it. In the years since it had been built, it had housed the remains of all the Hohenzollern monarchs. Now the dynasty was at an end, and Prussia had not been disappointed to see the last of them abdicate. He had been a belligerent fool, unfit to bear the family name. But, that didn’t stop Prussia from making this trip.

He stepped inside the heavy wooden doors and was immediately struck by a wave of remembrance. All these years later, it had not become easier to step into this crypt. He still felt his heart beating in his throat, choking him. It was still bitter and painful. He swallowed it in an attempt to force down the raw emotions. Now it was more painful than it had been in the comfortable years. Loneliness had been easier when he could lay his year’s conquests here like the fulfillment of a lover’s promise.

The space was lit by a single candle, but there were many scattered around the room. The tomb was still mostly in darkness. Prussia put aside the flower and picked up one of the candles. With careful diligence, he walked from candle to candle. As he reached each one, he let the flickering flame of the one he was holding until the flame caught. He walked around the crypt, making certain that no candle remained unlit. If not for the heaviness of the day, there would have been something awe inspiring about the rows of lit candle, lighting the confined space of the gothic cathedral. But, as it was, this felt like a devotional.

Once Prussia finished lighting all the candles, he returned to the original spot. He retrieved the carnation, a white flower adorned with the black and white ribbon of the old flag. Choosing his steps carefully, he approached the tomb. There was a grand engraving of the name of the man, but Prussia knew that the man buried here would have called the monument austere and gaudy. He had wanted to be buried in a simple tomb far away from his father with his hounds. His heir had insisted that he be buried with pomp and ceremony, and Prussia had been in no state to object. The albino placed the flower carefully next to the one from the year before, which had withered and dried. He would remove the desiccated flower when he left. But, first there were words to be said.

The albino kneeled in front of the tomb and said, “So it’s been another year, Fritz. You wouldn’t like what has happened this year. That man keeps saying you would, but he isn’t worth the dust on your boots. I know you well enough to know you would hate all of this.” He mentally kicked himself as he realized that he was still using the present tense to speak to a man who was long dead. It was still so tempting to treat him as though he was alive and could still offer sage advice.

The feelings began to accost Prussia, the deep nausea he felt every time Hitler used Fritz’s name. This whole thing made him sick. Germany seemed happy for the first time in years, and that was worth something. The dour expression he had worn since Versailles was finally fading, and that was enough for Prussia to swallow all his misgivings. But here, alone in a place sacred to him, he could say what he really felt.

He continued, telling the gravestone his worries like he would have to the man when he had been alive, “Sometimes, I look around and I think that this is the price for my ambition. I started all of this: I told Ludwig all my war stories. He always looked so impressed with me.” His voice trailed off and he struggled to regain the thread of what he had said. Germany’s new dictator seemed fond of dragging Prussia’s name into his tirades, and Prussia could see the fervent wish for that kind of glory in his brother’s eyes. His voice returned to him, and he said the words that had been struggling to be formed all night, “I wish you were here, Fritz. I need you now.” _____________________________________________________________________

The music of the flute was soft and soothing in the warm summer air, but Friedrich was having a hard time concentrating on it. His fingers were moving, the memory of a song played many times animated them. But, his eyes were on his kingdom, who had draped himself provocatively over one of the chaises. His limbs were spread in reckless abandon. Prussia was holding a glass of red wine in one hand, occasionally taking a drink from it.

The sight was a little victory for Friedrich. It had taken categorically banning beer from his court to get Gilbert to drink French wine instead of that common German swill. He knew that when the albino drank with the soldiers he still drank beer. But, for elegant evenings like this he had learned to enjoy wine. In these little ways, Prussia had become more used to society.

But that wasn’t what was so distracting. It was the look on his face. Friedrich would be lying to himself if he said he enjoyed anything more than this. Prussia was his favorite audience. These private concerts were more fulfilling because the albino always had the most sublime look on his face, like he never wanted to listen to anything else. His attention never wavered; he never looked away. He was the only one who ever gave Friedrich the impression he was savoring every note, that the music moved him to the core. There was nothing more gratifying for a musician than the feeling of being closely attended by the one he loved. It warmed him to have the albino’s eyes fixed on him.

And yet, Gilbert’s attention was distracting because Friedrich knew that if he put down the flute and closed the space between them, Prussia would embrace him. There was an empty place in the albino’s arms that was calling to him. However, he would not leave this movement unfinished. The temptation to rush through the movement was present. The evening was pleasant and warm, as only a summer in Potsdam could be and the idea of spending it in the other’s arms sounded like paradise.

Prussia took another drink and, as he pulled the glass away from his mouth, he ran his tongue over his lips. And yet, his attention never wavered and a supremely pleased smile returned to his face. The king’s fingers found their way to the last notes of the composition and the sound hung in the air as he let the song end. Dwindling music always seemed to leave a certain magic.

He carefully placed the flute aside and watched as Prussia’s smile widened. He knew what was coming next, and there was an impish undertone to his smile that invited it. Friedrich took the invitation, stepping confidently towards his kingdom. The albino made to sit up, but apparently decided against it. The king settled himself firmly next to his country, who immediately extended his arm around the other. There was barely enough room on the piece of furniture for the pair of them, but it was easy to find space. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be reclining into Prussia’s embraced.

Friedrich spoke, though he knew he didn’t need to, “What did you think?” He knew he didn’t need to ask; he had gotten all the feedback he needed from Gilbert’s uncharacteristic silence and his rapturous smile. He asked only to hear the praise. Like an obedient soldier, Prussia responded to him, “It was beautiful. You have such talented hands.”

Without any resistance from the man, Prussia took his hand in his own and brought it to his lips. As the albino left soft kisses on his fingers, Friedrich reflected on how their relationship had changed. Prussia had never been good at romancing; nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for the subtleties of sweet nothings. Like the soldier he had always been, he wore his desires openly and expressed them without restraint. When he wanted to indulge his cruder desires, he made no secret of it. But, as they spent time together, Prussia had learned a subtler way. His tongue had soften and learned to speak surprisingly good French, even the sweet flirtations of a foreign tongue. Now, the compliment had rolled off his tongue with little pretense.

It was easy to find the words to respond, private words, “Your hands are just as talented. And I am fond of what you do with them.” Prussia scoffed, entwining his hand carelessly with the other’s as he spoke, “Don’t lie to me. Mine are soldier’s hands. They’re rough.”

Friedrich could feel the callouses of the albino’s hand pressed against his own palm. Gilbert was right; his hands bore the marks of the years of swordsmanship. But, that was the charm of them. They were a map of Gilbert’s life before he became a kingdom, every hour honing his own skills. They spoke of the frustrated young knight, and the ascendant power finally coming into his own.

He replied, “Why should that make them untalented? I’ve never seen anyone handle a sword like you.” An arrogant smirk lighted across the albino’s face. It was exactly what he expected. Prussia loved praise, more than he would admit. The modesty of a monastic knight still lingered, even though it was counter to his nature. Years of being a vassal had apparently taught him to hold his tongue. It was as though he thought that by voicing his own greatness, he would make it untrue. But, the deep pride he took in his skills was obvious. Obvious in the way he would best his enemies without pretense, obvious in the way he would pour over maps of his new territorial acquisitions like a giddy child. Friedrich had managed to coax it out and find the braggart craving to be released.

He leaned in and kissed the albino’s lips lightly, saying as he pulled away, “You are a knight and I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Prussia’s hand tightened on his king’s affectionately. He seemed to contemplate his words before he said, “You’re right. And you’re a philosopher, a musician, and a brilliant general.” As he listed each achievement, Friedrich could hear the pride building in the man’s voice. But, he only took pride in the latter two. Beyond that, he saw an equivocation in the words. By listing the other’s achievements, Prussia meant to lessen his own.

His king would not allow this old habit. He immediately said, “I’m afraid you give me too much credit. I leave philosophy to more talented minds. You write better Latin than I do.” At this the albino let out a scoff, “That’s only because I had to transcribe manuscripts.” The dodges were becoming tedious and Friedrich did not have the stomach for it tonight. He wanted this to be uncomplicated affection while they were alone together. He said, using the voice he usually reserved for drilling the regiments, “Mon cher, I do not want to hear about your imagined inadequacies. I know full well that you do not believe any of it.”

A mischievous smile returned to the albino’s face, and he let out a short laugh, “You found me out, Fritz.” Satisfied that he had won some honesty, Friedrich reached over his country and grabbed the glass of wine. As he put it to his lips, Prussia objected, “That was my wine.” He leaned closer, but it was only the pretense of indignation. They had shared far more than this. A retort rolled off his tongue carelessly, “As your king, I am claiming it.” Then, not yet taking a drink, he ran one finger up the albino’s leg, “It’s not all I’ve claimed of yours.”

It was brazen, but there was no reason to refrain. They were alone and secure. Prussia took the invitation, putting one hand on the side of his king’s face. He said, breathily, “I love when you’re forceful.” Without allowing the other time to respond, the albino joined their lips. He still kissed like a man of war, with passion and messy, reckless abandon. It was like he considered this another conquest. But, it was that undisguised passion, completely honest, that caused heat to spread across the mortal’s skin. He could taste wine on his country’s lips and feel the hand on his face holding him gently.

But, there was something more beneath that, something naive but wholeheartedly determined, something quintessential to the man. Friedrich knew that he had been Prussia’s first, but he suspected that Austria had pined for that honor. In that respect, he had always had the advantage in skill and experience. But, Prussia was earnest and unending in his love, and he kissed with a voracity that no other lover had ever matched.

If force was what Gilbert was craving, then he could certainly have it. His king returned his kiss with equal firmness, gaining ground against his country’s force. He could feel the shift in the albino’s demeanor as he started to succumb. Prussia pulled back, taking a deep breath as he did so. The proud, witty remark that he undoubtedly had died as he was forced to take another breath. He said, “How do you do that?”

The question was genuinely confusing, seeing as what he had been doing seemed rather straightforward. But, he took it as a flirtation, or an attempt at one. Friedrich spoke as he put his hand in Prussia’s hair, “How do I do what, amour?” The albino smiled and his king could see the playful shadow beneath the smile. Then Prussia said, “When you kiss me, I feel like I’m melting. I would do anything for you.”

His voice was thick with desire, but it was the words that made a blush take to the king’s cheeks. He knew Prussia well enough to know that these confessions did not come easily. The man was not one to readily express his emotions. The vulnerability lasted for only a moment before the kingdom added, “But you are my king, so I should do what you want.” It was a witty evasion but nothing more.

Friedrich stroked back a few pieces of the albino’s hair before he countered, “On the contrary, I am your servant. I will do whatever I can to make you happy.” He had said it before, but it carried an entirely different rhetorical weight here with no one else listening. It was not a broad statement on the ideal of serving the needs of the people, it was a lover’s promise. The other didn’t respond at once. He seemed to be contemplating what he thought of the promise. There was something endearing about the way that Gilbert bit his lower lip whenever he was thinking. But, this was more than banter.

Though he had learned to appear like cold steel to his army and commanders, Friedrich couldn’t help but feel deeply for his country and want his happiness. It had been painful to watch Prussia lose land during the Seven Years War, even worse when there had been Russian troops in Berlin and he had seen the spasms of pain when the albino slept. Each loss had felt like the thrust of a knife, if only for the pain he knew it caused Prussia. And yet, he had never said anything, because he did not want his lover, his country to doubt him. Not even a word of his concern had left his lips. Even when the urge to apologize for everything had occurred to him, he had ignored it. Gilbert believed in him and, selfishly, he had wanted that to remain. He had never told Prussia, even once the war was over, that he had told his ministers to place the preservation of his kingdom and his successor over that of his own life. It had been more important to save Prussia and give him a stable line of succession. Gilbert did not know that the deepest joy he had ever felt had not been in the arms of von Katte or in conversation with Voltaire; it had been when the albino embraced him after the signing of the treaty of Hubertusburg, because he knew that Prussia would be safe.

He spoke again, “Anything you want, you need only name it.” Prussia smirked, “Bullshit.” Friedrich responded immediately, “I secured Silesia for you, did I not? I thought you wanted to humiliate Austria and gain territory.”

The boast did not feel entirely sincere in light of what his gamble on Silesia had almost cost him. But, the smile that spread across the albino’s face erased every doubt. Prussia let out a short laugh, and with their proximity, the king could feel it in his own chest. He replied, “It was amazing to see the look on Roderick’s face when he realized you’d beaten him.” Without thinking about the words, Friedrich said, “He’s jealous.” Prussia scoffed as he always did at the notion, “Of what? He’s an empire and I won one little province.”

Sometimes Friedrich couldn’t help but wonder if this was willful ignorance because it seemed painfully obvious to him. The covetous way Austria looked at Prussia was enough to convince anyone. He sighed as he explained again, “He’s jealous of this.” To make his point more effectively he took his hand from the albino’s face and ran it up his thigh. The other shifted so that they were even closer. His response was not the usual denial, “I don’t care what he thinks.”

The brazen answer was tantalizing. It proved that the Austrian influence was truly gone. The king finally took a drink of the wine he had forgotten he was holding. Then he returned to the earlier subject, “If you could have anything, what would it be? What is your greatest ambition?” He suspected he knew already. Gilbert longed to finally be recognized as a great power. Deep crimson eyes met his own and some of the levity left the other’s face, “Are you serious, Fritz?”

The return to the somber tone was unexpected. There was a shadow of a much younger boy in Prussia’s face for a moment, and Friedrich had the sudden strong urge to comfort him. He moved his hand back to the albino’s face and ran his thumb across the skin. The words came easily, “Yes, mon cher, I want to know.” Prussia took a deep breath before saying, “I want all the German states under my control.”

The mortal drew in a shocked breath. He had not expected such far reaching aspirations had resided in his lover’s breast. The reaction did not escape the country’s notice. Responding to the inevitable question, he continued, “They should have been my inheritance. I was my father’s eldest son, but he made my youngest brother the Holy Roman Empire.” He drew in another deep breath before saying, “If I could have anything, I would have it all.”

Friedrich found himself unable to respond immediately. The information was all so novel. Aside from a few moments of sympathy in his youth, he had never heard Prussia speak of his father or the reason for his hatred of him. He knew little about the distant figure of the Holy Roman empire. This was the first time Prussia had said explicitly that he was even related to Holy Rome. It took a moment to understand that Gilbert had said something he guarded deeply. This ambition must have been festering since his days as a knight, never daring to be voiced to anyone.

Taking the silence for the end of the conversation, Prussia composed himself and said, “I’ve ruined the mood.” He then disentangled his limbs from his king and stood up. Having recovered from the shock of the answer, Friedrich said, employing his voice for command again, “Don’t walk away from me, Gilbert.” The albino stopped in his tracks, conditioned to obey. But, he didn’t turn to look at the other.

He could have ordered the man back to his side, but that would be a return to formality. Instead, Friedrich got up and walked over to his country. When he reached him, Friedrich said, “Look at me.” The albino turned his eyes with defiant fire towards his king, but the mortal could recognize the feeling beneath it.

It was that look that he addressed when he said, “Never be ashamed to tell me what you think.” Prussia snapped back, “I am not ashamed.”

Gilbert lied badly; he always had. It had been something of a miracle that he had so effectively hid their involvement from Friedrich’s father. Years of living under a monastic code of conduct had prepared him poorly for duplicity. This had to be a protestation of pride, nothing more. Friedrich took a step closer and replied decisively, “Yes you are. I don’t see why though.”

The albino let out a sigh, admitting his defeat, before saying, “It’s a nice night. We had good wine and exceptional music. You don’t want to hear about how I want my brother’s title.” His evasiveness made his king wonder when, if ever, Prussia had last voiced these sentiments and what reception he had gotten. He would not pry, since he knew he would get little from the other in the moment.

He took one more small step towards his lover and said, “Do you want to hear what I wish for?” Prussia didn’t step away from him. The albino responded with a forced laugh, “Better company?” Friedrich’s hand easily found its familiar place on the albino’s waist. He countered, “If I could have anything, I would have eternity.”

Prussia’s eyes widened as the meaning registered. His king continued, “I would want to be here with you to see you accomplish all your ambitions.” The smile that appeared on Prussia’s face was completely genuine. Everything he wanted to say was clear when he said tenderly, “Fritz.”

His king did not let him equivocate or explain; he pressed his lips against the other’s. If Prussia was really mad, he would have pulled away. But he leaned in and let himself soften under his king’s touch. Friedrich could feel that he had won. When he finally pulled away, the albino was silent. His smile was self-satisfied and bordered on a sneer; it was intensely erotic. The mortal spoke again, “But, for tonight I will be satisfied to take you to bed and claim you.” Prussia’s smile became a smirk as he leaned in again and said, “Whatever you will, mein König.” _______________________________________________________________________

The physician let out a low sigh before he spoke and Friedrich could already guess what he was going to say. The pain in his joints was intense enough already, but he had felt his health declining more rapidly for a few months. Consulting the physician had been a formality to confirm what he already felt. The man said, “My king, you are dying. I do not think you will live out the month.”

The news was no harsher than he expected. He had already appointed a successor with the full knowledge that he had had a long, rich reign. Friedrich nodded to the physician, “Very well.” He gestured that the man should leave the room, and he bowed and left. The news that he would die was not alarming. There were so many times he could have been cut down on the battlefield with his work unfinished.

He pulled his jacket back on, having removed it to be examined, and took his cane in hand. How ironic it was, he mused, that a cane had been an object of terror in his youth, but was now a necessity. He took a firm hold on the wood and used it to get again to his feet. It was deeply frustrating to be trapped in this breaking body, knowing what he used to be able to do. The young could not imagine the difficulties that came with something as vital as walking. But, it was necessary to make it to the desk on the other side of the room. Now he could feel the pain of the gout in every movement. It was only stubbornness that had stopped him from becoming completely immobile.

He reached the desk and lowered himself into the hard wooden chair with a groan. There was a will in one of the locked drawers of this desk that required his attention. It had resided there since very early in his reign, and had been altered very rarely. Removing the key from his pocket with an unsteady hand, Friedrich found the drawer and prepared himself to confront what lay inside. There had been plans in place in case of his death since the Seven Years War, but revisiting them now with such absolute certainty gave them finality. He laid out the papers in front of himself and began to read through them. The instructions were sufficiently clear; the throne would pass to his nephew since he had never wanted any issue. There should be no foreseeable dispute of the succession. For his own burial he commanded that there be no pomp, only a quiet grave at his summer palace. The last thing he wanted was to spend his eternal rest beside his father.

As he read the words again, an image filled his mind, alarmingly strong. He saw his country, dressed in mourning clothes, bent over his coffin crying. It caused a sharp pain in his chest. The idea was clear, but puzzling. Why should he be crying? In all the years he had been king, he had never seen Prussia truly cry. His country was the kind of man who could have wounds stitched with no more than a stony grimace. Prussia had certainly shed no tears for his father.

But, regardless, in the dizzying image of his own death, he saw Prussia weeping. Worse, he saw no one being able to console his country, no one knowing the man beneath the warrior well enough to do so. What was that German word? Einsamkeit. The french was more familiar, Solitude.

The idea was so throughly unsettling that he laid aside the document. There were no arrangements he could make that would keep his precious lover, who had become more like a husband than a casual lover, from pain. It would be absurd to add a clause to his will dealing directly with Gilbert, since his existence was a secret outside of the court.

The sound of familiar footsteps outside his door was not as welcome as it would usually be. What could he say to his country to soften the blow? Prussia did not wait for permission to enter his king’s chambers; he never did anymore. He looked as young and intoxicatingly virile as he did in Friedrich’s earliest memories. If anything, he looked stronger than he ever had; these years had been good to him. The contrast between them as the years widened had never seemed to bother Prussia, even when Friedrich had felt painfully aware of it. Prussia looked young enough to be his son. Austria did not age either, nor did he seem to physically weaken. When they had met in during the War of Bavarian Succession, it had been hard to meet Austria’s gaze knowing how old he looked next to Prussia. It had been clear from Austria’s self-satisfied smile that he was glad to see how imminent the king’s death was. Austria could see that an annoyance in his path would soon disappear.

As Friedrich reflected on his immortal rival, Prussia walked across the room. The albino needed no invitation; he chose one of the many chairs and sat. He looked at his king, apparently not yet understanding what the document on the table was. Before the albino could bring up a another topic of conversation, Friedrich said, “Have you ever considered taking another lover?”

He heard the pretense in his own voice. Asking about his lover’s infidelity sounded like inquiring whether the weather was favorable. Prussia’s eyes widened as the words registered. He said, sounding throughly incredulous, “Of course not. Why would I?” He scoffed as though he thought the question was a joke. But, it was not. If he had said yes, then that would have given the mortal some comfort. Perhaps if he knew that someone would take Prussia away from his coffin and dry his tears, then he would be at peace with the concept. At least then Prussia would be spared the loneliness he would otherwise have to face.

But, the words died in his throat as he attempted to form them. It was too hard to tell Prussia that he was dying, knowing that the man loved him and would be alone without him. Friedrich knew what it was like to watch someone you loved die. So instead he said, “I am old and I doubt that I still satisfy you. Perhaps you should find someone younger.”

The thought of Prussia bedding someone else made him feel a deep rage accompanied with a slight queasiness. The thought of someone else’s hands on the intimate parts of the albino’s body made him feel ill. But, if it spared him from misery then it would be worth it. The albino’s face fell as he comprehended how sincere the conversation was, and his expression was replaced with one of disdain. But, he shook his head, and the sight could scarcely be more frustrating.

The albino replied with the air of one whose pride had been deeply wounded, “Do you really think that’s all I want? I could certainly find someone to fuck, but would he treat me like you do? Would he discuss philosophy, poetry, or music with me like you do? I don’t think so. I love you for more than your body.”

In the years they had been together, Prussia had certainly become more eloquent. He had enough of an intellect to be a force on his own. But in the moment, Friedrich wished that his country could be simple and superficial. He took a deep breath before saying something else that he thought would never pass his lips, “As your king, I am ordering you to find another lover.” If he could not remedy the anxiety with gentile urging, he was not against coercing the man for his own good. But, he could have guessed Prussia’s reaction before the man snapped back, “No! Why would you ever ask that of me?” Frustrated with his country’s stubborn nature, Friedrich slammed his hand down on the desk. Before he could consider or reorder his words, he said, “I will not allow you to be alone without me!”

His meaning was clear enough and the other’s face went completely blank. He spoke with a mounting disbelief, “But you aren’t-” He stumbled for a moment, and then he caught sight of the papers. Enraged, the albino stood and stormed over. Before he could be stopped, he grabbed the top page and took several steps out of his king’s reach.

The red eyes flitted over the page. Friedrich steeled himself for his country’s inevitable rage. But, Prussia just shook his head slowly, saying under his breath, “Nein.” Before Prussia could fully articulate his thoughts, Friedrich said, “You knew this would happen, Gilbert.” The other’s eyes snapped from the pages back to his face. The tremble in his lower lip negated any idea that he was angry, “Is this why you’ve been having physicians hanging around? So they can make you worry about this?”

He waved the page of the will with a wordless outrage. His king could hear the meaning just beneath the words, and it was making his heart ache. He said, choosing his words carefully, “It is more than just worry. My health is failing.” He spoke the statement with absolute certainty, and it fell flat in the deadened air. Prussia pulled in a deep breath and shook his head again, “It’s not that bad. It has never been before.”

He didn’t sound fully convinced, and his hands were clenched together in front of himself. Friedrich could see the knuckles on Prussia’s right hand turning even paler as it attempted to restrain his sword hand. It was hard to tell what he intended to do with it. Perhaps he wanted to rip it to shreds, like destroying the words would change the reality. But, Prussia knew better than to believe in such childishness.

The king took a breath before saying, “I am not immortal like you, as you have always known. I am dying, and it is certain.” He saw the albino shook his head, but took a moment to collect his thoughts. He finally said, not daring to meet Friedrich’s gaze, “I knew it. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I told myself that if loved you enough this wouldn’t happen.”

His discipline allowed him to restrain himself, but it was a familiar facade. Friedrich responded, trying to be gentle, “If it worked that way, my father would not have lived so long.” A smile appeared on the albino’s pale lips for a moment. Even wit could not blunt this blow. When Prussia spoke again, there was a tremble in his voice, “I always thought thought there would be one more year. I’m-” His voice caught in her throat, and for one of the first times, tears welled at the corner of his eyes. The sight sent a cold jolt down’s his kings spine. It was beginning already, and he felt his country’s pain as concretely as if it was his own. Prussia collected himself enough to finish his thought, “I’m not ready to be without you. I thought I would be stronger when the time came.”

Though it was uncomfortable, Friedrich got to his feet, using the cane to support himself, and walked around the desk to where his country was standing. Ignoring the pain that it caused him, he let go of the cane and pulled Prussia into his arms. The other immediately pulled him closer. Friedrich put his hand on the back of the albino’s head and cradled it against his shoulder. He spoke, attempting to be comforting, “It’s not a battle, mon cher, you do not need to be strong.”

He felt the other’s shoulder’s heave as he let out a sob. His hands were knotted in the back of his king’s coat. Friedrich felt a sharp pain with every beat of his heart. This was exactly what he feared. The man he had never seen shed a tear was crying against his shoulder.

He said, “You’re not going to be without me.” Prussia looked at him, and there was a look of disbelief that was understandable. But, Friedrich had finally lighted upon the right solution. What Gilbert needed was not a poor imitation of their relationship. He would find no comfort in that. He needed to be reassured that he had no reason to mourn, that he would lose nothing.

Prussia’s next question was predictable, “What do you mean? You’ll die and I’ll still be here.” To answer it, his king pulled away far enough to press his hand flat against the other’s chest. He asked, “What do you feel here?” The albino spoke slowly, clearly confused by the question, “Right now? Pain.” It was kurt, but it was expected. Friedrich responded, “I feel it too. Your pain hurts me too. But, that feeling tells you I am there in your heart.” He met Prussia’s ruby eyes again and he could tell that the man was drinking in every word. His eyes had not completely dried, but it was still clear that he was distressed. He continued, “I will always be there. That will not change with time.”

The albino put his hand over the other’s where it was on his chest. He said, “What about the times when I need you?” The answer was easy, and Friedrich spoke it, “Listen to your heart. I will be there with you. It’s my heart as much as yours.”

Prussia’s tears were gone, but his arms were still holding his lover with such force that he could not pull away. Friedrich did not mind, it was easier than holding his own body up. Prussia spoke again, hesitating uncharacteristically, “I will miss you all the same.” They were inevitable words, and there was nothing Friedrich could say to counter it. Instead he said, “I expect you will. But, you are fully capable on your own.”

He reached up and stroked back a piece of Prussia’s wayward hair. The albino leaned in and pressed his lips gently against his king’s. This was not the forceful kiss of youth. It was softer and sweeter, and as he put his hand on the albino’s cheeks, he could feel the moisture.

But the change in position proved too taxing for the elderly King’s body, and he was forced to say, “Gilbert, I should sit.” It was a command and the albino simply nodded and released his hold. Only once Friedrich had settled himself in his favorite chair, did Prussia sit on the floor next to him, resting his head on his lap. Friedrich’s hand found his country’s hair and he stroked it comfortingly.

A difficult thought seemed to struggle on the albino’s lips. He finally said, “These years with you have been the best of my life.” It was a deeply personal confession, the type that were difficult for the albino. Friedrich owed it nothing less than an honest response, “I have loved you since I was a young boy, and everything I have done, I have done for you.”

He had never dared be this forthcoming with his country before. But, now that there time was sparse, there could be no secrets. So, in favor of complete confession, he continued, speaking the words that he had never said, “Thank you for coming to me when I was at Küstern and telling me you loved me. I do not know if I would have been able to endure without you. You came even though my father forbid it. I knew then that I could love no one else.”

The memory was distant and cold. The imprisonment after his attempt to escape his father’s tyranny had seemed like the frigid end of the world. His former lover and friend was dead, slain right in front of him, and the future held no prospect but his father’s cane. Prussia had cut through it like a ray of sun through deep fog. He had ordered the guards away, wrapped the young prince in his own traveling coat and spoken the words that Friedrich had never forgotten, “You will survive and prosper because you are destined to be my king and because I love you.” Those words had galvanized him and given him the will to find common ground with his father.

Now, Prussia was looking at him adoringly as he continued, “Whatever you may think of Voltaire, you have been the one and only love of my life.” Prussia was blushing, which was very obvious against his unique skin tone. The albino drew in a deep breath before replying, “I never thought I would love anyone. You are the love of my life.” He echoed the sentiment, though the time frame was vastly differently. Prussia leaned his head welcomingly against the other’s hand, but he continued to speak, “I’ve never wanted anything in my life but you.”

Friedrich felt a smile turn up the corner of his mouth. He countered, “I’m not the only thing. If I remember correctly, you want to control all the German states.” Prussia scoffed, “Fritz, that was just banter. I know it’s impossible.” Continuing to run his hand through the other’s hair, Friedrich replied, “In this moment it is. But in a century or two, it could all be yours. You’re more than just a soldier. You have the skill and the mind for it, mon cher. I know you well enough to know that you do not say what you don’t mean.”

There was an obvious glint of ambition in the albino’s eyes, but he did not voice it. Instead he let his king speak again, “Promise me you’ll pursue your ambitions, even if I am not there with you.” Prussia swallowed whatever he was about to say about the improbability of controlling everything. He could tell that this was not the moment for modesty. He said, “I promise, Fritz. I will.”

With his free hand, the king reached down and took his country’s hand. Prussia’s grip was firm. Neither of them spoke; what had been said was enough. Wordlessly, the albino brought the hand to his lips and kissed the fingers. He then spoke again, “I am going to stay with you tonight, and every night until the end.” He sounded like a knight pledging to keep a vigil and it was comforting. His presence was more familiar than any, and it would be no intrusion for him to remain. So, Friedrich said, “I would like that.” ___________________________________________________________

In the night, the king woke. He looked at his country, who was asleep in his lap. His hand was still resting firmly on the other’s.

He looked incredibly serene asleep. The room was dark, but Prussia stood out as pale and pure as moonlight. It was easy to contemplate him now that Friedrich knew he had found an uneasy peace. Likely, he would mourn. But he would keep his promise and continue.

He felt a heartbeat that felt out of time, followed by another that seemed uneasy. It was not unnerving though. This was the most peace he could feel. He looked at Prussia one more time, memorizing every line and feature. If one sight was to be his last, then he wanted it to be this. As he looked at his country, he slowly closed his eyes and let himself slip away.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

(you taught me) the courage of stars pt. 3

Summary: “I know what it is like, Ahsoka.” Obi-Wan tells her. “I know what it is to leave the Jedi with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the knowledge that you are doing the right thing.”

 Or: Ahsoka Tano flees after a warrant for her arrest is issued, but not before receiving aid from an unexpected ally. (Ahsoka proceeds to go on a road trip filled with a bunch of strangers who all say the same thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi is much more than he has ever appeared to be.)

Warnings: Canon typical violence, abuse (childhood, emotional, physical, mental), mind control.

Pt. 1, Pt.2, AO3

Nautical Dusk

Coruscant’s skies open above Anakin’s head. The deluge pounds down, weighing on his shoulders even further, trickling into his collar, seeping into his bones. He is alone. He is alone. His thoughts swirl, his own storm all locked up inside his skull, a fragile pantomime of the downpour around him. The landing pad is soaked, reflecting the hazy neon lights from the buildings around the Temple as Anakin waits.

If you’d just tried harder--if you’d just protected her better--if you’d just run after her faster--

His head aches as Anakin shakes it savagely, ignoring the strain he puts on his tendons. Ahsoka is gone. She’d bolted before he could--he could--

What could you have done, my boy? Palpatine had asked gently when Anakin called him hours ago. The rain, which had flickered on and off throughout the day, provided a cacophonous background symphony to the call. Palpatine’s face was deeply troubled, even pitying. Anakin doesn’t know why he even tried talking to the Chancellor--only that Ahsoka was chased away from him by authorities and his mentor may have been able to help. It is not your fault that this has happened; it was your student’s decision to flee. You can’t expect to help her if she is gone.

Anakin’s fingertips are numb. His spine is brittle, threatening to snap under the weight of what has happened. There are no other Jedi in the hangar; they’d cleared out when he’d entered, sensing the destructive spiral of the Force around him. It wraps around the Knight darkly, seething--he can’t seem to stop it. His throat is so tight he chokes on air. It feels as if the world is crumbling around him without Ahsoka’s foundational presence to shore him up.

Usually, when someone runs it is because they are guilty. Not that I have anything but the utmost faith in anyone you have trained, of course. I’m sure not everything is as it seems in your Padawan’s trial but unfortunately this is in the Jedi’s jurisdiction, not my own. If only I had a little more pull within your Order, I may have been able to help…

Why does he always want more pull within the Temple? A voice in Anakin’s head had whispered then, but Anakin had shoved it away with a vicious snarl. That call was the only time he can remember hanging up on the Chancellor without so much as a goodbye. Palpatine could not help him, could not help Ahsoka. It was useless to try.

The sound of a speeder’s engine cutting off shakes him from his thoughts, and Anakin jerks to attention, hardly realizing how far his mind wandered. It has been hours since Obi-Wan slipped out, surrounded by Coruscanti Guards; his master’s hood is up, plastered to his head with rainwater. He moves slowly, gingerly, as if sore. He is alone, a singular miserable figure against a disgustingly empty horizon. Anakin’s chest constricts but he rushes forward anyway, crowding into his master’s space.

Over the rush of rain and sleet, his voice is weak. “Did you find her? Did you find Ahsoka?”

Obi-Wan swings himself the rest of the way down from the speeder. His hood hides his face in shadow and he shakes his head, motioning towards the shelter of the hangar. “Let me inside before we discuss anything, Anakin. This rain won’t do anything for our health.”

The hallway is too bright, light digging into Anakin’s eye sockets as they walk. His head renews its throbbing.

I may have been able to help...

Temple guards look up curiously as they pass, but from the corner of his eye Anakin catches Obi-Wan shaking his head deliberately. They are allowed back to Obi-Wan’s quarters unmolested.

The words explode from his mouth mere seconds after the door closes. “Where was she? Why didn’t you bring her back--”

“Ahsoka is gone.” Obi-Wan strips his robe off, and, in a move Anakin has never seen from him before, checks the lock on the door. When he turns to face his former padawan, Anakin really sees him for the first time tonight: Obi-Wan’s face is torn and worried, crow’s feet at his temples and wrinkles digging deeply into his forehead. His mouth is set in a thin, firm frown, and his hair hangs lank with dampness over his brow, which furrows tightly. “I tried to catch up--there were so many guards that I had to--”

Anakin feels his fists clench almost independent of his will. “You lost her! You were too busy following the rules and regulations that you lost Ahsoka!”

“No, I--”

“Why would you even bring so many guards with you in the first place? You’re treating Ahsoka like she’s some common criminal!” Anakin whirls, pacing the living room’s length. He bumps into a small coffee table as he whirls back. Quite unknowing of what he’s doing, temper piqued and red descending over his vision, Anakin lifts a boot and shoves at the table’s edge. It topples with a tremendous clatter; a forgotten mug shatters against the back wall, splattering cold tea across the floor as the table flips, crashing onto its side. The only other ornament on the table, a smooth rock which hums in the Force, scatters away in the wake of Anakin’s anger, and, like a candle, his temper blows out quite suddenly.

(He used to play there when he was young, taking apart a mouse droid only to rebuild it perfectly, Obi-Wan’s indulgent smile visible over the edge of a datapad.)

“ Anakin .”

Rather than apologize, Anakin drops his face into his hands, a sob hitching at his chest. “She ran. Why would she run from me? Doesn’t she trust me to help her?”

“She has lost faith in the Order,” Obi-Wan replies. His face is more lined than Anakin ever remembered it being. He won’t meet Anakin’s eyes: it makes the heat of rage flame in Anakin’s chest where it had been burning down to embers.

“And why shouldn’t she? The Jedi have done nothing for her! They have failed her!”

“ We have failed her.”

Anakin pulls up short. Nearly chewing the words, he spits, “What? What are you talking about?” He hadn’t--he’d wanted to help her, take her back to the Temple with him and make the Council listen --

“ We have failed her.” Obi-Wan repeats; his eyes flash to meet Anakin’s, steel in his voice. But his stance is open as he moves further into the room, standing broad-shouldered, unshakable, across from Anakin. He stands as if the sky hasn’t fallen down around their ears. “Have you forgotten that you are a part of the Jedi too, Anakin?”

Anger roils in his gut, makes him snarl. The Force rises around them, threatening, until Obi-Wan’s Force signature (cool and calm, steady as rock and soft a velvet) pushes it back, soothes the storm. It almost allows Anakin a moment of calm, but his nerves jangle in the back of his mind, refusing to let him rest.

“We are not infallible, Anakin. We make mistakes--sometimes big ones. Sometimes catastrophic in measure.”

“Ahsoka isn’t a mistake.”

“No. She is not. But what has happened to her is, and we will not be able to help her fix it if we are too busy fighting amongst ourselves. We’ll only be able to clear Ahsoka’s name if we work together.”

What could you have done, my boy?

“What can we do without her here to give her side of the story? Not even the Chancellor can help us, it’s in the Jedi’s jurisdiction and they’ve already pronounced her guilty!” Helplessness floods him, insidious. Obi-Wan’s voice sounds very far away.

“The Chancellor--?” Obi-Wan starts, but cuts himself off quickly. “Never mind that. Listen to me carefully. The trial and Ahsoka’s fleeing her sentencing is not the end of this, Anakin. The Council will listen to reason if we can provide evidence of Ahsoka’s innocence; they’ll even accept her back if she wishes to return. We can help her, but we have to work fast. She’s out there alone --”

Anakin scoffs, his hollow chest making the sound ring out around them loudly. He turns away, but before the door slides close behind him, snaps out a parting blow. “What would you know about being alone?”

He chooses to leave rather than give Obi-Wan the chance to answer.

Someone is waiting for Ahsoka before her ship lands.

The Force pulls at the young trogruta’s senses, leading her through the merry throngs, families reuniting and friends embracing. Her chest aches, skin practically crawling with need, with grief. Nonetheless, the Force calls to her, and Ahsoka answers.

Her senses pull her towards a person who waits beside the west exit, hood up and hands clasped before them patiently. The Force ripples about them, curling fondly, light with song. It’s almost enough to make her relax--until Ahsoka catches herself and tenses her shoulders again. She’d thought she was safe before, that people who raised her were actually there to protect her. She was wrong.

She pulls up short before the person and does not speak. A trick Skyguy taught her: desperate people will usually spill their souls to you if you are quiet enough.

The hooded person before her tipped their head towards her after a moment in which they both fall stalk still. The crowd unknowingly gives them a wide berth, responding to the inherent prompting of the Force.

“Hello there.” they greet Ahsoka gently. She still finches at the familiar phrase. “What brings you to our humble home?”

They are testing her. Ahsoka’s spine wants to snap straight, but she refuses to yield, to show the emotions that roil in her gut. She has to be calm. She has to be collected. Master Obi-Wan’s blank sabbac face flashes through her mind and Ahsoka’s gorge rises in her throat. She swallows it down, grits her teeth until she thinks her voice won’t shake too much. “A friend.” The words do not feel as vile as she’d have thought they would, and with a startling drop of her stomach, Ahsoka realizes she isn’t lying.

The person hums; they’ve gradually turned their back on the crowd--only Ahsoka looks directly at them now. “We as a people are not known for having many friends. Certainly not many of those who would send newcomers to seek us out.”

This time, Ahsoka keeps quiet. The Jedi are not the only Force-users in the galaxy. With how strangely this person is acting, unknown to her as they are, she’s not willing to give out any names. Her lineage is particularly good at resisting Force suggestion but Ahsoka is self-aware enough to know her shields are not at their best in this moment.

The stranger’s head tilts and Ahsoka feels eyes scanning her from head to toe. She nearly snarls. “Kenobi sent you then.”

Old protective suspicion makes Ahsoka’s hackles rise. She doesn’t mean to speak again but before she knows it, words fall from a sharp tongue. “How do you know him?”

“He is a very old friend.” They lift their hood from their face; the woman underneath is older than Ahsoka expected, with smile lines dug in deep into her skin. “My name is Wila,” she says. “Welcome to Gala.”

[a-vintage-snake]

8. Oh, I’ll Fall In Love With You

Pairing(s): Pre-romantic Dukeceit

First chapter - Previous chapter - Next chapter

Warnings: Child abuse, dirty humor, basically Remus is Very Thirsty™ for that Snake Booty Characters: Janus “Deceit” Sanders, Remus Sanders,

Summary: Deceit makes an offer to Remus he can’t refuse

Word Count: 10601

Author’s Note: Guess who’s baaaaack? This chapter is dedicated to Lumi, Rose, Alec and all the other wonderful people in the Shatter discord server who encouraged me to keep going, even when I struggled so hard with this chapter that I wanted to throw my laptop out of the window. Also, on AO3 I have actually edited and updated all the previous chapters! Worked out the mistakes, added some stuff and deleted some unnecessary things. I will update the chapters here on Tumblr too, but in a few days (I wanna SLEEP man). If you ever wanted to reread this whole beast, now is your best chance!

Taglist: @avocados26, @fandoms-will-collide @nottoonormalme, @bihighandgivinghighfives, @atticusfinchthelegend​, @hekking-happy-nonsense, @lockmcduckwoodchuck

If you want to be removed or added to the taglist, just ask!

Read on AO3

The warlock led him through winding halls, which were slowly brightened by the rising sun outside. Remus knew that he had to pay attention, try to remember some of the routes through this maze-like structure. He however couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away once more from the back of Deceit’s head, although this time it wasn’t just because of those exquisite curls.

Were all evil warlocks like this? Or did this guy just not read the guide on Villainous Wizardry 101?

It was only when Deceit threw open a couple of double doors that Remus finally mentally slapped himself and remembered to look around. One snap of the warlock’s fingers and the dark room erupted into light, candles on the wall flaming up along with a fire starting in an ornately decorated fireplace at the end of the hall. The room that they had just entered appeared to be a grand dining hall. The flames illuminated the massive dining table that took up the room, which had to be at least twice the size of the one Remus knew from back home. Yet the table was caked in dust, years of untouched grime making the warm wood almost grey in appearance. The many chairs surrounding it were in no better condition.

Another bored wave of the warlock’s hand and curtains were drawn, allowing light to stream in through tall windows. Remus rapidly blinked at the sudden brightness, slowing to a halt as took in the stunning view of the mountains and valleys that greeted him beyond the windows. Morning fog was pulled like a blanket over the land below, but if Remus squinted he could still make out the white towers of his family castle in the distance, peaking up from the mist like needles from a pincushion. It was almost impossible to believe that just a few days ago he was still there. Would anyone have started missing him by now?

…Eh. Probably not.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the view,” The warlock’s voice echoed across the hall. “I assure you, it’s just as lovely from this side of the room.”

Startled from his thoughts, Remus hurried over to the end of the dining hall, where he saw that one small part of the table was dust free. On that clean part a modest array of plates were arranged, filled with seasonal fruits, bread and dried fish. There was one one carafe filled with clear water and one with a dark red liquid, which he guessed to likely be wine. Simple food, but nevertheless Remus’ stomach made an embarrassingly loud rumble that nearly echoed in the quiet air. The small dinner in his room seemed ages ago. The warlock chuckled.

“It appears that I got you here just in time,” He said amusedly as he poured two glasses of water. “Have a seat.”

Hesitantly Remus sat down in one of the two chairs that seemed just as clean as the table part. It placed him at Deceit’s left hand, while the warlock sat closest to the fireplace. Looking over the food again Remus ignored his vague disappointment that the warlock didn’t feast on his enemies’ hearts and the blood of virgins or something along that line. Well, he supposed it was only breakfast. Maybe the human meat was reserved for dinner only.

While pondering if perhaps the warlock would put him on the menu and try to strap him to the table to feast on his organs (which was a strangely hot mental image) Remus reached for the glass of water that was placed in front of him-

A sharp ache shot through his wrist and Remus drew his hand back with a pained hiss. He had nearly forgotten about his little injury, but he figured it would be hard to ignore now. His wrist thrummed miserably, thickened with dark blue bruises. Before he could discretely hide the offending arm under the table the warlock looked his way.

“…You are hurt.” Deceit frowned as he spotted his wrist.

“It’s nothing!” Remus said quickly. “I barely feel it, I didn’t lie about-!”

Slender hands grasped his wrist, and Remus’ mouth slapped shut with an audible click. Deceit didn’t react to his sudden silence, only pulled his hand closer. Remus’ throat went bone dry. He didn’t dare to move an inch as the warlock delicately examined his wrist, gentle fingers feeling and pressing for any injury. Sharp talons moved dangerously close to the vulnerable veins on his wrist, yet not a scratch landed on Remus’ skin. The pressure, however soft it was, still sent painful twinges down his arm. Remus barely registered it. He could only stare, a little dazed, at those elegant long fingers. Iridescent green scales ran down the back of the warlock’s hands, even spreading as far as his fingers. Remus wanted to lean forward and explore every single one of them with his lips and tongue.

Oh yeah, good fucking luck with THAT when just him touching your wrist makes you wanna faint like a damsel in a boring story!

“Move your fingers for me?” Deceit asked, unaware of Remus’ inner turmoil. Remus wiggled his fingers, grimacing at the pain the movement caused. The warlock hummed.

“Just a sprain,” Deceit said. “Nothing I can’t heal easily.”

“Ha,” Remus laughed weakly. “Told ya it was nothing! Very tough-! Me…”

Remus trailed off when the warlock gently folded his hands around his wrist in a light grasp. Remus wasn’t sure he could take much more before his heart would literally explode on him and cover the fancy dinner table with his organs, when the warlock’s eyes started glowing molten gold once more… And he started to sing.

Had Deceit’s speaking voice already turned Remus into a pile of goo, nothing could have prepared him for his singing voice. Remus understood exactly none of the words, but it didn’t matter. Breathlessly he let the song wash over him, barely daring to blink lest the warlock would stop singing in that crooning dark baritone voice, soft yet powerful. Every single note felt like silk against his skin, or a soothing warm drink on an ice-cold day. He scarcely noticed how the veins on Deceit’s hands came alive in that same golden glow as his eyes, enveloping Remus’ wrist in warm light.

I’m dying. This is death and somehow I made it into paradise.

Far too soon for his liking the song came to an end. The glow in Deceit’s eyes and veins vanished and, much to Remus’ disappointment, he released his hold on his wrist.

“How does it feel now?” Deceit asked.

Reluctantly Remus pulled his wrist back, only to stop short when he realized the movement didn’t hurt anymore. The bruises had vanished, not even a hint of blue marring his skin anymore. Gingerly he rolled his wrist, preparing for pain, but none came.

A healing spell, Remus realized as he rubbed his wrist. The song had been a healing spell.

In awe over his magical recovery, Remus looked up into the warlock’s calm mismatched eyes. Right. Now was the time to for a charming answer, a sincere thank you that would certainly sweep him off his feet-

“Fuck me.” Remus breathlessly said.

Deceit blinked, baffled. “I beg your pardon?” He sharply asked.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit!! That was NOT the right thing! Quick, thinkthinkthink, fix this, FIX THIS-!!

“I mean FUCK ME, how did you do that?!” Remus yelped.

Nailed it.

Deceit gave him an odd look. “You would say this is nothing new to you,” He said as he gracefully sat down in his own chair. “Healing is one of the most common magic practices out there. Especially amongst nobility, I would say.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been much to a healer! So no, not really used to it!” Remus readily jumped on that little bit of truth. His parents had always believed that sending him to a healer for every injury he had would just make him soft. So his body had always repaired itself the old fashioned way, no matter how seriously hurt he was. Even when Roman was healed for every little bruise that appeared on his disgustingly perfect skin.

“Is that so…” Deceit hummed quietly, more to himself than to Remus. Before he had a chance to decipher the thoughtful tone the warlock smiled, instantly sweeping any rational thought Remus might have had under the rug.

“Well, let’s not stare at this wonderfully set table, shall we? Please,” Deceit waved an inviting gesture towards the food. “Help yourself.”

His stomach rumbled again, so Remus gladly took that invitation, sweeping his eyes over the stalled out food.

This is an opportunity to impress him! You have survived all those boring-ass etiquette for a reason! Show him you’re sophisticated as balls!

He made an excellent point to himself. So Remus picked up the chic silverware, filled his plate with bread, fish and some fruits and ate.

The breakfast was a silent affair, but Remus was used to that. The warlock didn’t touch the food, merely nipped from his water as Remus ate with all the enthusiastic energy of someone who hadn’t brought enough rations on his impromptu quest, filling up his plate again and again. Fuck, he hadn’t realized just how hungry he was. He struck down the instinct to throw his knife and fork aside to unashamedly gorge himself on the food. If it had been Roman with him he would have done that in a heartbeat. In the very rare occasion that both their parents couldn’t attend dinner he had delighted in disgusting his brother by eating everything with his hands. Including soup, that one memorable time. Yes, the soup had been uncomfortably hot, but the grossed out look on Roman’s face had made it all worth it.

Hungrily zooming in on the last slice of dark bread, Remus reached to grab it.

“Wait!”

Remus’ hand stopped midway, hovering over the last slice of bread uncertainly.

“Rule number one of this castle,” Deceit said. “Always leave one piece of food behind on the platters.” That was an… oddly specific rule. “Why?” Remus asked, confusedly pulling his hand back.

The warlock smiled lightly. “See for yourself.” He said as he nodded towards the platter. Remus frowned and looked back, puzzled, at the last slice of bread.

For a while nothing happened. Then, to Remus bewilderment and with the faintest little pop sound a second slice appeared on the platter, identical to the first one. Several more soft pops were heard and within a matter of minutes the platter was once more filled with neatly sliced bread.

Remus thought that at this point his eyes would literally roll out his head with the sheer amount of ogling he had done in just these past 12 hours alone. He couldn’t help it. Any display of magic made him want to see more. He was incredibly tempted to snatch the bread away again just to see how new slices would appear. Instead however he turned to the warlock, not caring about how dumb his astounded face probably was.

“…Well that’s a neat trick.” Remus said weakly. The warlock laughed, and Remus’ stomach made all sorts of funny loopity-loops at the sight.

“It’s merely a simple duplication spell applied to the platters. Along with an air bubble created around them to keep everything at its peak freshness. I’ll admit, that one was a bit trickier.”

“Wait, all the platters do that??”

“Those and the carafes, yes.”

Remus’ eyes immediately went to the carafe of wine. Holy crap, Infinity Wine… Every alcoholic’s wet dream.

“That’s so cool!” Remus breathed. He had never seen magic being used like that! Deceit swirled the water in his glass around. “It is a necessity, I’m afraid. Food is sometimes so hard to come by in the mountains. One learns to appreciate what you can find, even when it is as simple as this. Although I never thought I would have to serve it to such…” The warlock smirked at Remus. “Royal company.” “I-I don’t mind!” Remus shook his head. How was it that one smile of this man made his brain turn to lumpy mush? “Not at all!”

“Oh, I’m so glad about that,” Deceit grinned. “I would positively be distraught if you did mind! Especially since I suppose you were used to the… finer things in life, back at your home?”

Something about that last line jostled something in the helplessly purring slush that was currently his head. His home… His home! His plan! Now was as good of a time as any!

“Oh, right!” Remus dropped his cutlery. “When are we going to take over the castle??” He asked brightly.

Deceit’s hand froze, the glass in his hand halfway up to his lips. He shook his head, seemingly unsure whether or not he heard that correctly.

“I… What?” The warlock’s voice had gone from lightly teasing to downright flat.

“That’s what you want, right?” Remus clarified. “I can help! I know all the entrances of the castle, including the ones that aren’t really entrances I guess? But don’t worry, I would never ask you to go through the sewers! Or do you want info on the guards’ shifts? I got those too! Had to evade those fuckers every time I snuck out!” Growing more and more enthusiastic about the whole idea, Remus grabbed an empty plate and some spoons and arranged them on the table in a rough approximation of the castle’s defence system. “Right, just imagine this plate is the castle! The guards change every six hours, except when there’s a party, then it’s every four hours!” He moved the spoons around the plate, mimicking the exchange of guards. “I would say the best time to sneak in would be at… three o’clock at night or so? Especially on Wednesdays, because then general Isolda isn’t on duty! She’s a real piece of work, lemme tell you! Ohoh!! Shall I detail who the best knights are? So we can take those out first??”

Remus eagerly beamed up at the warlock. The other man hadn’t moved throughout his little explanation. He still held his glass halfway up to his mouth, all the while staring at Remus with the most incredulous blank look he had ever seen. Remus’ grin turned a little less enthusiastic as the seconds kept ticking away in politely baffled silence. Did he say something wrong?

Just as he wanted to ask if maybe his explanation was unclear, Deceit’s eyes hardened with suspicion. The warlock’s face darkened with slow awakening rage as he slammed his glass down with a bang.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Deceit hissed as he rose from his chair, the very air around him crackling with barely held back fury. Remus paled.

“What??? No! No, no, no!” Remus threw up his hands in a placating gesture. “I just want to help you, I swear!”

“Oh, of course!” The warlock bitterly laughed. “One of the royal family just swoops in and wants to help me! What a cute little fairy-tale! Do tell me another! What’s next, you wish to burn down your family castle?!”

“Yeah, really wouldn’t mind that either-!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Deceit roared, his eyes flaring up in flaming gold. Remus sharply inhaled as the eyes bored into him, pinning him down as helplessly as they had done back on the mountain. The warlock moved in, fast as a viper, gripping the arm rests of Remus’ chair as he loomed over the prince.

“Tell me the truth!” The warlock commanded with a hiss. His voice seeped into Remus’ mind like honey, stickily sweet and burning, dousing Remus’ head in gold. The pure intensity of the feeling left him shaking.

“I want…” Remus gasped. “I want-!”

“Yes?” Deceit bit out impatiently.

“I want to help you take over the kingdom because those fucking bastards got it coming!”

Immediately the gold receded, making Remus’ his eyes slip shut and his head fall back as he gulped for breath from the abrupt withdrawal. For a while there was nothing heard but Remus’ laboured breathing. When he sluggishly blinked open his eyes Deceit still loomed over him, stock-still. Staring down at him with the most pure perplexed look of utter confusion on his face. It made Remus want to kiss him senseless.

“You… I… You’re-!” Deceit shook his head, his silver tongue seemingly at a loss for words. “You’re actually serious-!”He finally sputtered out.

“Sure am!” Remus grinned, hoping to hell the warlock wasn’t going to ask why exactly he was so eager to help him.

“But-! But what about your life there?!” “Fucking overrated, let me tell you!”

“Your companions? Your friends?!”

Remus shrugged. “Don’t have those!”

“Really?” The warlock frowned. “There is no one? No one at all?”

Briefly the image of serious eyes behind square glasses crossed his mind’s eye, and for the first time since he woke up a little nugget of hesitance wiggled in Remus’ head. He hadn’t thought about the stuffy librarian… Would his favourite nerd miss his sparkling presence?

“Your Grace, could you kindly get off the bookcase?”

“I can not converse right now, I am quite busy.”

“No, your Grace, I do not eat books. That seems like a very counterproductive way of attaining new knowledge.”

…Oh, who was he kidding? Logan was probably just glad he didn’t have to clean up after his messes anymore.

“Nope! There’s no one!” Remus cheerfully said, throwing up his hands in a ‘what ya gonna do’ gesture. “So let’s burn the castle to the ground!”

Deceit stared down at him for a long moment, a wildly searching look in his eyes. A hundred clever remarks and questions crossed Remus’ mind but he bit them all back. Instead he steadfastly held eye contact, even when his gaze wanted to flick down to the warlock’s lips. What was Deceit looking for? Proof that Remus was being dishonest? Or was it something else?

Eventually Deceit pulled back, slowly releasing the death grip he had on the chair’s armrests. Unsteadily he stepped away to heavily fall back into his own chair. Remus released the breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Whatever it was that Deceit had tried to find, apparently it hadn’t been there. The warlock’s thousand-yard stare suggested someone who saw three weeks (or a month at most) of planning disappear into thin air.

“Well this is an… Unexpected time saver.” Deceit muttered.

“…Time saver for what?” Remus asked curiously. The warlock jostled, as if he hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. Remus squirmed under the glower Deceit send his way. The warlock took him in with narrowed, analysing eyes. Like Remus was a puzzle he wasn’t quite sure how to solve yet. It almost made Remus shy, which was just ridiculous. He didn’t do shy. Quickly he grabbed his glass and took a big swig of water to avoid that scrutinizing gaze.

“…Let me get right to the point then,” Deceit said, his face once more an unreadable mask. “Have you ever wanted to learn magic?”

“Magic?” The prince frowned. “Uh, yeah? Who hasn’t? Why? Are you offering?” Remus joked before taking another sip of water.

“As a matter of fact,” Deceit said lightly. “I am.”

Remus doubled over in a cough as the water went straight up his nose. Hacking like an old man he pounded on his chest to dislodge the water he inhaled in his own lungs.

“Try not to die on me, little prince,” The warlock’s dry tone reached through Remus’ coughing. “We still have much to discuss.”

It took a few minutes before Remus got his breathing back under control. He swallowed a good couple of times, and looked back at the other to ask multiple questions, including, but not limited to, ‘what the actual fuck’ when he saw that the warlock wasn’t looking at him. Instead he looked just a bit past Remus.

“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Deceit said with a warm smile. Remus whipped around. Who was this?? A rival?? His plan be damned, he would challenge his competition to a duel right then and there-!!

Yellow and black scales patterned down a long coiling body, which silently glided itself across the table towards him. Loudly cursing Remus grabbed the utensil nearest to him (a fork unfortunately) from the table and held it up like a sword as quite possible the largest cobra he had ever seen raised itself up right before him. Vicious green eyes with split pupils stared him down scornfully. The cobra’s tongue flicked out, scenting him, before flaring its hood and hissing furiously at Remus, showing off fangs the size of his little finger. He suddenly understood why he hadn’t spotted any rodents around the castle.

Before Remus could even think about jamming his fork into the snake’s jaw, Deceit reached forward and softly caressed the cobra’s belly with his knuckles.

“Ssssh, sssh... Eris, Eris…” The warlock soothingly cooed. “There’s no need for that, my beauty.”

The cobra turned to Deceit with another hiss, this one not quite promising murderous intent like the previous one, but still fierce.

“Oh dear, someone is grumpy,” Deceit chuckled affectionately, like he was talking to a toddler and not a massive venomous killer rope full of rage. “Eris, may I introduce you to Remus. Remus, this is Eris.”

Remus sunk down his chair when the cobra looked at him again, her eyes filled with contempt. The resemblance to his mother was almost uncanny.

“P-Pleasure to meet you…?” Remus hesitantly smiled. Eris pulled her nose up with a snarl, showing off her fangs once more. Remus gulped and slid a bit further down his chair, hoping to hide his vulnerable neck from those teeth.

“This man will be our guest for the foreseeable future. Yes he will!” Deceit said sternly as Eris angrily hissed, disbelief somehow clear in her eyes. “So be nice.”

Eris glanced between Deceit and Remus dubiously, before hissing again. Deceit sighed. “Please don’t question my decisions at the dinner table. We talked about this.” He said tiredly. Eris made a rolling movement with her head, like she desperately wished she had eyes that could roll.

This was turning into quite possibly the weirdest (and oddly arousing) day of Remus’ life as he watched Eris slither onto the warlock’s arm, and Deceit let it happen calmly. As if the snake, sliding herself up and wrapping around his neck and shoulders like the world’s deadliest scarf, couldn’t kill him with just one bite. Eris rested her head on Deceit’s shoulder and glowered over her own coils at Remus.

“Don’t mind her,” Deceit absent-mindedly caressed the cobra’s yellow and black scales. “She’s not good with new faces, but she won’t harm you.”

“…Riiiight.” Remus said as Eris raised the tip of her tail, first pointing it at her eyes, then at Remus. He wasn’t sure if snakes could glare, but this one was definitely giving him a look that told him she could kill him a hundred times over if he stepped as much as a toenail out of line.

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

Remus tore himself away from his little staring contest with the cobra to look at the other snake at the table. “Your question?” He repeated a little confused.

“If you would like to learn magic.” Deceit clarified.

“…Hold up. You mean that was a genuine offer??” Remus asked as he sat up from his crouched hold. “You actuallywant to teach me magic?”

“I do.” Deceit calmly nodded.

“B-But… Wait.” This wasn’t real. He was most likely just unconscious under one of those bookcases he knocked over.

His head was probably crushed. A plank impaled him, right through the eye, and he was bleeding pretty pictures all over the floor with bits of brain swirling in the red-

Remus shook his head. No, no, no! Bad brain! Roman thoughts, remember?? But how else could he explain it? There was no way that not just a warlock, but The Warlock In The Goddamn Desolate Mountains was offering to make his childhood fantasy become a reality. It had been his dream to learn magic. A dream he shared with Roman, ever since their ninth birthday party. Their parents had invited a magic performer, who had woven illusions of light into thrilling stories that came alive around the guests. Remus remembered reaching his hand out, utterly mesmerized, toward a pirate ship made of shining orange light. His hand had passed through the illusion, but his fingers had tingled with the feeling of pure magic.

That night Roman and him had barely slept. Instead they had excitedly whispered into the late night hours, planning and saying mock spells, their imagination making their hands light up with magic. They would become the greatest sorcerers in whole the land!

Of course, their dreams were crushed the next morning when they excitedly talked about their plans at breakfast and their mother had gracefully informed them that royalty was not allowed to learn magic.

“What?! Why not?!” Roman had whined.

“It would create chaos if kings and queens could use magic to rule their countries. Just imagine if any monarch could enchant their fellow leaders to hand over their crowns,” Queen Nadia had said matter-of-factly over her cup of morning tea. “That rule has been decided in the Peace Treaty set up after the Iron Wars. Which you two would know if you paid attention to your history lessons.”

“Peace Treaty? More like Peace Doody…” Remus had muttered scornfully, making Roman snort.

“Besides,” King Augusto had continued. “The universities do not teach just anyone. The ancient art of magic is a difficult path, only destined for the worthy. You would need actual talent to be able to learn such a difficult thing.” At this point, both of his parents had pointedly looked at Remus.

“…Can I even learn magic??” Remus hesitantly asked.

Deceit shrugged, and somehow managed to make it look elegant. “I don’t see a reason why not.”

“Isn’t it like…” Remus waved a hand in a vague twist. “ ‘An ancient art, only destined for the worthy?’ ” He said, mimicking his father’s words.

“Ah yes,” Deceit rolled his eyes. “That old lovely titbit of elitist superiority. Well dear, let me just crush that mind-set immediately. That idea is something what we call in the professional world complete horseshit.”

The warlock saying swearwords really shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. “What do you mean?” Remus asked quickly to distract himself.

The warlock growled- Actually growled! Remus wanted to scream.

“Magic is an ancient art only destined for the worthy,” Deceit mockingly spat in a nasally voice. “HA! You know what that is? A lot of showy talk for ‘We only want the people that we approve of to learn.’ As if magic is a snooty benefactor who values bribing money over actual talent! No no no!” Deceit used no magic, yet his eyes lit up as if fire was burning in them. Remus leaned forward a bit, breathlessly pulled in. He couldn’t help but want to be consumed by those flames.

“Magic, true boundless magic, is inside all of us. Anyone, from the man who thinks he’s worthy because he wears a crown, to the lowest beggar on the streets. They all have that potential for magic. Everyone can learn it! And there was a time everyone did! A time where farmers would draw sigils in their land to ensure their crops would be bountiful. Midwives would chant spells to guarantee mothers a painless delivery. But of course, of course,” The warlock snarled. “Those in power would look down upon such practices. Can’t have your ‘peasantry’ grow too independent, or have the power to fight back once they realize they’ve been mistreated! So as time went on those practices disappeared... Hunted down by those who discouraged it at best, or killed who opposed them at worst!”

Deceit grumbled on quietly, but Remus didn’t quite catch it. In fact, he was feeling a little dizzy. How was it that one second the warlock was all grace and poise, a deadly kind of calm that reminded him of a predator in waiting, yet the next he was so passionate, so full of fire? The contrast made Remus’ insides simmer.

They could cut him open and nothing but mush would come out. A soup of all his bones and organs, with his bloody beating heart at its centre-

“I was… taught about that in history class,” Remus said weakly. “But… My teacher… He said that that kind of magic was…” What did that old fart say again? Ah yeah. “ ‘It’s like comparing high class art with simple scribbles on a wall.’ ” Remus did his best to imitate the snooty voice from his memory.

The warlock’s eyes darkened. Even Eris made a soft scoffing sound. “He said that, did he?”

Remus held up his hands in defeat. “His words, not mine!”

Deceit nodded with a short hum. “And scribbles on a wall are any less valid than high class art because…?” He asked with a too sweet smile.

Remus blinked stupidly. “Uuuuh… You can put high art in museums,” He tried. “And scribbles… Not?”

“Huh,” Deceit tilted his head in mock thought. “So one is only for the privileged to enjoy, while the other is for everyone?”

Dumbly he stared at the other man. Up until this point Remus had never put doubts on his teacher’s words, but now? Well fuck. He had never considered it that way…

“My point stands,” Deceit said smugly when he saw Remus struggled to answer. “You can learn magic, despite what some people would like you to think.” He took a sip of his water, and smirked over the rim of his glass at Remus. “So what is your answer, little prince?”

Remus grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. Him! Learning magic! Oh man, if only Roman could see him now! Remus had given up on that dream, resigned himself to just staring jealously whenever he saw Virgil summon his purple shadows. But now!! Now he could! To hell with the stupid “No Magic For Monarchy” rule, he would actually become a sorcerer! He was already down with committing treason! Why not break some more rules while he was at it? He could already imagine his brother’s dumb face and his dumb offended noises if he knew Remus would be learning magic instead of him!

In your fucking face Roman!!

He opened his mouth to yell ‘YES!’ when-

“I’m afraid he just can’t be helped, your Majesties.”

Remus bit his lip, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet. What he wouldn’t give to be doing homework right now, even if it was math equations. If he just could be anywhere but here, listening to his tutor summing up his every mistake. All the while his parents sat and listened, their hands folded in their laps. The parlour felt suffocating hot, yet still Remus struggled not to tremble.

“He has no talent for the written word. All his work is not only completely inappropriate, but also riddled with spelling errors.” His teacher said. Remus wanted to yell that his stories were fun, you stupid old fart! Why did some mistakes matter?? He wasn’t suicidal however, so he kept quiet.

“He refuses to pay attention to any of the classes, he doesn’t understand even the easiest of subject matter and his grades in math are… Well, you’ve seen those.”

“You’re saying he’s simple.” His father said coldly. Remus winced, biting harder down on his bottom lip. Maybe he would bite through his own flesh and they would have no choice but to send away, lest he bleed on the expensive carpet. With that small hope in mind Remus clenched his jaw harder.

“Well, he does have some passion for the arts-”

“We’ve seen what he draws,” His mother said airily. “Clearly you can agree that’s a passion we should discourage.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

But he liked drawing! He loved filling pages upon pages with the things he found interesting! So what if his interests included blood and monsters and zombies and… Maybe he should have drawn more unicorns, like Roman did.

“Regardless, I have tried everything in my power,” His teacher continued. “But the boy just refuses to learn.”

“Pure laziness,” King Augusto dismissed. “You’ll just have to drill him harder. You have our permission to use whatever you deem necessary to discipline him into learning.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Remus flexed his fingers, making the red lines where his teacher had struck his hands with a ruler twinge. Whatever he deems necessary? What else could his teacher do??

…On second thought, he really didn’t want to know.

“Thank you for your report, mister Davis,” Queen Nadia smiled. “Now please leave us. We wish to talk to our son for a moment.”

“Of course,” Mister Davis said as he deeply bowed. “A grand day to you, your Majesties.”

Remus stared up at his teacher with pleading eyes. As much as he despised the older man, he didn’t want him to leave. Mister Davis however completely ignored him as he made his way out of the parlour. The door slamming shut behind him sounded in Remus’ ears like the executioner’s axe coming down.

“Well?” His mother icily said after a few agonizing seconds. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Remus stared down at his feet as he racked his brain. Should he run? No, no… The last time he tried to run he didn’t get very far, and afterwards… No, he didn’t want to relive that.

“Answer!” His father barked, making Remus jump. “Or are you too dumb to talk as well?”

“I-I’m sorry!!” Remus stuttered. “But I-! I just-! I try-!”

“Goodness me, always with the mumbling!” His mother said impatiently. “How many times do we have to tell you? Speak. Clearly!”

“Sorry!” Remus said, louder. “I didn’t mean to-!”

“And now you’re shouting at us? Horrid little boy, you know perfectly well shouting worsens my headaches!” Queen Nadia sighed delicately as she rubbed her temples. “It’s as if you want us to suffer… Is that it?”

“I’m sorry,” Remus apologized again, this time in a whisper. “I don’t-!”

“And he’s back to the mumbling!” His father shook his head. “Why do we even still try with you?”

Remus worriedly bit his lip again, which by now was raw from the extensive chewing. He was unsure of the volume his parents wanted to hear from him, so he kept his mouth shut.

“First you insist on continuously disrupting your brother’s class,” His father continued. “So you force us to hire a private tutor for you. And how do you repay our generosity? By failing even the easiest of classes! How do you suppose your mother and me feel under all of this? You’re an ungrateful little-”

“But I don’t get it!” Remus blurted out. Shocked he slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Oh no oh no oh no why did he say anything??

“Oh?” His father’s voice turned quiet, the kind of quiet that Remus learned to associate with danger. He couldn’t stop trembling now even if he tried. “Pray tell, what exactly is it that you ‘don’t get?’ ”

What could he say? That he didn’t remember any of mister Davis’ snooty rambling of bone-dry facts, especially since his tutor refused to repeat himself? That his mind seemed to move faster than his pen, so he rushed his writing to keep up? That no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t for the live of him focus on any big block of text shoved in front of his nose? “I… don’t get the lessons,” Remus finally choked out. “They’re hard! I just-! Don’t understand them…”

Due to the rushing in his ears he didn’t hear his father get up. Because he was staring at his feet he only knew that his father approached him when a big hand grabbed his collar. The shirt digs into his throat, cutting off his air, as he is hoisted up.

“Don’t understand them? Don’t understand them?!” His father barked. “My goodness, you really just are that stupid, are you?!”

His head is harshly slapped sideways as his father’s hand connects brutally with his cheek, leaving a ringing in his ears and tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-!!”

“ ‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough!” King Augusto shook his son harshly, making Remus’ teeth rattle. “Sorry doesn’t fix your grades, you utter waste of space!”

Remus wailed as another hard backhand struck him, his father’s ring stinging on his cheek.

“You’re a disgrace to our family name, you hear me?! A DISGRACE!”

“Augusto, stop.”

His father’s hand lowered as the king turned to his wife. The grip on Remus’ shirt didn’t loosen though, so Remus was left hanging, barely standing on his tippy-toes.

“He has to learn, Nadia!” King Augusto growled.

“I know, dear. But we have that state dinner in a two days,” Queen Nadia said. “He has to be presentable by then.”

His father grumbled an annoyed ‘Oh, that’s right’ and Remus sagged in relief, his breath leaving him in a rush.

“Oh, don’t get comfortable,” King Augusto turned his attention back to him, and Remus froze. “I suppose this just means the usual punishment for you.”

Remus’ throat squeezed itself shut, fear churning in his stomach as he desperately shook his head. “Please no- I’m sorry, I’ll try harder, I’ll do everything, please don’t-!” His father started dragging him along. “NO PLEASE PLEASE I’M SORRY I WON’T DO IT AGAIN I’M SORRY PLEASE!!”

Remus’ smile died away. No... No, this was a bad idea. Years of bad grades and annoyed tutors started ringing in his head, in an atrocious symphony of all his mistakes. What made him think that this would go any differently? Deceit would try to teach him and soon realize that he was as dumb as a rock. Just imagining that lovely voice sighing in irritated disappointment made him wince. He couldn’t handle that.

“You…” Remus wrung his hands and shook his head dismally. “You don’t want to teach me.”

Deceit frowned at the sudden shift in mood. “Why not?”

“I told you, I’m…” A moron. “Not good with learning. Never been a good student, me!” Understatement of the year, don’t you think? “Seriously, you’re doing yourself a favour by not teaching me! Loads of people have tried and failed!” Remus perked up a bit and smiled eagerly up at the other man. “But I’m more than ready to bust some skulls for you!”

Deceit didn’t look thrilled as Remus was with the promise of skull breaking. He only narrowed his eyes with that analysing expression again. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” He said. “Are you saying you doubt my abilities?”

“Wh- NO!” Remus quickly said. “No, not at all!”

“So you don’t think I lack the skills to be a good tutor?”

“Never!” Remus shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn’t even dream of it!”

“Well in that case, do not ever presume again that you can tell me what I do or don’t want to do.” Deceit finished in a cold tone.

“But I’m not joking!” Remus protested. “I’m not a good student-!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” Deceit tilted his head. “That is of course when I actually get an answer from you. Do you want to learn magic?”

“No, really, you don’t want to-!”

“That is not what I asked,” Deceit interrupted. “I asked about what you want. What I want is irrelevant to the question. So I ask you one last time…” The warlock leaned forward, his two-toned eyes intent. “Do you want to learn magic?”

“I…” What he wanted? Since when did that matter? Remus swallowed the protest that lay on his tongue when the warlock raised an impatient eyebrow. “…Yes.” He admitted quietly. “Yes, more than anything...”

Deceit smiled. “Then I’ll be your teacher.” He said satisfied as he leant back. Remus gaped at him, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land.

“But I really can’t learn-!” He weakly tried one more time.

“Nonsense,” Deceit dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Anyone can learn. Everyone just has a different way of how they learn. And if I have to dig a little deeper to find yours, well,” He flashed Remus a short smile. “So be it.”

Beneath the table, Remus stabbed the fork he was still holding into his own leg before he could blurt out that the warlock was welcome to dig deep into him anytime he wanted. “Neat!” He squeaked instead.

The warlock took no notice of his distress. His eyes had taken a distant look.

“Let’s see… I will need to prepare your lessons. For that I should…” He trailed of in a mutter, his eyes closing as he thought. Remus focused on the thinking crease that Deceit’s brow made. He wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and a kiss. How disgustingly cutesie of him. Roman would approve, so he counted it as a win for him.

“Right!” Deceit’s eyes snapped open and he got up from his chair. “Your lessons will start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow??” Remus sputtered.

“I expect you here in the morning at eight,” Deceit continued, undisturbed, as he made his way to the doors. “Make sure you’re on time.”

A thousand questions rushed through Remus’ head, so many that he had no idea where to start. What would he learn? How was the warlock so confident in him? What would happen? Why him? What did any of this had to do with taking over the kingdom? Why him? Why. Him??

No, Remus blurrily thought through all the screaming of his head. That was not the right question. The right question was…

“Wait!” He blurted, jumping up from his seat and reaching out to grab the warlock’s sleeve. He immediately withdrew his hand as Eris’ jaws snapped at his fingers.

“Eris! I said be nice!” Deceit turned to him as Eris wound herself back around his shoulders, a snarl showing off her fangs. “Even if he is a little rude.”

“Sorry,” Remus muttered. “But… I need to ask.”

“Yes?”

“…Why do you want to do this? What’s in it for you?”

Eris made an offended little hiss, like she was appalled that Remus dared to question her human. The warlock however seemed to have expected the question. “It is quite simple,” He said. “I will teach, help and otherwise guide you through your learning process and whatever you wish to do with afterwards. And in return… You will do something for me. A favour, if you will.”

Well that wasn’t ominous at all. “…What’s the favour?” Remus squinted.

Deceit smiled, a secretive small thing. “All in due time, little prince. All in due time.”

That answered exactly nothing, but Remus didn’t get the chance to ask more as Deceit turned away from him once more.

“Take the day to explore the castle, and get acquainted where everything is,” Deceit said as he walked to the door. “But don’t bother looking for an exit. You won’t find one.”

Remus stared after him. “…So I am to be your prisoner?” He asked. The warlock stopped in his tracks and turned to him with a smile.

“Oh, ‘prisoner’ is such a strong word,” He drawled. “I prefer to call it… My honoured guest.”

And with that, and one last threatening glare from Eris, the warlock left the room. Leaving Remus to wonder just what exactly he had gotten himself into.

--

Deceit walked through the halls he had walked a million times without truly seeing them, his feet automatically taking the turns needed. His plan would be set in motion sooner than he thought, so he sifted through the mental list of what he needed to prepare for tomorrow. He would have to dust off some books, see if he had enough potion ingredients-

“this again.”

Interrupted from his contemplations Deceit looked at Eris. Her green eyes had lost their ire for now. Concern was the only thing left.

“I have to try it,” Deceit said softly. “Surely you understand that I must?”

Eris tilted her head, her tongue flicking out.

“i don’t trust him.”

“We don’t have to trust him. We only have to make sure he trusts us. So try not to antagonize him too much?”

Eris thought this over for a minute before she nodded. She rubbed her head against his cheek, scales against scales. Deceit relaxed at the familiar sensation as he cupped her head against him with his hand. He smiled at the soft, almost purr-like sound that filled his mind when he scratched her under her chin.

“will it work?”

“It will,” Deceit said confidently. “It has to. If not for me…” He sighed. “Then for her.”

The monster wondered if maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was still at his home, held down and unconscious because of the pain, instead of out here in the forest. There was no way he escaped, much less that a witch would save him! But for a dream the fat arms that securely held him felt alarmingly real, as did the pain still burning up his back. The woman carried him away from the open spot, deeper and deeper into the forest. All the while she kept murmuring reassurances into his hair. He was too frightened to protest. The woman was obviously very strong, so trying to struggle out her grip would do nothing.

He didn’t know long they walked when the witch finally came to a stop. The monster peeked up to see why, but he saw nothing. Just more trees.

“Hold on tight, little one.” The witch said. The monster frowned. Hold on tight? For what?

The witch muttered something incomprehensible, a white glow lighting up the veins in her hands. The monster heard a loud snap, as if something spread open after being folded close for too long. The witch leaped up. The monster’s stomach lurched as the ground fell away beneath him. Up and up they went, further than any person could jump. Strong flapping sounds reached his ears as they got higher and higher. Did the witch have wings?!

After a few dizzying seconds the witch landed on a deck of wooden planks. “We’re here!” She cheerily said. A wave of her hand, and a door in front of them opened. A door?? Up in the trees?? A snap of the witch’s fingers and warm light suddenly illuminated the dark night, streaming out from the door and making the monster blink rapidly, blinking away spots in his vision until his eyes got used to the light.

The home they just entered was so… Cosy. The monster found that he had no better word for it. Everything, from the walls to the ceiling and the furniture was made of wood. A ladder led up to a loft with a messily made bed. Wooden cabinets with glass stained windows took up most of the walls, and a comfortable looking couch with a mountain of colourful pillows stood before a woodstove where a fire burned heartily, quickly warming the cabin up.

The door closed behind them. The witch gently sat him down in that nest of pillows. As she released him the monster’s heart hammered in his throat. She got him to her home… What would she do to him now? As if she sensed his fear, the woman softly shushed him as she walked behind him.

“I’m going to need to take your shirt off,” The woman said gently. “Okay?”

No! No not okay! They had tried to take his shirt off too, before they grew impatient and just held it over his head while a knife started slicing under his skin. He shook his head, muttering ‘no no no no no!!’ while he desperately tried to pull away. The witch however held his shoulders firmly.

“It’s alright! I won’t hurt you!” The woman said. “I just want to heal you! You won’t feel any pain, I promise!”

He didn’t believe her. All adults ever did was hurt him, why would she be any different? He kept shaking his head, tears filling his eyes again.  

A light weight landed in his lap. The monster blurrily squinted down to see the small form of the white dragon looking up at him with a tilted head. The scaled snout snuffled at his face, before they nuzzled their head under the monster’s chin. The motion tickled a little bit, and the monster couldn’t stop the soft giggle that escaped him. Next the dragon nudged at his hand, and the monster hesitantly started to stroke the smooth scaled body. The little dragon radiated heat, warming the monster’s cold skin.

“I think Rosie likes you.” The woman said warmly.

“R… Rosie…?” The monster asked softly.

“That’s her name,” She laughed as the little dragon yawned. “You know, there’s a spot behind her wings where she loves to get scritches. Why don’t you try it?”

Not wanting to disobey her, the monster carefully scratched the scales just behind the wings, cautious of his sharp claws. Rosie however didn’t seem bothered by his talons, her red eyes shuttering close. The pleased gurgle that left the dragon sparked another giggle out of the monster.

Distracted by the little dragon the monster didn’t notice that the witch carefully peeled up his shirt until the fabric dragged on the wounds on his back. Rosie was startled off his lap as he screamed at the sudden flash of sharp pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The witch said as she pulled off the shirt quickly, exposing his ruined back to the cold air. The monster sobbed, hiding his face into his knees. “It’s okay, it’s okay… I got you.”

He didn’t hear the singing at first, his own sobs overpowering the lilting voice that started of as quiet as a spring breeze. Hands hovered over his back, and he braced himself, preparing for more pain. None came. Instead it almost felt like… Like…

…Like the pain was disappearing.

His sobs quieted, as he finally heard the singing that steadily grew in volume. A strange tingling sensation ran down his back. As if a comforting fog made from a thousand small, cool hands soothingly caressed the pain away. A new melody started, and now it felt like refreshing water travelled down in streams, moulding broken skin back together and easing his fevered skin. With every note the witch sang another agony was lulled to nothingness, another ache rippling away like a puff of smoke. When finally the song ended the monster’s back felt like the knife never went near his scales. The witch murmured something he didn’t understand, snapped her fingers, and now even the sticky feeling of dried up blood disappeared.

“There you go…” Fingertips gently dragged down his back in a feather light touch. “All better. Now you only need…”

The light touch disappeared. The monster was distantly aware that she searched for something, but as he gingerly sat up he could only dizzily focus on how the pain, his everlasting companion, had vanished. Even the bruises where they had gripped his arms too tightly to force him down had disappeared.

“Where did I put it...?” The woman muttered behind him. “Aha!” The witch walked back to him. “This may be a bit big on you, but it’s better than nothing!”

Something fuzzy was pulled over his head, and the monster only briefly panicked before he realized it was soft and warm, and enveloped him like a hug. A little dazed the monster allowed his arms to be guided into the far too big sleeves of what turned out to be a brightly yellow woollen sweater. He bunched the sleeves up in his hands, smiling lightly at the sweater paws he created. The fabric was so soft!

“That feels better, doesn’t it?” The woman chuckled, patting his head gently. The monster stiffened at the touch and the hand pulled back quickly. The monster swallowed. He mustered up all his courage, before he carefully, oh so carefully, glanced up through his unruly curls.

The woman in front of him was tall, taller than any adult he had ever seen. She had no wings, as far as he could tell. Her thick dark hair was braided, hints of grey hairs starting at her temples and lacing through the braid like rivers of pure silver. Her eyes stood out like stars amongst the sky. They were a pale grey, so light that they were almost transparent. The intensity of her gaze however was significantly softened by her kind smile, which made the soft wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and laugh lines around her mouth deepen.

Everything about this woman was big and beautiful, making him feel even scrawnier and uglier in comparison. Realizing he had been staring, the monster quickly looked back down.

“No need to be shy,” The witch said gently. “My name is Lysandra. What’s yours?”

The monster wrung his hands. He shrugged.

“…You don’t want to tell me just yet? That’s okay. Maybe… Maybe you should drink something first! You’re probably thirsty, huh?” Lysandra disappeared from his line of vision, and the monster heard her rummage through a cabinet. He eyed the door. Should he try to run? But the house was so far above ground…

“Found it!” The witch walked back to him, a goblet in one hand and a water pouch in the other, which she used to fill the cup up. “Here you go.” She held the drink out for him with a smile. The monster said nothing. Despite his parched throat he leaned away slightly, fearfully staring at the offered drink.

“…What’s wrong?” Lysandra asked, frowning slightly.

The monster fidgeted with the soft fabric of his new sweater. “Is… Is it poisoned…?” He asked quietly.

The woman’s eyes widened. “What- Poison-? No! No, of course not!” She quickly reassured. “Why would you think it’s poisoned?”

The monster looked at his lap, nervously picking at the yellow fabric of his sleeves. “That’s… That’s what t-they always said…” He stammered. “T-That they should p-poison me for poisoning their lives…”

“No! They said that-?? Those-!” The witch gasped in horrified affront. “Those… They actually-!” Lysandra closed her eyes for a second and took a deep, deep breath through her nose. When she opened eyes she gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s not poison. Here, let me proof it you!” She took a big swig from the goblet before holding it out to him again. “There, you see? No poison. Promise!”

The monster looked between her and the drink for a few seconds, before finally slowly reaching out and grasping the goblet with both hands. The second the water touched his tongue the monster gulped it down greedily. He hadn’t quite realized just how thirsty he had been.

“Not so fast, you might get a stomach ache!” Lysandra laughed. The monster however refused to slow down. Who knew when he would get water again? The goblet was empty within a minute, and he wasted no time licking the last few precious drops from the cup. He lowered the cup and stared forlornly down at it. Maybe he should have been more careful with it…

“Would you like some more?”

The monster looked up, gaping in shock at the witch.

“R-Really? I can have more?” Lysandra’s made a little noise in the back of her throat, her pale eyes softening with an unreadable kind of sadness. “Yes. Yes, of course you can.” She said softly, and poured the cup full to the brim. The monster wasted no time either with this portion either, and thought that he would faint when the witch filled his cup again! He couldn’t quite believe his luck!

“I wasn’t kidding about the stomach ache, you know.” The witch teased, but she made no move to stop him. He was halfway through his third cup when the monster finally lowered the cup. For a brief second he felt so content.

“Now will you tell me your name?”

The feeling fled. He bit his lip and once more only shrugged.

“It’s alright, you can tell me!” Lysandra said kindly.

The monster squirmed in his place anxiously. What was he to say? He shrugged again. The witch frowned.

“…Wait,” She said in gradual understanding. “You… don’t know?”

The monster shook his head minutely. “They… They never told me…” He said softly. Or rather, he had figured out at one point that ‘freak’ wasn’t an actual name.

For a while nothing was heard but the soft crackle of the fire and the wind outside. The monster tightened his grip on the goblet. When the silence kept stretching on, he dared to glance upwards. He immediately regretted it when he saw the witch’s balled fists and the dark fury on her face.

“I’m sorry!!” He shrunk back into the cushions, dropping the goblet to throw his arms over his head, spilling the water over the floor.

“What? No! No, no!” Lysandra anger immediately disappeared as she quickly knelt before him, ignoring the water that now soaked into her pants. “I’m not mad at you! Never at you! I’m mad because-” The woman shook her head. “Because those people-! Not even the common decency to give you something as simple, yet utterly important as a name-!”

The monster glimpsed up at her, lowering his arms a smidge. Catching the terror in his eyes the witch sighed deeply and rubbed her temples with her middle and index fingers. When her hands lowered her soft smile had returned.

“You know,” She said gently. “Sometimes parents are not really parents. Sometimes people are… Unworthy of the children they were given. When that occurs, a child can start a life away from them! Choose their own destiny. And…” She gently caressed his scaled cheek with her thumb. “Choose their own name.”

The monster’s mouth fell open. “Y-You can do that??” He asked bewilderedly.

“Of course you can!” The witch laughed. “Why? Do you have one in mind?”

As a matter of fact, he did. He had overheard one when he had secretly listened in on a reading of a poem, years ago. He remembered pressing his ear to the floorboards, soaking in the words like a sponge. He remembered gasping loudly when he heard the name for the first time.

For years he had hidden the name, like someone else might hide a treasured trinket in a box. It had been his, and his alone. He hesitated. To suddenly say it out loud…

The witch noticed his reluctance. “It’s alright,” She assured. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“…I don’t?”

“You don’t. In fact…” She gently grasped his hands. “Keep your name safe and secret inside your heart,” She said as she placed his palms over his chest, where his heartbeat fluttered like the nervous wings of a butterfly. “And once you feel like you can trust me with both, then, and only then… You can tell me. Okay?”

The monster glanced dubiously between the witch and his hands. He didn’t understand any of this. But he nodded. Lysandra smiled.

“Are you hungry?” She asked sweetly. The monster hesitated for a second, before he nodded again.

“I’ll make you something! Probably something light… Soup maybe?” The witch got up and walked towards a cabinet. “I should add some strengthening potions to it… To help you heal better!” She pulled several vials from the cabinet, mumbling to herself about the different properties of each potion. Meanwhile Rosie the dragon nudged at the monster’s hands again. Carefully he caressed and scratched the white scales. With a happy thrilling sound Rosie contently curled up on his lap, her wings stretched out to give him access to the best scratching place.

The monster once more wondered if he was dreaming. He had a dragon purring on his lap, not a hint of pain in his body and a kind witch wanted to make him soup. Even if it all turned out to be a dream, he would cherish this moment forever.

His petting faltered as flickering candlelight reflected on the scales of his hands. No… No, if this were a dream those things would be gone.

“Dragon’s breath…? No, no… Too potent for now…” The witch muttered before putting a vial back. A thought struck the monster suddenly. He wondered…

“Y-You’re a witch…” He said before his courage left him. He shifted nervously when Lysandra looked back at him, but she only smiled.

“Indeed I am!” She laughed. “But you don’t have anything to fear from me. Like I said, I won’t hurt yo-”

“Can you take them away?”

The vials slipped from the witch’s hands. The monster winced at the harsh shatter of glass against the wooden floor. The deafening silence that fell sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. A sudden found boldness however made him press on.

“I mean… If you can do magic… Maybe you could-!” He could hardly finish the sentence, hopeful excitement coming alive in his heart. He could see it now... him, proudly returning with smooth skin on both sides of his face, without claws or fangs, no extra arms appearing out of nowhere. Everyone cheering and welcoming him back home. The image made him smile.

“…I can’t.” The witch said quietly. His smile fell.

“But… You can do magic!” He protested. “Can’t you-?”

“There are some things…” Lysandra’s voice wavered. “That not even my magic can undo, little one,” She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

His hopeful fantasy crumbled to ash. It was too much. Thick tears started rolling down his cheeks again. Funny. He thought he would have ran out of tears by now.

“No! No, little one!” The witch abandoned her vials to kneel again in front of him, gently brushing his tears away with her thumbs. But not even the little dragon’s soft nuzzling against his chin could comfort him now.

“Please, little one,” Lysandra pleaded. “Please don’t cry! It will be okay!”

“B-But I-I-I’m a- a monster-!”

“You are not a monster!” Lysandra said fiercely, cupping his cheeks to make him look at her. “You are just a boy! A boy who suffered because of-!” The witch stopped. She closed her eyes, and let out a shuddery breath. “…Because of other people’s ignorance.” She finished quietly.

He sniffled, staring at the witch with blurry eyes. “I don’t w-wanna to go b-back like this-!” The monster- No, the boy- hiccupped.

“You’re not going back!” The witch’s eyes snapped open, fire filling her pale gaze. “You’re never, ever, going back to that place again!”

The boy startled. “B-But where…?” Where would he go? Would he live in these woods forever, survive on insects and berries his whole life? Lysandra looked torn for a second, before her eyes filled with determination.

“You are not going back there,” She repeated resolutely. “Not if I can help it. Buckle up, kid! I’m your mom now!”

With that she pulled him into a hug. He allowed it, too stunned to object. The witch caressed his hair and hummed a soothing little tune, a melody he vaguely recognized.

(Remus and Eris at each other:

[angrypixie-sarisa]

Of Death and a Baby

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 23

Sam xMexican!Witch!fem!readerx Dean (polyamorous)

Author’s note: There’s the use of indigenous language, Nahuatl, casually but magically as well. Nahuatl is the language used by the Aztecs. It doesn’t mean they were magical, but Día de muertos was celebrated long before the Spanish conquista. Because of the focus of death in this chapter I personally think that the connection between the tradition and language is quite beautiful and I wanted to use it in a way with respect. I personally am learning Nahuatl and felt the enthusiasm of incoporating it to the story. If someone finds it offensive or has notes about it I will gladly take them and even erase the chapter if necessary.

Warnings: kinda long, swearing.

(no gifs bc my wifi sucks)

“Okay, so, are you sure he had no aura? Like, not even a spark of red? Yellow? Heck, not even blue?” Diego was sitting criss cross in front of you. You shook your head as you finished drawing on your floor.

“Nothing, and when I say nothing, believe me, it was nothing. You remember that spooky book at school? The one with the weird gray lump?”

“Wha-the weird one?”

“It reminded me so much of that.”

“Word?”

“Word. Hence this.” You signaled towards the things drawn on your floor, all surrounded by the respected color, tarot cards, crystals and herbs. Diego sighed as he helped you light up all the candles. 

“You know, if they find out about this, they’ll get mad.” He said as he placed his hands on his knees, palms hugging them lazily. 

“¿Quién?” You asked as you did the same thing. He gave you a look as if you were supposed to know who he was talking about. 

“Sam and Dean?”

“Oh, pft, who cares if they get mad? Esto es justo y necesario. Además sus sentimientos no tienen nada que ver en si hago magia o no. Screw them.” he dedicated you a proud look, before clearing his throat. “Ready?” 

“On three?”

He nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three. Nihuinti, nichoca, nicnotlamati, nicmati, nic-itoa, nic-elnamiqui: ¡Maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Incan ahmicohua, incan ontepetihua, in ma oncan niauh: ¡maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Estoy ebrio, lloro, me duelo, digo, me acuerdo: ¡ojalá no muera yo, ojalá nunca perezca! Donde no se muere, donde se encumbra, allá vaya yo- Ojalá.” You both chanted in unison. The circle started to illuminate with variety of colors, though the ones that repeated the most were red, purple, orange, green and blue. You kept chanting the same words over and over until in the center of it all, you got an answer. 

Slowly, you both opened your eyes and moved your hands from your knees as you looked at the center on the circle. 

You sighed. In temporal burnt letters it was written “Tetlapopolhuiliztli. Atlenkauitl.” Which meant sorry, no time or bussy.

“Well, there’s another way.” 

“I know, but it’s the longest way of invoking death.” 

“But it’ll be worth it. You’ll have your answers.” 

You sighed while passing a hand through your hair. 

“Es la muerte. Tiene sentido que esté ocupada.”

“Ni modo.” Your phone vibrated in your backpocket. You took it out and checked it only to find a text from Lisa. She managed to convince Dean to get on board with the gun lesson and the knife throwing. Verga. You forgot about it or rather you were utterly convinced that he wouldn’t give in that you decided to focus all your energy and thoughts to summoning Death. But well, she was busy and now you were stuck multitasking. 

“It’s not fair. I wanted to learn how to throw it.”

“I know champ. But for now your mom gets this privilege.” You caressed his hair slightly. Though Lisa didn’t feel it like a privilege. She would rather not have to know how to fire a gun and throw a knife, but her situation demanded it so here she was. 

“Okay, once you master the movement of your throwing hand and you don’t fear to hit your foot instead of the wood your standing on-” 

She looked at you with a mock on her eyes at your teasing. 

“Then you’ll move from throwing at the floor to throwing at a wall. For now, stick to the other method, the precautions and keep practising. Salt in the windows and doors, the whole shebang.” 

She nodded as she and Ben helped you get the set up you brought for her practicing. Next thing you were at the door, already saying your goodbyes and as you walked a block away your phone vibrated again. Since you wanted to summon her, you kept thinking everything could be a signal that death actually made some time to pay you a quick visit. But sending a text wasn’t her style and when you saw your screen it was Dean’s name that appear. It was a text, however, you didn’t get the chance to read as a call came to replace it. 

“Hey. I was just with Lisa and Ben, made sure the house’s properly safe and all. What’s-”

“Y/N, we need your help.” He sounded desperate, his voice was rushed and it sounded as if it came from different places, kind of like up and down, for some reason. 

“Wha-Why? With what?” Just after you asked your ears were filled with the sound of whales, very noisy and demanding whales with a tiny sob here and there. 

“Is that a baby?!” 

“Yeah! I told you we need you! Quick, I don’t know for how much longer we can handle this!” 

“Okay, but-”

“Perfect. See you here.” And then he hung up.

+++++

There was a knock on the other side of the door, a very loud knock. "No, no please don't…" Dean muttered as he heard the baby starting to cry again. Sam passed a frustrated hand over his face as he saw his brother open the door only to be met by another catastrophe. Your eyes were flames and he could swear you could kill anybody with that glare. 

"What. The. Hell? At least if you ask me to come over give me the fucking place where you're at! I had to open five different doors to come here! There's a Swedish family you owe an apology to!" You practically helped yourself in. Taking deep breaths to calm yourself as you walk through all the room. Your eyes landed on the whaling baby. "Hi. I'm sorry, did I scare you, darling?" You went to pick him up and to the brothers surprise the baby lifted his arms at you. "Yeah, come here buddy. Hi! Are these evil men not attending to your needs? They're pretty awful aren't they?" 

"Excuse me?" Dean glared at you and the baby as he settled his head on your chest, on top of your heart. You passed a soothing hand through his back and rocked him gently. 

"Sorry I woke you up. They were awful to me as well." You whispered to him.

"Oh, come on!" Dean, once again, complained.

"That's a lie." You heard Sam say at the table.

"Don't believe them. They would say anything to save their necks. A bet they don't even hold you. Tsk. Muy mal." With every word you felt him relax and you looked down to confirm that his eyes were droopy. 

"Hey, about your spanish." Started the older Winchester and measured his words as he was met up by a murderous gaze. 

"What about my Spanish?"

"I'm tired of wondering whatever you're saying all the time. Could you just cast that spell that Diego did for Tyler?" 

"Me too." 

You turned to look at Sam and you couldn't see anything other than mere curiosity. You rolled your eyes as you whispered the spell and a light orange smoke appeared at your feet before dispersing quickly, as though something scared it. 

"Did it-did it work?"

"Pues claro que funcionó. ¿Verdad que sí mi niño?" And as you spoke words started appearing as if they were watching a movie with subtitles. 

"Wow! That's awesome! Say something more." 

You thought for a while as if suddenly you didn't know any Spanish. Funny enough, the next words you spoke weren't Spanish. 

"Ma cochi, pitentzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi noxocoyotl. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitelontzin. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitentzin." But it worked, the spell translated the Nahuatl words, the song to them. But of course, the sound of it wasn't familiar to the brothers. 

The baby in your arms cooed lazily at the sound of the song. Instead of bothering to answer the brother's questions you kept singing to the babe until he fell asleep. Only then did you stop singing and placed him in the crib. 

"What was that?" Sam asked. He had stood up from his place on the table to lean nearby on a wall. 

"Nahuatl." You said nonchalantly. But of course that wasn't a satisfying answer. 

"I studied Nahuatl so it makes sense that I know how to speak the language." You looked at their dumbfounded faces and sighed. 

"Do you need a quick class of Mexico's history?" Seeming that there was no response you continued. "As in the United States, México was also populated by indigenous cultures. The dominant, and I'm not proud about this, culture was the Aztec/Mexica. They dominated great part of the country so it's the most spoken indigenous language, although there's still a small number of people that speak it. I personally fell in love with it and so wanted to learn it and did." You shrugged when no response came from them. "What can I say? I'm a woman of many surprises." 

“I see that.” Sam said, patting your head gently as he went to head outside. 

“Where are you going? I hope you didn’t just drag me around here to babysit.”

“I just have to cover something I missed. Brb.” He winked at you before disappearing behind the shut door. 

You sighed and passed a hand through your hair, then turned to look at Dean, who was resting in one of the beds. “Well at least you’re here to keep me company.” 

You sat beside him, looking at the wooden bars of the crib whilst biting your lip, deep in thought. He never used to pat your head, he only did it once before you told him to stop because you felt like a dog. 

You felt heavy fingers tapping at your back lazily. You turned around to face the tired look on his face. “What ‘cha thinking?” 

You released your lip and turned your attention back to the crib.

“Nothing.” It would’ve convinced him if it wasn’t for the fact  that your voice sounded low and dark, causing him to sat up. 

“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.” When you didn’t answer, he pressed. “Is it Sam?” 

At that he caught your attention, seeing as your head quickly spun around to face him with a puzzled look painted in it. 

“You feel it too?”

“Feel what?” He thought the distance between you and his brother was bothering you and he didn’t know why it was there in the first place. You two should be like newly weds or something, after all, you were reunited again. 

“Nothing, nothing.” You panicked and closed your mouth before you could say something else. 

“Y/N.” He warned. Well now he needed answers. He wanted to know what was happening. 

“Dean, you don’t wanna know, okay?”

“Except I do, you’ve just called me Dean.” 

Finally, you met him in the eye again. “What?”

“You only call me Dean when you’re serious.”

“That’s not true.”

“Mhm, sure.”

You laid back on your forearms, still looking forward. “Don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout win- I mean, De-”

“See, I told you!” He slapped your thigh playfully as he chuckled, earning a few silent laughs from you. 

“Okay, alright, you’re right. I do call you Winchester frequently.” His hand wrapped above your knee and squeezed gently. He gave you some time in silence before he planned to press again. He didn’t want to give the impression that he wouldn’t ask again but also he didn’t want to annoy you with his insistence. 

“What is it? What about Sam?”

You groaned. “You never give up, do you?”

He shrugged as his thumb made tiny circles on your jean wrapped knee. 

You sighed. “Fine. Si te vas a poner en ese plan, pues ya que.” You huffed as you sat up again. 

He smiled softly. “ I love this spell.”

“Yeah, except now I can’t talk shit with you in the room anymore.” 

He bumped his shoulder with yours. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Wha- you were the one who did.”

“Y/N.”

“Ay, sí, ya sé.” You rolled your eyes, took a deep breath and let go. “Do you think Sam is… You know, our Sammy?” There was a pause as his hand stopped moving abruptly. You started playing with one of your beaded bracelets nervously as you waited for his answer. “What do you mean?”

You sighed before answer. “He’s not Sammy, Dean. He’s… Different and not in a good way.”

“What- How is he different?”

“Well he doesn't fight with you.”

“Oh, so you prefer it that we fight?”

“No, i don’t mean it like that. I mean it’s not natural. You guys fight and now he rises from the depths of hell and suddenly your brotherhood is just paradise?”

“How do you even know that we fight normally?”

“He told me before going back to hunting, before going to hell. Dean he’s not Sam. There’s something wrong with him, he-he has no aura. He’s way to poised and calm all the time. He patted my head.” You started listing all the things, carefully toning down your voice so you wouldn’t wake up the baby again. 

“Wow, what? Your basing all this on him patting your head?”

“It’s not just that, didn’t you hear what I said? He had literally no AURA. And him patting my head? I asked him not to once and he never did it again through the time we were together.”

“So he’s awkward, he’s remembering how it was having you around it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, how do you explain the aura then?” You crossed your arms. 

At that, he remained silent, clenching his jaw as he thought. “Maybe you’re still tired, from the djinn thing.”

You took a deep breath and clenched your fists. You knew he wouldn’t understand.

“Just forget I told you this.”

“No, Y/N, I-” But whatever he was about to say got muffled by the sound of something splattering, followed by baby cries. You both looked up to see skin and blood on the wall. 

You both hurried to aid him, you beating Dean to it as he answered a call from Sam. 

“Dean.” You called as you picked the baby covered in green goo. He hanged up the phone and took the baby from you. But neither of you knew what to do except for panicking and do a funny dance where you stood. 

“Shapeshifter.” 

“I know.”

“The baby, he’s…”

“I know.” 

“What do we do, Y/N?!” 

“Um, okay, well…” You stammered. “No need panicking.” But what could you do? Was there anything to do, really? All you could do was take care of him until you could figure out something better. “Um, we- we can’t have a dirty baby. Let’s clean him and for once stop him from crying.” 

The Winchester nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah that sounds like a plan.” He took the baby to the bathroom, living you staring at the mess left behind. 

“I guess I’ll deal with this.”

+++

You finally got everything clean except that the baby kept crying. You tried cooing at him and playing with him but nothing worked. It would’ve been easier if you had a baby toy but, the brothers didn’t buy any. 

“Y/N, come on. You were supposed to be the baby whisperer.”

“Oye! Just because I’m a woman it doesn’t mean I’m the baby whisperer.” 

Then, there were knocks on the door before a voice came through. “Manager. Everything okay in there?” You frowned as you both shared a look before glaring at the door. 

“Yeah, no, we’re fine. Thank you. Good night.”

“There’s been complaints. Mind opening the door, sir?”

“Ay, pinche wey, pues que le valga a la verga.” You whispered. The older Winchester pressed a hand on your mouth despite your complaints. “You cannot curse in front of a baby.” He scolded. 

You shrugged his hand away. “Oh, grow up, everybody does.”

“Sir?”

“Uh, it’s not a good time. J-Just got out of the shower.” 

The doorknob started moving impatiently. You shared a look with the hunter. In your eyes he found an ice cold blue that wasn’t supposed to be there. He saw you move to hide on one side of the door, leaving the baby to him as he placed the him in the crib, before mimicking your actions. 

The door opened up to reveal a police man with a knife. Manager, mis huevos. Dean heard your voice in his head, not affording to look at the translation.  The intruder just needed to advance a couple of steps before he grabbed his arm and you got the knife out his hand. 

Struggling, the man pushed you two away from him, making the stupidest thing and pushing you two in between the baby and him.

“Get the hell out of the way.”

“No that’s not gonna happen.”

“A child should be with his father.” 

“Prove he’s your son, then we’ll consider it.” You said. 

“I’m not just talking about me, I’m talking about our father.” 

You masked your confusion well enough but the hunter looked as if he took the bait. You mentally facepalmed.  And as the guy went to make his move you quickly dodged his kick before you kneeled and kicked his other leg. 

“Y/N, look out!” 

He grabbed you by your hair and pulled. But just as sudden as it was it stopped. Dean had jumped into action and wrestled with the man. 

“The knife!” 

You felt it beneath you and you grabbed it as you went and pressed it on the shapeshifter’s throat. He groaned, placing his hands around the hunter’s throat. 

“Try me, I’ll choke him before you could slice my throat.”

“You talk to much.” As you went to move your hand he slammed his head with yours, freeing himself from your threat. 

You placed a hand on your forehead and saw him towering over you. But before he could do anything else a gunshot was heard and his body met the floor with a thump. 

“Well, there goes our deposit.” You heard Dean say towards the door. You needn’t see it to know that it was Sam.

+++

You were driving to meet up with Samuel and the cousins. The boys had discussed about the events and Sam had suggested to go to Samuel. You weren't happy about it, your gut kept telling you that something was wrong. Still, there you were, sitting at the back of the car, keeping an eye on the sleeping baby. 

You looked out your window, not really knowing where to look at, but you certainly didn’t want to face forw, when something caught your eye. As if the world had slowed down, you perfectly saw a lost soul watching dumbfounded at the cars as if they didn't know how they got into the road. 

Your fingertips started tingling and you glanced down at them to find them colored a coal black tone. 

Verga. You glanced around shoving everything trying to find anything that could help you; there had to be something you could use to hide them. 

"Hey, what's up?" Dean asked watching you through the rear mirror. 

"Uh. Sammy…" you cleared your throat. "Sam, do you happen to have the other day's gloves?" 

"Uh, I think so. I think there somewhere back there." 

You sighed and mumbled a thank you. You were sure to move carefully, trying not to flash them your fingertips. 

Just as you thought you had no exit to your problem you saw crushed leather fingers beneath the baby's car chair.

"Ay Dios mío, gracias!" You quickly retrieved them, shoving your hands swiftly into the soft fabric from the inside. 

"So, what's with you and the gloves?" The older brother asked. 

"I- I well, you know, I tend to wear them when I get too overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed, 'bout what?"

"Er, um, pues, 'bout the energy of people or a place, sometimes certain hours of the day. It depends but the feeling's rare."

While it was a true statement, it had more to do with the fact that death started surrounding you and it would only intensify once the summoning was complete. But, the fingers usually happened if the spell for summoning death worked a little too well.

+++

It was night time when you arrived and the chills down your spine intensified. There was no way you were leaving the baby’s side now. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Soon all of this mess would be over. 

You held the baby close to you, careful not to crush him, and the cousins gave you weird looks about it that you decided to take care of by giving them the finger. Every time you did, Dean shook his head. 

“Oh, relax he’s asleep. He can’t see me.” 

Gwen approached you with her eyes fixed on the baby. She went to caress his head softly as she said. “Well, aren’t you the best disguise a monster ever wore?”

You looked away from her, sure that if you stared at her for too long her head would explode. Instead you locked eyes with Dean and you both rolled eyes in unison at his cousin’s words.

However, she noticed. “I’m kidding, guys. Relax.” She said before going away. 

You lifted the baby softly so he could hear your words. “Cura, cura, cura. Sana todo lo que llevas. Que tus abuelos están contigo y sus espíritus te protegen.” It was an incantation to wash away the energy of the brother’s cousin, you didn’t want it sticking around where it didn’t belong. No one heard, but they did see you and questioned you. When asked what the hell you were doing, you shrugged. 

“Que te valga madre, ¿no?” 

When you fully lifted your gaze, the Sams were already heading towards you and the older brother had already stood besides you. 

“Hey, let me see the little guy.”

“That’s alright I got it.” You said firmly. 

Samuel smiled. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

There it was, your ice cold eyes again. “I don’t know. What do you think you’re gonna do?”

“You don’t want an answer to that question.” Dean backed you up. 

“Well, I’m curious. Who exactly do you think we are?” Christian asked from his chair. 

“Hunters.” You both answered. But that didn’t matter because his response was only directed to the one on your right side. 

“Funny. Here i thought we were family.”

“Hey, let’s not get worked up.” Sam started. 

“Yeah, let’s not.” His cousin finished before directing his attention to something else. 

“Here, Y/N, it’s fine.” He neared you and looked at you. “Let me take him. It’s okay.”

“Heh, well you’ll have to rip him off of my arms.” You didn’t move. You stood your ground because stepping back would’ve ment intimidation and you weren’t intimidated you were furious. 

“Y/N.” Sam said quietly.

“No, don’t talk that bullshit to me. What do you want him for? Hm? Tell me, give me a good reason why you want me to hand him and I will.”

The room fell silent, more than it already was. You scoffed. “What you can’t think of a good one? He’s fine, he’s healthy, he isn’t injured. You want to take a look at him? Hear your words. Look. You can do that shit with your eyes, I don’t need to hand him over for that.”

Samuel, sighed, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. 

He’s nervous. The older brother heard your words in his head. His back shuddered, but when he turned to look at you he saw that your attention wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t even think you actually intended to talk to him. What did you said once? You tended to think loudly. 

“What are you gonna do with him?” The attention of the good ol’ Campbell shifted from you to his grandson. 

“Raise him.”

You scoffed. “Simón, wey. Esa ni tu te la crees.” 

“Raise him?”

“You got another suggestion?” 

“But-”

“It’s dangerous out there for him.”

“What about in here? What are we gonna study him? Poke at ‘im?”

“Your mind goes right to torture, Dean. Don’t assume that for everyone.” 

“What exactly you’re tryna say?” Great, now you got two angry people. Good luck fighting us.

“Sorry, I heard what you majored in. Down in the pit.” Christian retorted.

“Ay, pinche puñetas! Que te valga madre, pinche cabron de mierda!”

“Sorry, I don’t speak mexican.” 

You gritted your teeth. “And I don’t speak bozo, yet here we are.” 

“The hell is your problem, man?”

His cousin stood up and walked directly towards you. “You’re starting to become a pain in my ass.” 

“Take it easy. They’re my family.” Sam stepped in. 

Christian took a look at you. “I’m not scared of fighting a girl.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.” 

Dean gulped and looked at your eyes, they were no longer icy blue, they were pure red, as fire and blood. As if you could burst something into flames by just looking at it. 

“We’re done bristling up here or what? Nobody’s doing anything to him, guys. When he’s old enough we throw it to him.” Samuel spoke. “He wants to volunteer to help out, that’s fine.” 

“Could be great.” Mark added. 

“How?” You asked lowly. 

“Think of the kind of hunter he’ll grow up to be.” 

“Hm. See I didn’t see it before but now I do. Thank you for that, you’ve opened my eyes.” You said sarcastically. 

“You have to be joking! I mean, come on. You can’t Angelina Jolie a shapeshifter.”

“Why can’t you give me an inch of trust, Dean?”

“Y/N, give him the baby.” Mark commanded. 

“Uy, sí, mamón. Lo que usted ordene. Se me olvidaba que le tengo que hacer caso a cualquier pendejo que abra la boca.” 

“Maybe because you two are back from the dead and I seem to be the only one who wants to know how.”

“You’re not the only who wants to know.” Sam said softly. That took you off guard, it sounded so genuine yet only in that moment he felt honest. 

“Well, there’s too much of mystery in this family for me to get comfy.”

“Then don’t. But don’t put it on us. All we’re trying to do is invite you in. You too, young lady. You think we are some merciless hunters but we’ve been nothing but open to you. Christian, you’ve always wanted a baby, haven’t you?”

“I mean, yeah.” 

“Try to take him away from me and see what happens.”

Samuel scoffed. “What you think you can do better?”

“At raising him? Yeah, I do.”

“But didn’t you tell Sam that you didn’t want kids?” Gwen stepped in. 

“Well I changed my mind, sue me. One thing is for certain, I have a better chance. You guys are always on the run, always hopping from one town to another. You don’t have a steady income. I do. And I have a savings account with money enough to start a college fund. If you can’t say the same thing, leave the baby the fuck alone.” Your phone kept buzzing like crazy. Just a little bit more, he’s almost here. 

Everyone fell silent again. This was new to Dean. He had never seen you liked this but he always knew that you had a good way of shutting people the hell up with solid facts. 

Just when Samuel opened his mouth to respond, distant barks were heard and panic overflowed the room. 

You looked at Sam, only to find nothing but confusion. Then you turned to Dean, but he only dedicated you a panic look as well. You felt paralyzed, your body tensed and for the first time in years, you didn’t know what to do. Well, you did, but it was easier for you to think tit than to move your body. You had to blame it on the spell, it was making you slow and frightful, like an old person that had their foot more on the afterlife than on the material world

“Safe room.” Samuel said. He placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you towards a door. “It’s downstairs. The baby’s gonna be safe there, go! We got it, go!”

+++

Loud clanks and footsteps echoed in the safe room where the four of you where at. 

“Come on, Bobby John, you’ve got to be quiet.” Dean cooed at him above of you. You still didn’t feel like handing him to someone else. 

“I’m gonna go check, you guys stay here.” Sam said, but as he looked through the window his image was mirrored and the shapeshifter yanked the door of it’s hinges. He took Sam by the collar, blocking his attack and threw him out of the room, knocking him out. He spotted you and began to walk towards your direction, getting rid of Dean in the process, making him blackout as well. . He then saw you and took your form. 

“Give me the baby.” 

“Took you long enough.” You whispered before handing them the babe. The shapeshifter gave you a thankful look as they carried the baby in his arms. They took a deep breath as they relaxed knowing that his keen was finally with them.  

“Thank you for calling us. And trusting us, Y/N. Thank you for taking care of him, we are in debt with you. It did making the tracking easier”

“There’s no need for that.” You sighed. “I’m only glad he’s safe. I was the only one who thought he was better with his kind.”

Your mirrored self gave you one last nod before walking away. Just as they were about to round the corner, they turned to you. 

“But you didn’t trust one of us before. What changed?” 

“Like I told him. All I needed was proof that he was the father. Now it doesn’t matter anymore. He has no one close to him left. I’m sorry for all the trouble, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.” 

They shrugged and as they walked away they said: “Make sure to make your injuries believable.” 

Yeah. You thought and sighed. That was going to hurt.

The rest of it went like you expected, lots of clean up and confusion. Dean asked about the shapeshifter alpha (which was the one tracking the baby) and his grandparent and Sam answered patiently. 

Now you where at the walk to the car, tending to your black eye, that you funnily gave yourself, while the brothers talked. 

“You know what’s funny.”

“What?”

“Back there, the fight in the motel. That guy said that they had to be with their father. So maybe, he was talking about the alpha.”

“Uh, I guess so.” Sam said nonchalantly. 

“So you heard that?” 

“I don’t know, it was kind of a hot moment? Why?” He looked at his brother and then at you, but whatever he was searching for he didn’t find it.

“Because if you did know the alpha was out there and you knew they were looking for the baby, then that means you took the baby as bait.”

Sam fell silent but looked at his brother as he waited for the question. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Took the baby as bait?”

“Of course not, Dean. I honestly thought Samuel was the best shot we got.”

The older Winchester looked at you for backup and his brother mimicked his action. 

“Ah no, a mí ni me miren, yo tengo mis propios problemas ahorita.” You pointed at your black eye and thankfully that made them take their eyes off of you. And the rest of the ride was silent as a tomb.

+++

When you got back to your house, a tiny shadow was waiting for you, meowing. 

You sighed, relieved. “Schrödinger, hola gato guapo.”

“You have a message. It’s on the altar.” He walked you towards your coffee table, where you had mantled death’s altar. In the center, on top of the tarot death card, there was an envelope with a black wax seal, death’s seal. 

You sighed. “Always so fancy and proper, huesuda.” You opened the enveloped and unfolded the letter that was inside. It was a personal letter to basically tell you to be patient, she had a lot of work but as soon as she felt a space between her schedule she would gladly have a cup of coffee with you. 

“Great. I’ll have to make café de olla de aquí hasta que aparezca.” You clicked your tongue.

“At least she communicated with you.” Schrödinger said as he rubbed his body against your leg. You smiled and picked him up. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

+++

@anathewierdo

[fizzingwizard]

Rota Fortunae c.1

This is the first chapter of a TRC fic I’m working on... it looks like AU but it’s a TRAP! :P I’ll probably post it in bits on tumblr until I have a few chapters before taking it to AO3.

---

Rain came down in sheets. Kurogane growled under his breath as he fumbled with his lantern. Droplets pelted the cobblestone path in a ricochet, drowning out any noise that he might be making as he struggled with the climb up the hill, towards the remote mountainous town. Be grateful you're not making the trip in winter, the innkeeper had said to him before he left. He would rather be making it in daylight too, but time waits for no man. And curses are by far less patient.

The flame engulfed the wick, wavered, then blew out. Uttering another oath, Kurogane felt for another matchstick, but just then his boot landed in a puddle that turned out to be knee deep. He tripped, but managed to hold on to the lantern; the box of matches went flying and were lost in the night. He wrenched his leg out of the hole. Then he stopped, staring up the hill, where the lonely houses shrouded in darkness studded the mountainside. If they were really there at all. Almost he felt as if the hill itself wanted to discourage him from venturing any further. For all he knew, it might. Enchantments could be hidden anywhere, in the earth, the air. His nostrils flared as if to sniff them out.

"Pardon me," called a voice, startling Kurogane. He whirled around to face whoever it was with a fierce glare, though the rain dripping from the hem of his waterlogged cloak onto his cheek somewhat marred the effect.

"Do you have to be so loud?" he barked.

The other man seemed to smile under his hood. A long-fingered hand slithered out and cupped his mouth. "My apologies. This storm is really something," he said at exactly the same volume. Kurogane felt his scowl deepen. "You wouldn't happen to have a lantern?"

Kurogane stared at him. Then he looked over at the large, conspicuous lantern gripped in his left hand, in easy view. His brow lifted. The man let out a light, musical laugh that was somehow not lost in the din. "I see you do! That's thinking ahead."

"Only an idiot would go out in the night without one," Kurogane said, pointedly jerking his head at the other's empty hands.

Another sparkling laugh. "Yes, you must be right! Well, it appears I've lost my lantern, and forgive me, but you seem fresh out of matches. Maybe we can help each other."

Kurogane said nothing.

"I'm on my way to the quaintest little bar you ever saw. It's in the town just below. If you'll walk with me and share your lantern, I'll buy you a drink."

"Sorry," Kurogane answered gruffly. "I'm headed the other way."

"What, up the hill?" The man sounded surprised. "Why ever would you want to go there?"

"That's my business."

"But it's abandoned."

"Not from what I've heard."

The other man waved that aside with the same slender, moon-pale hand. "Rumors and hearsay. There's nothing there, I tell you. You're in for a cold, wet night on some rickety porch, and that's if you make it up there in the first place. The path only gets steeper from here."

"I'll take the risk," Kurogane said, moving to walk past him.

But the man was spry, stepping briskly into his path. "Now, sir, be reasonable," he soothed. "It's past midnight. If you're right and there are people living in those hills, they're asleep by now. Come to town with me, have a drink, a bite to eat. Rest, then you can continue your errand tomorrow."

"My business can't wait."

"But-"

"I'll knock them all out of their beds if I have to."

The man fell silent, but he seemed troubled. Palpable displeasure rolled off him with the rivulets winding down his cloak. Kurogane shuddered, though perhaps that was from the wind. He shrugged his sodden cloak over his shoulders and started back up the hill with firm, obstinate steps.

"You won't change your mind," asked the man, a strange plaintive note in his voice. But when Kurogane looked back, he hadn't made another move to block him.

"No," Kurogane replied.

A long pause. For the first time, the man's smile had faded. "So be it," he said softly. He turned his back to Kurogane. Before resuming his downhill trek, the pale hand flicked out once more in a brief wave, which Kurogane didn't return. As he trudged up the road, he resolved not to think on him anymore. Some people thought every fellow traveler they came across was some sort of kindred spirit. Kurogane had other, more important objectives, and he wasn't about to let the concerns of some drifter who had forgotten his own lantern distract him.

It wasn't until the road disappeared and Kurogane found himself looking doubtfully at a very steep, rain-slick upward crawl into the village that it occured to him to wonder how he could see it, between the rain and the dark. Raising his lantern, he felt a shock go through him when he found it lit, a blue-white flame dancing within. When had -

Kurogane spun around, but there was no sign of the stranger dogging his steps.

Well. It did make hefting himself up the muddy slope easier.

---

By early morning, Kurogane finally reached the edge of the village. Rainwater had soaked into his skin. A lesser man could get a chill, not that Kurogane had the time of day for anything so useless. At certain points the mountain side had gone almost sheer, and he'd had to use his whole body to lever himself to the next ledge. Mud was everywhere, painting his traveling garb an earthy gray monotone. He made the mistake of wiping his forehead and splattered his face as well.

The lantern was still aglow. Kurogane peered inside and found that the wax didn't even appear to have guttered at all. The little light inside seemed giddy at his curiosity, and leapt higher as if to tease him. But that was ridiculous. It was a candle.

He resisted the urge to snuff it out. After all, he still needed to be able to see. Dawn had only just broken and much of the sun's light was blocked by the mountain face.

Kurogane lugged his exhausted body toward the squat cabins scattered on the mountainside. There were not many, and no path marked the way to reach them, as if those who lived in them never went visiting, didn't even consider the other houses to be neighbors. The town had a name, or at least used to, Kurogane assumed. These days most people referred to it by the sole resident purported to still live there: the Cursebreaker's Mountain.

Kurogane's mind wound back to the stranger he'd come across in the night. That man had believed the whole village deserted. Even when Kurogane demanded how he could find the cursebreaker's house, the innkeeper had been careful to warn him that no one knew for sure whether he really did live in this village. The only clues where stories certain townies had of times their own curses had disappeared after causing them no end of torment. A curse of bad luck, which had lost its poor victim his house and family, was swept away overnight, and the very next day his wife showed up at the bar to tell him her father had found him a job. A woman who had been unable to stop crying for months found her tears dried up after she met a traveler in the road who gave her a silk handkerchief and told her to keep it. A midwife whose own firstborn grew hooves and horns in his bassinet, and she feared that if the devil didn't come to take his soul the townspeople would first. Then a traveling salesman came to her door, selling wool scarves and hats. The way he talked somehow put her at easy, and before she knew it she'd agreed to let him knit a romper for her son. As soon as she dressed him in it, the horns began to recede, and little pink toes uncurled from his tiny feet. In her joy she'd begged the salesman for his price (though half afraid he would demand her child). But all he'd said to her was, "The price has already been received." Then he was gone.

Shaking her head, she'd leaned over the bar table and looked Kurogane hard in the eye as she told him there had been no dramatic exit, no puff of smoke, but still she couldn't recall seeing him leave. "If you ask me, he wasn't human. He was some fae thing, made of pure magic. And I know they can't be trusted, but for some reason he did me a miracle, he gave me my little boy. My mother used to say there was a cursebreaker who lived on the mountain and broke curses for gold. Just as a job. Back then he was famous in the land for almost always succeeding. Then one day he closed up shop. Just up and vanished. People tried to get to that village, to look for him, but most of them turned back around before even making it halfway. Said the trip was just too hard. I guess a few made it further, but no one could tell you how. Maybe they were just that desperate to be freed of their curses."

Exhaustion slowed Kurogane's steps as he made his way through the empty village. He went from house to house, rattling the doors with impatient knocks. All the gardens were wild and unmaintained, and the wooden planks creaked as he crossed each porch. He held the lantern at eye level and peered through the dusty windows, but there was no sign of life. Not one domestic animal, though there were pens. Water leaked off rooftops, from rotting floorboards, the damp smell of mold on the air.

After he'd tried every house, Kurogane walked out a ways onto a grassy knoll overlooking the valley and sat down. From his leather traveling bag he pulled a strip of salted meat and some hardtack, and gnawed on them, mouth downturned and shoulders hunched as he stared straight ahead. Despite his best efforts, his heart kept sinking, and no new plan sprang to mind, no way to escape his nightmare. Anger was quick to chase away anything that bore a resemblance to grief or pity, and soon his teeth had shredded the last of the meat, and the storm of the night before was settled low on his brow.

"Odd, I don't remember installing a gargoyle," said a familiar lilting voice that put Kurogane in an instant pique.

His shoulders twitched. After a tense pause, his head swiveled around, and he squinted under the glare of the sun at a thin, lanky man, slightly bent forward to gaze down at him. He had light eyes, and a crop of filmy, gold-spun hair that was trying too hard to look convincingly ethereal. He wore a silk vest of lavender brocade over his shirt and a dove-colored cravat. Despite the nippy mountain breeze, his sleeves were undone and rolled to his elbows, and there was an infuriating beatific grin on his lips.

Meanwhile Kurogane crouched on the hillside, covered head to toe in mud and squelching with every movement. Not that he could be bothered to be embarrassed.

"You," he said.

The stranger tilted his head. "I'm sorry? Have we met?"

"It's you from last night." Kurogane picked up the lantern and pointed an exasperated finger. "The idiot who forgot his lantern, but still lit mine."

Blue eyes blinked, as if this response was wholly unexpected. "I - may have been lying about forgetting mine," he stammered.

"No kidding." Kurogane pushed off the ground. He was gratified to confirm that, while the stranger was tall, he was taller still. Some of his energy renewed. "You're that damn cursebreaker, aren't you."

"What makes you think that?" the man asked, eyelids drooping.

"I'm fucked if anyone else can make it up here in that rain and look fresh as daisy without magic."

More musical laughter. The stranger rifled a hand through his flaxen hair, then let it fall bonelessly to his side. "Oh dear, what am I going to do with you?" he sighed.

"Quit griping," Kurogane said stubbornly. "I have a curse I need you to break."

"What's your name?"

"Kurogane, blacksmith of Suwa."

"Kurogane of Suwa, it's not wise to give your name so freely. Words have power, names in particular. If you're cursed you should know that."

"You asked my goddamn name. Anyway, it's not my curse. I've got nothing to lose except time. I'll pay whatever you want. Will you take the job or not?"

"Not your curse?" The wizard - because that was who he must be - raised his brow. "You have one, though? Didn't you know? I can see its traces all over you."

Kurogane shook his head impatiently. "I have one too, but that's my business. I need you to free my ward. He," here Kurogane broke off, trying to force the emotion out of his voice, "he touched something he shouldn't have -"

"Let's go inside." Alreading pivoting on the balls of his feet, as if they were on a polished ballroom floor instead of a craggy mountain, the wizard started to walk away. "You need a bath."

"There's no time!" Kurogane cried, not moving.

The wizard glanced at him. There was something sharp and lightning quick about the way he took him in. Kurogane thought most people would miss it. Then the bastard pinched his nose and contorted his face into a theatrical expression of digust.

"Come on, Kuro-wan. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Besides..." He grinned. "I can finally give you that drink."

---

The wizard, who introduced himself as Fai D. Fluorite ("What does the 'D' stand for?" "Your guess is as good as mine, I suppose I just liked how it sounded."), led him away from the rocky terraces, around a cliffside, to a small cabin Kurogane was sure hadn't been there before. Fai insisted it had been, but what with all the angles and tricks of the light it sometimes looked as if it wasn't there. Kurogane wondered what use was a house that sometimes didn't bother to show up if it wasn't in the mood, but Fai only laughed, and pointed out that it wasn't like the mail couriers could ever make it up here with their horses anyway.

The outside of the cabin was flat and characterless, but Kurogane had experience enough with magicians to know looks could be deceiving. He'd only been inside a spellcaster's den a handful of times, but every single one had been dripping floor to ceiling with colorful bits and baubles, towering bookcases stuffed with spellbooks, unusual animals in cages, and many other curiosities. Ornate rugs on the floor, many dusty bottles, some of which actually contained alcohol, as well as general clutter. And candles, candles everywhere.

But Fai opened the door to a single, large room that seemed, by comparison, utterly bare. Floor to wall window filled one entire expanse of wall, which as the fog rolled away revealed a breathtaking view of the valley below. There were a couple sturdy wood chairs with furs thrown over the backs set around a low table next to a fireplace. The kitchen area was sunk into the wall opposite the windows, a clean, tidy counterspace, a few cabinets, and a wood-burning stove. Ropes of dried plants dangled from the ceiling. Kurogane saw herbs, persimmons, chili peppers. Outside, he spotted a garden, but instead of mysterious plants with magical properties, Kurogane was suprised to recognize most of what appeared to be growing in it. Scattered on the hills surrounding the garden were vibrant blue gentians and purple bellflowers.

Before Kurogane ascended the stairs, Fai held up a hand and gestured to his feet. "No shoes indoors," he said, toeing out of his own boots.

Kurogane had to take a minute to process that, but kicked his boots into a corner of the entryway. "What kind of wizard's house is this," he grunted, as if the swept floors, cozy furs, and general niceness were in some way offensive.

Fai laughed. "Oh, does the lack of animal skulls and cobwebs disappoint you?" he quipped. "I can conjure some up if you want. I do have a crystal ball, somewhere, no idea what I did with it. Never was much use at scrying."

Shaking his head, Kurogane wandered cautiously further inside. He'd been afraid of bumping into some magical artifact or another and landing himself another curse, but it didn't seem like that would be a problem. "It's... clean."

"You're impressed." Fai leaned an elbow on the kitchen counter, following Kurogane with his eyes. "I take it other wizards you've met did not share my penchant for 'less is more'."

"I think you're the only wizard in the world for whom 'less is more' isn't some form of blasphemy."

Fai hummed. "Well... I suppose my attachment to things is weaker than some." He joined Kurogane by the window. "I like wide, open spaces. It's... tranquil. Good for the soul." The smile fell away for the first time.

"And you don't wear your shoes inside."

"Well, yes. Is that so strange?"

"Not to me, but I'm not from around here. No one I've met in this country takes off their shoes at the door, but it's common practice back at home - in the East."

Just the corners of Fai's mouth lifted. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're implying."

Kurogane studied him. He didn't bother trying to hide it. But at last he shook his head. "Nothing. I guess the similarity just struck me."

"Mmm. Well, Kuro-run, let's draw you a bath, and then I promise, we will see to your 'business.'"

Even the bath was shockingly normal. A wooden tub tucked in a small room just large enough to hold it, no gold, no clawed feet, no swans or waterfowl of any kind. There was a bar of lye soap that looked homemade, and a stick of incense on the sill of a high angled window, the scent of lavender scent wafting over Kurogane as he bathed. He didn't know what to make of a wizard who used incense sticks rather than candles.

He sponged the muck off his body and had to admit that he did feel much better afterward. Though he hadn't slept, at least he felt more like himself.

When he stepped out of the tub, he realized he didn't have a change of clothes.

... How awkward.

"Hey, uh, wizard."

"Yes, Kuro-pi?"

"... I, uh..."

The door opened. Kurogane's eyes widened, slowly, in petrified horror. Fai leaned against the doorframe cupping his chin in his hand as he examined his guest. Who was not completely naked - he'd been given a thin towel that try as it might really didn't cover everything it needed to.

"... Towel's too small," he gruffed.

Fai's lips twitched. "I think they just don't make towels for men of your size. Ah, I know."

He disappeared. Kurogane's face went as red as Fai's chili peppers.

Upon return, Fai thankfully did not spend any longer in the bathroom than was necessary to hand over a set of clean clothes, which turned out to be black trousers and shirt, russet suspenders, and a matching jacket. There were also a pair of thick wool socks. Everything fit as if it had been tailor made for him, but Kurogane never seen any of these articles of clothing in his life. His host had even provided a pair of crescent moon cuff-links.

Fai was in the kitchen when Kurogane emerged.

"How was your bath?" he asked in the midst of chopping small white mushrooms.

Kurogane met that with a wordless grunt. Since Fai didn't invite him to sit down, he pulled out a wicker stool and plopped down on his own.

"That's good," Fai said cheerfully. He use the blunt side of the knife to scoop the mushrooms into his palm and add them to a pan with some sizzling onions. "You must be starving after your journey. I hope you like omelets."

"Wizard," Kurogane said, staring at his back. "I'm not hungry. I've bathed like you asked. Now I have a kid who's in trouble, and you're the only one who can help him."

The knife paused mid-chop. Fai let out a quiet breath, almost inaudible, his posture drooping the slightest amount.

Kurogane went on, carefully, "I don't want to seem ungrateful, but..."

"No, you're right." All of a sudden Fai set the knife on the counter and spun around. He was all smiles and sparkling eyes as he faced Kurogane across the kitchen island. "So tell me about this young man. What sort of tragic curse did he inflict upon himself?"

"His name's Syaoran." Kurogane reached into his bag (which, he noticed, was also now miraculously clean) and pulled out a lump of linen covered in runes and bound with a length of twine. Gingerly he held it out to Fai, who took it from him without an ounce of hesitation. "It's a compass. I don't know where he got it. He spent the evening playing with it and talking to himself, but that's nothing new for Syaoran." Kurogane rolled his eyes. Fai was inspecting the runes on the linen, now and then pulling at the twine. "Then he just - got up and left."

Fai's head lifted. "Left?"

"Just left out the front door. I followed, of course. Asked where he was going." Now Kurogane paused, chin dipping as he thought.

"He didn't answer?"

"No, that's just it - he did, but I didn't understand what he said. Sounded like... Shakira?"

Fai blinked. "So, this Syaoran was compelled by the curse on this compass to go to this unknown place, and you left him to and went to fetch me?"

"No," Kurogane growled in annoyance. "I followed him. Tried to force him to come back with me, but even if I knocked him out cold and lugged him home like a sack of potatoes, the next day he was off again. Didn't stop to eat or sleep. No matter what, he was going to this place, so in the end I just let him."

Fai nodded. A pair of wooden spoons, Kurogane noticed from the corner of his eye, had taken it upon themselves to cook the omelets while the wizard was occupied. He tried not to let the sight of a pair of eggs rising spontaneously and cracking into the pan distract him. "And where did he lead you?"

"Everywhere. All over. He's - that's the thing. He's still going."

Fai whistled. "Still? How long has it been?"

"About a week. At first I kept trying to bring him home, but he'd just escape again. Then I was afraid to take my eye off him in case he wandered off and I couldn't find him again. But yesterday I managed to wrestle that compass away, and hoped that would snap him out of it -" Kurogane shrugged and spread his hands. "Didn't."

"I see."

"When I showed up at the bar with the cursed compass, the innkeeper told me there was a cursebreaker in these hills. So I came looking. Found you."

"So you did. Well, before we go any further, would you mind removing these talismans? I can, but I'd rather not burn myself."

"Those runes only burn demons," Kurogane told him.

Fai gave him an enigmatic smile that didn't reveal any teeth. "Ah, but you see, every magician has a little bit of a demon inside... your style of magic is very different from mine, and I'd rather not take chances."

Kurogane narrowed his eyes, but didn't argue. He peeled each paper strip off one by one, Fai watching him curiously with his chin propped in his hands. "What are they called?" he asked.

"Ofuda."

"They're very good at their job," Fai said, making short work of the twine around the linen now that the charms were gone. "I could sense the protective spell from a mile away. That's how I traced you last night."

"If you knew I was looking for a cursebreaker, why didn't you tell me who you were?" Kurogane asked, the accusation clear in his tone.

Fai let out an enormous sigh and turned his wistful gaze out the window. "Because I'm retired, Kuro-pon," he pouted. "How would you like to be retired and still get people banging on your door day in, day out, trying to make you work?"

Though he thought Fai looked much too young to have earned anything like retirement, Kurogane let it pass, choosing instead to comment on the idea that Fai had regular customers. "It doesn't look to me like you've taken a job in a long time," he pointed out. "Given that you live up an unscaleable mountain and tell anyone trying to reach you that you don't."

Fai shrugged, as if to say "guilty as charged, but don't bring me in, Officer, I'm cute!" Which left Kurogane enraged. That simply should not work for a grown man, not ever.

"Alright, but then I have a question for you," Fai said. He'd unwrapped the compass by now, and it was just that, a very ordinary looking brass compass, no portentous markings or symbols. Fai did not seem wary of handling it with his bare fingers, turning it over, watching the needle spin. "Why me?"

Kurogane blanched. "Why you? Why you? Because you're a cursebreaker, and I've got a curse that needs breaking, dammit."

A finger went up. "Retired!" said Fai. "Retired cursebreaker! Did you not think it would be easier and more prudent to hire another cursebreaker, who is in active practice, and who doesn't live like a hermit up an 'unscaleable mountain'?"

Mouth open to retort, Kurogane froze in place, before dropping heavily back into his seat. He shut his mouth, shooting Fai an annoyed look. But - there wasn't much he could say for himself. He didn't know why, the instant he got his hands on the cursed compass, he didn't take it to the largest city nearby and find an expert. Or why he didn't look for help as soon as Syaoran's bull-headed quests began to lead them to stranger and stranger places, back alleys and underground dens that were hard for Kurogane to show his face in lest someone he knew (that is, someone who's face he knocked in before) might be there.

"City cursebreakers are all hacks and charlatans," he answered, arms folding over his chest. His chin jutted forward, daring Fai to disagree.

"They are, but that doesn't guarantee I'm the real deal. It would make more sense to at least ask them first."

"Look." Kurogane drove his fist into the countertop. "I didn't come to you for advice on finding cursebreakers. Next time I need one, I'll haul my ass to Arcana Street or some other fancy magical emporium where I stick out like a sore thumb, and ask the fussiest dressed magician with the most baubles and rings if he'd be so kind as to break my curse, because I'd rather not disturb the teenager on top of the remote mountain, he's fucking retired."

During this tirade Fai's brow disappeared under his golden bangs, eyes round and glinting with a mixture of shock and amusement. After a beat, he suddenly blurted out, "You think I'm a teenager?"

And that was how Kurogane discovered, to his chagrin, that Fai was a bit (more than a bit) older than he thought (not to mention, older than him).

[olicitysecretsanta]

uncanny valley (pg, 1972 words, Bratva AU)

A very happy and hearty post-finale (because I refuse to say “farewell”) Olicity wish to this wonderful fandom, and especially @nikscaroline​, who asked for jealous/possessive Bratva!Oliver. I haven’t written a lot of him in that space, so welcome to this AU (inspired in part by this image, which I’ve been hanging onto for, oh, a year or so? Thanks for the great prompt to finally use it, Irvane!)

By @effie214​

Summary: In aesthetics, the uncanny valley is the relationship between the degree of an object’s resemblance to a human being and the emotional response to such an object.

© Pawel Piotrowski

  The bite of the Boston winter is not unlike that of Russia. 

What’s unfamiliar to him, however, is the light he sees when he lays eyes on her for the first time. It’s not from the waning colors of the mid-December sun as it sets, nor even the light emanating from behind her in the room in the second house from the right in Fall River. He doesn’t see the blonde hair that he’ll catch wisps of in the corner of his eye as she eliminates his blind spot entirely; doesn’t see the blue eyes that will look up at him at first in fear, then in meditation, and finally in a trust that shakes him to his core with a chill more biting than any snow could ever muster. 

He does not see the hands that the Bratva have tracked here, to Felicity Smoak and her ridiculous boyfriend, as they nearly – and, he’s sure, unintentionally, but if there’s anyone who knows that all roads to each hell, for there are many, and their devils multifaceted, it’s Oliver Queen – brought down one of the outfit’s most brilliant money laundering schemes through fake student loan payments and “donations” to various colleges and universities. He does not see the fingers that will shake first as he enters her house unannounced, the ones that will scratch and claw and tear at him the way fear will do the same to the soul he thought he’d buried in the South China Sea when she stupidly – brilliantly, for even in her folly, she will be his guiding genius – pushes him out of the way of a bullet aimed for a heart that, were it still there, would by that point belong to her. He does not hear the voice screaming into the silence for help, the one that sounds like his from so many last chances ago, lost in the echo of the waves and a recoiling gunshot. He sees nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing of this place; only knows the emptiness Anatoly has trained him to be in order to survive. He is as empty as a valley, but as he stands in the darkness that knows his name better than he does, he looks up to that light, and the shades of grey fall from his eyes as he sees the stars that he will come to understand reside in hers – not of fancy or fantasy, but of unshakeable strength even the hardest men he knows will cower beneath. He sees a precipice, a choice he’s somehow going to be given even as he plans to take away hers. He somehow sees something that shakes him from his stone: she in her uncanny nature will breathe him back to life, and he gasps against it; not the salvation, for no person – even as important as she will become to him – will ever give him that, even in the wee small hours and the tiniest sighs of hope. No, he does it because he knows – somehow he just knows – she will make him man again, instead of the many mistakes he is built of. In his old life, the one built on so much promise and so easily parted with, it had been easy to turn Judas; run from the things he was too small for. Even as he’s been warped and weathered like storm season on the island, even as he has been laid bare and barren as the Siberian winter, alone because there is no strength found in numbers, only vulnerability, somehow he looks upon her and see the Atlas to his Sisyphys, the one who will roll his truth and all their consequences up a hill of his own making. 

He cowers in that already towering presence, palms burning not from frigid temperature but from the feel of her waist in his hand as they work undercover, the pink silk of her dress crinkling easily beneath his possessive hand as she tries to charm their latest mark to get her into his study, when the jealousy becomes too much and he gives into the basest of instincts to tell the world she’s his. His ears sing not in the winter wind but with the forgotten feeling of calmness that slides down his being with her voice in his ear, the only one he trusts – a partner, even if he cannot say the word. It will start first with short, angry reminders of her nut allergy, then with clipped efficiency as she talks him through his missions. A surprised, soft “thank you” that will come when he brings her a cup of coffee every time he refills his own mug as she runs search programs and he reads the results; the adorably offended laugh that unintentionally escapes her when he effortlessly makes an omelette for her at three in the morning after she goes through almost an entire dozen trying to do it herself; the gentle, soothing words as she prays in Hebrew that he doesn’t know but understands all the same – even if it terrifies him to realize one night during Passover that he’d kept his eyes open and on her the entire time, enchanted by her face lit by flames of her belief instead of the ashes of his own aftermaths. 

  His eyes tear not because of the plea he’ll see in hers when the Bratva captains try to make him think Interpol has struck a deal with her so he’ll banish her long and far enough that they can take her out, because they don’t trust her as Oliver does – with the life he only thinks might be worth saving when he hears her tiny sigh of relief when he returns each time from wherever he’s been, to that place called home that he hadn’t even realized was there until he walks into her upstairs office and she does the same to his life, changing everything – and she stands toe to toe with him, manicured, brightly colored fingernails poking him hard in his chest as she screams with as much volume as she’ll do in mere minutes when she calls out for help that will not come that she’d never give up on him, no matter how much he’d already given up on himself. “You are not alone,” she’ll spit vehemently, “And I believe in you.”

His lips are chapped not from the night as it settles itself in navy over him, but of the future memory of finally pressing his mouth against hers in a hungry revolution, a shot across the bow and the one that will restart that heart she saved, a resolution that they are in this together, even if they have no goddamn idea what this even is. 

No, by then they’ll know: by then, he’ll have told her to go, in as quiet and heartbreaking and shaky voice as she’ll ever hear from him, that he refuses to make her a regret. Coward that he’ll be until she reminds him that the only easy day is yesterday, words that will propel him forward into a future as unknown as the destination has always been, he won’t be able to look at her when he tells her he’s sorry, that he’ll get her out, that this was a mistake. He’ll turn only when her hand finds his face, not in the slap she’ll give him when he tells her to stop getting in his way, but instead bringing him forward; bringing him to her light. “You may have forced me to leave, Oliver, but I’m choosing to stay.” She’ll shrug, those slim shoulders that hold up his world moving so easily as his lungs cannot in that moment. “There’s really no choice to make.” 

(He’ll want to fall into bed with her then, claim her and let her know he’s hers as much as she’s ever been his, but then he spots the red dress and heels she buys during a girls’ day out with the medic called Sasha – because Felicity Megan Smoak not only ends up getting the Bratva to do her bidding rather than the other way around, but makes sure to prove time and again to anyone in her sphere that she’s both hellbent and heaven-sent – and though he’s sure to the very heart she put the beat back in that the evening will end up with a grenade launched from a rooftop across the street from the restaurant, the only explosions that happen are in those wee small hours he looks so forward to now are the best ones either of them can even fathom.

They’ll fall into bed time and time after that, fall into each other and three words that should be so easy to say, especially given his increased time around her verbosity, but they don’t come until she’s elbow deep in flour, has butter on her nose and there’s what’s supposed to be fondant on the ceiling when he walks in on her in the kitchen where she’s told him about her bubbe’s latkes and he about Tommy and Thea and where they’ve hashed out his moving from an enforcer to a kapitan – as they try to relive and also rewrite the narrative of the story they’ve both found themselves and the best parts of each other in – trying to make him a birthday cake. 

They’re not so hard to say after that; in a world of fools and falsehoods, she truly is his felicity. When she looks at him in utter disblief, instinct driving her “you don’t…”, this time it is he who finds the words quickest: “Don’t ask me to say that I don’t love you.”)

He stands still against the New England quiet, the same kind that will not just echo but follow as they run from their pasts but with each other, hiding from the outfit and her father and Cooper Seldon; as she pretends to be someone else, working in a Tech Village under a carefully built and maintained identity, only herself when they are together; when they share a tiny last egg over a candle on its last millimeter of wick, and when they cuddle together under a blanket on a mattress on the floor as they disappear into a dingy Hong Kong walkup and the only thing that has ever felt like safety. He is unmoving against it, the way they’ll both be in the darkest hours, first when her tears belie her loneliness, and when his deeds catch up to him in his dreams.  When she forgets who they are, or supposed to be, or something in the middle, he’ll kiss the top of her head and say, “I know who you are. Whether you’re in a ponytail or those terrible khaki pants, you’re the one thing I believe in.”

When they sit on a plane on their final forged passports, hand in hand with fingers adorned with rings bought with cash in suburban Vancouver, slipped over still-brightly colored nails and now healed knuckles and with whispered “for better or for worse” and “I’ll go anywhere with you” inscribed in the metal as the flight attendant welcomes them to Starling City, because they have decided – chosen, that holiest of holies – this mission to save his city in the same way they’ve saved each other. “Because this is what we do,” she whispers as they touch down and she presses a kiss against his shoulder. “Because this is who we are.”

He’s not met her yet, but she’s already under his skin; more a part of him than anyone or anything else. 

He knows going in he’s not ever going to let her go again.

The beauty of it is, as he takes that first and ultimately final step, toward her door and their shared destiny, he also knows she won’t, either. 

fin 

[daenerys-targaryen-moved]

Your opinion on book Dany?

Short story short: I love her

Long story short: under the cut

(p.s a lot of this was from @rainhadaenerys​)

She is far superior than show!dany. i love book!dany so much more than I love show!dany, and that’s saying something because even then, I still adore show!dany. It has nothing to do with the performance of the character, Emilia truly did such a phenomenal and splendid job portraying Daenerys, it’s more how the tv show clearly and obviously changed her character to fit their narrative.

The show and the books are different when it comes to like... nearly everything. For Daenerys specifically, the made her cold, almost cruel. They made her irrational, they made her seem like she was teetering on the edge of madness. They removed the calm, rational, extremely intelligent and caring side of Daenerys. They started changing certain scenes for her character around season 2. I remember in 2.01 they had her say “When my dragons are grown we will take back what was stole from us, we will lay waste to our armies and burn cities to the ground. Turn us away, and we’ll burn you first.” which she literally never ever says in the books but ok. They also had Doreah BETRAY HER and then have daenerys KILL her. Which NEVER HAPPENED! Doreah died in the Red Waste, Daenerys giving her the last of the water they had and soothed her as she died.

Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on. - Daenerys I ACOK

They made her make irrational decisions, which she of course is capable of doing, she’s not perfect, but they had her male counselors around her calm her down and advise her against this and that when in the books! she is the one to tell them no to irrational plans and she’s the one to counsel them away from but whatever, men am I right? Dany doesn’t have “violent tendencies”, no more than any other characters. And the situation is quite the opposite: it’s Dany’s male advisors that keep telling her to be more violent and ruthless, and Dany is the one that controls them and holds them back. As an example, Jorah is a character that constantly tells Dany to be more dishonorable and ruthless, but Dany refuses:

“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”

Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.” - Daenerys II ASOS

Daario keeps telling her to be more violent:

“Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

“You are fighting shadows when you should be fighting the men who cast them,” Daario went on. “Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid.”

“If I knew who they were—”

“Zhak and Pahl and Merreq. Them, and all the rest. The Great Masters. Who else would it be?”

He is as bold as he is bloody. “We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

Another of her male advisors, Skahaz, also tells her to be more violent:

“If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession.”

“No,” she said. “I do not trust these confessions. You’ve brought me too many of them, all of them worthless.”

“Your Radiance—”

“No, I said.” - Daenerys V ADWD

“Every man on that list has kin within the city. Sons and brothers, wives and daughters, mothers and fathers. Let my Brazen Beasts seize them. Their lives will win you back those ships.”

“If I send the Brazen Beasts into the pyramids, it will mean open war inside the city. I have to trust in Hizdahr. I have to hope for peace.” Dany held the parchment above a candle and watched the names go up in flame, while Skahaz glowered at her. - Daenerys V ADWD

Her sellswords want her to use her dragons, but Dany refuses:

Dany sighed. “I am sorry, Ben. I dare not loose the dragons.” - Daenerys V ADWD

And even though Tyrion and Dany haven’t met in the books, he is much more ruthless in the books than in the show:

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt. - Tyrion XI ADWD

She compensates her people for what they lost due to her dragons and treats them with kindness, even though her advisors suggest brutality:

“Three-and-twenty.” Dany sighed. “My dragons have developed a prodigious taste for mutton since we began to pay the shepherds for their kills. Have these claims been proven?”

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?”

Daenerys shifted on the bench. “No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. […] “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.” - Daenerys I ADWD

The Shavepate had urged her to put the man to death. “At least rip out his tongue. This man’s lie could destroy us all, Magnificence.” Instead Dany chose to pay the blood price. No one could tell her the worth of a daughter, so she set it at one hundred times the worth of a lamb. “I would give Hazzea back to you if I could,” she told the father, “but some things are beyond the power of even a queen. Her bones shall be laid to rest in the Temple of the Graces, and a hundred candles shall burn day and night in her memory. Come back to me each year upon her nameday, and your other children shall not want … but this tale must never pass your lips again.” - Daenerys II ADWD

Daenerys is really really funny. Like she is SO funny. I remember she asked Barristan what a ruler should have and when he answered with “Wisdom and courage.” she replied with “cheeks of steel” basically saying  her ass is sore from sitting on the bench slab for so long while seeing to her people. 

"Ser Barristan," she called, "I know what quality a king needs most." "Courage, Your Grace?" "Cheeks like iron," she teased. "All I do is sit."

(it’s even better when you remember the next day her throne room is full of pillow) She’s genuinely funny and D&D actually wouldn’t let her play Daenerys in a funny way - proving that she knows the character better than they do lmao.

She’s is also a child, she’s 13 in the books [which they couldn’t really play into since they had to age up show!dany for obvious reasons] but she’s very playful. She’s constantly laughing, joking with her girls, just being goofy in the books as well. I remember once she threw a grape at Xaro in a playful manner when he told her to stop.

She’s also very in love with Daario, who I don’t really like but whatever, but she literally fantasizes about being common folk with him and not having the weight of the world on her shoulders.

What is it?” she cried, as Irri shook her gently by the shoulder. It was the black of night outside. Something is wrong, she knew at once. “Is it Daario? What’s happened?” In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts.

She found herself thinking of Daario Naharis once again, Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, his strong hands resting on the hilts of his matched arakh and stiletto, hilts wrought of gold in the shape of naked women. The day he took his leave of her, as she was bidding him farewell, he had brushed the balls of his thumbs lightly across them, back and forth. I am jealous of a sword hilt, she had realized, of women made of gold. Sending him to the Lamb Men had been wise. She was a queen, and Daario Naharis was not the stuff of kings.

She really just wants a simple life and someone to love her, but she understands that it’s her duty and her mission to help as many people as she can.

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. "It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

She’s also so very very affectionate to those she loves and even those who she’s not even close to. She kisses and hugs like literally everyone. She kisses Barristan, she kisses Daario, she kisses Jorah, she kisses she city people, she kisses Missandei, Irri and everyone else who is around her. She shows herself through affection and small acts of kindness.

The Lysene girl quailed, but Dany calmed her with a touch. “Don’t be afraid, he won’t hurt you. Sweet brother, please, forgive her, the girl misspoke herself, I told her to ask you to sup with me, if it pleases Your Grace.” - Daenerys IV AGOT

Distantly, as from far away, Dany heard her handmaid Jhiqui sobbing in fear, pleading that she dared not translate, that the khal would bind her and drag her behind his horse all the way up the Mother of Mountains. She put her arm around the girl. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I shall tell him.” - Daenerys V AGOT

When Doreah looked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it to the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well. - Daenerys VI AGOT

“Enough,” Daenerys said. “Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy.” - Daenerys VII ADWD

Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear of red and yellow. Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot.

A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Dany squeezed his hand and said, “They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. My children have grown wild and angry in the dark.” - Daenerys VIII ADWD

When she returned to her rooms atop the pyramid, she found Missandei crying softly on her pallet, trying as best she could to muffle the sound of her sobs.

“Come sleep with me,” she told the little scribe. “Dawn will not come for hours yet.”

“Your Grace is kind to this one.” Missandei slipped under the sheets. “He was a good brother.”

Dany wrapped her arms about the girl. “Tell me of him.”

“He taught me how to climb a tree when we were little. He could catch fish with his hands. Once I found him sleeping in our garden with a hundred butterflies crawling over him. He looked so beautiful that morning, this one … I mean, I loved him.”

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

She cares for her brother, even though he molested her, abused her and sold her.

Jhogo asks if you would have him dead, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

“No,” Dany replied. “No.”

Jhogo understood that. One of the others barked out a comment, and the Dothraki laughed. Irri told her, “Quaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.”

[…]

“Tell them I do not wish him harmed,” Dany said. - Daenerys III AGOT

She tries to ask forgiveness for taking his horse by giving him new clothes so that he would be respected:

“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“Please … you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought … maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki …” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon. - Daenerys IV AGOT

“I saw His Grace this morning,” he told her. “He told me he was going to the Western Market, in search of wine.”

[…]

“Is that wise?” she asked. “He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.” - Daenerys V AGOT

She is willing to give Viserys her precious dragon eggs:

Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then … he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother … and my true king.” - Daenerys V AGOT

And she tries to protect him again during the feast in Vaes Dothrak, even when he takes out his sword and threatens her and her unborn child:

A sense of dread closed around her heart. “Go to him,” she commanded Ser Jorah. “Stop him. Bring him here. Tell him he can have the dragon’s eggs if that is what he wants.” The knight rose swiftly to his feet. - Daenerys V AGOT“The blade … you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food … is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.” - Daenerys V AGOT

Daenerys most certainly has dragons blood in her. Her moments of anger are out of the hurting, suffering and death of others.

“Your servants have arrested the owner of the wineshop and his daughters. They plead their ignorance and beg for mercy.” They all plead ignorance and beg for mercy.

“Give them to the Shavepate. Skahaz, keep each apart from the others and put them to the question.”

“It will be done, Your Worship. Would you have me question them sweetly, or sharply?”

“Sweetly, to begin. Hear what tales they tell and what names they give you. It may be they had no part in this.” She hesitated.

“Nine, the noble Reznak said. Who else?”

“Three freedmen, murdered in their homes,” the Shavepate said.

“A moneylender, a cobbler, and the harpist Rylona Rhee. They cut her fingers off before they killed her.”

The queen flinched. Rylona Rhee had played the harp as sweetly as the Maiden. When she had been a slave in Yunkai, she had played for every highborn family in the city. In Meereen she had become a leader amongst the Yunkish freedmen, their voice in Dany’s councils.

“We have no captives but this wineseller?”

“None, this one grieves to confess. We beg your pardon.”

Mercy, thought Dany. They will have the dragon’s mercy. “Skahaz, I have changed my mind. Question the man sharply.”

“It was a cruel fate, Yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.”― Daenerys ADWD

Dany even cares about her enemies. She is merciful to people that attack her:

When she told him, the boy rushed at her, but his feet tangled in his tokar and he went sprawling headlong on the purple marble. Strong Belwas was on him at once. The huge brown eunuch yanked him up one-handed and shook him like a mastiff with a rat. “Enough, Belwas,” Dany called. “Release him.” To the boy she said, “Treasure that tokar, for it saved your life. You are only a boy, so we will forget what happened here. You should do the same.” - Daenerys I ADWD

“We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom.” Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face.

Strong Belwas seized him by the shoulder and slammed him down onto the marble so hard that Dany heard Ghael’s teeth crack. The Shavepate would have done worse, but she stopped him.

“Enough,” she said, dabbing at her cheek with the end of her tokar. “No one has ever died from spittle. Take him away.” – Daenerys III ADWD

She prompts time and time again that she has no slaves, and that those who follow are are free to leave her at any time.

“Your slave Missandei.” Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

“My servant. I have no slaves.” – Daenerys ADWD

Dany fights against slavery. As soon as she gains any power, she starts freeing slaves:

“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. […]” - Daenerys X ADWD

The first thing she does when Missandei is given to her is to set her free, and tell her that she can leave if she wishes:

"Missandei is no longer a slave. I free you, from this instant. Come ride with me in the litter, I wish to talk.” Rakharo helped them in, and Dany drew the curtains shut against the dust and heat. “If you stay with me you will serve as one of my handmaids,” she said as they set off. “I shall keep you by my side to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys. But you may leave my service whenever you choose, if you have father or mother you would sooner return to.” - Daenerys III ASOS

And when Missandei’s brother dies, Dany comforts Missandei and offers to send her home again:

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.” - Daenerys II ADWD

When Dany sees Astapor, she is deeply affected by the suffering of the slaves:

“Make way!” Jhogo shouted as he rode before her litter. “Make way for the Mother of Dragons!” But when he uncoiled the great silver-handled whip that Dany had given him, and made to crack it in the air, she leaned out and told him nay. “Not in this place, blood of my blood,” she said, in his own tongue. “These bricks have heard too much of the sound of whips.” - Daenerys II ASOS

He stopped before a thickset man who had the look of Lhazar about him and brought his whip up sharply, laying a line of blood across one copper cheek. The eunuch blinked, and stood there, bleeding. “Would you like another?” asked Kraznys.

“If it please your worship.”

It was hard to pretend not to understand. Dany laid a hand on Kraznys’s arm before he could raise the whip again. “Tell the Good Master that I see how strong his Unsullied are, and how bravely they suffer pain.” - Daenerys II ASOS

And she cares even about the lives of the masters and their children:

“More will die unless the murderers are punished.” […]

“How can I punish them when I do not know who they are?” Dany demanded of him. “Tell me that, bold Skahaz.” - Daenerys I ADWD

“Magnificence,” murmured Reznak mo Reznak, “we cannot know that these great nobles mean to join your enemies. More like they are simply making for their estates in the hills.”

“They will not mind us keeping their gold safe, then. There is nothing to buy in the hills.”

“They are afraid for their children,” Reznak said.

Yes, Daenerys thought, and so am I. “We must keep them safe as well. I will have two children from each of them. From the other pyramids as well. A boy and a girl.” - Daenerys II ADWD

Dany pushed her food about her plate. She dare not glance over to where Grazhar and Qezza stood, for fear that she might cry. The Shavepate has a harder heart than mine. They had fought about the hostages half a dozen times. “The Sons of the Harpy are laughing in their pyramids,” Skahaz said, just this morning. “What good are hostages if you will not take their heads?” In his eyes, she was only a weak woman. Hazzea was enough. What good is peace if it must be purchased with the blood of little children? “These murders are not their doing,” Dany told the Green Grace, feebly. “I am no butcher queen.” - Daenerys IV ADWD

“If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession.”

“No,” she said. “I do not trust these confessions. You’ve brought me too many of them, all of them worthless.”

“Your Radiance—”

“No, I said.” - Daenerys V ADWD

Dany studied the scroll. All the ruling families of Meereen were named: Hazkar, Merreq, Quazzar, Zhak, Rhazdar, Ghazeen, Pahl, even Reznak and Loraq. “What am I to do with a list of names?”

“Every man on that list has kin within the city. Sons and brothers, wives and daughters, mothers and fathers. Let my Brazen Beasts seize them. Their lives will win you back those ships.”

“If I send the Brazen Beasts into the pyramids, it will mean open war inside the city. I have to trust in Hizdahr. I have to hope for peace.” Dany held the parchment above a candle and watched the names go up in flame, while Skahaz glowered at her. - Daenerys V ADWD

At the end of the day, in Daenerys’ core, she wants to help people who cannot help themselves. She wants to make sure what happened to her doesn’t happen to anyone else. She wants to end slavery because she knows what it feels like to be a slave and have no voice or choice in your life.

She’s constantly thinking about her people who need her.

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important. - Daenerys I ACOK

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom. - Daenerys I ACOK

Inside Meereen the slavers would soon be reclining in their fringed tokars to feast on lamb and olives, unborn puppies, honeyed dormice and other such delicacies, whilst outside her children went hungry. A sudden wild anger filled her. I will bring you down, she swore. - Daenerys V ASOS

If Daario could convince the Lhazarene to reopen the overland trade routes, grains could be brought down the river or over the hills at need … but the Lamb Men had no reason to love Meereen. - Daenerys I ADWD

“Not a hole. A ditch, to bring water from the river to the fields. We mean to plant beans. The beanfields must have water.” - Daenerys III ADWD

“You spoke of help. Trade with me, then. Meereen has salt to sell, and wine …” - Daenerys

Ser Barristan remained. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Your Dothraki have harried the slavers from the hills and struck the shackles from their slaves. They are planting too, and will be bringing their crops to Meereen to market. And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.” - Daenerys V ADWD

What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children? - Daenerys VI ADWD

And even when Dany is starving and sick in the Dothraki sea, she’s still trying to return to her people to take care of them:

It was time, though. A girl might spend her life at play, but she was a woman grown, a queen, a wife, a mother to thousands. Her children had need of her. - Daenerys X ADWD

She’s willing to put her life on the line to help others. In the books when a sickness comparable to the plague hits her city, bitch goes out into the streets of Mereen and fucking BATHES the sick while Barristan and one of her Unsullied tell her repeatedly that they should leave.

Dany walked right past him. There was an old man on the ground a few feet away, moaning and staring up at the grey belly of the clouds. She knelt beside him, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and pushed back his dirty grey hair to feel his brow. “His flesh is on fire. I need water to bathe him. Seawater will serve. Marselen, will you fetch some for me? I need oil as well, for the pyre. Who will help me burn the dead?”

By the time Aggo returned with Grey Worm and fifty of the Unsullied loping behind his horse, Dany had shamed all of them into helping her. – Daenerys VI ADWD

She wants to keep her people safe.

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …” - Daenerys II ADWD

Gods, she prayed, you took Khal Drogo, who was my sun-and-stars. You took our valiant son before he drew a breath. You have had your blood of me. Help me now, I pray you. Give me the wisdom to see the path ahead and the strength to do what I must to keep my children safe. - Daenerys V ADWD

“If battle is joined, let Grey Worm show wisdom as well as valor,” Dany told him. “Spare any slave who runs or throws down his weapon. The fewer slain, the more remain to join us after.” - Daenerys IV ASOS

She refuses to turn her back on people in need.

“It shall be done, Magnificence,” said Reznak mo Reznak. “What of these Astapori?”

My children. “They are coming here for help. For succor and protection. We cannot turn our backs on them.” - Daenerys V ADWD

“Mouths on feet. And sick, you say?” Reznak wrung his hands. “Your Worship must not allow them in the city.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Brown Ben Plumm. “I’m no maester, mind you, but I know you got to keep the bad apples from the good.”

“These are not apples, Ben,” said Dany. “These are men and women, sick and hungry and afraid.” My children. - Daenerys V ADWD

Even feeding them had grown difficult. Every day she sent them what she could, but every day there were more of them and less food to give them. It was growing harder to find drivers willing to deliver the food as well. Too many of the men they had sent into the camp had been stricken by the flux themselves. Others had been attacked on the way back to the city. Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.” - Daenerys VI ADWD

She had tried to do what she could for them. She had sent them healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barber-surgeons, but some of those had sickened as well, and none of their arts had slowed the galloping progression of the flux that had come on the pale mare. – Daenerys VI ADWD

Many shat where they slept now, too feeble to crawl to the ditches she’d commanded them to dig. – Daenerys VI ADWD

“They are too feeble,” said Symon Stripeback.

Dany said, “More food might make them stronger.”

Symon shook his head. “Food should not be wasted on the dying, Your Worship. We do not have enough to feed the living.”

He was not wrong, she knew, but that did not make the words any easier to hear. “This is far enough,” the queen decided. “We’ll feed them here.” – Daenerys VI ADWD

Her wish for peace comes from not wanting to see bloodshed, from wanting to protect her people, and from thinking of all the people she failed to save:

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. […] No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

When she sees injustice, she puts a stop to it immediately. She saves Tyrion and Penny while others simply saw them as disposable people there to die for their entertainment:

Dany was not pleased. “I forbid it.”

“Gentle queen. You do not want to disappoint your people.”

“You swore to me that the fighters would be grown men who had freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor. These dwarfs did not consent to battle lions with wooden swords. You will stop it. Now.” - Daenerys IX ADWD

She has a wonderful military mind as well. She shows off her intelligence especially when she sacks one of the cities from the inside out, something I think they let Daario have because once again, Men. But anyways, she’s really smart and so intelligent. 

Dany cares about the lives of the Unsullied when no one else does. When Daario suggests that the Unsullied should attack the walls of Meereen under boiling oil because they feel no pain, Dany refuses, and tries to suggest a plan to avoid bloodshed.

Dany sighed. “I will not throw away Unsullied lives, Grey Worm. Perhaps we can starve the city out.” - Daenerys V ASOS

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” – Daenerys I ASOS

Dany insists on not turning away from the horrors in her way, and insists on personally seeing them. When the masters of Meereen crucify the children, Dany cares about them, and insists that she must see them:

Leading her van, Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. “I will see them,” she said. “I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.” - Daenerys V ASOS

When one of her soldiers is killed by the Sons of the Harpy, Dany cares, and insists that she must see him:

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”“He died for me.” - Daenerys I ADWD

Daenerys is very self sacrificial.

Dany is someone who is constantly ready to sacrifice herself for others. She is willing to stand up for other people and take risks to protect others from the very beginning, even before she becomes queen in her own right, before she her own power.

When Drogo attacks the Lhazareen, and Dany sees the horrors of war and what Drogo is doing to take the Iron Throne for their son, Dany stands up for the Lhazareen women, stopping the rape, and earning the enmity of Drogo’s men. She risks her life by going against them (and later, after Dany keeps defying them and defying taboos, they do try to kill her):

When she was done, Drogo was frowning. “This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please.”

“It pleases me to hold them safe,” Dany said, wondering if she had dared too much. “If your warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for wives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.” - Daenerys VII AGOT

“No,” Dany said. “I will not have her harmed.”

Qotho’s lips skinned back from his crooked brown teeth in a terrible mockery of a smile. “No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other.” - Daenerys VIII AGOT

When Drogo becomes sick, even though Dany is afraid, she tells herself that she would sacrifice herself for him:

“Death?” Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on her heels. “My death?” She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved. - Daenerys VIII AGOT

When Dany is travelling through the Red Waste with her people, she doesn’t claim any privileges, and goes hungry and thirsty with her people:

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for. -Daenerys I ACOK

Once again, Dany puts her life in danger to help people, this time to free slaves, even though Dany is afraid (if her plan didn’t work, she and her people would have died):

If I look back I am lost, Dany told herself the next morning as she entered Astapor through the harbor gates. She dared not remind herself how small and insignificant her following truly was, or she would lose all courage. - Daenerys III ASOS

When Dany frees the slaves in Astapor, she lets them follow her, even though they are more of a burden:

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver’s armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst. - Daenerys IV ASOS

Even though Dany wants to sail to Westeros, Dany constantly chooses to sacrifice her goals in order to stay in Slaver’s Bay and take care of her people:

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.” - Daenerys VI ASOS

When Xaro offers her ships to go to Westeros, Dany refuses again:

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.” - Daenerys III ADWD

Dany agrees to marry a man she hates and sacrifices her happiness for the sake of her people:

… but Daenerys Targaryen had other children, tens of thousands who had hailed her as their mother when she broke their chains. She thought of Stalwart Shield, of Missandei’s brother, of the woman Rylona Rhee, who had played the harp so beautifully. No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry. - Daenerys IV ADWD

“It is not,” she agreed, “but it is important to me that you should understand. My people are bleeding. Dying. A queen belongs not to herself, but to the realm. Marriage or carnage, those are my choices. A wedding or a war.” - Daenerys IV ADWD

When Dany is offered yet another choice to go to Westeros, and this time with a powerful alliance with Dorne, Dany sacrifices this for her people and still decides to marry Hizdahr:

“It would please me if he had turned up with these fifty thousand swords he speaks of. Instead he brings two knights and a parchment. Will a parchment shield my people from the Yunkai'i? If he had come with a fleet …”

“Sunspear has never been a sea power, Your Grace.”

“No.” Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne’s sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. “Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home.” - Daenerys VIII ADWD

And when Dany marries Hizdahr and has her wedding night with him, we see just how much she is sacrificing her happiness:

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

“Crying? I was not crying. Why would I cry? I have my peace, I have my king, I have everything a queen might wish for. You had a bad dream, that was all.” – Daenerys VIII ADWD

This willingness to self sacrifice that Dany has is tied not only to the fact that she cares about people, but also to the fact that she sees taking care of her people and protecting them as her duty as queen. We can see, in several moments, how Dany is both self-sacrificing and dutiful, and how she is constantly being self critical and reminding herself of her duties as a queen:

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice … that’s what kings are for.” - Daenerys III ASOS

Dany would gladly have sent the rest of the petitioners away … but she was still their queen, so she heard them out and did her best to give them justice. - Daenerys III ADWD

“Your Grace could not have known—”

“I am the queen. It was my place to know.” - Daenerys V ADWD

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people. - Daenerys V ADWD

“A queen must know the sufferings of her people.” - Daenerys VI ADWD

She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself. - Daenerys IX ADWD

It was time, though. A girl might spend her life at play, but she was a woman grown, a queen, a wife, a mother to thousands. Her children had need of her. Drogon had bent before the whip, and so must she. She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband. - Daenerys X ADWD

So yeah. I probably forgot something but... I really truly with everything inside me love the fuck out of her. 

it’s time for a sleepover!

[anika-ann]

Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold - Pt.8 (M.M.)

The Date

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader,  onde-sided Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 3850

Summary: Avenger!reader AU, love triangle. You go out with Matt Murdock and to your own surprise, it doesn’t end up a disaster. Quite the opposite.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Story Mastelist

────── ·❆· ──────

“I honestly don’t know why I’m freaking out about my outfit. He won’t even be able to see it! Why am I freaking out, Tasha?” you asked her on a verge of desperation, smoothening your dress for the millionth time.

As you got to the hem of the dress, all you wanted to do was to pull it over your head and change. Again. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, honestly considering it.

Natasha, standing behind you, put her hands on your shoulders to keep you in place and raised her eyebrow.

“Hey. You have every right to be nervous. How long has it been since your last date?” she asked gently, surprisingly so for a super-spy.

You bit your lip guiltily – of course, she found the root of the trouble. It had been too freaking long. The fact you were going out with Matt – an amazing human being – was not helping to sooth your nerves either.

“Almost two years.”

“Well. I think you’re entitled. But you’re gonna be fine,” she reassured you and you caught her honest gaze in the mirror. She squeezed your shoulders. “That guy? He fell hard – I hope you figured that out already. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.”

You took a deep breath. “Thanks, Tasha. I really should go or I’ll be late. The taxi might even be here already.”

You picked up your coat, leaving the dresses you didn’t even want to count – Natasha had supplied you with too many of hers and still, you took the only dress you owned yourself – and grabbed your purse on the way.

You were insanely grateful to Natasha for her help – yet, your heart was fluttering nervously and ached a little. You wished Steve was here too, but you understood this was more of a ladies thing. You were sure he wished you the best for your date even if you hadn’t heard him say it.

You opened the door only to meet with Steve’s surprised face. His eyes measured you from head to toe and you fought the urge to hide – god knew why. That was until his gaze returned to your face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You look beautiful, Snowflake,” he whispered, checking you out shamelessly once more. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You bit your lip, feeling the rush of heat colouring your cheeks. You lowered your gaze, examining your shoes; they had heels, you were about to kill yourself in them, why were you wearing them again…?

Steve chuckled at your reaction. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something foreign in that supposedly happy sound, something you couldn’t decode.

A hand appeared under your chin, fingers tucking a strand of your hair that fell in your face behind your ear. He kissed your forehead lovingly and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down your rapidly beating heart. You knew he was trying to help, but it didn’t really work.

“Hey, Snowflake. Hold your head high, you look wonderful. It’s gonna be fine. If he upsets you, you not only can let him go, but you have five– no, six pissed off friends actually, I’m sure Thor would stop by for that – to punch Matt in his face. Understood?”

That finally made you relax and the tension in your shoulders eased with a huffed laughter. Steve’s eyes twinkled for a moment and you couldn’t but laugh again.

“Did you just say ‘pissed off’?” you asked incredulously and Steve shrugged it off – except a hint of a blush appeared in his cheeks too and hell, you could not miss that. You feasted your eyes on his embarrassment and only then gave Captain Language a proper hug, which was reciprocated tightly.

“I guess I’m nervous for you that much,” he murmured over your shoulder and the statement melted your heart.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He squeezed your waist once more, caressed your back and released you from his embrace, uneasy smile on his lips.

“Go. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”

You just nodded and made your way to the elevator. You sparred one more glance at Natasha, who joined Steve in the hallway, couple of dressed folded over her forearm. She grinned at you.

“Not to make you nervous, Frosty, but just because he won’t be able to see you with his eyes, it doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate your appearance! And other stuff! Considering all of his senses are heightened!” she called after you and you felt you face turning into a mask of horror.

All of his senses. Shit. What perfume did you use? How much could he— would he be able to tell you hugged-- did Steve just hug you to make Matt jealous and possibly make him think you were wanted, so he would value the fact you were going out with him more?

No, wait, you were the one who hugged Steve, which--- this was so going to be a disaster. You whined and slid into your coat, hoping it would make you invisible. And undetectable in any other way. This evening started swimmingly…

With you going down in the elevator, Natasha and Steve were left alone.

“Smooth, Rogers. Very subtle,” the spy exclaimed, patting his arm patronizingly. Steve shot her an unreadable glare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“About the fact Mr. Hot and Devilish wouldn’t even have to make her unhappy. It’s him making her happy that you want to punch him in the face for.”

Steve grinded his teeth, his look turning murderous. “That’s not true. I want them to get together.”

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “That’s why you marked your territory like a goddamned dog.”

The rush of irritation and shame at being caught hit him stronger than excepted. Natasha knew exactly how to push his buttons and it drove him crazy.

“I didn’t-“ he protested lamely, only to realize he indeed hadn’t. “She was the one who hugged me.”

“Yeah. Keep yourself telling that. She did hug you, but what happened before that, that was on you. I’m surprised you didn’t kiss her on her mouth. I don’t understand how one can be so blind— eh, sorry-”

Steve’s hands curled into fists and he paced to his room to change into something more suitable for workout. He needed to punch something and as much as he was pissed at Natasha for mocking him, he liked her too much to hurt her – the punching bags would have to suffice. Bags, definitely plural, because he would tear some today, no doubt.

“Have a good workout, big guy!” she shouted after him almost cheerily and he slammed the door with such force that dust of plastering snowed down around the doorway.

Snowed down. Fuck. That would be more than one ruined bag today.

────── ·❆· ──────  

Entering the restaurant was one of the scariest things you had ever done. But the friendly space welcomed you, soft lights illuminating the room, white clothing on the tables, each with a candle on it, several people talking rather lowly. You gulped looking around – probably forgetting everything Natasha had taught you about subtle observation, because the hostess spotted you immediately and walked to you, assuming you were completely lost.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation, madam? Are you meeting anyone here? Or I am going to look for a table for one?” she asked politely, professionalism never leaving her face.

You gulped. “Uhm… meeting someone actually. There should be a reservation for seven o’clock under the name Murdock?”

“Of course. Mr. Murdock is waiting for you. Follow me.”

‘Waiting for you?’ You were five minutes early! You were kinda hoping you would have time to calm your nerves-

Matt probably knew about you the second you entered the restaurant – still, it surprised you when he rose as you approached the table and pulled out your chair for you to sit down before helping you from your coat.

“Hi, Matt,” you greeted him unsurely, obediently sitting down. “Thank you.”

If he wouldn’t have stood up, you wouldn’t have recognized him – or at least it would take you a while. He wore a nice-fitting black suit with white shirt and crimson tie – not something you were used to; the only outfit you had seen him in was either his armour or the shirt he wore in the hospital, where you hadn’t really paid attention.

His face was partly hidden behind a pair of round red-toned glasses, making you feel like you were meeting a completely different person. You had already met Daredevil, you had met Matt, you supposed, and now you were meeting Mr. Murdock. Though the colour of his tie and glasses was a hint, sending a vibe of familiarity towards you.

“Your waitress will be here shortly,” the hostess announced, barely noticed.

Matt smiled at you. “Hi. Glad you could make it.”

You inhaled sharply. Was your nervousness that evident?

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. It… it was… okay, uhm, I guess you can tell I got hugged profusely. By Steve. And Nat. I was… nervous. Sorry,” you mumbled, watching the flame of the candle flicker as you exhaled. “It’s been a while since I was… out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone surprisingly soothing. It worked for you, okay. “It’s been a while for me too.”

That made you snap your head up.

“Really?” you blurted out. “I mean… you just seem like a guy who…”

He tilted his head, his eyebrow rising in challenge. “…yes?”

“Oh god, no I didn’t mean like…” You whined silently. Now it sounded as if you were saying he was a manwhore.

“I’m waiting for you to finish that sentence. Are you suggesting something?” he teased you and it ignited the flame of banter-queen that had revealed herself while on the mission with the Devil.

“I’m suggesting that you seem like a guy who can’t complain about the lack of attention from women – possibly men. I don’t know where your train of thought headed…”

He grinned, impressed and possibly satisfied with himself; he had every right. You found the uneasy sensation in your stomach resolve as you stepped into a more familiar territory of teasing. And with him grinning, damn, he was a handsome little shit.

“Thanks. I do have a rich nightlife, but…”

“Right. I can understand that there are different kinds of nightlife.”

“Exactly. Sneaking from bed every night doesn’t work well. And loading every potential partner with why I do it… it’s not that easy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and Matt just shook his head.

“It’s my choice. I’m glad you’re here and we have this part out of our way.”

You bit your lip as he gave you yet another smile, this time softer. “I’m glad too. But are you suggesting there’s more?”

He chuckled dryly. “Well. Of course there is, but we can work with that later. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has some things that are important, yet not the best thing to discuss on the first date.”

The flutter of your heart caused by the mention of heavy baggage on your side turned into an excited one as you were reminded this was your first date – with a great man, who was as badass and cocky as he seemed understanding, sweet and gallant.

“Yeah. You think wine would help?”

“Absolutely.”

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The wine did help. You two made it through why you hadn’t been on a date for a while, which featured your struggle with the disease and you ‘dying’ and joining the Avengers. To balance the heaviness, you mentioned few stunts your friends in the Tower had pulled so far.

Matt told you about his best friend finding about his nightlife, but also about the work they did in their little firm with big ambitions, throwing in stories from college.  

You laughed, your cheeks hurt and your belly too, your body was pleasantly buzzing and you hadn’t even noticed the restaurant was almost empty until Matt took off his glasses, toying with the earpiece of them.

“I like it better this way,” you noted deliberately and his fingers froze. “Uh-uh, no, leave them off, please. I really do like it better, if that’s okay with you.”

He sort-of looked at you shyly and you were welcomed by the warm of his brown irises, twinkling in the soft light of the candle.

“You sure?” he pried hesitantly and you nodded, hoping he could perceive that.

He resembled a lost but hopeful puppy and it was such a surreal look on his face – through the night, you had had an opportunity to know him a bit more, but this was… new. No matter what you had been discussing, there always had been confidence in him – more or less. You didn’t think he would be self-continuous about his eyes of all things, but it made sense. Your heart swelled.

“Yeah, Matt. I really am.”

Time flied and before you knew it, the waitress politely pointed out they were about to close the restaurant.

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, honestly taken aback. This time wary of being subtle, you checked the space – it was empty. Everyone was out. Oh.

“Of course. Bring me the check, please,” Matt asked, apparently unfazed. You could only wonder if he had been aware of their situation; given his abilities, he probably had. Huh. Guess he didn’t want to leave either – the thought warmed you heart.

He paid for you both, helping you with your coat again. Once you were outside, pleasantly cool air brushing your cheeks, he turned to you sheepishly.

“May I walk you home? Or do you prefer a cab?”

Your heels were killing you already; yet, the choice was clear, because you didn’t want the night to end.

“Walk?”

Your reward was his wide smile and silent request for your elbow. Damn the heels, this was worth it.

“Lead the way?” he asked as he folded his cane, his hand sliding under your arm.

You would be hesitant about the direction, but the Avengers tower was too much of a highlight to miss it. Still, you couldn’t help but tease him.

“Do you trust a woman with directions?”

He chuckled. “Well, I am blind, so I’m trusting anyone who can actually see where we’re going. Perhaps not any woman. I think we established a while ago that I trust you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, making Matt’s smile grow. Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all, that he could read literally every reaction your body had. Not awkward at all.

“Thanks.”

You weren’t stupid enough to walk to the Tower. For all you knew, Tony had his eyes on everything within a half-mile radius at least and you didn’t want him to spy on you two. That man had no sense of privacy whatsoever.

“Well, I guess this is me,” you murmured, stopping in your tracks. Matt frowned and you cleared your throat. “Uhm… eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t want to…”

A flash of understanding appeared on his face and he laughed silently as he turned his whole body to you. He was close. Very close.

“That makes sense. Too bad it means we have to say goodbye now.”

“Technically, we don’t have to. Say it, that is,” you added at his confused expression. One corner of his lips rose higher, his free hand finding yours and running up your arm.

“Very true, Gerda.”

Your breath hitched as he used your nickname for the first time that night. His hands weren’t helping you to control your breathing either.

“We can always go with a goodnight.”

“Is a goodnight kiss too bold?” he whispered, leaning in just slightly, giving you a room to escape if you wanted to. You didn’t think you wanted to escape.

“Very bold…” His face fell, silent ‘oh’ escaping him. “But I’m okay with bold.”

“Mean woman,” he murmured, erasing the distance and meeting your lips.  

Your heart positively stopped the moment it happened and it felt like eternity before it kicked back in.

His lips were warm against yours, gentle and hesitant at first. Your own hand deliberately shot up to his face as you realized a response would be appropriate, but dammit it had been a while and his mouth on yours felt so fucking good. Your fingers found his nape, pulling him just a little closer as heat coiled in your abdomen, welcoming the butterflies fluttering their wings in your stomach. You felt the grip on your elbow tightening and Matt took your lower lip between his, fondling with more boldness indeed.

You sighed in appreciation, your heart hammering in your ribcage that suddenly felt too small, even for your breathing. You retreated just slightly, needing some air, but aching at the thought of creating a distance between you and him. He inhaled deeply too, his hand on your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Goodnight?” he tried out silently and you couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying the tickle of his breath as he did the same.

“Fight me, but that didn’t feel like a goodnight kiss.” You shortly met his lips again, unable to resist – but aiming for only a peck that wouldn’t leave your fingertips tingling like the previous kiss. “Goodnight?”

“Goodnight indeed.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth before letting go of you and you pretended you didn’t feel cold all of sudden. At least his warm eyes were still watching your chin.

“Stay safe,” you whispered and Matt gave you one more gorgeous smile.

“I’ll try. Take care.”

You nodded and forced your body to spin on your heels to go, because if you wouldn’t do it now, you might as well end up going home with him or taking him to the Tower, which something you weren’t really ready for.

You started walking, snuggling into your coat, crossing your arms on your chest to keep yourself warmer. You spared one more glance at Matt, who was still standing where you had left him, raising his hand in tiny wave as you looked over your shoulder. Your cheeks burned as you got caught; then again, he hadn’t move from his position, watching you as well, so you had no reason to be truly embarrassed.

Or you thought so, until you realized the air actually was unusually chilly for September and to make it perfect, a snowflake fell on your nose. You looked around, realizing it started snowing.

Snowing. This wasn’t normal. Which meant… did you just…?

“Holy shit,” you muttered under your breath, unsure whether you should be horrified or not as you turned your palm up, catching few more snowflakes. You… you somehow did this. It was as terrifying as awesome.

In the end, you just giggled at what you had caused.

Let it snow.

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Natasha was standing in her room, staring out of the window as snowflakes slowly descended. None of them stuck, melting as soon as they collided with the surface, but there was no denying it really was snowing. And given the fact that the temperature needed to drop significantly for this to happen, there was no doubt whose doing was that – deliberate or not.

Your emotions were running high.

“Hey, Steve. What are you still doing awake?” she heard your astonished voice from the hallway and she bit her lip. This was definitely your excited voice; the date went well. The snow was a good sign.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Natasha’s heart ached for her friend, simultaneously wondering if you could hear the subtle hint of pain in his voice. She suddenly felt guilty for helping you to get ready for the date – but it felt like the right thing to do.

“So you went to a gym? It’s after midnight. You’re making us all look like couch potatoes.”

Natasha could easily imagine that the soldier ‘casually’ shrugged.  

“Felt like working out,” he explained easily. No shit. How many punching bags did he destroy this time?

“Is everything okay? I know it’s not the first time. Something troubling you? Talk to me, Steve,” you pleaded softly.

Natasha sighed. That would be your placing your hand on his forearm in comforting gesture, your eyes screaming ‘you can trust me’. You always did that, because it was the thing you two did and you two were so utterly hopeless it hurt.

“It’s nothing, Snowflake. Nothing you need to worry about. You look happy. I take it the date went well?”

His voice was strained and the spy had no doubt you could tell. Yet, you answered him, tiny chuckle bubbling in your throat. “Yeah. It did.”

“One more reason for you not to worry about me,” Steve offered kindly and Natasha just gritted her teeth. Rogers was such an ass. Noble, maybe, but bozhe, such an ass. “I’m happy for you, Snowflake.”

“Thank you. But we’re talking about you, soon. I need you to be happy too, Steve. You’re too important to me and too good not to be.”

Natasha agreed wholeheartedly, glancing at the flash drive on her nightstand. She had downloaded the conversation she had with Steve, him confessing his feelings for you, but now, it seemed worthless.

While she wished for you to be happy, she was hoping you could do that with the supersoldier who was head over heels for you. She had been sure you felt the same, but now she had doubts. You could easily fall in love with Daredevil, he was charming enough, and she had no right to interfere with your love-life.

“Okay. I promise I’ll tell you later.”

Natasha scoffed. Yeah, sure. On your deathbed, maybe.

“ ‘kay. Love you, Steve. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Snowflake.”

Natasha heard your footsteps trailing off and slowly went to open her door for a slit.

“Don’t say a word,” Steve warned her icily, a heart-breaking crack in his voice.

“I was gonna offer you a drink, an ‘I’m sorry’ and a hug.”

She heard him inhale and exhale shakily and she stepped out to find him resting his forehead against the nearest wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and she would swear it wasn’t sweat what gleamed on his cheeks. She pressed her lips together, hesitantly bringing her palm to his arm. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” she whispered tentatively, surprised when he bounced off the wall, looking her straight in the eye. His own were indeed glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

“You don’t have to be. She deserves the win, I’m happy for her.”

He said it with such conviction that if she hadn’t known him well enough, she wouldn’t notice how fragile the façade he had hastily built up was.

“Good. But you should know you don’t have to be, macho man. It’s okay to be angry, not just with yourself, but also with her and especially with him. You can be sad and you can be hurt. I know I’m not exactly the most open person when it comes to emotions, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel. And you can feel too.”

Steve escaped her gaze, but she could see his tiny nod. She took it as a victory and encouraged, she took his huge arm.

“Come on, Cap, let’s find out where Thor stocked the good booze.”

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Tags:  @mermaidxatxheart​, @murdermornings​, @elisaa-shelby​ @ask-hellbent-tweek

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Thank you for reading! If you read for Matt x reader, this is it for ya, sorry ;) You can always check out Steve x reader ending or my other Matt Murdock fics :-*