#like i have the worst taste buds ever given to man.

[ghoulbrain]

Saddle Up, Sweetheart

18+ 3k ghoul x f!reader. cunnilingus/face sitting, overstim, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie. gif credit. prompt list. written for this ask. thank you! 🖤

The Ghoul—Cooper, as you know him now—does not make himself an easy man to get to know. He was harsh with you from the start, one of the crankiest old bastards you’ve ever met. An accomplishment, given your life in the slums. He’s dismissive, angry that you even want to know him, and downright mean most days.

And yet you became fascinated with him.

It was ages before you were able to hold decent conversations, and longer than that before you had a name for him. Still, you keep digging. He intrigues you more than anyone else ever has, and despite his sour attitude, he keeps coming back. 

"You won't like what y'find," he told you one day. You knew then you were wearing him down with your persistence.

"What scares you more: the idea that I won't, or the possibility that I will?" You'd asked. 

He laughed. "Y'don't scare me, sugar."

You smiled. "Maybe I should."

Cooper started to look at you differently from then on. There had been a sense before that he was observing you as something ephemeral, a flower bud he was waiting to see bloom and die away as quickly as you'd appeared. 

Once you made it clear you weren't going anywhere, the invisible walls between you began to fall away. You feel his gaze lingering on you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You watch him in turn, holding his gaze whenever he catches you.

"Eye contact like that'll get'cha killed someday. Predators take it as a challenge," he tells you, adjusting the holster on his thigh.

"Is that what you are?" You ask from where you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You raise your brow, inured to his broody one-liners. "A predator?"

To your surprise, he's the one who closes the distance this time. His footfalls are heavy, his swagger loose. He looms over you, bracing his forearm on the wall behind you. Your heart skips a beat. He rarely ever gets so close.

"I'm the worst kind there is," he says gravely, but you clock his tone for what it is. He's toying with you.

Undeterred, you square your shoulders. "And what kind is that?"

He leans in closer, smelling of oil and gunpowder. "A hungry one," he says, the heat of his breath ghosting your cheek.

Pushing you away hasn't turned you against him. Cornering you won't either. Despite his insistence to the contrary, you're no prey animal. "Well then... I s'pose you ought to have something to eat."

His radiation scarred lips spread slowly into a wicked smile. "Y'offering, sweetcheeks?" He asks, his yellowed teeth parted, poised to take a bite.

You swallow dryly, so keenly aware of the thundering of your own heart, you wonder if he can hear it, too. You tip your head back, jutting your chin out and bringing your lips closer to his.

"You don't scare me, Coop," you whisper, wielding his name like a secret weapon.

He hums, head tilting slowly while his gaze moves down your body in a leisurely calculating sweep. "Well..." He drawls, voice a low rumble from his chest. "Maybe I should."

You're ready for him to do as he's always done and leave you like that, to rile you up and then act as though it was all in your head. You've accepted that Cooper is a man on the run, and he hasn't seen anything in you worth stopping for.

The press of his lips against yours shocks you to your core.

Your arms uncross, hands fumbling to catch hold of his jacket, grabbing him before he can vanish. He responds in kind, cupping your face in the soft worn down leather of his gloves. Your pulse is all the way up in your throat, so wild you’re sure he can taste it when he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

His touch isn’t a gradual thing. He’s upon you all at once, forcing your thighs apart with his knee and slotting his thigh between yours, pressing into you until you start to sing for him, those breathy little noises muffled by his devouring kiss. At your hip, you feel the press of his cock gradually filling out beneath the layers of clothing between you.

After so long without meaningful touch, the onslaught is dizzying. You roll your hips, grinding down on his thigh until you feel your underwear clinging wetly to your skin, an exquisite shiver trilling up and down your spine. His lips feel textured and hardened by his condition, but his tongue is hot and smooth, persistently licking into your mouth, determined to feel, to taste.

That hunger drives him from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering rough kisses that are as much lips as they are teeth along your neck. “S’your last chance, darlin’. Point of no return,” he tells you, voice coarse. His hand slips between your bodies and starts working your pants open. “Won’t be no comin’ back from this. I’ll ruin you.”

That he would have the audacity to warn you away from the door like this after you’ve been knocking and knocking and knocking is almost laughable. You would laugh if you had enough air in your lungs, but he’s kissed it out of you.

“So ruin me,” you tell him breathlessly. He grazes his teeth over your pulse-point in a way that makes your voice hitch. “I want you.”

The rim of his hat brushes your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, making a raw noise against your skin. “God damn it,” he says, yanking you from the wall so sharply you gasp. He whirls you around, hands fisted in your shirt, kissing you hard while he walks you backwards, towards the noisy heap of springs and fabric you call a bed.

“Y’outta your fuckin’ mind for that,” he grouses, shoving your pants down off your hips. You don’t disagree, You know how terrifying he should be, what his affliction does to him, to his hunger, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing life back into your dull dusty life at the end of the world.

You’re naked by the time he pushes you down onto the bed, standing above you, sunken eyes black with fervor. He unclips the bullet belt strapped across his chest and shrugs out of his coat, tosses his hat up somewhere high on the bed. You start to crawl backwards, but he snatches your ankle and drags you right back to the very edge of the bed.

“Unbuckle me,” he orders, the words all throaty feverish heat that makes your clit throb. You do, eyes flipping back and forth from him to his belt. He watches you all the while, pulling off his gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the ground. You unbutton his pants next, hands so eager they fumble briefly before you make it to his zipper, the hiss of it coming undone drowned out by the thunder of your pulse in your own ears.

Before you get any further, Cooper catches your wrists and hauls you up to your feet, spinning you around and pulling you down over top of him on the bed. He keeps you steady while you straddle his waist, moving his hands from your wrists to your hips. You start to move back, but he cups your ass and pulls you in the opposite direction.

“Saddle up, sweetheart,” he says, licking his lips. “Y’said for me to have somethin’ t’eat. I intend to.”

Oh fuck.

Nodding hazily, you follow his lead until your knees are on either side of his head, your hands braced on the wall behind your bed.

“C’mon now, relax,” he coaxes, urging you down with his grip on your thighs. You settle most of the way down before he yanks you the rest of it, startling a noise out of you that transitions into a low moan at the molten wet slide of his tongue dragging from the bottom of your pussy to your clit, upon which his lips close down and suck.

The sensation is leagues beyond the amateurish grinding, but that session still left you sensitized. The heat of his mouth is so intense it almost burns. His tongue feels just as unreal, thick and dexterous in the way it works you, swirling repetitive patterns on your clit. He drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the desert, swallowing greedy gulps before sinking his tongue into you, fucking it in and out, coaxing more and more thirst quenching wetness from you.

“Ffffuck, oh my God,” you moan, your hands curling into fists on the wall, sliding until your forearms are braced against it instead, your head hanging between them. You wish you had something to grip, something to dig your nails into as his devil’s tongue builds hot pressure inside of you, swelling sensation toward an inevitable explosion.

Cooper is shameless beneath you, devouring without care for mess or noise. Every so often you feel the graze of his teeth and you buck away from him, but you’re no match for his strength and he keeps you held firmly down, wholly at his mercy despite your positions. 

Once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to try and escape anymore, he relinquishes his hold on your hip and brings his fingers between your thighs, teasing where you’re wettest with the tip of his finger. With the way he’s sucking your clit you barely notice the initial touch, but he quickly wrings a gasp out of you by sinking his finger in all the way to the knuckle, crooking it wickedly while he rocks it in and out.

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. He walks you on the knife’s edge of your climax, deftly toeing the line with every slow stroke of his finger and swipe of his tongue. Your stomach clenches up with it, breath catching. He pushes in a second finger, and by the time you feel the third working you open, your legs are shaking uncontrollably. He is feasting on you, humming appreciative little noises between the wet sounds of him eating you out.

A sudden jarring slap to your ass makes your quivering thighs tense up and startles a loud moan out of you. He most definitely smiles against you, fucking you steadily with his fingers.

“You son of a bitch,” you manage to choke out, tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer overwhelm of it all, your breaths growing sharper, more shallow. “I should smother you,” you say, the threat dulled by the thinness of your voice.

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. You decide that’s encouragement to do just that and grind down against his mouth, eagerly meeting every thrust of his fingers until one last good slap tips you over the edge, your orgasm striking you like a bolt of lightning. Your whole body goes tense, and Cooper ruthlessly fucks and licks you through it, sucking on your clit as it pulses and pulses and pulses through what feels like the longest climax of your life.

“Enough,” you moan weakly, pushing yourself from the wall on trembling arms. His fingers have slipped free, but he’s still drinking you down, holding your thighs in a vice grip. You can’t stop shaking, the burn of pleasure beginning to feel like the most exquisite pain. “C-Coop, enough, I can’t–you fucker,” you gasp, jolting in his grip when he nips at your clit.

He finally lets you up, easing you down with two hands firmly on your ass. You slide back until you’re straddling his waist, hands braced on his chest while you catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time, knocking you down into his lap as he sits up. He takes your face in his hands and kisses your own taste into your mouth, giving a throaty little rumble.

“I decide when you’ve had enough,” he says, dropping one hand to work his cock free from his undone pants. “And you’ll remember that you asked for it.”

Each word feels like a spark of electricity. You lift yourself on trembling knees, hands on his shoulders, and he puts his arm around you, drawing you in while you sink down until you feel the thick head of his cock–wet with his own precum–nudging against your spit-soaked pussy.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how good you can take me.” You can hear the restraint in his voice, feel it in the thrum of his touch. You hold his gaze while his cock forces you open in one smooth, frictionless slide, the stretch a dull ache that rapidly ascends into pleasure. He lets you adjust a moment or so before he begins to move, holding your hips steady while he rocks his own, reclining down onto his back.

“Don’t you hold out on me,” you tell him through a shuddered breath, hands behind you, braced on his thighs. “You promised me ruin.”

As sharply as he’d slapped your ass, Cooper gives a hard thrust up, his dull nails biting crescents into your skin, his grip all that keeps you from losing your balance. “One taste and y’already damn spoiled,” he says, planting his boots on your bed–you’ll give him shit for that later–and picking up a brutal pace almost immediately. “C’mon then, sweetheart. Ride me.”

You have no choice but to comply, grabbing hold of what you can of his shirt while he bucks hard under you. Every thrust sparks inside you like the strike of a match, your cunt still sensitive. You can already feel yourself climbing towards another peak. You arch your back, watching him through the haze of your own pleasure. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared. He looks like something wild, like something ready to bite.

“Goddamn, that’s it, y’squeezin’ me fuckin’ good now,” he groans, tipping his head back, watching you bounce on his cock through heavily lidded eyes. “Give it up for me, pretty girl. Show me this is really what you want,” he rambles, his accent growing thicker the closer he gets. You nod along, panting wordlessly, his thrusts knocking sweet little keening noises from your throat. “Go on now, that’s it. Show me how it feels when I make you cum.”

The world around you goes black just before an eruption of white explodes behind your eyelids like stars, your whole body stilling to endure the overwhelming crash of your release, the shock of it rolling out in waves throughout your entire body. You don’t speak, you don’t even breathe, too struck by the magnitude of it. 

Cooper fucks you through every second of it, slurring a litany of feverish nonsense–your name sprinkled within it–until he breaks off into a choked off noise, and in the middle of your euphoria you feel a the rush of his release spilling deep inside you, his body finally stilling under yours.

You sink down onto his chest, panting against the collar of his shirt. He moves his hand along your back, and a distant part of you is caught off guard by how tenderly he sweeps his fingers up the back of your neck. You answer in kind by slipping your fingers just under his collar, fingertips brushing bare skin that’s as gnarled as the rest of him.

The two of you sit in silence for a long while, neither of you willing to break the spell of your afterglow. The entire world feels softer in it, the dull sepia of it tinged with hints of gold. The dust particles floating around you almost seem to sparkle. In any other moment, you’d scold yourself for romanticizing the rotten remains of a dead world that has been so cruel to you, but for just this moment, you let yourself believe that things can be beautiful, too.

You lose yourself to the warmth of his body beneath yours, and the gentle way he traces the slopes of your body with his fingertips. Eventually, Cooper cleans his throat. You ignore it, reluctant to acknowledge him. You know once you do, the moment will be over.

“Y’might wanna get situated with a pack of Radaway soon,” he murmurs, the twang of his voice still heavier than usual. 

Tucked into the crook of his neck, you smile while he still can’t see you, endeared. “I’ve had worse exposures.”

“I find that hard t’believe,” he says, cupping the back of your neck in his palm. His thumb strokes absently back and forth. You can almost believe he’s dragging out these last few moments together, too.

Lifting yourself, you brace your forearms on his chest, staring down at him. His expression is difficult to parse–while there is most definitely a sense of ease you don’t normally associate with him, there’s also a profound sadness.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves his hand from your neck to your cheek, swiping his thumb along the ridge of it. You lean into his touch, ready to ask again, when he makes a grab for his hat and places it firmly on your head, obscuring your vision.

“That was some fine ridin’, sweetheart,” he says, voice as coarse and sweet as raw sugar.

You push the brim up until you can see him again, failing to bite back a smile. “Guess I’m the sheriff ‘round these parts now.”

“I ain’t a sheriff," he says flatly, though the slight tic at the corner of his mouth gives away his amusement.

“That’s right, y’ain’t. ‘Cause I am,” you say in your best impression of him, tipping his hat at him.

He blows out a breath and tugs the rim back down over your eyes. “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks,” he says, and though you can’t see him, you’re certain you can hear the smile in his voice.

Today may never happen again. The world could end tomorrow–again–or Cooper could walk off into the Wastes for the very last time. If you’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that nothing lasts forever. So, you drop your head back down and listen to the beat of his heart, using it to count the moments as they pass.

If they’re gonna be the best you get, you’d like to know how many of them you have.

[0odaydreamo0]

This is all jokes.

100% smut.

Strange wording.

I dare you not to laugh.

Chishiya would never admit it but he was desperate. In need of a magic hug. And somehow he ended up drunk with this woman. What was her name? Hiri... Aki.. Something. It didn’t matter, she had a hole.

She kissed him sloppily and all he could think about was how much he wanted her to do that to he’s love stick.

Once she took of her shirt. He was more than a little disappointed. it didn’t look like she had much busoom in the first place, but they even hang a little. Still he grabbed one roughly and shoved he’s mouth on the pepperoni looking bud. The taste was slightly salty, which was to expect after dancing for two hours in a stinky bar. Soon he found himself between this woman’s legs and never had he seen such shaggy meat flaps. The only others he had witnessed looked like juicy little sandwiches. Dripping with he’s homemade sauce, like mayonnaise sneaking out between the meat slices.

Fuck now he was hungry.

This was more kebab than anything he had ever seen on the internet. Were they supposed to be flopping around like that? Regardless he drived in almost gagging from alcohol as he got on he’s stomach. Half gagging from the stink of the closed off pussy. It was almost like chlorine.

Disgusting.

Yet, he flopped her lips to the sides and licked up from hole to clit. He could probably get the worst taste off in one flat lick. He looked up and the woman was already panting with her head leaned back into the bed. She quite frankly looked like a beached whale gasping for air. So he licked at the roof of he’s mouth trying to get the sour taste of of he’s tongue. Sadly this was not the cleanest woman, and he spat at the sheet when he felt something on he’s tongue. Paper. Toilet paper. He barely resisted gagging again and compromised shoving two fingers in between her salami looking flaps to her hole as he focused he’s tongue on her scream activator.

He was pleased to find the panting mess underneath him was already wet enough to get the slamming started. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of her mouth hole, touching he’s pleasure stick anymore, so he just flipped her. It wasn’t like he would miss view of her sad coin sags. The woman just moaned at everything he did, so it was probably good for her. He slapped across her seat muscles watching fascinated as they jiggled like jello. Flapping even worse than her front butt. So he pulled her up on her knees and separated her curtains to get to the dripping orfice staring at him. Waiting to be filled by he’s proud sword. It was a fitting description given how tall it stood. Fiercely red at the top and ready to explore this cave. Even if he was scared the thing might swallow him whole, he didn’t hesitate. Curiously sticking the tip in and out just to test if the thing had teeth. Once he was confident it only squeezed, he ventured in. Her flappy meat felt like tongues licking down he’s lollipop as he pulled out. And the way they bended following he’s thick cheese sausage as he shoved it back in, her made it feel tighter. He closed he’s eyes grunting as he pounded away. He felt her flapping butt cheeks clapping back and forth between he’s hands and stomach. The wet slapping from their bodies made him grab her hips tighter.

He drilled away at her rear end until she started letting out a high pitched wail that startled him. He holded the motion and suddenly he was on he’s back watching how the woman bended herself. Feet in the mattress, hands grabbing he’s thighs as she jiggled so violently on he’s joy stick that he was almost convinced she was having a seizure. But it felt too good to stop her. Besides a seizure didn’t sound like that. Like a bunch of cows in a mushpit. Slapping, and groaning loudly like she was being man handled.

Once she calmed down for a few seconds, Chishiya stared. Her little brown star was winking at him like it was asking for attention. He wasn’t sure he wanted to touch the hairy little peach eye, winking at him. But it was asking for it. So he shoved one finger into it, watching as he’s finger disappeared so effortlessly into the rasin looking opening. The woman just screamed again and started moving around on he’s now very loaded pistol. It felt like he could control her pace as he drew little smileys inside her discolored starfish.

He must have hit a switch inside the mushy little hole fluttering around he’s finger. It threatening to eat the entire hand, and he was a little curious if it actually would. Suddenly the woman straightened her back and he’s balls felt wet. Very wet. He wasn’t sure if he had jiggled the piss out of her or what this was.

No, it was too sticky. No he had just turned her into a sprinkler with he’s relentless pushing inside of her bootyhole. In all honesty he was just trying to feel he’s own meat stabber. But now she had turned he’s bed into a water park and it wasn’t nearly as exciting to him as she sounded like it was to her.

So he bucked he’s hips up trying to rearrange her insides, lucky dice flopping up to slap her happy button. The ultimate sacrifice had already been made, so now he just slammed up as hard and fast as possible. He was going to fill her babymaker until it seeped into her brain. The sticky sheets stuck to he’s back, not that he cared when this duck was turning into a swan by the very magic of he’s special wand.

Her jiggling dump truck got the better of him as he slapped away at her qvivering cave of wonderful life liquid. He let her play with he’s begging sperm makers as he shot her up with he’s happy juice. He was almost scared the brutal force of he’s canon was going to split her wobbly exterior apart. And she did immediately slump down on her stomach, head between he’s knees. He might have killed her, he thought to himself.

But her hairy, stretched rasin, was winking at him again, so she was alive. As he’s log inevitably fell out of her, now relaxing cum bucket, he felt all the potential kids sliding down over he’s throbbing baby pump, and into he’s shit slit.

That was the wakup call. He needed to shower.

[skeletalheartattack]

*walks through the door, the light behind me shines brightly as a heavenly choir plays* fear not. i, random internet user, am ALSO normal about my pizza! i like pepperoni and cheese and that is it! you are not alone in your struggles, my friend!!

thank you 42069coolman, that actually means a lot :) basic bitch solidarity 🤝

[ddarker-dreams]

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications.  Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ” 

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Exile

Rowaelin Month, Day 29

A Work Based on a Song @rowaelinscourt

CW: language, minor NSFW

AN: Based on the Taylor Swift song

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//5747 words

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

There she was. Arm-in-arm with that man and standing tall and smiling.

She didn’t have any right to smile like that.

Not when it wasn’t because of him. Not when he wasn’t the one holding her, wasn’t the one telling her cheesy jokes and pressing heated kisses to her neck.

And that man had no right to lay his hands on her. She didn’t belong to him.

Rowan clenched his fingers so tightly he heard something snap. He glanced down to see the plastic lid of his coffee cup with a crack in it. He loosened his grip, then looked back up.

He shouldn’t be watching her. She had given up on him. She was the reason he was struggling, and she was the cause of his pain. Aelin didn’t deserve any attention from him.

But he just couldn’t tear his gaze away.

—

“Stop it,” Aelin complained halfheartedly, a laugh creeping into her voice. “You can’t pay for everything.”

Sam winked. “Who says?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly, a smile twitching at her lips all the while. “I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

A grin broke over Aelin’s face. Sam had said that for the first time last night, after a lovely dinner. There had been roses and candles and a gourmet (at least to Aelin’s uncultured taste buds) meal. Sam had really gone all out.

And he had been more than understanding about the fact that she wasn’t ready to reciprocate those three words. He’d insisted that she didn’t actually, knowing everything there was to know about the relationship she’d just gotten out of and having complete and utter respect and supportiveness for her.

But she would say it back soon. She was free, and she was with Sam, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Aelin may not love him yet, and she never was sure of when that extreme adoration crossed the line, but it had to be soon. It had to be because Sam was good to her. And if she could love people who weren’t good to her, Aelin must certainly be able to love the ones who were.

That’s how it worked, right?

Aelin smiled even as her thoughts raced back in time, to a different point in her life, when things had been much different. These things did not need to be analyzed. Aelin had done enough overthinking to last a lifetime, and she had promised herself to stop. To just stop thinking about him at all.

Aelin leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s cheek. “C’mon, our coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I bet I could find a way to warm things up.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Don’t you dare. That was the least sexy thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Sam pulled her closer. “I have plenty more up my sleeve. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aelin whacked him on the arm playfully. “You are the worst boyfriend ever,” she teased. “Let’s go, maybe I will let you warm things up.” She grinned, knowing that encouraging him only increased the number of ridiculous jokes and pick-up lines being sent her way and not caring one bit.

With one last smirk, Sam tugged Aelin toward the door of the coffee shop, arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked to the door, only slowing down as she reached over to adjust her purse strap over her shoulder… and something caught Aelin’s eye when she looked back.

Someone.

Aelin came to a complete standstill, eyes widening in shock.

It shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, this was a small town. But Aelin having to see him again, having to see him staring at her unashamedly, maintaining eye contact…

It was unnerving.

His eyes bore holes into Aelin, and she shivered. He hadn’t always looked at her like that. It had been happy, once. Once there had been love in gaze. Not possession. Not loathing. Not fury. Just pure, unadulterated love.

So much had changed. No, Aelin corrected herself. Nothing had changed other than her ability to notice what was really going on. This was how it had always been. Aelin had just been too blind to see it.

Distantly, Aelin realized Sam was asking her what was wrong. He was following her gaze. He was putting the pieces together.

And now he was asking her if that was him, but they both knew. They both knew it was.

Aelin spun around suddenly, a complete 180 degree turn, eradicating Rowan from her line of sight.

“Let’s go,” Aelin said. “Let’s just go.”

—

“See you tomorrow,” Aelin said, kissing Sam on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you, babe. Love you.”

Aelin smiled.

Sam smiled back, but the expression dimmed before he could leave, hesitating on the doorstep. “Are you sure…”

Aelin took a deep breath. “Sam, I love that you care about me, but there is nothing to be done. Rowan lives nearby; I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t get to do what he did to you and then walk around untouched, flaunting it.”

Aelin flashed a watery smile. “That’s the thing, Sam. He can do whatever he likes, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am with you and I am happy and anything he does is entirely inconsequential.”

Sam held Aelin’s gaze, then his eyes softened. He kissed her again and pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a whisper.

Aelin smiled, watching him leave.

She leaned against the doorway of her apartment, watching Sam walk away with a gentle expression on her face. He glanced back only once to toss a saucy grin her way as he took the turn and headed down the stairs, out of sight. But she didn’t go back inside quite yet, instead gazing in the direction he’d last been visible at, thinking. Thinking happy things.

And then thinking some not so happy things.

It wasn’t fair that Rowan could consume her thoughts so wholly. Yes, consume was the right word. He consumed her mind now, and before he had consumed every inch of her body, every aspect of her life. And it was a word with so many different connotations that for a long time, Aelin hadn’t thought that was so bad.

She knew better now.

Aelin normally would have willed a smile back to her face to reassure those around her, but she was alone now. No more pretending. Aelin frowned fully as she turned to renter the apartment.

And nearly ran smack into Rowan, who was standing on the opposite side of the doorway. Only a couple feet away, staring at her, breathing her air, and she hadn’t noticed.

Aelin regarded him silently, trying to decide if Rowan was real or not. This wouldn’t have been the first time she’d imagined him beside her.

“What exactly did I do to you, Aelin?” He was real then.

“You have no right.” Aelin’s voice was raspy and beyond furious.

“You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Aelin shook her head, her entire body shaking. “You have no right,” she repeated.

Rowan crossed his arms. The door was wide open, and Aelin stood on the side with the hinges. Which meant she had the disadvantage, unable to get in without Rowan stopping her.

“What do you want from me?”

Rowan shook his head, eyes simmering with something deceptively similar to hurt. “I want to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Aelin hissed.

“Why did you leave me?” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Aelin breathed hard through her nostrils, not bothering to put a leash on her temper. “Because you didn’t treat me right, Rowan. You ignored me. You used me.”

“I loved you!” Rowan shouted.

Aelin shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was something else.”

“What was it, Aelin?”

She bit her lip, and Rowan’s eyes snapped down to her mouth. He stepped forward. “What was it?” he demanded, voice far too gravelly for this conversation.

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Something bad. Something wrong.”

With that she kicked out her foot and caught Rowan on the inside of his leg. Thought likely uninjured, he was surprised enough by Aelin’s spite that he stepped back an inch. Just enough space for Aelin to shove past him and slam the door.

Angry tears streaming down her face in hateful torrents, Aelin flipped the lock, then slid the chain into place.

Then she released a muffled cry of anguish and leaned back against the door, swaying. She started crying in earnest, trying to keep her sobs relatively quiet in case Rowan was still at the door. He probably was.

Aelin slid down the door limply, falling into a pile on the floor. She reached around and placed a palm flat on the wooden surface. He was out there.

She knew he was.

Confirmation came in the form of a shadow, flitting across the crack under the door, and finally blocking the space considerably, accompanied by the a soft thump.

Rowan was sitting next to her. Without the door, he’d be touching her. Holding her.

Aelin pressed her face against the door, getting as close to him as she could while still being able to deny it. She’d slammed the door on him. No one could take that away from her.

But no one could take this away from her either, this moment.

—

Aelin was crying. He’d known she would be, but it still hurt to hear.

Rowan traced his fingers across the door delicately, imagining her own touch on the other side. They were almost holding hands.

Time passed. They kept sitting there, and Rowan knew Aelin well enough to know she’d be screaming at herself inside her head, trying to make herself get up, to no avail.

Rowan felt a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that she couldn’t leave him just yet.

It was two in the morning when Rowan finally heard Aelin stand. Faintly he heard her, still sniffling, shuffle off to somewhere else in their apartment.

For it was their apartment. Rowan’s just as much as Aelin’s. More even. He just wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

Rowan stood and walked away.

—

Aelin giggled. “You did not.”

Chaol flashed a smile. “I swear on all that is holy I did.”

Aelin shook her head, eyes dancing with mirth. “How does one even manage to do that without being—”

“May I cut in?”

Aelin turned, smile frozen in place, to find her boyfriend reaching over to place an arm around her side, fingers digging in a bit too much for her liking. “Of course. We were just talking about you, actually.”

Rowan smiled, but there was something in the expression that didn’t appeal to her. “Oh?”

Chaol joined in. “I told her about the day I met you, how I got so upset with you that I put your phone number in all the bathrooms and you got a bunch of calls asking for a hookup.”

Chaol laughed, clearly under the impression this was long since water under the bridge. Rowan’s returning smile was a bit tighter, and Aelin wondered if he still held a grudge. Or if he was upset about something else.

“As much as I would love to reminisce,” Rowan said, voice dripping with manners and camaraderie, “My girlfriend and I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, Westfall.”

Chaol smiled and waved. Aelin just took another sip of her champagne.

Rowan plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it somewhere off to the side, then pulled Aelin toward the exit, his hand still firmly around her waist.

Aelin didn’t say anything as they left the work party. Nor as Rowan opened the passenger door of his car and helped her inside, like he thought she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

The ride home was silent. As was the walk up the stairs leading to their apartment. Rowan unlocked the door with his keys and held it open, letting Aelin go first. Once again, she got the feeling it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

Aelin dropped her purse on the counter then spun around, anger finally spilling over the top. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan didn’t waver. “You were flirting with my coworker.”

Aelin gaped at him. “I was doing no such thing!”

Rowan just snorted.

“You asked me to make an effort with your friends,” Aelin said icily. “That’s all I was doing.”

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Aelin.”

“Excuse me? I was not flirting with anybody, Rowan. We were talking about you for fuck’s sake.”

“Chaol always has ulterior motives. I don’t trust him.”

“And what about me? Do you trust me?” Aelin barely managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Rowan’s face instantly softened. “Of course I trust you, baby.”

Aelin didn’t reply.

Rowan stepped forward and brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Aelin hesitated, then brought her gaze to meet his own.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. Forgive me.”

Aelin’s lower lip wavered. She still said nothing.

“I love you,” Rowan continued, softly tracing a line over her cheek. “Forgive me.”

“I love you too,” Aelin rasped. And it was true. She loved him more than anything in the world.

Rowan leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. She was tense as Rowan started to move his mouth down her neck, loving and demanding at the same time.

Rowan’s hand found its way to her shoulder, sliding the thin strap of her dress off. Aelin stayed still, breathing through her nose while Rowan started following the top of her dress down with his mouth, kissing her bare chest, Aelin’s breasts covered only barely.

“Rowan,” Aelin gasped as he finally freed a breast from the fabric and closed his mouth around it. She wasn’t sure if she was spurring him on or protesting.

Rowan pushed her back a step. Then another. Aelin felt the wall at her back. She let her head fall back against it.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated in a dark murmur, breath caressing her ear. His hand fell to her thigh and pushed up the dress, then he reached for his own buckle.

Aelin could only try to convince herself she wanted this as Rowan pulled her underwear to the side and—

Aelin jolted up in bed with a gasp.

Sweat soaked the sheets and dripped down Aelin’s face as she panted into the darkness. Aelin bent over and buried her face in the sheets, face already wet with tears.

—

Routine had long since become mechanical for Rowan. Get out of bed. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Dress and get out the door.

It helped keep his thoughts from straying.

It wasn’t just getting ready that Rowan approached with machine-like indifference. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Rowan was in a bar, sipping his first whiskey of the night.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the bar in front of him. Turning it on revealed Aelin’s smiling face, framed by her vibrant golden hair. A white sundress highlighted her curves subtly. The sun was high behind her, and the cloudless sky was the blue of her eyes. The whole picture was so Aelin.

Rowan entered his passcode and took in the home screen, another picture of Aelin, this one with him as well. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had taken the picture. They were sprawled across the grass, Aelin haphazardly lounging on top of Rowan, her mouth open in a laugh that he could almost hear, even now. And that beautiful hair, strewn across his chest.

She looked the happiest Rowan had ever seen her. There was no way someone could look that happy and just be pretending. It was utterly impossible.

Rowan searched for indications that he was treating her wrong, that his grip on her arm was too tight or his eyes were angry or mean.

They weren’t. He was gazing at her with adoration, just as he’d always done. He had loved her, and he still did, and Rowan had never hesitated to tell Aelin. So why had she left?

Rowan entered his photo app and started scrolling through them, though dozens upon dozens of photos of her smiling in the sun and laughing in the rain and eating on the couch.

He was a masochist to do this to himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He kept searching for any signs that something was wrong, that he wasn’t loving her right.

He couldn’t find any.

—

The echoing noises of the thumps on the bag were the only sounds in the room. Aelin struck with deadly capability, slamming her fist into the punching bag again and again.

She’d gotten into self-defense not long after the breakup with Rowan. Punching things, more specifically. And Aelin had gotten good, too.

She used to work out in the gym, but the closest gym was annoying to get to, all the way across town. So Aelin had invested some money into some basic equipment and set everything up in the only empty room in the apartment.

Well, it was only empty after Aelin had dumped all of Rowan’s things out on the curb. This was his former office. There was a picture of him on the wall where there used to be one of her. It was filled with holes from the various weapons Aelin had thrown at it, among them knives, darts, and a single fork.

Maybe Aelin needed to talk to a therapist.

Aelin twisted her body and pivoted her foot, landing a deadly roundhouse kick on the bag. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her about this miracle cure sooner?

Aelin was so busy taking out every ounce of fury within her body—which totaled up to a frighteningly large quantity—that she almost didn’t notice her phone ringing. She finally noticed the screen lit up out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin pulled out her earbuds and strode over to her phone.

It was from Sam. Aelin reached for her phone, then paused, breathing deeply. From the exercise, she told herself. Solely from the exercise.

The ringing stopped. Aelin was too late. She reached once more, intent on calling Sam back, but stopped again.

She’d been thinking a lot over the past few days. Trying. Trying so hard to love him. And every time she was with him and she opened her mouth to get it over with, she couldn’t. Because Aelin couldn’t do that to Sam. He deserved better.

And because she was thinking about somebody else.

Aelin spun around and executed a perfect boxing maneuver on the bag. Jab, dodge, duck, right hook to the body, left hook to the body, left hook to the head, slide back with a defensive jab. She repeated it, then moved onto a different maneuver.

Then Aelin stripped off her gloves and bolted for the door, off to do something she would most certainly regret.

—

Panting, Aelin knocked on the door before she could loose her resolve. Then she waited, hands on her hips and shoulders back.

Not even a minute passed before the lock clicked and the door was pulled inward.

Aelin took in Rowan’s tired eyes and haggard expression and knew she was the reason for that. And probably for the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He didn’t ask how she knew where he lived—Aelin had a depressing amount of free time; or why she looked like she’d run all the way here—she had; or why she was here—that one she didn’t know. He just opened the door wider.

“Come here.”

Aelin did. She wondered if her fate had been sealed from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Rowan Whitethorn was like a sinkhole, drawing you in farther and father no matter what you did, only tightening his grip when you struggled.

That gruesome description wasn’t enough to make Aelin turn back quite yet.

She stepped inside and pressed her lips against Rowan’s, hands twining in his hair instantly. His own hands came to her hips, pushing her tank top up slightly and tracing familiar patterns on her bare skin.

Aelin shoved Rowan backward in his apartment one step, then one more. She spun around so Rowan was against the wall. Aelin could feel his lips curve upward against hers, but she didn’t care what amusement he was deriving from her dominance. He wanted to take everything from her? Well, she would take right back.

Aelin parted Rowan’s lips with her tongue and the small groan that left the back of his throat had Aelin pulling his hair none-too-gently, melting into his giant frame even farther.

Nothing mattered anymore. It all evaporated into some space that Aelin couldn’t and didn’t want to access. Her brain was blissfully empty as she hooked a leg around his ankle, and as she nipped at his lip.

Rowan growled and started moving his hands upwards toward her breasts, thumbs brushing the undersides just enough that Aelin could feel it and lean into the sensation, ignoring his gleeful smirk against her mouth. Rowan finally broke the kiss and trailed his mouth along Aelin’s jawline, until his lips reached her ear.

“I love you,” Rowan whispered, voice dark and hoarse.

Aelin exhaled, her grip on him loosening. “I hate you.”

Rowan pulled back and frowned. “No, you don’t.”

Aelin chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right.” She stepped closer to the door. “But I hate that I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Rowan shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

Aelin started for the still-open door, only a couple feet away.

Rowan’s hand immediately took hold of her wrist. “You can’t leave again. Not like this.”

“How, then?” Aelin asked, shaking her wrist free of his grasp. “Was last time any better?”

“Don’t leave me at all.”

The desperation in Rowan’s voice would have provoked some sort of sympathy in Aelin any other time, but she only felt cold as she stared him down.

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she repeated. Then Aelin spun around and slipped out the door before he could stop her.

—

“Stop it.”

“I will not.”

“Yes you will.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”

“I’ll beat you up, that’s what.”

Aelin and Sam only managed maintain eye contact for a minute more before dissolving into laughter.

“I’m being serious,” Aelin said between laughs.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even understand what the issue is,” he replied, features filled with delight.

“The issue,” Aelin enunciated, “is that you can’t just be stupid like that. It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam scoffed in pretend hurt. “Excuse me, it’s not stupid to tickle my girlfriend.”

“It is,” Aelin insisted. “You’re an asshole for it.” She pouted.

Sam made an over-dramatic frown. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, babe.” He spread his arms wide and leaned over from the car seat.

Aelin could only involuntarily cackle as Sam moved his evil fingers over her again, his false hug turning into an ambush. “Stop it,” she cried between giggles. “This is mean. And foul. A foulable offense.”

“Is foulable even a word?”

“It is now,” Aelin hissed, elbowing him.

Sam grinned. “It’s not my fault. What else is a guy to do when he finds out his girlfriend’s ticklish?”

“You’re supposed to not bully them!”

Sam laughed into Aelin’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Aelin hugged him, for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn’t see her face at the words. Before she had been so happy to hear Sam say it, and now the only thought she could conjure upon hearing it was Rowan’s face.

Everything she’d ever had, everything she’d ever worked for, Rowan soured. It was a talent of his.

Aelin hadn’t told Sam about the kiss. Almost a week had passed already, and she hadn’t told him. Acknowledging it validated it, and Aelin didn’t want that. She just wanted to forget. Though it was hard to forget the one thing haunting her through all hours of the day and night.

“Let’s go inside,” Aelin said abruptly, pulling away. “I’m already forgetting what I wanted to get.”

Sam smiled, oblivious to Aelin’s internal struggles. “Sure.”

—

How dare she come to him, kiss him, make him think she was ready to invite him home? How dare she use him the way she claimed he used her?

The nerve of Aelin’s visit left Rowan seething. All he wanted was Aelin. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get her.

The bell dinged to signal a customer’s arrival and Rowan’s eyes snapped up. He relaxed once more as he saw it was only an elderly man, then tensed up all over again as he spotted a familiar car parked outside the shop.

Aelin came here every Tuesday without fail to buy a new book. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, and it was the only part of her routine she hadn’t changed after dumping him, and he’d been waiting in the mystery aisle for over an hour now.

And his waiting had paid off. Except, rather than leaving the car, Aelin and that man were talking and laughing and touching. He was tickling her, like a fucking loser.

Another five minutes passed and Rowan was debating going out there and knocking on the car window when the doors finally opened.

They walked hand-in-hand into the bookstore, and Aelin pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek as they neared a shelf.

His smile made Rowan smile. This poor, innocent man had no idea what had happened last week. He had no idea how unfaithful Aelin truly was.

Aelin murmured something to the man—Rowan refused to even think his name—and headed off to the romance section. Rowan followed her, creeping around shelves and not giving a fuck how bad it looked.

Aelin was reaching for some book or other when she noticed Rowan coming up behind her. Her face flushed, much to his delight, and her eyes widened.

“Go away,” was the first thing to come out of her mouth.

Rowan shook his head. “Not a chance, princess.”

Aelin’s face tightened visibly. “I’m not interested in doing this again, Rowan. We’re over.”

“Really? You haven’t seemed too sure about that lately.”

Aelin huffed. “Last week was a mistake. I know that now. I knew it when I did it. But that’s it. We’re done now. Get over yourself, Rowan.”

“I love you.”

“And I used to believe that,” Aelin snapped.

Rowan ground his jaw in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Aelin hissed, voice quiet but angry. “There is nothing to prove. You could started acting like the perfect boyfriend, the man I thought I loved, and it still wouldn’t matter. We’re not good together, Rowan. We’re broken. We. Are. Fucking. Broken.”

Rowan took a step forward, every molecule in his body freezing as Aelin flinched. “Are you scared of me, Aelin?”

She shook her head, but she’d always been a bad liar. Rowan could see right thought it.

“I have never laid a hand on you in my life,” Rowan stated, voice devoid of human emotion. “Never.”

Fire swirled behind Aelin’s eyes. “I know that. But you didn’t have to.”

Rowan shook his head vehemently. “What the hell does that mean?”

Aelin’s chest was heaving. “Think about it, Rowan. Think about us. Remember how you were with me.”

He did. Because he was a fair person who cared enough to listen to Aelin, he did.

—

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with Dorian,” Rowan commented.

It was a joke. It had just been a joke.

“What?” Aelin asked. She looked confused.

“I mean, whenever you two are together you’re smiling more than you smile with me. It’s a little difficult to watch.”

Rowan shrugged as his lips twitched. She was supposed to laugh now, amused at the joke.

Aelin didn’t laugh.

—

“You should really learn how to cook something,” Rowan said, watching in amusement as Aelin reached for the Chinese takeout menu, and not for the first time this week.

“Gods, Rowan, if you’re so sick of eating takeout then make something yourself.”

Aelin stormed off. And Rowan had clearly been the right one in that conversation, because after Aelin didn’t like his suggestion and decided to make a fuss about it and be a bitch, Rowan let her leave and didn’t bring it up again. Because he cared about her.

—

And finally, the day everything went up in flames:

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed. Rowan watched this little spectacle from afar. Until she got so loud that his boss’ boss looked over and that’s when Rowan had had it.

“Aelin, come with me,” Rowan said as he grabbed her hand. Gently. He had grabbed her hand gently.

Aelin frowned, but didn’t protest. She would have protested if she wasn’t okay with this. Rowan knew her.

They made it outside the building and both of them stopped. They weren’t waiting to go all the way back to the apartment this time.

“Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things,” Rowan said, running his hand through his hair.

Aelin frowned. “Why? Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, Aelin, of course you aren’t. But you are bothering my coworkers, and I don’t want them to look down on me because of my girlfriend.”

She snorted. “That’s the literal definition of embarrassment,” she slurred.

“No, there’s a difference between being embarrassed by someone and logically not wanting to have someone with you for strategic purposes.”

Aelin laughed incredulously, and Rowan wondered if she still didn’t understand. But the next thing that came out of her mouth made him the one who couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“We’re done.”

“What?”

Aelin smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing, it was twisted and sad and so many other emotions, some of which Rowan couldn’t even name. “I’m breaking up with you.”

A moment of shaky silence passed as Rowan held eye contact with Aelin. Finally, he said, “We’re going home now.”

Aelin scoffed. “Don’t you hear me?”

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

A tear slid down Aelin’s cheek and Rowan stepped forward to console her, for that’s what he’d always done when she was upset.

But Aelin stepped backward. “Go home. Get your things. Get out.”

Rowan sighed. “Aelin, seriously—”

“No!” she yelled, and Rowan glanced back at the party he’d just emerged from, worried someone might have heard her. “You don’t get to ignore me! Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now!”

“No,” Rowan snapped.

Aelin seethed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get your things out on my own.”

She snatched the keys from his hand and took off toward the car, but Rowan’s head was swimming enough that he could only stand there, frozen, for a solid thirty seconds as she climbed in the driver’s seat.

Then he started moving. “Aelin, stop this. Calm down. You’re overreacting and I need you to get out of the car.”

Aelin held the wheel tightly as she hastily locked the car. She didn’t bother buckling in before the car jerked backward. Rowan raced to the other side of it and blocked it from leaving the parking space.

Aelin must have had more to drink than Rowan originally noticed, for instead of stopping like the sensible woman he’d thought her to be, she slammed on the gas and went over the grass, swerving and turning back onto the pavement farther down. Aelin narrowly avoided a lamppost as she got onto the road and started speeding down the street.

Rowan could only watch, mouth agape and heart stopping altogether.

—

“I can’t think of a single thing I did to provoke something like that from you, Aelin.” Rowan’s hands were clenched into fists. “You just started acting out for no reason at all. I wasn’t the one behaving poorly.”

“There were signs,” Aelin breathed, voice riding the edge between stability and insanity. “There were so many warning signs.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Aelin’s so-called boyfriend walked up to her. She was at the corner of a shelf, and the men were on either side of it, meaning Sam hadn’t yet noticed him. Rowan wanted to step forward and beat some sense into the man, show him who Aelin really belonged to, but Aelin spoke before he could step forward.

“Hey, babe. I found my book. Ready to leave?”

The man grinned. It was a snarky little look, and Rowan knew he’d look better with a fist in his face.

“I am.”

Aelin stepped closer to him and farther from Rowan, then paused. Her tactic had originally seemed to be getting Sam away from Rowan as quickly as possible, but now she stance took on a different posture.

Rowan had never wished he could see inside her head more than he was now.

Aelin didn’t even look his way. “I love you, Sam.”

Rowan froze. He didn’t need to know anything about their relationship to know that was the first time Aelin had told Sam that. Not just from the delight on his face, but from the way Aelin spoke. Rowan could feel it in his bones.

She was spiting him. This could easily be discussed anywhere else, at any other time, but Aelin chose to say it now, with Rowan hovering in the background. It was a message to him, to stay away. It was hateful. It was cruel.

Something splintered in Rowan’s chest.

Sam was saying something, presumably a reciprocation of those three words, but Rowan didn’t hear it. His ears were buzzing.

Aelin took ahold of Sam’s arm and started for the checkout desk.

She didn’t look back.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[merakiaes]

The One For Me - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @nuvoleincielo​

Prompts: #16, #30 and #63 from the fluff-list. 

Warnings/notes: This is my first time writing for Hotch and Criminal Minds in general so please be patient while I get used to these new characters, might be slight OOC😭 It’s also the first piece I’ve written in a few months now and I’m a bit rusty, so please let me know what you think. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Send in more requests for Hotch, Reid and Morgan and let me know if you want to be added to the Criminal Minds taglist! I hope you like it💕

Wordcount: 4118

Summary: Hotch has doubts about letting your relationship go further and you reassure him that he’s what you want. 

After being raised in one of New York’s worst, most crime ridden and low poverty neighborhoods by a family who was constantly targeted by the law enforcement, the last thing you’d expect was that you would become an active worker of said law enforcement.

Your mother died ten minutes after giving birth to you and your father had never been a part of the equation, most likely having ran the second he found out your mother had gotten pregnant. With no other immediate family, you ended up in the system, where you were stuck for the first seven years of your life.

You jumped back and forth between families of all kinds but for reasons unknown, no one wanted to keep you. It wasn’t until a couple adopted you two days before your eight birthday that you finally felt like you belonged.

They had many children of their own as well as more foster children, all between the ages of ten and twenty-five at the time of your adoption. On top of that, the children had children of their own and aunts, uncles, cousins and friends stayed with you more often than not as they struggled to hold on to homes of their own.

It wasn’t the most ideal way to live, a dozen people staying under the same roof of a two bedroom house, but you had dinner on the table every evening and the love for family was strong, so despite the conditions you lived in and the struggles you were forced to face on a daily basis, you guessed you couldn’t complain; you’d had it better than most.

The people who lived in those parts were always getting pinned for various kinds of crimes, just so the police could get it out of their hands and go on about their lives.

The male members of your family and the company they kept were some of the biggest targets even though they rarely did anything wrong, but despite the injustices they faced every day, they remained respectful when staring in the face of a cop.

You, on the other hand, despised them. You were an outspoken little girl, too feisty for your own good and on more occasions than one, you’d ended up pissing off some rich kid in school for which your dad and uncles were forced to pay the price.

You’d always hated the injustice the less fortunate suffered every day, but it wasn’t until you witnessed your first murder at fifteen that your interest of making the world a better place really piqued.

The victim had been one of the boys living in your neighborhood. He was two years older than you and he always gave it his all to make something out of himself. He walked with you and your younger brothers and cousins to school every day to make sure you got there safely, studied hard, kept out of trouble and always remained respectful.

The only reason he died was because his skin was the wrong color in the eyes of the law and because he was born into a less fortunate neighborhood, and it was then your eyes truly opened to the police brutality and misuse of power plaguing your country.

You joined the police force when you were nineteen years old and you stayed there, on top of your game and determined to do it better than the bad ones, until you were twenty-one. 

At that point, most of your family had passed away either out of old age, or simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your determination to help people was stronger than ever.

But even you, the tough little firecracker as your uncles had always called you, could only tolerate so much.

After two years on the force, you got tired of being undermined by your male co-workers and set out to step up your game, taking up studies of criminology and psychology among several other subjects.

You studied your ass off and was just barely able to get by with the money you had saved up over the years, and at twenty-four, you finally had your degrees and clearance to begin working in higher places.

Starting off in New York, you stayed there for six months before you were transferred to Quantico, Virginia, where you were recruited by the one and only Jason Gideon who had heard word of your talent in the field.

You had worked with the team for little over a year now and Jason, who had always acted as a kind of mentor and father figure for you, was gone, having left only a letter for you and Spencer each.

Taking his place was Aaron Hotchner, a fellow agent to which you hadn’t paid much personal attention before the departure of Gideon. But things changed when he left, a lot of things.

Hotch was fresh out of his divorce, moodier than ever and in a really bad mental state. He stayed in his office until the late hours of the night, sometimes even the early hours of the next morning, barely slept and often forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded by his team members.

Everyone urged him to take some time off, to go home and get some sleep and to take care of himself, and although he always told them that he would, he never followed through.

Up until then, you still hadn’t spoken much with him except for when you were working on a case. You were just an agent and he was just your boss, there was nothing else to it. But you couldn’t just sit by and watch as he neglected himself, so you followed your team-mates’ example and approached him.

He dismissed you at first, like he had done everyone else who had tried to offer him their support. But as time passed by, in some miraculous way, you made him laugh, and as you continued your attempts on offering him your ear to listen, he opened up to you, and you grew to become more than just colleagues.

Your first and only date had been on your initiative. You invited him to dinner at your house during your weekend off, to which he agreed.

You cooked together and although it started off as kind of awkward – more from his side than yours – you ended up kissing later that night after having had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep together on your couch while you were flicking through your childhood photo albums.

The next morning, he was gone. You had always been an extremely light sleeper so you found it strange that he had managed to slip off without alerting you and also having managed to wrap you up in a blanket before he left.

He didn’t leave without a word though. A note was neatly placed on the coffee table in front of you, on which he explained that he needed to pick up Jack and that he didn’t want to wake you, finishing it off with a thank you for the night before.

That was the first and last time you spent time together, just the two of you, but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

You wanted to do it again, to continue exploring the budding romance between the two of you and to see where you could take it, and although you knew nothing of his feelings, he wanted the same thing.

But work got very stressful; stressful to the point where you could never find a moment to talk to each other if it wasn’t in the presence of the entire team. But the spark between you wasn’t gone.

It was still there in the way he would let his hand hover above the small of your back when you were walking side by side and step in front of you if you were ever in danger, and in the way you would always take a second to ask how he and Jack was doing, if they were eating enough and getting enough sleep, whenever you were heading somewhere; no matter if the team was with you.

It was there in the way he would always encourage you to go on the less dangerous tasks while he took the ones that were more life-threatening and in the way he would always smile, the slightest of smiles, whenever you were exchanging jokes or sarcastic remarks with Morgan, or messing around with poor, clueless Reid.

It was there, but it was unspoken. At least until now.

The case you had been working on for the past two days was that of Gilbert Stratton; a serial killer who had targeted young women, killed them, drained them of their blood, and then proceeded to hang the bodies up by their feet in trees all around the city.

You had caught him just in time to save the last kidnapped girl and you had originally been the one assigned to question him, but Hotch had stepped in last minute after the man had made a crude comment about how ‘girls like you always tasted the best’.

You had attempted to tell him that you could take it, but before you had even been given a chance to state your case, he had shut the door in your face and you had been whisked off by JJ.

You were the one out of the entire team who was the most interested in the psychology of a serial killer so you really wanted to be the one to interview Stratton, but you knew that Hotch had taken over for the sake of your safety and not because he underestimated you, so you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad.

While he did his job, you settled at your desk with a sigh, getting to work on the heft stack of paperwork that had been building up throughout the week. 

The first ten minutes you kept close track of the clock next to you, wondering why it was taking so long, but the more time that passed, the more focused you became.

Soon enough, you only had a few reports left and you had completely lost track of time, when there was a sudden bang behind you, sounding an awful lot like a door slamming shut.

And your suspicions were proven correct, when you looked up to see Hotch march straight the bullpen.

The corners of your lips tugged up at the sight of him, but the arising smile quickly fell again when he walked right past you, without even an acknowledging glance, heading into his office and shutting himself inside without as much of a word to anyone.

Left behind with dumbstruck looks on their faces were the team, glances of bewilderment being exchanged.

“What happened?” Reid asked the question you were all thinking after a moment of silence, just as Emily walked in from the interrogation room.

Rather than answering Reid’s question, she looked right at you, offering you a small, comforting smile. “I think you better go talk to him.” She said simply, and as confusion and anxiety bubbled up inside of you, you slowly drawled.

“Okaaay…”

They all watched you as you stood up from your seat, brushing down your shirt and turning off the lamp at your desk before heading for the stairs.

You could feel their eyes following your every move and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous of what you were about to walk into.

Everyone had gotten negatively affected by a case or unsub at some point during their career, most more than once. They were all very good at getting into your head, no matter how little you wanted to admit it. But you had never seen Hotch react this strongly to anything before. The only time you had really seen him snap was during one single case, right after Haley had filed for a divorce.

Still, you kept walking until you reached his closed office door, stopping only then to peek inside the blinded windows to see him sitting at his desk, hands rubbing over his face.

You knocked on the glass gently and in any other case he would have looked up and meet your gaze, but when his head kept hanging this time, you let yourself in, only when closing the door behind you cutting off the curious eyes of the others.

Once you were inside, you wasted no time in approaching Hotch where he sat by his desk, analyzing his every move which led you to only one question.

What the hell had Stratton said to him to make him this distraught?

He didn’t even look up as you reached him, keeping his eyes closed as you came to a stop beside his desk.

Treading carefully, you reached out and gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” You asked softly, the sound of your words instantly bringing a long, heavy sigh out of his nose.

“Why are you doing this?” He wasted no time in replying, causing a crease to form between your eyebrows.

“What?” You asked back, confusion lacing your voice.

Finally, he brought his hands down from his face and slowly spun around in his chair, forcing you to drop your hand from his shoulder and to take a step back.

He stared up at you, face wiped free of emotion as always. But the eyes said it all.

“Why are you so adamant on being with me? Why do you try so hard?” He questioned you, taking you by surprise.

Your eyebrows shot up and your eyes grew slightly wider, and you took a moment to regain your composure after the, to say the least, unexpected question.  

“What kind of question is that?” You asked once you finally regained your senses. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you want to be with someone? Try?”

One of your eyebrows sank again, leaving only one raised in question.

Hotch’s face softened slightly and for a moment, he averted his eyes, letting out another, smaller sigh from his nose before looking back up to meet your eyes once again.

“What I mean is, why do you want to be with me?” He asked again, clarifying and slightly shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “The second you walked into this office, both Morgan and Reid had their eyes on you, and they still do. They’re closer to your age, they’re energetic, humorous, full of life, while I’m ten years your senior, and can’t offer you what they can. So why do you want to be with me, when you can have them, or anyone you want?”

“What is it that they can give me that you can’t?” You didn’t waste a second in firing back.

You had no idea what had brought this on, but it was clear that it was bothering him and quite frankly, you found it ridiculous even though you didn’t like making it a habit to judge other people for what they were feeling.

“They can make you smile-“ He started explaining, and you instantly cut him off.

“You make me smile, all the time.” You shook your head, but your affirmation only seemed to fuel his frustrations even more as he was up on his feet within the next second.

“But I’m not- I’m not fun.” He stated, staring you down. “My clock is ticking. I’m ill-tempered, irritable, too serious for my own good. I’m barely capable of taking care of myself at this point much less my son. I’m miserable and I’m a bully, who only cares about this job. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had something good going.” Your face fell slightly, and you carefully reached your hands out to grab a hold of the front of his suit, taking a small step closer.

“Is this because of Stratton? Is he the one putting these doubts into your head?” You asked, keeping your eyes on your hands for a short moment before looking up to meet his heavy gaze staring down at you.

And once your eyes met his, he knew there was no point in lying; you were a profiler after all, and a good one at that.

“He did.” He confessed calmly, his lips pursing into a straight line.

“Aaron…” You began, the softness of your voice matching the one in your eyes.

“But everything he said is true.” He quietly interrupted you. “I’m not fun to be around, I push people away. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done.” His eyebrows rose and he stood still.

You knew about the doubts he had about himself. You know he felt inadequate as a friend, as a colleague, as a father, and more than anything as a partner after the way Haley had left him. You were aware of all of it, and yet the sound of those self-doubts being voiced aloud saddened you nonetheless.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you took another step closer, flattening your palms out on his chest and your eyes never leaving his.

“Those people didn’t deserve you in the first place. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they started building a relationship with you, whether it be a romantical or purely platonic one. They knew how passionate you are about your job, how much you value it. Them leaving… That’s on them, not you.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I’m not about to give up on you, on us, just because you happen to be a few years older than me. Derek, he wants to have fun, to be young. He may be attracted to me but he doesn’t want anything serious. Spencer isn’t ready for a relationship either, for obvious reasons, and either way, they’re not the ones I want.”

He watched you intensely as you spoke, lips still tight and strained. “What is it that you want?” He asked you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Something serious and stable, someone who’s ready to settle down, and for me, the best chance to get that is through you.” You smiled, breaking your eyes away from his to follow your hand as you moved it up to his face. “Regardless of what other people say, you’re an amazing person. You’re passionate, driven, kind, loyal, gentle, and so much more. Despite what you may think, you do have a sense of humor and you’re the only one who can make me smile until my cheeks hurt. If that’s not a good man, a good person, then I don’t know what is. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

By the time you finished, the remaining doubt was wiped free from his face, a small, gentle smile instead having taken its place.

It was a funny thing, Hotch only ever spared the tiniest of smiles, and yet it was them that brought you the biggest and most intense amount of happiness. It was so rare to see his ever-stoic features reflect joy that you couldn’t help but light up like a kid on Christmas every time it occurred.

And true to what you’d always been told growing up, your smile was just so contagious that he couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and visibly relaxed where he stood.

Your heart swelled in your chest when you took note of the way he was slowly but surely shuffling closer to you, picking up a significant amount of speed when you then felt his hand brush against the side of your hip.

But he didn’t dare touch you, hesitation still lingering in the air. So you did what your heart told you and grabbed a hold of his hand, and pushed it down into the curve of your waist.

From then on, he moved on his own, raising his other hand to mimic the same position at your other side, and you let your hand drop from his, instead raising them to busy with his crimson red tie.

“I know you’re struggling, with yourself, with Jack, and that you’re still processing the divorce. And if it’s time you want, then I’ll wait.” You spoke quietly, feeling your skin flush hot under his touch as his thumbs began to move over the thin fabric of your shirt. “But if you want to keep going and see where this can go, then I’ll be here every step of the way to support and help you in any way I can. You just need to let me in.”

More shyly then before, you dared loo back up at him through your lashes, hands stilling on his chest.

His smile was gone and his eyes creased together in concentration, but his eyes were soft and his head slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He said, and you allowed yourself to smile again.

“Aren’t I always?” You lightheartedly teased, tilting your head to the side.

In return, a smile spread across his face, his head shaking. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, no take-backs. What’s said is said.” You kept joking, your smile only widening.

He kept smiling down at you for a few seconds longer, but then his face fell again, just like that, out of nowhere, completely sudden. The gaze he held on your face grew absent as he got lost in his thoughts, and before you could question him about the sudden change of mood, the words spilled from his lips as if there was no tomorrow.

“I think I love you.”

Your mind instantly broke into a flurry of thoughts, countless emotions battling in your body. Nervosity and excitement ended up coming out on top, the mixture of the two creating an uncomfortable, sickly feeling in your stomach.

Your face fell in disbelief and your eyes searched his as he came back to reality.

“You do?”

Your voice came out so quiet and small, you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so pathetic, but luckily, you didn’t get much time to beat yourself up over the anticlimactic reacting as he continued.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to say it. Every day, this job puts all of our lives in danger. I couldn’t bear it if one of us died before I got the time to let you know how I feel.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself growing weak at the knees as he absentmindedly rubbed your waist with his thumbs.

“Just a minute ago, you were trying to end… whatever this is, and now your proclaiming your love for me?” You asked. 

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to ease the anxiety you were currently feeling, but you realized quickly that said anxiety made it sound like the exact opposite of a lighthearted, teasing joke.

Luckily, the man standing in front of you was a profiler and knew that you meant no harm, understanding how shock could render your ability to react appropriately.

“I was never trying to end what we have. I just wanted to be sure that you were sure. That I won’t be holding you back.” He explained, and you finally managed to pull yourself out of the state of shock.

“Being with you motivates me. And I love you, too.” You confessed, the smile once again returning to your face as you moved your hands from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. 

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled right back. “Can I kiss you?” He quietly added, and your face instantly lit up in a mischievous expression.

“In the office?” You gasped dramatically, bringing your arms down, taking a step back and lightly slapping his chest. “Aren’t you feeling frisky today?”

A large smile stretched across his lips, his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Come here.” He said simply, and before you got the chance to argue, not that you would’ve if given the opportunity, he sat back down in his chair and pulled you down with him. 

The chair spun in the process, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your small laughs of glee quickly became muted as he placed his lips on yours, replaced by low hums of contentment. 

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, basking in the feeling of his lips moving against yours and his arms tightening around your waist, and as your entire body burned with passion, you realized that he really was the one for you.

Tagged: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @zizzlekwum​ @cozytruecrimeaddict​ @lovelynervouskingdom​

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[idesofrevolution]

Welp as you can guess, Biker TF won the poll. So here we go kids.

It’d been weeks since I had... become who I am today. I’m still learning how to wield the power that Miss Marie had given me- and there were a few mistakes made along the way. But at the end of the day, I’d grown into a much more competent practitioner, so I decided one drunken evening to treat myself. After a delicious evening with a hunky biker bear, I’d convinced him to let me have his spare set of wheels. Riding came naturally to me- the open road and the wind rushing against me gives such a sense of freedom. It’s hard to explain. We still ride down the backroads outside of town just about once a week, although I’m sure the cruising spot in the bayou clearing does certainly help instigate such rides.

It was one summer afternoon after one such ride and rendezvous, wafting with the stench of sweat and sex, that I came across a young hitchhiker. He was young, maybe 21 or so with gorgeous ebony skin and a lean slender frame. I pulled over, and he quickly ran over to me.

“Hey, are you going as far as town?” His voice was frail and weak. A timbre of defeat echoed from the back of his throat, he’d clearly been through a lot. 

“Sure am. Here, hop on and take the spare helmet.” I smiled at him, and he coyly avoided my glance. He awkwardly mounted the bike, nearly tipping us over. “Never ridden before? Aight, put your arms here, and keep your feet up.” I gently guided his wrists around my waist and he tightly held on, nearly knocking the wind out of me. As we took off, he clutched me even tighter. Riding down the road, I could sense he was a broken kid. The air of sadness permeated his energy, and shaded every ounce of his body language. I don’t think he ever realized just how beautiful a soul he had.

About ten minutes of riding, I noticed we were nearly running on fumes. Luckily, an exit sign harked a little good fortune with a Shell station off the road. We pulled over at the nearest gas pump, and dismounted. 

“I’m gonna fill up, take this and get yourself something to eat man, you’re skin and bones!” I handed him a $20, and he looked at me as if I had three horns and purple skin. He blushed and walked toward the convenience store, but turned back to ask if I needed anything.

I looked at him, standing there against the cinderblock building and decided that he would get the help he deserved. If from nobody else, he would get it from me. I shook my head no, and he entered the store. Filling the tank took all of five minutes before it had topped off. I slid my card in, paid my dues and started to put my gloves back on before I noticed he had not come back out. To my left was another bike, sitting vacant and alone. Alarm bells went off and I rushed into the convenience store. 

I opened the door and could immediately hear the shouting. Behind the counter some teenage dumbass was fuckin around on his phone, not thinking a thing of the brazen diatribe that was filling the room. There, behind the wall of Doritos, Pretzels, and Slim Jims was the young kid, and a big hulking stag of a man shouting with his chest all puffed up like a blowfish. The foul, revolting shit that spewed from that mans mouth was beyond anything that I’d care to repeat in any way here, but when I say it was in reference to his ancestry I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. Grabbing his shoulder like a vice grip, I was about to teach this man what’s what.

“I think it’s time for you pipe the fuck down.” The man turned to me, covered in grease and stinking from days of riding in the summer heat. You know the type, ripped up and stained wife beater with tight, patched jeans; topped off with big beat up harness boots that were clearly two sizes too big. He sneered, sizing me up to see where his chances were in this fight. 

“Ahh, so you’re gonna be this little fuck’s hero, huh? You’re gonna be his WHITE knight, huh? See, I’m just letting him know that in these parts, it’d be best if he just fucked right off.” I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I have a bit of a temper issue which can get the best of me.. In the particular instance, however, I’d say I’m proud as all hell that I held that white trash by the throat about a sold foot above the ground. Tossing him aside, he landed against the aisle shelves like a ragdoll. I smirked, and figured out just how I would help this young man.

“Come on over, kid.” I waved him over, and he sheepishly plodded over to us. The racist tried in vain to pull himself up off the ground, but my size 13 Vans against his big burly chest had him pinned like a mouse in a trap. “I think this man needs a bit of an education, don’t you?” The kid smiled, looking down. I gently held his chin up. “And you need a confidence boost.” 

“Ah, your fuckin’ queers too! I shoulda gue...” I shoved my foot into his stupid maw, silencing him for the last time. I turned to my soon to be apprentice and smiled. I pushed a bit harder, watching my shoe sink further and further into that piece of shit’s mouth, before my entire foot was engulfed by his stretched head. The kid looked in awe as our prey squirmed and fought, and I think it was at this point that the situation clicked in his mind.

“Yeah, hows my foot taste, bitch? They sure stink to high hell, they’re my favorite pair. Kinda jealous of you to be honest.” I wriggled my foot inside his head, watching the outline of my high tops slide around under his skin. I’d played around with him long enough. I turned to the kid, who I’d noticed was tenting ever so slightly and winked. “Might wanna get rid of your threads, bud, you’re not gonna need ‘em.” With a quick jerk of my knee, my foot slipped out of his mouth, his head returning to normal. 

“You stupid fucks, I’m gonna fuckin kill you!” He would never get the chance. In fact, he was about to learn first hand what it’s like to have a healthy amount of melanin. With his clothes chucked aside, and his manhood at full mast, the kid walked toward the writing man. He gingerly put a single toe into his mouth, and pushed. His foot slipped effortlessly into the man’s throat, and quickly tugging at the corners of his mouth, he slipped foot number two in. The man was wriggling like a worm, I’m sure desperately trying to spew empty threats to ward us off. The sight of the kid’s lowering ass onto his stretched face caused a little bit of a muffled shriek to escape his cords. Now, musky, sweaty hitchhiker ass would be a treat to me on even the worst of days, but evidently some just can’t appreciate it’s mouthwatering flavor and scent. With his crack nuzzled right down on the good old boy’s nose, he began to pull on the man’s legs.

I watched proudly as his feet slipped downward, distorting his muscles under the tight confines of his jeans, before a sharp pop landed them inside the destroyed boots. They fit perfectly now, and I could just begin to smell the strong funk of greasy, funky socks and feet. The kid kept sliding into his body, his midsection growing and seemingly inflating with strong muscles. The old tank began to tear and rip, before it was shredded by the sheer mass of the inked, mocha colored abs and pecs that prominently burst forward. 

The kid’s face was in full elation, as he squeezed his arms down the throat, pulling the skin above his shoulders with a loud snap. His arms slipped into place; thick biceps and forearms bubbling outward from the man’s already impressive musculature. His tatted hands flexed, the new sensation of calloused fingertips and meaty palms seemingly fascinated him as he began to rub his new body.

I removed my foot from my new friend’s chest, and helped him up. This man was a beast! Towering to a massive 6′5, he was bigger, broader, and stronger than me- and I’ll admit... it was hot seeing this hulking, musky hunk standing before me with the youthful, boyish face of an early twenty-something. I eagerly awaited the final stretch as he pawed the whimpering final mask of the former racist’s face. Grabbing it by the nose, he pulled ever so slowly, savoring every second the slimy flesh slipped over his head until it snapped loudly into place. He adjusted his new face as the dark complexion flowed up his neck and across his scalp and jaw. He opened his dark brown eyes and smiled a million dollar smile at me.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about man!” The only word that came to my mind was stunning. His exterior finally matched his interior: sexy, proud, and strong. “Oh shit...” He looked downward, and within seconds I knew exactly what the issue was. Speaking from experience, not all the adjustments are as easy, so I decided my assistance was required. Getting down onto my knees, I unzipped his jeans, pulling them down. It revealed the yellowed, reeking jockstrap beneath which nearly concealed the problem area. 

Glued down behind his skin was the outline of his cock and balls. Just as I thought. Pulling down the jockstrap, I grabbed the hollow shaft and sac, tugging it up and down. Little by little his cock slid toward the chasm before it fully slipped in with a loud schlorp! When I tell you that cock grew into a footlong dong in seconds... with two sweat-dripping golf balls hanging low to garnish... I couldn’t restrain myself. I took it in my mouth, licking up every droplet of salty sweet sweat, pumping the precum out of it like a faucet. He grabbed the back of my head, thrusting his horse cock down my throat, fucking it like a fleshlight. His smelly balls slapped against my chin, and I could feel them engorging, getting ready to blow. 

And blow they did. Rope after rope. Straight down my throat. Every cup of it was whatever sadness, whatever insecurities, whatever weights held him down; now completely purged. He pulled out and I pulled my apprentice into deep kiss. This is who he truly was, and it was a fitting circumstance for it to happen. We turned to the slackjawed cashier, who evidently witnessed everything. I tossed him a $100, and we left. Hopping on our bikes, we headed back to town. The things I was going to teach dear Antoine here were going to blow his mind, and potentially his load too.

Okay kids. So there you have it. This was a long motherfucker and I’m sure it’s the longest I’ve ever written. If you haven’t guessed by now, each installment of Sebastian’s stories will be focused on punishing hate. This is what’s brought me out of retirement, and this is what I love writing now. I’ll of course listen to the feedback that y’all have provided me- I will do one-offs still. In fact, I’ll probably do a one-off next. Let me know what y’all think in my askbox. Thank you guys so much for all the support you’ve shown me.

[huntergatherercreator]

Take Me Back

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Warnings: Smut, mention of cheating and alcohol abuse, break-up angst

Note: Have I really just written something not mob!tom related? I’m as shocked as you are. This is my first time posting something that contains sexual content on this level, it’s kinda nerve wracking so any feedback would be appreciated! Also, let me know if I’ve missed any warnings I should have added.

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2,032 words

The bar wasn’t your usual scene. You preferred local, intimate places not clubs like this. Despite being underground the mirrored ceiling made it feel twice as open. You looked out over the dance floor from the mezzanine at the entrance door searching for your friends. Rhythmic lighting spilled over the space. It was almost filled to capacity with bodies dancing to bass so loud it reverberated through the soles of your new shoes.

An exaggerated wave from the middle of the bar caught your attention and you smiled as your friend signalled you over. Gripping the handrail of the metal steps you took a breath before descending. You still weren’t completely comfortable with the outfit you’d been talked into wearing but judging by the looks you were getting as you cut across the floor it wasn’t as bad as you’d initially feared.

“Damn, Y/N! You look incredible!” Your friend gushed pulling you in beside her at the bar. Signalling to the bartender she had them pour out two shots. Turning to you with a devilish grin she offered you a lime wedge.

“No way. I just got here,” you refused. As much as you enjoyed drinking the past three months had been filled with nights spent at the bottom of a bottle. You were slowly getting back control. Reigning yourself in after the worst breakup you’d ever experienced but it was a slow process.

A lot of your recovery had to do with the guy you’d met a few weeks ago. Tonight was the first night he’d meet your best friend, the one whose opinion could make or break the possible relationship.

With a sulky pout she downed her own. “So, when will this mystery man of yours get here?”

“He should be here soon.” Your friend leaned her back against the bar, eyes scanning the room.

“Hmm...is it him?” she mused pointing to a guy with too much hair product. “No,” she shook her head, “it’s got to be him.” You followed her finger and snorted a laugh as you watched a guy dancing awkwardly in the corner.  

“Stop it. You’ll know him when you see him,” you promised. Turning back to the bar to order a beer you heard her gasp even over the loud music. In the mirrors lining the glass shelves you could see him approaching and couldn’t stop a smile. Your friend not so subtly nudged you.

“Is this real? Is he coming over? My god, he’s gorgeous” she babbled. You took a long sip of your beer and decided to let her work it out on her own.

“He looks like he works out so much. Those jeans, that t-shirt...” You could practically hear her drooling before she quickly spun to face you. “Shit, he’s actually coming over, what do we..”

“Hey, Y/N.” Settling your beer on a napkin you watched your friends eyes widen, mouth agape. With a laugh you finally faced him. His smile faltered as he took you in, a faint blush creeping up his face.

“You look amazing.” Leaning into you his hand rested on your hip as he kissed your cheek.

Just as your friend had said, Adam was gorgeous. Standing a good foot above you with tousled blonde hair and classic baby blues he wasn’t your normal type, which is exactly why you’d gone for him. After the last failed relationship it was clear what you were attracted to and what you needed were two different things. Adam was your clean slate. Your fresh start.

It was different with him. There hadn’t been an instant attraction but the more you got to know him the more relaxed you felt. Sure there was still no flutter when he kissed you, no spark, but given enough time you were sure that would grow.

You introduced your friend who was still having a hard time closing her mouth all the way, then using Adam’s height to your advantage you got him to find a free table at the edge of the room. Sliding into the booth between them you settled in for the interrogation. He didn’t seem phased. He linked his warm fingers with yours and answered as honestly as possible. Watching him you couldn’t help but smile as he devoutly tried to stop his gaze from wandering to the low cut of your dress and the way his cheek flushed when he failed.

Beer finished you excused yourself to grab a new round for the table. The queue at the bar was steadily getting busier as the night went on. You tried to work your way further down to a quieter spot, keeping your head down and gently elbowing your way through the groups. A gap opened up and you rushed to move into the space only to collide with someone. Your foot slipped on a spilled drink and a strong hand caught your waist to steady you. Cheeks heating from embarrassment you internally cursed your shoes. Gathering some courage you glanced up to thank your saviour and the words died in your throat.

Soft chestnut eyes stared down at you intently. You’re heart hammered under their gaze, sweat starting to make your hands clammy. You’d thought you’d never see him again. You’d hoped you wouldn’t. But here he was, looking immaculate in an all black suit and even better than you remembered. The heat of his hand against your waist seemed to sear through your dress and you tried to step back out of his reach but he only pulled you closer.

“Y/N.” The room seemed to still, the music dimming. All you could hear was his voice. The rough edge it held when he said your name had your body reacting as if the last few months hadn’t happened. You clenched your fists hating how with one word he could get under your skin again after all this time.

“Let me go.” You barely managed to whisper out the words but you knew he’d heard. He downed what was left in his glass and brushed against you as he placed it on the bar. The scent of him wrapped around you triggering memories that you’d tried to suppress.

Leaning in his lips brushed your ear as he spoke. “We need to talk.” Irritation flared. Who did he think he was? It had been months and now he wanted to talk? Steeling yourself you shoved his hand away.

“I have nothing to say to you, Tom.”

“Then listen.” You made the mistake of meeting his eyes and the intensity radiating from them dried up your protest.

“The guy you’re with is no good.” You jerked back away from him and he had the gall to look surprised.

Anger snaking through you, you felt your lip curl. “He’s none of your business. I’m none of your business.” Elbowing past him you fought the crowd blindly. You had to get away from him.

Reaching the back wall you slipped into a side hallway marked private. The music dimmed to a muted thump and you let out a ragged breath. As your adrenaline started to dip you started shaking. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to calm down.

“Y/N.” You cursed as you sensed him approach but refused to turn. Seeing him, seeing how little he’d changed and knowing how readily you still reacted to him was too much.

“Leave me alone.”

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be with him.” He’d stopped behind you, his breath ruffling your hair as he spoke.

You couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “You’re just saying that because you can’t stand to see me with someone else.” The beat of silence that followed had a chill creeping over your skin. Don’t look at him, don’t do it. Your fingers tightened into fists as you fought against yourself. God you wanted to turn around. You wanted to run your fingers through his soft curls, you wanted to breathe in the indescribable scent that was Tom as he held you and...

Hands skimming over your waist he closed the gap. His chest against your back you shivered at the warmth he radiated. You held back a soft moan as his lips ghosted over your throat.

“He’s not right for you,” he breathed. Your mind conjured an image of Adam and the realisation of what you were doing doused you like ice water. You spun out of Tom’s grip, palm pressed against the wall to steady yourself.

“You walked away from me, remember?” Your voice shook with effort as you tried to fight back tears. Tom grimaced, eyes lowering. Your heart ached at his expression but anger chased it off. “You don’t get to act the martyr, Tom, and you certainly don’t get to have a say in my love life.”

Gaze flashing up to you his shoulders set, jaw working for a long second before he spoke.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” you snapped.  

“Do you love him?” Taken aback your mouth fell open. When you didn’t answer he took a step forward. He searched your face, gaze dipping to your lips hungrily. Your stomach dipped traitorously as heat pooled through you.

“Tom,” you warned, voice barely a whisper. He was too far gone to listen.

Hands cupping your face his lips brushed against yours, feather light and testing your reaction. Your body lit up at his touch. Nerve endings that had been dormant firing to life. Despite everything your body craved his touch, needed him on a deeper level than you understood.

Fingers drifting to caressed your neck, he pushed you back against the wall. You gasped at the cold, arching against Tom’s chest to escape it and he mistook your movements as encouragement. Gripping your hip to pull you even closer he deepened the kiss. You could feel his excitement as he pressed against you and it broke your last reserve of control.

Lips parting you relinquished to him. Tongue flicking out to claim your mouth the familiar taste of sweet whisky brushed over your taste buds. His fingers drifted from your neck. Following the low V of your dress he traced the channel between your breasts before slipping them under the fabric. He let out a low groan as he realised you weren’t wearing a bra. Teeth nipping at your bottom lip his fingers massaged you, thumb circling your nipple drawing out whimpers.

Your hands wound into his hair, tugging at the curls. Lifting a leg to wrap around his waist you gasped as he rutted his hips against you. The soft fabric covering his erection brushed against you teasingly. Hiking your other leg around his waist he held you firmly against the wall, fingers digging into your ass. He dipped his head to kiss your neck, biting and suckling at the sensitive spot above your collar bone until you could barely think. Your underwear was ruined.

Slipping a hand between your bodies you traced the outline of his bulge slowly, intent on dragging it out like you’d imagined on long nights without him. When he bucked against your hand with a needy moan you knew you’d never be able to keep it up.

“Y/N?” The distant voice broke you from your trance. You tried to break away from Tom but he held you tight.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll let you go back to him.” The ragged edge to his voice had you shivering.

“Tom,” you pleaded, heart breaking all over again as he watched you with tormented eyes.

“I made a mistake. I should never have let you go.” His lips ghosted over yours. “Tell me you’ll take me back,” he begged.

The sound of Adam calling for you started to grow louder but here in Tom’s arms the guilt and regret you should be feeling was kept at bay. All you wanted was him. Even if it was only temporary, even if it was only for tonight.

“I want you, Tom.” He relaxed, relief flooding his expression before he caught you in another heady kiss.

“Let’s get out of here.” The grin you’d missed so much lit his face as he gently put you down and guided you towards the emergency exit.

[whitherliliesbloom]

all like magic to my riddled heart

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #29 - debonair ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,415 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

very very indulgent domestic fic. mentions the scions and laurelis.

debonair- attractive, confident, and carefully dressed (especially men)

on the occasion that alphinaud feels confident enough to perfectly exude his charm, illya never fails to be swept off her feet.

A waft of lavender and a tone of warm spring flowers, a dimly lit entrance way with flickering flames from wax candles welcoming her home. She hears the orchestrion in the living room playing a soothing harmony of an Ishgardian ballad from a distance, as the sounds of piano and violin mingle like a euphony in her ears. It’s not exactly the sight, sound and scent she’d expected coming home from a particularly taxing mission at Raincatcher Gully.

Her hair is soaked from the evening rain, silken white strands plastered to the sides of her face and neck. Her long white robe feels heavy and cold, soaked from the weight of the storm against her fair goosebump riddled skin, and yet her face feels oh so warm as she looks up with bewildered, shimmering violet eyes at the man in front of her, dressed in his smart boulevardier’s shirt that was tucked into a tan dress pants. 

And with the allure of his brilliantly confident smile as he kneels down and places a soft, mariner cotton towel over her head to dry her head of stray droplets of the rain, the warrior of light could not help but to feel utterly grubby and repulsive in comparison.

“Welcome home, darling.” Her husband greets her, his voice low and silky smooth like the finest white wine, and the young woman could only stammer like a fool as she sets her travel pack on the floor next to the neatly arranged shoe rack. 

“T-thank you- I’m home.” 

This isn’t the first time Alphinaud has welcomed her at the door- nor is it even the first he has attempted to surprise her with some manner. But an Alphinaud who was completely within his element, confident and exuding in unparalleled charisma was something she only occasionally bore witness to- and most of the time that energy of his was directed towards negotiation tables and mixed in with a seriousness that was completely absent from him now.

She’s seen all sides of him - as he has seen all sides of her, both the best of themselves and also the worst. She thought she knew Alphinaud inside out by now, having known him for what feels like her entire life now, because he certainly knew her better than she even knew herself. 

But as Krile had once eloquently said, giggling with mischief as she and Alisaie ganged up in an effort to embarrass him at his own wedding reception, Alphinaud is ever full of surprises.

Her first surprise out of many for the night would come when she feels his arms wrap around the back of her thighs, picking the lalafellin up against his chest effortlessly as he rises up and begins taking light, careful strides towards the bathroom on the first floor.

“W-wait! Alphy, your clothes!” Illya struggles against his grip, grimacing at the way the fabric of his shirt was beginning to darken at the moisture from her own. “You’re going to get dirty!”

“It’s alright, Liya.” He reassures, his head tilting to press his lips against the side of her head and eliciting a surprised squeak from his wife. “I can clean myself up later. It’s far more imperative now for you to get washed up.”

With lips pressed tightly into a thin line as she holds back anymore words of protest, she finally leans into Alphinaud’s embrace until she hears the door to the bathroom being opened. 

There’s violet blue candles lit in the bathroom as well, some scattered about the sides of the bathtub and some lined up in front of the mirror by the sink, along with a pair of her favorite white crescent moon slippers and her nightgown neatly folded and waiting to worn upon their white console table. Illya could only wonder in silent anticipation just how much the man has prepared.

He sets her down upon the edge of the bathtub, about to bend down to help remove the girl’s combat boots when Illya quickly shakes her legs off his grip with a frantic wave of her arm.

“I-It’s okay! I can do this myself!”

Something flickers in Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes, a feigned sadness that almost has her caving in to him.

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes! Positive!” 

Finally sighing softly in relief as she watches the man get up with a soft smile and a nod, her shoulders slump lightly when he moves to the door and turns to look back at her for a moment.

“Then, I’ll check on dinner while you get cleaned.”

Dinner? Dinner?? Alphinaud prepared dinner?

Illya was not even afforded enough time to process what she’d just heard until she hears the bathroom door lightly click close, and for several, painfully long seconds her eyes could only stare forward into space, head filled with a mixture of whirling confusion and hot air that quickly spreads to the surface of her cheeks.

What has gotten into Alphinaud? Was it an anniversary of some sorts that she forgot? It’s very unlikely, given her (usually) impressive memory, especially when it came to remembering important dates. If she could memorize entire elemental charts and a textbook about advanced aetherology that she read many years ago, then surely she’d remember significant dates that related to her most beloved.

Their eternal bond anniversary won’t come for at least another half a year, and the day of their meeting had just passed a few weeks ago, celebrated with a splendid picnic dinner under the stars in Costa del Sol, listening to the sound of the waves upon the sand and distant howls of the ocean wind as they reminisced about unforgotten pasts. 

And as far as Illya could remember Alphinaud hasn’t acted any differently the days prior to this one... if only because he seemed a lot more busy with his own work than usual so much that she rarely got to even see him - something about visitors from Old Sharlayan needing help with a new research project related to arcane invocations, something that he specialized in. 

It suddenly clicks in her head now, his insistence that he didn’t require her help and his prolonged absence from home - he must have planned and prepared to surprise her all along.

The question then remained of why.. and it was unfortunately a question she could not answer on her own.

Her head is churning with flaring curiosity, even as she’d stepped into the bath and began to wash herself free of the sticky rainwater, mud and dirt upon her skin and allows herself to relax just a little as the fragrance of the plum blossom scented soap wafts into the air. 

Illya takes her time drying her hair, soft and fluffy as a morning cloud as she stood upon her lalafellin stool to stare into the mirror. Her hands move in deliberate strokes, dabbing moisture off the silken pure white strands with the towel before running her fingers through mild tangles. 

Perhaps she felt the urge to be more attentive of her own appearance knowing Alphinaud’s own well groomed self this evening, and she takes a particularly long while combing through her hair until it finally cascades down past her shoulders and hips flawlessly like a glowing wedding veil. 

The air against the skin of her bare arms as she opens the door of the bathroom feels cool and comforting, and it doesn’t take long for her husband to hear her coming out, as he peeks around the corner of the hallway and lets out a warm smile. 

“Ah, you’re done. And looking as beautiful as ever, I see.” 

He’s going above and beyond tonight, Illya thinks to herself in mild amusement and fluster. She doesn’t resist this time when the man approaches her and picks her up from the floor. 

“Dinner is almost ready. The dumplings just need a little longer.”

Oh right- dinner- 

Not only did Alphinaud prepare dinner, but he also prepared dumplings? Illya could barely contain her expression of utter surprise as she widens her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck and fiddling with his ponytail. 

“You...you learned how to make dumplings?”

“I got a copy of your mother’s recipe for crystal shrimp and asked Tataru for assistance with learning it.” Alphinaud’s voice is laced with clear pride, as the corners of his lips curl upwards so far that it’d almost split his face in two. “I wouldn’t dare claim to be on par with a mothers’ cooking... but I’d like to think you’ll be pleased with my efforts nonetheless.”

Illya hasn’t even tasted his food yet and she’s already thoroughly impressed, and also a tad more bewildered than before now at the sheer lengths he’s gone.

Of course, she was fully aware of his previous endeavors in the culinary arts, and the scions would vouch for his efforts by bringing up testimonies of their taste buds being used as guinea pigs for his many, many cooking attempts - some more pleasant for them to stomach than others... Y’shtola in particularly even called the pastries he baked even more dire than the dreaded archon loaf, and that comparison was something a professional chef like Illya could not even begin to fathom. 

Alphinaud was a perfectionist - sometimes almost to a fault... So if he was so confident as to be making a full course dinner for her now meant that he must have gained the approval of the others.

How many days and how many nights had he labored away to practice all for her sake? To even imagine it causes Illya’s cheeks to flare up in a bright red color. 

She doesn’t even realize he’s sat them down upon the couch until she feels him move her legs to rest against his lap and he picks one of them up, causing her to involuntarily lean back onto the cushion as she rests her hands against her sides for support.

“A-alphy?? What are you-?”

“You must be exhausted from today. Why don’t I give your feet a massage?”

“M-M-Mas-Massa-????”

The fact Illya’s head hadn’t just imploded then and there on the spot was something of a miracle... though it did not stop the rush of blood pumping through her veins as her heart rapidly increases in its pace, pounding deafeningly loud within her chest. 

“Bu bu bu!! Bu xing!! Ni- Wei-” 

Her husband merely smirks, watching her fluster cause her to devolve back into her mother tongue. 

“Please, allow me to do this for you.”

With a light press of his fingers against her feet as he began kneading at the hidden knots of the muscles in her ankle and soles, Illya watched dumbfounded, relaxed yet tensed in her shoulders, unable to shake off the heat that was begin to fill her head. 

Alphinaud’s charm is dangerous - far too much so... And if he’d endeavored to completely rid her of all her composure, it’s clearly working - almost.

“Alphinaud!” The lalafellin calls his name in full, which causes the man to pause in his movements, and she feels his hands tense just slightly.

“Is something wrong, my love?” A good half of his earlier suave fades in place of genuine concern and a softened gaze in his expression, and the gentleness of his deep blue eyes allows her to finally relax.

Seizing this heaven sent opportunity, the woman leans forward, her hands raising up to cup the sides of his cheeks, and with a faked confident smirk, she whispers in a hushed tone. 

“Alisaie showed me a copy of your final thesis from the Studium.”

Instantly, color drains from the young man’s face, and the calm collected confidence he’d carried in his posture and face dissipates into an unexpected fluster of his own, as he pulls back abruptly and his voice raises in pitch.

“W-what??? But- that-” He’s stuttering, fingers loosening their hold as she finally frees her legs and lowers it over his lap. “A-ahem... but what does that have to do with anything now?? I-I mean.. if you want to tease me about it, that’s fine but-”

“It doesn’t.” With an apologetic and gentle smile, she raises her hand up to softly brush against his face. “And I was lying about that, I’m sorry.”

“Oh thank the twelve-”

Alphinaud’s shoulders droop down in relief and his head bows, a heavy exhale leaving his parted lips. Illya cannot help but to let out a soft, melodic giggle that catches the man’s attention to finally lift his head up to look at her again.

“But why did you...?”

“I feared a casanova took over the body of my husband.” Illya laughs quietly, “I was just making sure it really was you.”

“Does that sort of charm not suit me, then? You told Laurelis that you liked it when I’m confident.” 

Ah- So that’s why... 

The revelation that her husband had overheard her speaking of him to her best friend darkens the already blistering hot blush over her cheeks and ear, but not as much as the idea that the reason he’d spontaneously decided to surprise her in this manner was because of a misunderstanding over what he heard.

Well, not entirely. The confidence Alphinaud carried that she’d mentioned to Laurelis was of a different sort - of a man who worked tirelessly towards his ideals and would not give up his dreams no matter who would aim to persuade him to. Of the man that she grew so enamored to for his undying devotion towards his goals and towards serving and protecting others. For all he has endured and all that he continues to uphold even with all that he has suffered through in life.

Where others would see a naive, idle dreamer, she saw in him someone who was capable of so much - and if anybody in the world would be able to make his far reaching dreams a reality, it’d be Alphinaud. 

That was the confident Alphinaud Illya fell in love with.

Though, she admits begrudgingly, with a light sheepish shift of her leg beneath the hem of her gown and a tilt of her head to avert her eyes from his own, that this debonair side of Alphinaud was very much welcome as well.

“No, no. It suits you very well.” With an embarrassed pout, Illya lifts her left leg slightly into the air for him to hold, leaning back onto the palms of her hands once more. “I like it. Very much.”

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

The Same bed - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Word count: 2544

Warnings: Fluff, angst, description of blood and injuries, nightmares, slow burn.

A/N: Chapter 4! Off we go. Read it enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s also a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As are the latests, Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist 

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Dean didn't sleep that night, too busy cursing himself for hurting Y/N and simultaneously afraid he may have a nightmare. He had gotten up several times with the intention of going to her room and seeking forgiveness if she'd give it to him, though he wouldn't blame her if she refused. Instead, he'd pace around his room or make it as far as her door before heading to the bathroom to wash his face rather than knocking.

The next night Dean had been too exhausted to stay awake, now accustomed to getting around 8 hours he passed out some time just after 2 in the morning while everyone else slept soundly. Dean managed to get just over an hour of shut-eye before waking up to one of his worst nightmares. He jolted up with a scream though quickly cut himself off as to not wake anyone. Nevertheless, he was half a scream too late as Y/N sat up in her own bed wanting to go check on him but refused due to her own stubbornness.

Dean mumbled a 'son of bitch' before getting up and making his way to the kitchen to get started on some coffee. Dean was given about 2 hours to contemplate his idiocy towards Y/N before his brother found his way to the kitchen.

"Dean?"

"Huh? Hey, morning."

"Man, you look like trash."

"Oh, thanks you're not so bad yourself in the shorts." Sam looked to his running shorts before rolling his eyes.

"You always did give me a hard time for wanting to stay in shape."

"Hunting keeps you in shape, not some little jaunt you do every morning. Hey, speaking of, have you found any new cases seems like forever since we've killed a deserving asshat."

"I've been talking to Jody and Donna, they've got a lead on a vamp nest, said they're heading out in two days and we're more than welcome to tag along."

"So, tomorrow. What time."

"They wanted to hit it just after sundown. So, we would leave tomorrow morning if you're interested."

"Oh, I'm interested, give me some' to kill."

"Dean are you sure you're okay. You usually become self-destructive when you've got something going on, something you need to talk about."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"I'd mention that Y/N isn't sleeping in your room anymore, but I think that'd just make you mad considering that's probably what's bothering you."

"So much for not mentioning it." Dean swallowed what was left in his coffee cup before washing it and setting it in the dry rack. He made his way back to his room hoping his brother would take the hint and leave for his run, which he did. Once he heard the bunker door shut Dean went back to the kitchen to have another cup of coffee. As he sat down the sound of footsteps padding down the hall alerting him that Y/N had awoken. Dean straightened his posture as she entered the kitchen making her way to the cabinet to fish out a mug without making eye contact.

"Morning Y/N."

"Oh my god! It speaks." She filled her mug before walking out having not looked him in the eyes once. Dean rested his chin in his palm kicking himself for having hurt her. After a deep sigh, he dragged his palm over his face closing his eyes momentarily allowing them some rest from the lights of the bunker. Dean strolled his way to Y/N's room and knocked on her door. He heard her sniffle some before the door swung open, Y/N standing in front of him, eyebrows raised clearly on her last nerve.

"I just wanted to let you know we've got a case tomorrow, with Jody and Donna, we've got to leave early-ish so, you know, you might want to pack today so you're not rushing. Anyway, just keeping you in the loop." Y/N looked at her best friend whose eyes were tired, red, and glossy, staring at the ground in front of him. She missed him, but she didn't know why he was angry at her.

"Thanks." She turned away from him intent on closing her door to block the view of the broken man she so deeply cared about and wanted to help, and he spoke.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?" Dean swallowed trying to think of what he wanted to say to her but came up with nothing. There wasn't anything specific he wanted to tell her in that moment he just wanted to be with her. In the same room sitting next to her, looking at her. He wanted to spend time with his best friend whom he had been missing lately but if there was one person more stubborn than Y/N it was Dean.

"Nothing...nothing." With a sad smile and a sigh, Dean walked to his own room with the aim of avoiding her, once again, all day.

Dean listens as Y/N played her music in her room and smiled when the Grease love song came though it wasn't given a chance to finish before Y/N skipped it. He could hear his brother and Y/N talking in the library during the day occasionally finding something funny as they giggled in unison. He missed having her, missed being the one laughing with her, or even just talking with her.

Nearing the end of the day, Dean made his way out of his room for the first time that to grab a snack before trying his hand at some forty winks, wanting to be rested up before their hunt tomorrow. The energy of the room sizzled to nothing as he entered the kitchen. Sammy and Y/N were sitting next to each other looking at pictures of haircuts on the internet.

"Seriously Sam, I've been cutting my own hair my whole life. Just let me add a little shape to it. A little trim here and there I can make you look like the handsome devil you really are."

"I'm not letting you cut my hair. I don't trust you not to just cut it all off. Besides, I don't—" Both their eyes looked up to Dean as he stood in the doorway observing their interaction. Once he noticed their gaze he moved to the counter, pulling a bowl from the cupboard and reaching for the box of cereal.

"Sam and I made pasta if you're hungry for real food." Dean looked over the noodles as his tummy growled, licking his lips.

"Dean, just have some, we're not gonna finish it. It'll just end up going to waste." He hesitantly looked over his shoulder forcing a smile to Y/N who had the smallest one of her on her face. She watched him as he traded his bowl for a plate. Dean plated himself some of the homemade food before Y/N gestured at the spot in front of herself and Sam along with the parmesan on the table. Dean took a seat not wanting to be impolite more so than he'd already been.

"Anyway, I'm trying to convince Sam to let me trim his hair."

"You're not touching my hair with a ten-foot pole."

"Oh, come on Sam it grows back. You'll see, it'll look really good and you won't even want to grow it back. Won't be in your eyes anymore, won't distract you during hunts, monsters won't be able to grab at it. You know I make a good case."

"Sure. But you're still not cutting my hair." Meanwhile, Dean was silently moaning at the flavours on his plate. Y/N watched as the eldest closed his eyes savouring the taste, before he spoke, displaying his voice to them for the first time since the early morning.

"This is kind of amazing. I don't think I've ever had spaghetti this amazing. What jar did you guys use?" Referring to the sauce that had his taste buds dancing on his tongue.

"Actually, Y/N made the sauce."

"My mum used to make these gigantic pots of spaghetti sauce and freeze it so we could have it whenever we want. I was missing it, so I made some from memory. It's not hers but I think it turned out alright. I know I missed something, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was." Dean looked up, his mouth full, to the women speaking, no longer focusing on him rather in her head desperately searching for the missing ingredient, as he swallowed.

"You made the sauce? From scratch?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I mean it's not really that hard just time consuming, you have to let it simmer for a little bit, but I think it's worth it. Once in a while at least."

"You mind if I have more?"

"Go right ahead. Sam and I both already had seconds." Dean finished what was left and helped himself to more before moving back to his spot at the table.

"Sam promised to make me the 'Winchester Surprise' one day? Said you used to make it for him." Sam looked to his brother who reminisced, thinking back to the worst meals he had prepared for his baby brother.

"It was terrible. Sam that's — to repay her for this. Seriously Y/N you won't want to eat anything we make for the rest of your life. It was god awful."

"As much as I believe you because I do, by the description, Sam gave me, oh boy, I'll still be the judge of that." Dean chuckled at her retort missing her effortless comebacks and modesty when it came to the things she was good at, though he found it frustrating when she didn't accept the compliment he'd give her. He wanted her to brag about how many Djinns she could kill in a week, or in this case how good the sauce was instead of saying it wasn't perfect, so he'd done it for her, telling his brother when she would do something 'awesome', as he'd put it, that made him feel proud to call himself her friend. The guilt he felt was sudden and overwhelming. Even after he'd gone days without speaking to her, after pushing her away so abruptly, she was still offering him dinner, the conversation, the casual smile, the eye contact. How he longed for her eye contact. She had always been able to communicate with him with her eyes. He craved her gaze, how her orbs would sparkle when she was happy or grow dark when hooded with anger. But the thing he loved the most about her eyes was the fact that when they looked into his, it was like nothing else mattered. He could see he had her attention, and he wouldn't want to look away.

"I'm—ehem— I'm heading to bed, didn't sleep well last night, gonna try to rest up before our hunt tomorrow." Dean looked to Y/N who had a saddened look on her face, clearly angry and confused as to why Dean wouldn't let her help him. When he noticed the look on her face, he realized his words and quickly made up an excuse for why he couldn't sleep hoping to ease Y/Ns mind indirectly.

"Maybe it was a full moon, could never sleep well during a full moon."

"Full moon was last week Dean." Y/N answered him with an unreadable expression along with it. He didn't respond in an effort to save what dignity he had left. He forced a smile in Y/Ns direction as he passed by, once he'd finished cleaning his dishes.

"You mind telling me what's going on between the two of you Y/N?"

"Honestly Sam I haven't got the slightest."

"I know you two were sharing a bed... was that like—"

"If you're suggesting that we were a thing then no. He slept better when there was someone in the room with him, so I was that someone. Then out of the blue, he got distant and said he didn't need me anymore so." She shrugged not sure how to further explain their recent exchanges. "I know he's not through with the nightmares though because I heard his screams last night. I didn't check on him 'cause I was angry at him saying they were done, and he didn't need me anymore, but it was petty. I wanted him to stew in his nightmare, remember how bad they were before I told him I'd stay. I just don't understand him, I didn't do anything to warrant his actions. I haven't bothered asking why he's mad at me and even if I did, he'd just ignore me some more so what's the point. He's being a child. He's acting like I killed his brother when really all I'm trying to do is cut his hair." Her joke succeeded in lightening the mood as Sam chuckled moving to the sink to clean off his plate.

"You're a good influence on him, you know?"

"Why's that."

"Well for starters, he washed his plate."

"Oh yeah, I yelled at him this one time for leaving a mess, which I'm pretty sure was actually mine from the night before, but he hasn't left dirty dishes since so I guess it all worked out." Sam outright laughed at that before excusing himself to prepare for bedtime.

By the time 8 o'clock rolled around the bunker was silent, everyone in their respective bedrooms reading or watching a little telly before getting some rest. Due to the lack of sleep the nights prior and the upcoming hunt, Dean closed his eyes tight willing the nightmares away as he gripped his sheets. It didn't take him long to doze off though and it didn't last long before he was startled awake by Y/Ns voice. "Dean! Wake up!" She looked terrified, holding Dean down by his shoulders. "You idiot. Get up."

"Y/N? Why? What's—" She dragged him out of bed to the bathroom.

"Look at your hand Dean." She could hear the anger in her voice frustrated with him for refusing her help. The help they both knew would work. Dean looked down at the palm she hadn't grasped as she marched him down the hall like a child in trouble. It was bleeding, trailing down his fingers, shards of dark glass still imbedded in the tender skin of his palm.

"How did—" It came out as a whisper, laced with sleep as he did his best to orientate himself. Y/N turned on the light in the bathroom before forcibly sitting him on the lid of the toilet.

"You must have grabbed the beer bottle on your nightstand in your sleep." Y/N had pulled out the first aid kit they had stored under the sink along with a pair of tweezers, kneeling in front of the older Winchester.

"Y/N you don't have to—"

"I swear Dean if you tell me you don't need my help one more time I swear," she looked up from his palm to glare at him, "I’m going to tie you down until you get past... what ever this is." She didn't break eye contact with him until he nodded, shamefully looking down at the injury he only now started to feel.

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Chapter 5 ~~ Out now!

Tag List: @akshi8278​ @bargedog @just-someone-difficult​ @mila-dans​ @valhallavxlkyrie​

Series Tags: @autobotgirl15-blog​ @classyunknownlover​ @laycblack​ @lovememisha​ @music-is-all-i-need​ @redbarn1995​ @wellfuckmyexistence​

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Just a 1am thought for you. You sneak onto Captain Blowhole’s ship bc the dicks just that good. When he catches you, he has to punish you of course. And find a way for you to work off your room and board in the captain’s chambers.

BITCH HERE IS YOUR WORST/BEST NIGHTMARE COME TRUE. THIS IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER PART TO IT. I ACTUALLY AM TOTALLY INTO THIS SHIT NOW. IM A PART OF THE PROBLEM. 

@safarigirlsp LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! 

The swells swarmed the Atlantic in a storm like no other. Forty feet or more surrounding both sides of the Jolly Roger, crewmen frantically battening down the hatches, while Captain Flip manned the wheel as it spun furiously in the mood of the thunder and lightning. 

“Hold the sheet!” his crewman barked at the others spinning the mainmast as not to have it be struck down by the bolts that Zeus had rained down on them. 

“Watch the starboard side!” another shouted into the void of sopping men, struggling to keep the course for their next destination. 

“Captain, we need to find a shoreline or…. We’ll never make it!” his trusty first mate, Ron screamed his direction as his bulging muscles turned the captain’s wheel to the direction he pleased. Noticing his hat had flown from the gusts of wind, Ron picked it up and handed it back to him once the course was turned back to his liking. 

“Prepare for the worst, mate,” Flip solemnly nodded out of breath from keeping the course. He knew it was nearly impossible that he and his crew would make it out of the cursed triangle alive. He swore to himself when setting sail not even days prior that nothing ill would befall them. Karma certainly had its way of biting him back just as bad, if not, worse. 

Ron nodded back to him, returning to his post to keep the ship on course for as long as the storm would let the loyal crew set sail. Flip gazed out at the catastrophe before him, nearly tearing up at the fact that he may never get what he was fighting so hard for. He watched in slow motion as his crew battled the unforgiving waves, crackling lightning illuminating their horrified faces, the thunder drowning out their screams for help. 

Just then, a humongous bolt cracked down from the heavens into the front of the sip, sending a voltage of electricity through the wood of the vessel, causing a complete catastrophe. Crewmen flew into the abyss, shards of wood lost at sea. The last memory Flip had was his listless body sinking into the oblivion.

__________

His hearing returning to the real world echoed a mysterious melodious tune. A humming both angelic and alien in nature, his eyes fluttered as he took in his surroundings. Running his hands through the warm sun-kissed sand, his naked back on the heavenly shores of paradise. 

Putting his hand up to block the sun, of course to no avail due to the looming figure blocking the light. Thinking the shadow was a figment of his imagination, he moved to rub his eyes, groaning and flexing his tired biceps in the process. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, feeling like he had been hit by the largest monsoon this side of the Seven Seas. 

“Where the fuck…” he stammered off taking in the environment around him, the crashing shores, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the beating sunlight of late morning, and that figure becoming more clear in his line of sight. 

The flowing locks in the breeze, the sunkissed skin of a goddess, the perfect form laying against the coarse sand, surrounded by sounds of seagulls and crashing swells. He blinked a few times to take in the fact that you were perched in the spot he’d seen previous, and sat forward, his muscles bulging, slightly burned himself from laying passed out in the morning light. 

“Hh-hello?” he questioned your direction, bringing his large hands around his thankfully clothed legs. You glanced over his direction, your naked form sprawled out facing away from him, only to show your globed asscheeks in the sunlight. Your alluring eyes batting those perfect lashes, your lip pursing into a gorgeous pout. 

“Well good morning to you there, sailor,” you sang his direction, rubbing your delicate hands over your side. 

“W-what happened to me? How in the fuck did I get here?” he suddenly and blatantly questioned you, still turned towards the ebbing waves of the Atlantic. 

You chuckled, playing with the shell you’d found while waiting for him to wake up, “Well, I saved you.” 

His eyes perked up at the out of this world comment you’d shrugged off, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, sailor,” you smiled over your shoulder, still rolling the shell in your hands, “I. Saved. Your. Ass.” 

Flip sat there completely dumbfounded. This gorgeous creature, dove into the abyss during a storm, of which he’d never seen previously, and rescued him from imminent death, dragged his burly over two hundred pound body, and brought him to an unknown shore, where you could have left him to rot in the sun and die. He wasn’t convinced given the fact that he hadn’t seen you on the seas the night before.

“No. No, you didn’t,” he shrugged and laughed as if he’d finally snapped. 

Taking his sarcasm as a complete insult to your kindness, you whipped your ethereal figure around, bearing your bouncing nude breasts and plump pussy to his eyes. 

“Yes. I. Did,” you asserted in the most melodic tone, floating towards his hulking body on the sand. “What?” you pouted, “Does my lil’ buccaneer not want to grasp the fact that lil’ ol’ me came from the depths across your lifeless frame, and scooped you out of near-death to save your worthless lil’ life?”

“Wait…” he stopped, standing to full attention, rippling pectorals, toned arm muscles, and a stern face staring into your soul, “you came… from the depths?” he cocked an eyebrow. 

You saddled towards his six-foot three-figure, no doubt him staring at your bare chest as you near him, and tilted his chin to your eye level, “Yes, sailor boy, I saved you. Do I need to spell it out any more than I already have?” boring your eyes into his, no doubt taking in the intense amber fired color they emitted as they scanned your every crevice. 

“N-no. No ma’am,” he gulped inward, simply agreeing under your entrancement.

“Thank you,” he whispered out, his trance only causing more tension between the both of you. 

“You’re welcome,” you murmured inching closer to his pink, full lips, taking in the rum-soaked breath he emitted. 

His eyes closed, and he moved in for the kill. Your lips suctioning onto each other, holding them there for fear of one rejecting the other. His calloused hands moving in synchrony against your warm body, feeling every single dimple, and curve you had. The left resting on one globe behind you, and the other snaking into your beach kissed locks, pulling ever so slightly. Your hands shot to his girthy chest, rubbing and caressing his peaked nipples beneath your dainty fingers. He gasped as you pinched the sensitive skin, pulling away looking half-lidded at your glorious features. 

“Who the hell are you?” he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, massaging the back of your head, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Pulling yourself close against his swollen lips, you whispered on his breath, “Your dream come true.”

He smiled ever so slightly, letting out the smallest of chuckles, and shoved you back into his waiting lips, this time in a searing kiss that had his hands traveling down to lift you off the ground by your thighs. He shoved his tongue down your waiting throat, creating a symphony of moans and suction as he turned you around to lay your needy body on the sand. 

He loomed over you, pressing his very noticeable bulge against your pelvis. Grinding on you, eliciting more groans from his chest. He broke the kiss only to trace his wet lips along the outline of your neck, trailing to your budding breasts. He took one in his mouth, sucking ever so gently, and massaged the other with his mammoth hand. The sounds escaping you, only spurring his motions on even more so. He did the same with the other until you were writhing in pleasure and the buds turned to stiffened peaks. 

“God, sailor, I need you,” you pleaded, nearly out of breath, “Please.”

He looked up from the trail of his kisses on your stomach and settled his smiling face over your entrance. 

“Oh, now you wanna play nice with me? You haven’t even told me your name gorgeous,” he teased licking a stripe along your moist slit. 

“Uhhhh, fuck sailor, I could say the same to you,” you sang in euphoric pleasure. 

“Ladies first,” his hot breath sending vibrations along your clit. 

“Y/N,” you stammered unable to fully speak. 

He started to suck a welt on one of your thighs, and after breaking the suction looked up and moved his face to other, never breaking eye contact with your stare, “absolutely mesmerizing, Y/N,” bearing back down on the flesh, sucking for all it was worth. 

Just as he was satisfied with the bruising, he whispered back to you, “name’s Captain Flip Zimmerman,” and dove nose-first into your waiting hole, eliciting a scream from your lips. 

He traced circles around your pulsing vagina, humming at the thought of how turned on he was making you. His nose grazing your stiffening clit, every time his tongue entered your pussy. You twitched at every pulse his face was giving you. 

“Good, God Captain,” you cried out, “I-I’m gonna c-c-cum!” 

He moved his perfect lips to your aching bud, enveloped them in a French kiss, and sent you into the wildest orgasm you’d ever encountered. Crying his name out over and over again as he sucked relentlessly on your arousal. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he cooed as you moaned in complete euphoria, “sing to me my sweet siren.” 

He slurped up your sweet release into his desperate mouth smiling in pleasure as his beard tickled your overstimulated pussy.  You came down from the high, as his face connected back to yours. Your hands brushing through his ebony locks, tasting your spend on his saliva. 

“Captain,” you gasped in between his kisses, “I need your cock.” 

He looked up with eyes black as his hair and began to pull his pantaloons down, releasing his Kraken of a cock to your hungry eyes. 

“You like what you see, siren?” he noticed your gaping mouth at his large member. 

“My God, sailor, your so fucking big,” pulling your hand over your precious lips, “do you think it will fit in my tight lil’ pussy?” 

“It will,” he moved to gather the wetness from his tip as well as the spend from your weeping entrance, and moved the mixture up and down his shaft. 

“You’re gonna take your Captain’s cock whether you like it or not,” he beamed back up at you, pushing his sword into your hole in a punishing motion. The stretch causing you to cry out over the crashing waves on the beach. He stilled, watching you writhe in pleasure and pain, drinking in your perfect little moans as best he could.

“Captain, please move, my pussy is so tight, I need you to stretch me out,” you begged, tears rolling down your face. 

“You’ll be patient and keep me warm, siren, I like watching you bend to my every will.” 

He stilled for a few moments, watching the tears roll, your lips gape open, and your sweet cunt flutter around his large dick. He could cum right there, he thought, watching the shadows dance on your pretty face. After a few moments of admiration, he pulled ever so slightly out and pushed back in.  

Setting a grueling pace, he emitted the deepest groan his chest could muster upon hearing the slapping of his balls on your ass, the squelch from your wet pussy taking every inch of him. He watched your face twist and turn as he pushed in and out, his pupils only dilating more as he took you in. 

“Siren, get on your hands and knees, face in the sand, ass up,” He pulled out, watching your tears fall at the loss of contact. You did as you were told, bearing your sand clad ass to his feining stare. He smacked it and a gust of sand fell to the earth, the roughness causing an instant handprint to show on your bare skin. 

“Motherfucker!” you steamed into the beach. 

“Watch your mouth, siren,” he smacked another hand on the other cheek, “no one like’s a dirty lil’ whore mouth.” 

He shoved his dick back into your gaping hole, setting an even faster pace than previously. The moans you both emitted spurring the release even sooner than you’d thought. His hands white-knuckled the sides of your hips, pushing your body impossibly closer. His balls slapping your skin, emitting howls as he plundered your special spot. 

“Fuck, Flip,” you groaned, “I-I can’t hold on much longer, I’m gonna cum again!”

“I’m. Almost. There. Gorgeous,” he punctuated on every thrust, bringing his hand to rub his thumb along your puckered asshole. Without warning, he punctured the perfect little hole, sending you into another earth-shattering orgasm. 

“Jesus. Fucking, Christ,” he screamed as you milked his cock of his sweet, succulent, spend, “Captain is blowing his whole load!” 

He stuffed you full of his cum, thrusting a few more times just to be sure it stayed up in your heat. Both breathless, he leaned over you, sweat dripping from his brow, hands gripping around your stomach. He pulled out, turning you over, admiring your utterly fucked face. 

“You alright, gorgeous?” he laughed towards you. 

“Y-yes, sailor,” you relented, “I’m more than just alright.” 

You pulled his face towards yours, tasting his salty sweat in his mustache. He grabbed both cheeks and shoved his tongue back down your throat, causing you to melt into his brawny body. 

He pulled away, “where did you actually come from?”

You smiled, looking away bashfully, “you really don’t understand do you,” pulling away and getting up from the spot you’d both wrecked each other in. You walked towards the waves, letting the cool water caress your feet the further you stepped in. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he questioned almost alarmed. 

You looked back towards him, the smile eroding from your face, “home,” you said clear as day. 

And with that, a waterball formed around your goddesslike figure, consuming you in a snowglobe of sorts. A bright light emitted from your middle and expanded all the way around the cocoon. Your form changed from legs to a gorgeous aquamarine fin, your skin melding to the attachment, and the globe took you further out to the ocean. 

Flip stood there, dumbfounded again. He blinked a few more times, not even realizing what he had just seen. 

“Did I…” he told himself, “W-what the fuck.” 

He sat back down on the beach, contemplating what had just occurred, trying to justify the possibility that this was just his imagination. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he concluded. 

He scoured the island in search of more answers, only to come upon another impossible find. 

His ship. 

Parked on the beach, like it hadn’t been through any kind of storm in the slightest. 

He noticed his crew as well, packing goods away like he hadn’t witnessed them sinking to Davey Jones’ Locker the night before. He blinked several times, thinking it was all a mirage, or that he may have been drunk to no avail. 

Ron noticed his Captain gawking at the ship, and flagged him over, “Hey there Cap! Where ya been?” 

“I-uh,” he had no words for what had happened. 

“Hey Cap? Let’s get you back in the boat,” Ron pat his back, leading him to his quarters on the hull.  

After making sure Flip was okay to be left alone, he went back to his duties. 

The Captain sat at his wooden desk, feet perched on the top, his hands running through his mustache, trying to piece together what had just occurred. 

The storm, the destruction, you, his ship turning up unscathed. 

You. Holy shit. You. 

A fucking mermaid. You were a creature of the ocean, who had happened upon him during his hour of need, scooped him up and saved his entire livelihood in the process. You were enchanting. A literal siren song. He played through the moans you made, the sarcasm you shot at him, your whole aura was absolutely mesmerizing. He’d never encountered anything as perfect as you. 

He wanted to find you again. To feel your soft skin on his beard, look into those piercing eyes, and hear his name on your lips. He had to find you. If it meant he didn’t have any other purpose than that on the ocean. 

As he made his mind up, he took all the texts he had on your kind to study the lore, hoping to find the answer he so desperately needed. Upon hours and hours of inspection, he stopped at the Holy Grail. Picking up the map slowly, he chuckled like he’d lost his mind. 

The City of Atlantis. 

That had to be home. You had to be there. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, now knowing what he had to do. 

He set the course, watching his crew scramble to get the ship headed the correct way, smelling the salted sea air on his nostrils. He tipped his buccaneer hat and looked into his spyglass. 

“Here we fuckin’ go boys,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, anxious to see you in the flesh again.

__________

CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE IS OUT TO FIND HIS LADY LOVE!

THANK YOU FOR YOUR THIRSTY ASKS PLZ SEND MORE I LOVE YOUR SICK MIND. 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: Big finale time! Part one of a two-part ending!

They’d taken the Der Sonne. Rapunzel scowled at the warship, the thing looming over the horizon. It made her sick to think of her father’s flagship, the crowning jewel of the Coronian navy, stolen and used by their enemies. She couldn’t keep the scowl off her face as she sailed the Oracle closer to the massive stern side of the ship; their little boat was dwarfed by the Der Sonne in a way that was almost comical.

The early hour ended up being their biggest advantage. Eugene had doused all the lights on board the second they’d taken sail, the Oracle becoming a smudge of ink against navy sky. It would be difficult to see them coming from the deck of the massive warship, made even worse by the storm beginning to brew above.

Rapunzel shuddered in the harsh wind, her short hair flying in the cold breeze. Eugene stood to her left, his face set in a grim mask as they got closer. Ruddiger was curled around his shoulders, the raccoon looking glum; without his human, the animal had quickly lost his spark.

The Der Sonne looked like a looming beast, ready to devour them if they got too close; Rapunzel scowled and turned the wheel gently, bringing them as close to the warship as they dared. The waves were rough. If they moored too close the Oracle would get slammed against the Der Sonne and surely torn to shreds.

“He’ll probably be in the brig,” Eugene murmured. “I can’t see them keeping him anywhere else, not if they want him to actually stay there.”

Rapunzel sighed, remembering Corona’s inability to keep Varian in a cell in their own dungeons, or the boy’s stories of escape attempts from Barviel Keep. As much as she didn’t like to think about it, Varian had proven hard to keep a hold of, no matter who was the one trying to keep him in.

“He’s got a knack for it,” she admitted. “But we’ll be there if he needs backup.”

Eugene looked troubled, looking up at the massive ship. They were in her shadow, covered by darkness. It made Rapunzel nervous, to be so out in the open with enemies so close. If she strained, she could hear Merrick and his men hooting and hollering on the deck high above.

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for an honest answer or pleasant placations; she wasn’t sure which would be better. Eugene didn’t seem to be in the mood to lie.

“When we find him,” he said, “We’ll have to be ready for the worst.”

“What do you mean?” Rapunzel asked. She felt a tendril of dread curl around her heart. What did he mean? That wasn’t what she needed to hear right now--

“I mean, we don’t know what state he’ll be in,” Eugene admitted. “Merrick needs him alive, sure, but we’ve seen what the guy can do. Just… be ready. It might not be pretty.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Rapunzel said firmly. “He just needs m— us. Needs us. We need to get him out of here.”

Eugene seemed to have caught her slip, his face souring slightly. “What he needs, is for us to trust him.”

“I do!”

“Do you?”

Rapunzel paused. Did she?

“Of course I do.” The fib tasted bitter. “I just want what’s best for him.”

“And if that’s what’s not what you think it is?”

Rapunzel blinked, confused. “Where is this coming from? Of course I know—”

“He still wants to leave, after this.” It felt like a punch to the gut, but Eugene didn’t seem to care. “And I think we should let him.”

“What? We can’t… he’ll get hurt, out there!”

“But it’s what he wants.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants.” Rapunzel’s grip on the steering wheel got tighter. “He’s emotional, right now, and he needs to be somewhere we can keep him safe.”

“Isn’t that what Gothel always told you?” Eugene’s face wasn’t angry, but for how much his words cut Rapunzel, he might as well have been. How could he say that? It was different; she wasn’t sure how, but it was. Eugene seemed to have seen something play across her face. He started to backtrack.

“Sunshine, you need to—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Eugene blinked, taken aback. The guilty feeling nagging at Rapunzel’s thoughts only got worse when she saw his reaction, but she couldn’t help it. She needed Varian to be somewhere safe, somewhere she could keep an eye on him. It was rude of her to shut down Eugene like that, and she knew it, but she couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with the mounting danger.

“Rapunzel.” She turned to look at Eugene, who wouldn’t meet her eye. “Do you want him safe for him, or do you want him safe for you?”

The princess reeled, shaking her head. She opened her mouth to argue more, only for her husband to cut her off with a gentle movement.

“You need to trust him,” the man said. “Or at least give him more credit. Varian’s a smart kid, and he’s stronger than you think. We have to let him spread his wings eventually.”

With that, hopped down from the steering platform of the Oracle, not giving her time to reply. Rapunzel stewed as Eugene crept close to the gap between the ships, poking at a closed window on the side of the Der Sonne. He was talking nonsense; Eugene must have been chatting with Varian and swayed onto the teenager’s side. Varian could be very convincing, when he wanted to be, and obviously Eugene had been tricked into following the boy’s terrible idea. She sighed, pinching at her nose.

Eugene didn’t seem to pick up on his wife’s mood, working at the lock. Within seconds he had the porthole open, the small circle big enough for them to shimmy through. Eugene gently plucked Ruddiger from his shoulders, putting the critter down on a nearby crate.

“Best you stay here, bud,” he told the sleepy animal. “This is one adventure you might want to sit out.”

Ruddiger didn’t seem to want to argue, instead opting to roll over and curling up in a miserable ball of fur. Eugene frowned, giving the raccoon one more scratch behind the ears.

Rapunzel hopped down as well, not meeting her husband’s eye. Something in her felt defensive; she was right to want her brother safe, she didn’t understand why Eugene was suddenly against her on this. Varian was a given, he’d never been one to be ordered around, but she’d expected her husband to side with her. He wanted to protect Varian just as much as she did, she knew it, so why—

“We should get in there,” Eugene said, jabbing a thumb at the open window. “We don’t have much time before the sun comes up; they’ll see the Oracle.”

“Right.” Rapunzel smoothed out the folds of her dress. Priorities. “Right, of course.”

She braced herself on the porthole, stepping up and carefully maneuvering herself aboard the Der Sonne. The princess took a deep breath. They had to find Varian. She turned, helping Eugene through with a steady hand. Rapunzel tucked away the feelings of guilt, the creeping wrongness that had begun to take over her thoughts, and elected to ignore them.

They could deal with the rest later.

>>><<<

Varian found himself pacing. He felt like a caged animal, the iron bars of the brig taunting him. It was claustrophobic, the walls pressing in on him from all directions. He had to get out of the brig— had to track down that staff, had to get back to his friends, had to see if they were…

Well.

He had a hell of a to-do list, to say the least. Varian grit his teeth. One thing at a time. The Staff still had to be on board, there was no way that Merrick would let it out of his sight. Varian still wasn’t entirely sure what it did— but that didn’t really matter. If Merrick wanted it, was willing to go to such extremes to get it, then it stood to reason that the best thing to do would be to steal it back before the mage could do too much damage with it.

Varian couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was the idiot who’d been tricked, he was the one who’d been forced into opening the coffin with almost hilarious ease. It wasn’t entirely his fault— but he knew he was smarter than this. He’d been so caught up in the possibility of finding Aisha, of seeing her… he’d left any sense of logic behind. Eugene had seen it, so had Rapunzel. Varian hadn’t, and obviously that had gone fantastic for him.

Varian cast a wry glance over to the cell door, a bitter taste thick in his mouth at the sight of it. Step one was to get loose again; he’d blown his first shot, but Varian knew he was nothing if not a crafty little shit. He’d find a way out if he had to. Then the Staff. Then his family. Then, hopefully, a nap. He’d been awake since early yesterday morning, and it was certainly starting to wear at him. His everything was hurting by this point, from the top of his head down to his aching, bruised feet. The alchemist sighed, kicking idly at the floorboards under him.

“What to do,” he mumbled to himself. “C’mon genius, think.”

The darkness was starting to leak away, he could see through a window on the far side of the brig. He hadn’t noticed it before, it being so late that the porthole might as well have been another part of the wall— but in the early hour, he could see the beginnings of a dull grey sky. The sun would be up soon. Hopefully with more light to work with, he could figure something out.

Varian let himself pace again, the three-meter square cell not offering much else. He needed a plan. The Staff would be near wherever Merrick was; it would be tricky to grab it without getting spotted. He might have to make a detour, see if he can’t knock out one of the Bayans and steal their uniform to be able to move around the ship without drawing attention.

The boy looked down at himself, sighing. Quirin’s cloak was nearly in tatters, covered in cobwebs and dirt and dust. His formal clothes, long since rumpled and ruined in a way that would make Nigel pop a blood vessel, were almost grey instead of the blue they’d started as. Frederic and Arianna had only packed them one change of clothes each; Varian regretted swapping back to the formal wear on the Oracle the day before. He hadn’t expected to be grave robbing and getting kidnapped (again) or he would have worn something easier to run in.

Varian knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. If— when— he got out, he’d need to change. Which meant incapacitating a soldier or finding a spare uniform. He grimaced. That could be dealt with after he got out. He was thinking too far ahead.

The door at the end of the cell block started to rattle.

Varian nearly jumped out of his skin, the boy backing up and pressing his back against the wall. Gods did he wish for anything to defend himself with. A sword, a knife, hell, he’d even take a fire poker at this point. The wooden planks of the wall dug into his spine, pressing into his skin like a thousand descending hands. He shuddered, focusing as the door cracked open.

Lamplight streamed into the brig. Varian winced at the sudden change, pain spiking through his aching head; he threw a hand up to cover his eyes from the bright light. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to block it out and calm the pounding headache. Thus, the voice that rang through the brig took him by total surprise.

“Varian?”

“Rapunzel?!”

Blue eyes snapped open in shock, blinking away the spots and catching sight of a blur of purple standing at the end of the hall.

“Varian!” Rapunzel sprinted toward his cell, her hands wrapping around the iron bars in an almost manic frenzy. “Thank the Sun, are you okay?”

“Been better,” he said, truthfully. The bruise on his cheek stung something horrible, now that he was talking. Varian blinked as Eugene appeared behind the princess, lock pick already at the ready.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, “Good to see you.”

Varian huffed his way through a laugh, stepping back as Eugene cracked the door open. “I think that’s a new record,” the boy said, nodding toward the lock. “You’re getting too good at breaking out of jail cells.”

“Eh, I’m a man of many talents,” Eugene shrugged. When Varian stepped out of the cell, the man tilted his head and pointed to his cheek. “Ouch, goggles,” he said. “That’s a hell of a shiner.”

“A shin— Varian!” Rapunzel gasped as she saw what was probably a developing bruise. Varian winced when she grabbed at his face, forcing him to look to the side as she inspected the injury. It stung, her fingers poking and prodding. “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been yelling. It plucked at Varian's already frayed nerves, especially considering the situation they’d been separated in.

“I’m fine,” he said, firmly pushing at her hands until she let him go. He took a step back, nearly back into the cell in an attempt for space. “I’m fine,” he repeated when her face soured. “I’ve had worse. I pushed too far and Merrick—”

“He’s dead,” she spat, not waiting for him to even finish. The phrasing shocked Varian; he hadn’t thought she had it in her. He noticed how the grip on her frying pan was snow white. “He’s done enough damage for today. We need to get out of here, get you somewhere safe—”

Varian blinked, taken by surprise when she reached over and grabbed his wrist, starting to tug him behind her.

“Wait—” he started to say, only to lose his voice with a harder pull. “Wa—”

“Uh, sunshine,” Eugene’s voice was nearly lost behind them. “I think Varian’s trying to say something.”

“We’ll get back to the ship,” Rapunzel muttered, probably not even noticing she was speaking out loud. “We’ll sail back home if we have to, back to where it’s safe, we just have to get to the boat.”

“Rapunzel!” Varian snapped, yanking his hand from her grip. She whirled around, stunned. Her green eyes were blown wide, her mouth slightly open. Varian huffed, nervously smoothing out non-existent creases in his cloak. “I can’t go yet,” he admitted. He almost backed off when her face darkened. Almost.

“The Staff,” is all he said in explanation. “We can’t leave it here, not with Merrick. Whatever he wants it for, it can’t be good.”

Rapunzel looked like she was going to be sick. “Okay,” she nodded, a surprise. “But you go back to the Oracle, Eugene and I will get it.” There it was.

“Splitting up isn’t exactly a good idea,” Eugene cut in, bless his heart. “If all three of us are looking, we can find it faster.”

Rapunzel’s face seemed to twitch, but it was obvious she knew she wasn’t winning this. Her face flittered through multiple expressions—anger, sadness, frustration, until finally, resignation—but when neither Varian nor Eugene backed down she bit the inside of her cheek. She nodded, rough and jerky.

“We’ll be quick,” Varian tried to placate her, “Just a little detour.”

She sucked in a long breath through her nose. Varian winced, instinctively rubbing at his wrists. Gods his arm smarted, too, the stitches Eugene had made only days before had definitely torn a bit. Something in him demanded he keep his distance, trying for space even if she refused to give it. He wanted to wilt, to shrink away, and it took a very conscious effort to keep himself from fully retreating. Rapunzel shook her head at long last, letting the breath out as a long sigh.

“Just promise me you’ll stay close,” she finally sighed. Rapunzel turned to Eugene, overlooking Varian. “Where do we start?”

Eugene blinked, obviously befuddled. It was obvious that he had no idea, though it wasn’t like any of them really did.

“It’s got to be around here somewhere,” Varian said, his hands idly twisting together as he thought. “Wherever Merrick is, that’s where it would be.”

“We heard him,” Eugene cut in, “Outside. I think he was on the deck. I’m not sure if he’s still out there, not with the storm.”

“It’s still a good spot to check.” Varian nodded, gently worming past his sister and starting for the door. They had to be running out of time before Merrick sent someone to check on him. Varian’s cheek stung at the reminder. He heard gentle footfalls behind him. His friends, following closely. It was a balm to his anxious heart, having his family together again. Varian felt something almost like confidence at the sound. His friends were here, they could do this, together.

Hopefully.

>>><<<

The storm was getting worse.

The Der Sonne rocked back and forth in the pounding surf; if Varian didn’t have a stomach of steel from a lifetime of being his own crash test dummy, he’d certainly be sick. It was rhythmic, like a countdown. A stopwatch.

Tick, tick.

There was a thrumming energy in the ship. Eugene and Rapunzel hadn’t seemed to pick up on it, as they moved through the underbelly of the warship, but Varian could feel it. Like a fishhook in his stomach, it pulled at him impatiently, luring him toward whatever was on the other side. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d held the Novis Staff, that connection. Varian had never been one for magic… but he was willing to bet that this was something more arcane in nature.

A crack of lightning lit up from outside; the row of portholes on the side of the hall they were sneaking through cast bright circles of white light across the corridor in front of them for only a second, before it was snuffed out. Almost immediately after, a crack of thunder rattled through the air. Varian felt it deep in his chest, the gunshot rumble echoing in his ear long after the noise had ended. The Der Sonne gave another sickening lurch— rougher now.

The storm was growing more violent.

Varian paused when they reached a final staircase. They needed to get up there, the tugging in his chest was only getting stronger the closer to the deck they got— but something in him hesitated. They hadn’t seen any of the Bayans, not a one since they left the brig. It felt too easy. Much too easy for one of their adventures, at least. The last time things had gone this well, Varian had ended up with a snake growing out of his head. Nah, this was suspicious.

And he wasn’t about to get caught in another blindside.

“Is this the only way to the deck?” he asked, looking at Eugene. If anyone was going to hopefully know the layout of a navy ship, it would be the captain of the guard. Eugene blinked, thinking, before nodding his head.

“It is,” he answered, “Unless you want to climb over the side.”

Bad idea. They’d probably get tossed into the sea. Varian winced at the thought, the sound of roaring waves unmissable outside, pounding surf and shrieking winds spelling certain death for anyone who was in the water.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I don’t suppose you guys managed to grab any alchemy supplies on the way in?”

Rapunzel shook her head. “We’ll just have to be sneaky,” she said, as if it were that simple.

Even Eugene winced, tapping his foot. “There can’t be too many left,” he mused. “I only counted ten on the deck when we were getting close, plus the twenty that—” he looked down, as if suddenly remembering that Varian was right in front of him. “That were in the tomb and didn’t do so well.”

Varian couldn’t help but feel a little shocked, extrapolating why Eugene had cut himself off. “So… only ten?” he asked, trying to smooth over the sudden awkward silence that had taken hold of Eugene’s tongue. The man nodded.

“Only ten. Plus metal-arm.”

Not great odds.

But they’d faced worse. Ten versus one wasn’t impossible, but it would definitely be a difficult morning to say the least. Their numbers were low—at least they had a shot.

Another crack of lightning illuminated the ship. The rolling thunder was louder still, enough that the glass inserts on the portholes began to rattle. Varian sucked in air through his teeth— they weren’t getting any younger, here, and they had to make a move. He moved up the first step, ready to just get this over with, when he was stopped by a hand that nearly dwarfed his own.

Eugene looked nervous, and rightly so. Varian tilted his head in silent question, arching a brow when the man tugged his knife and scabbard from his belt.

“Here,” he said, “Just in case.”

It was the same blade Varian had used to cut his hand to get into Geldam’s tomb. “Are you sure?” he asked, holding it gently. It was one of Edmund’s, he knew. It wasn’t something Eugene would just give away, let alone in a scenario where he might not get it back. Was he sure?

“Sure,” Eugene shrugged, like it didn’t mean anything. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Are you sure that’s—” Rapunzel started.

“Yep,” Eugene said, flatly. The princess pouted a little bit, obviously unhappy at being outvoted. Eugene didn’t seem to want to budge. At least someone was willing to let Varian take care of himself.

Varian decided to bite his tongue, opting instead to clip the knife’s cover to his own belt, letting it rest. It wouldn’t do much in a fight but having it still did wonders for soothing Varian’s frayed nerves. At least he could maybe stab someone before they all got murdered. The alchemist turned from his friends, continuing up the stairs and up to a massive door that stood at the very top.

With a deep breath he cracked it open, peering out onto the deck. He was immediately greeted with a face full of rain and seawater, forcing him to close his eyes with a splutter. Varian nearly let the door slam but caught it at the last second with frantic hands. He rubbed the water from his face, holding tight to the doorknob to keep the oak door from flying open in the harsh winds.

He took another, more cautious, look outside, grimacing at what he saw.

The Bayans had indeed congregated on the deck of the Der Sonne. Varian counted nine, though he knew number ten could be running around elsewhere. On the very end of the ship, near the bow, stood Merrick, his coat flaring out in the wind, an ink stain on grey canvas. Varian grimaced at the flash of silver in his hand.

Bingo.

“How’s it looking, goggles?” Eugene whispered, inching up behind Varian and peeking over his head. The teenager grimaced, looking back to his friends.

“Good news or bad news?” he asked them.

“Good news,” Rapunzel said, at the exact same time Eugene said, “Bad news.”

Varian snorted. “Good news is I found the Staff. Bad news is I also found Merrick.”

Both of them winced; Rapunzel looked like she’d eaten a lemon. Varian looked back to their enemy, watching as Merrick fiddled with the Staff. The mage seemed confused, a fact that was only highlighted when Merrick began to gently smack the Staff off the railing of the ship. Varian could hear the angry ting of silver on copper from their vantage point and winced.

“I don’t think he knows how to use it,” the boy mused. They might have a chance, after all.

“That’s good,” Eugene said, nodding.

“But it’s also only a matter of time before he figures it out.” Varian said, pointedly. Eugene paused.

“That’s bad.”

The boy nodded, wincing when Merrick threw the Staff in the air, flipping it and catching it with a flourish. The Bayans clapped, laughing. Varian rolled his eyes with a scoff. Drama queens, all of them. Almost bad as everyone back home.

Eugene was still looking over his shoulder, Rapunzel behind him. “Alright, what’s the plan?” he asked.

Varian bit the inside of his cheek. “Get the staff, and go home,” he said flatly. When both adults shot him a look, he pouted. “I’m making this up as I go along!”

Eugene sighed. “If the two of you can hold off the grunts, I can make a break for our friend over there. I’ll grab the stick, we jump off the back, and swim for the Oracle. Then, we get the hell out of dodge.”

Rapunzel and Varian both nodded in tandem. “Leave it to us,” she said. Varian could see she already had her pan out and ready. He tapped his fingers on the doorknob, looking around one final time. He didn’t see much in the way of weapons, but that didn’t make them any less of a threat.

The Der Sonne gave another sickening roll. None of the Bayans seemed to notice, too caught up in their leader’s little show to care. If there was a time to strike, it was—

“Now!” he yelled, throwing the door open and making a run for it. He heard Rapunzel and Eugene moving behind him, but his focus was entirely on the crew in front. Ten total, five for him and five for Rapunzel. All of them had jumped when he yelled, which was exactly the point; if they were surprised, they’d react slower.

Rapunzel let out a fierce cry, her pan swinging in a wide arc and slamming into the stomach of one of the soldiers. They went down with a grunt, wheezing as they clung to their abused torso. They didn’t move again, curling up on the deck. Varian winced, remembering a time he’d gotten the wrong end of that pan, but quickly added to his mental tally.

Nine to go.

Varian managed to weave around grasping hands, content to play bait. He was easily faster than them, his lack of armor and smaller size making it easy to avoid them as he danced away. The boy caught sight of Eugene trying to get to Merrick, but his way was blocked by two more soldiers. His sword flashed as the man parried their attacks, a streak of silver against the dark wood of the Der Sonne.

Rapunzel had taken care of three more, while they’d been busy, meaning—

Six left. They could do this.

Varian swerved away from another solider, a woman with dark red hair, and ducked down, sliding under her grabbing hands, and popping up behind her. With a cracking cry he turned, bringing up a foot and managing to kick her in the back, right in the center of the spine. She yelped, thrown off balance and toppling forward. She fell over a set of crates that had been on deck, her yelling cut short when her head slammed against one of the corners.

“Sorry!” Varian winced, “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Five.

He was startled by another shout, this one from Rapunzel. She was fighting against a larger man, the brute holding a massive hammer. She cried out as he swung at her. Varian saw red, his feet moving before he could even think; with a screech he ran clean across the deck, jumping onto the unaware man’s back and wrapping spindly arms around his neck.

“Varian!” Rapunzel shouted. He couldn’t really hear her, however, as the large man began to swing around, lifting tree trunk sized arms back to try and grab the boy latched onto him. Varian held tight, but gods he was going to be sick from the spinning— he dug his grip in harder, trying to choke the man unsuccessfully.

“Get off you little shit!” the man screamed, trying and failing to get a hold of Varian.

They flipped around once more before Rapunzel finally managed to get an in. With a great crack she brought her pan down on the man’s skull. Varian felt the way he shook on the impact, the man dropping to the deck. The alchemist only just managed to let go, letting the man fall. The boy huffed for breath, shaking out his aching arms. That had been… unorthodox, but effective. Interesting. He looked across the deck again, taking a head count.

Four left. He nearly laughed, relieved, but suddenly was confronted with a face full of angry princess.

“Varian, what are you doing?” Rapunzel demanded, “You could have been hurt— that was reckless!”

He felt a drop of anger at her tone. “I was saving you!” he snapped, “You could say thanks, you know?!”

She threw her hands up, frustrated, but before she could inevitably start to tear into him again there was a massive cracking noise of broken air. A shock wave pulsed across the deck of the ship, sending them all falling over. Varian landed roughly on the wooden slats, instinctively covering his head. He heard Rapunzel scream, and peeked over his arms to see her flip ass over teakettle across the polished surface. Anything not nailed down, people included, were tossed around like children’s toys, some of them nearly taking the plunge into the inky depths of the ocean below.

Varian winced, looking frantically toward the bow of the Der Sonne. Merrick stood there, openly laughing as he held the Novis Staff above his head. The crystal shone a bright orange, sending out rhythmic pulses of light into the sky above. The storm, violent before, picked up in intensity, rattling the very bones in Varian’s chest. He gripped onto the slick deck, trying to keep himself still as another pulse of energy flew from the staff. The wind tousled his hair, sending it into Varian’s face and slapping him with the rain. Varian winced, peering through the storm with watery eyes to catch sight of his enemy.

Merrick looked plenty pleased with himself, waving the Staff in triumph. “Uh oh,” he shouted over the wind, a fake whine in his voice. “Guess I was able to figure it out without you, huh?!”

Varian scowled. Enough was enough— he was putting a stop to this. He pushed himself to his feet, aching arms shaking under the effort; his left hand felt slick in his glove…. Ah. The stitches on his arm had given up the ghost at last. His sleeve was stained a bright red, the fresh blood mixing with rain and seawater. Quirin’s cloak was a mess, the red staining the fabric and turning ashy blue a deep maroon.

Varian tried to steady himself, only to be thrown to the side by a particularly rough wave hitting the Der Sonne at the side. He heard the others, Bayan and Coronian alike, scream as they were tossed. He hit the deck once more, pain from the jagged cut in his arm lacing up his nerves. Varian grunted, blinking away salt and sea; he focused on Merrick, who stood tall and proud at the bow of the ship as if he didn’t even notice the rolling waves.

There was a bright flash of light, flickering for just a second. Varian screamed as his eyes slammed shut, the intensity of the glow making his eyes burn. Immediately after was a massive boom of thunder, along with a cracking sound of snapping wood, like breaking bone. He blinked away the spots, catching the last vestiges of the mast bursting into a thousand pieces.

He yelped, rolling out of the way of a massive chunk of wood that fell to the deck. The others did the same, various screams filling the air as the mast of the Der Sonne exploded into flaming, pointy shrapnel. The lightning had been quick, like a burst of bright sunlight, but the thunder had nearly popped his ears. The rolling noise of it rang in Varian’s skull and made all other sound muffled.

The ship below them began to rumble. Varian could feel it with how his spine was pressed to the deck. His teeth chattered in his mouth, rattling in his skull; the mast of the Der Sonne had crumbled, spewing flaming shrapnel across the entire deck. The alchemist could see a massive, charred hole left in its wake, punching down to the very heart of the ship. The rumbling was getting worse, coming from where the mast had once stood. If Varian listened closely, he swore he could hear…

Water.

Lots of water, rushing into the belly of the ship.

Wonderful.

Varian pushed himself up again. It seemed he’d been forgotten, in the chaos. Eugene somehow still standing, was caught up in fighting the last of the Bayan forces. Rapunzel was getting to her feet behind Varian. The Der Sonne was properly on fire now, and from the sounds of it, flooding. The ship was certainly going down.

But Varian himself had a clear shot to Merrick.

And to the Staff.

He was moving before he could think, rolling to his feet and stumbling with the creaking of the floorboards. Varian grit his teeth. He could end this, he had to end this; he may have hated his family history, but that didn’t make burying his head in the sand an option. He’d unburied all of those festering emotions at long last, the ones he’d buried and left to rot at the behest of everyone around him— but enough was enough.

He was done running.

A thin hand caught his wrist before he could make a break for it, holding him back, like a shackle. He turned, blue eyes meeting devastated green. The world around them seemed to slow, everything pausing.

“Don’t,” Rapunzel pleaded with him. Her face was tear soaked and pale. “Please, let me protect you.”

Varian’s world narrowed down to where her hand was on his skin. He stared at her, silent. Unresisting.

Stagnant.

She was looking at him like he was a priceless vase about to topple. The widening eyes, the drawn face, the dawning horror of the incoming loss of something precious; all of it pointed to her inability to let him fall. Varian felt the world begin to spin again, the rain and wind fading into the forefront in the light of his sister’s desperation.

But something in him, the trauma, the fear, the anger, something… it refused to be shoved back down. Not for her. Not for anyone. The bandage had been ripped off. The wound was open, the cancer exposed. Whether she liked it or not, he was stepping toward somewhere she might not be able to follow. He caught her eye, twisted his hand… and finally, he was free.

Her eyes widened with dismay, her grip getting stronger for just a second more before he tore himself from it. Varian heard her scream for him, his wrist slipping from her grip with the aid of his own dripping blood. Rapunzel yelled for him again, her wailing voice lost to the wind as Varian turned and sprinted toward the bow, leaving her firmly behind.

Something in him hurt, hearing the pain in her voice… but he had to do this. Had to fix his mistakes, back in the tomb, had to fix the problems his bloodline had brought to those around him. This was a step, a crucial one, to finally moving on. At least, he hoped.

Merrick was still at the bow, swinging the Staff like one would a baseball bat. The mage was cackling, looking up to the brewing storm with glee. His back was turned— good.

Varian’s feet thudded against the slick surface of the deck, nearly slipping once or twice against the rain. His boots weren’t the greatest for this, curse every fancy tailor under the sun; but he quickly ran through the gaps between Eugene and the Bayans, leaving them all behind. The boy deftly vaulted over flaming wreckage, weaving through the destruction of the Der Sonne as if it were a walk in the fields of Old Corona.

“Kid?!” He heard Eugene shout, horror obvious in the man’s voice, but Varian didn’t dare stop. Not now, not while he was so close. Merrick loomed a mere few meters away, back still turned; the mage was confident in his victory. Idiot.

Varian prided himself on being a problem solver, a smart guy, if science could fix an issue, he would figure out how. He was a man of knowledge, of academics. Typically, all his problems could be solved with wit and enough creativity.

But sometimes all you needed was to tackle someone to the ground.

With a scream Varian threw himself at Merrick’s undefended back, launching himself with brutal precision at the other teenager. Merrick’s voice went shrill with shock as Varian slammed into him, sending both of them toppling to the ground. Varian landed with a grunt, catching himself with his hands and wincing at a fiery ache that ran up his arms from his wrist at the impact.

The Staff clattered to the deck, swirling away from both teenagers. Varian was on his feet first, scrambling for the Staff with all the grace of a fish on dry land. Merrick was up a second later, managing to shove Varian back down as he passed. Varian yelped when he fell, rolling with the shove and stumbling after Merrick with a scowl.

The mage shifted; Varian could see the start of a spacial jump happening—but when Merrick tried it, he only managed a few feet before popping back into reality with a crack.

“Godsdamned rain!” Merrick snarled, stumbling from the failed teleport, and running for the Staff on foot.

Rain. Water. A fitting weakness for a fire based mage.

Merrick reached the Staff first, scooping it up with a snarl. Varian was right behind him, grabbing at it as well. They pulled at it, neither willing to give ground, yanking it back and forth like toddlers over a toy.

“Let it go!” Merrick snapped, “It’s mine!”

“You stole it!” Varian’s voice was nearly carried away by the wind. “It’s too dangerous, we have to put it back!”

Merrick’s expression darkened, pulling the Staff toward himself roughly. “It’s mine!” he repeated, “My destiny, my revenge, mine!”

“Will you cut it out with the revenge shit!” Varian pulled the Staff back, ignoring how the silver seemed to buzz under his hands. “This is stupid! It’s all stupid! Can’t you see we have bigger problems right now?”

Merrick looked ready to kill, letting go with one hand to swipe at Varian. The boy ducked out the way, catching an opening. With the same movement he thrust out one of his feet, catching Merrick right in the knee with the heel of his foot. Even above the rain he could hear the crunch of an unhappy joint, a bloodthirsty grin appearing when Merrick yowled in pain.

The hands holding the Staff fell away, Varian nearly falling on his ass without the force to pull against. He rolled, a good few feet away from his downed enemy. The alchemist forced himself to breathe, clutching the Staff tightly to his chest. He felt like a child holding a toy, gasping for air and flat on his back. He’d had the wind firmly knocked out of him— the boy was stunned, lying on the deck like a freshly caught fish.

The silver hummed in Varian’s hands, that tugging feeling in his bones finally stopping now that he had it once again. The cold was even worse now, like holding ice against bare skin. A burning cold that turned his fingers numb; Varian winced as his grip tightened on it. He managed to roll onto his knees, coughing roughly from the harsh landing. “Bullshit,” he whined, “Absolute bullshit.” Merrick, nearby, was doing much of the same, the older teenager wheezing in the rain.

Varian stumbled to his feet once again, already sick of being knocked to the deck. The Novis Staff continued to send out energy, a rhythm of pure magic that shot through the air. It was like holding something alive, conscious. Like holding a beating heart in the palm of his hand.

Varian looked for his friends, catching sight of them through the smoking wreckage of the mast. The Der Sonne was listing now, slightly, but still listing. She had truly begun to sink; they had to get off the warship and onto the Oracle if they wanted any chance of getting to safety. He was cut off from them, the fire spreading across the deck and consuming the upper levels. Varian swallowed thickly, catching sight of his friends’ terrified faces.

“Varian!” Rapunzel called. Her voice was reedy, nearly swallowed by the sounds of crackling fire and rushing water below. Eugene was by her side, the man scanning for any way to get around the flames. There wasn’t one. Varian knew this. He’d looked. He saw the exact second Eugene realized this, the man’s face dawning in abject horror.

Something in Varian clicked.

“You’ve gotta go!” Varian called, shooing them away like it would do anything. “I’ll meet you there!”

“Not happening!” Eugene was the one to shake his head. “We’ll get you— shit, kid watch out!”

Varian twisted, ducking down and narrowly missing the slice of a sword over his head. He yelped, scrambling away as Merrick loomed over him. The man looked nearly demonic, hair astray with a wild look in his eye. A river of blood was falling from a cut on his cheek, ruby against the grey sky. He didn’t speak, swinging his sword down to try and slice at Varian again.

The boy twisted away, Quirin’s cloak flaring out behind him. He caught sight of his panicking friends through the wreckage, the two of them trying to find a weak point in the fire that didn’t exist. The Der Sonne was listing more now, nearly enough for Varian to start slipping. She was going to split in two at this rate, her weakened center surely pushed to the very limit. She was going down and would take them all with her.

Unless someone forced their hand.

“Go!” He shouted at them again, turning his back on his friends. He rushed at Merrick, reeling the staff back like one would a bat, but at the last second before impact he instead let himself jump down into a slide, the listing angle of the ship and the slick wood of the deck helping him to skid under his enemy’s sweeping sword. Merrick let out an indignant noise at being swerved again, but Varian wasn’t paying attention to that, instead opting to sprint for the weakened center of the ship.

The Staff hummed in his hands, a buzzing power that he could feel from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. It wanted to detonate, like a chemical reaction in a stopped bottle. The pressure of magic was building, pushing at the edges of the corporeal world with the vigor of a caged animal. Aldred’s machine had felt the same.

He skid to a stop, a flurry of water kicking up under his boots. Rapunzel and Eugene were yelling for him, their voices loud in the background, but Varian paid them no notice. He had a plan. Not a good plan, mind you, but a plan. He held the Staff high above his head, waiting for a split second. His breath heaved, choking, cloying smoke filling his lungs.

He had a choice, here. Either his friends would wait for him to try and get across the flames, something they obviously didn’t have the time to do, or…

Varian could force their hand.

The Der Sonne was weakened already by the lightning strike, all it would take was one final push and she would crack in half like a Fabergé egg. And Varian had always been one to push things to their limits, hadn’t he?

Merrick stood across from him. The mage’s eyes widened at the sight of Varian holding the Staff high, obviously seeing what Varian intended to do. He was slowly inching forward, trying not to spook Varian into acting, but it was a lie and they both knew it. Merrick was very much a predator on the prowl, stalking someone he thought was weaker than him until he thought he could get the upper hand. It wouldn’t work.

Not this time.

“You won’t let this die?” Varian asked, something in him smug at the way Merrick’s toxic green eyes flicked between Varian and the staff, like he was holding a grenade with the pin out. The taste of Merrick’s fear was delicious, seeing how cautious his enemy was being. Good. That’ll teach him.

“You know that this goes beyond us,” Merrick tried to argue, still inching forward. Varian scoffed, raising the Staff above his head by another inch and grinning when the man in front of him flinched. “It’s bigger than us. The feud started ages ago; you think you can just stop it? After all the blood?”

“It might be,” Varian admitted. It was-- bigger than them, that is. Countless years of history, of pain and blood and suffering, all boiled down to the two last members of the families facing off on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean. How poetic, that they would both go down, together. Varian was done living in denial. When he next spoke, it was with a strength he thought he’d lost, those days in Barviel Keep. Things may have started a millennia ago…

“But it ends with me.”

He brought the staff down onto the shattered remains of the Der Sonne. The crack it made of silver against wood echoed much louder than it should have, accompanied by yet another massive pulse of energy, stronger than any before. Varian’s ears rang with it, all noise fading out into a high-pitched squeal. The deck below him gave one more violent shake, a bright light flaring out from where the base of the Staff was embedded in the wood.

It was almost too bright, pure white lines reaching out like spider’s webs from where Varian stood. The alchemist shouted, the metal in his hands so cold it felt like the very air around him would freeze—

Then, with the groaning of an ancient beast, the Der Sonne shuddered one last time.

The light faded out, leaving a perfect slice straight through the deck of the ship. Varian watched in awe as the Der Sonne began to shift, cleanly sliced in half from top to bottom. The teenager stumbled back as the two sides began to separate, grinding against each other in a scream of shattering wood and cracked glass. The listing became extreme, so much so that Varian was forced to grab onto what was left of the mast— he caught sight of a few of the Bayans falling over the railing and plummeting into the raging waters below.

Eugene and Rapunzel were clinging to the railing on the higher side of their half, Eugene holding tight while shielding Rapunzel in his arms. They looked no worse for wear, but as the stern half of the ship fully separated from the bow he could see how they were being forced into moving. Good. Exactly as planned.

He ripped the Staff from where it had stabbed into the deck, lifting it up once more and turning to where Merrick was holding tightly to a rope. The bow half of the Der Sonne was nearly at a eighty-degree angle list, their half almost perfectly on her side. The railing… well, it was below them now, already long since sunken under the rough waves.

Their flaming piece of wreckage, for the Der Sonne had long since stopped being worthy of being called a ship, was going down, quicker than the stern half. Varian winced as his fingers began to ache, a swooping feeling developing in his stomach as the floor finally fell out from under him and the wreck turned completely on its side. Water rushed over the railing, the wreckage under him bobbing in the waves like a cork.

He… may not have thought this through.

But as he caught sight of Rapunzel and Eugene being forced to leave the deck, rushing for where they’d moored the Oracle, he felt a surge of relief. Surely they had some crackpot scheme at the ready, but they were safe; he’d finally made sure his family wouldn’t go down with him. His heart was beating fast, so loud in his ears he didn’t hear what they were shouting… but as they vanished around a corner, Varian breathed easy for the first time since he’d been brought aboard.

He clung to the last of the mast, managing to get his feet under him as he awkwardly climbed on top. It was parallel to the sea, one foothold now that the deck was nothing more than a slippery slope into the ocean beyond. Merrick, nearby, had dug his metal hand into the wood, holding himself high by one arm and holding tight. Varian was forced to back up as much as he could as the mage swiped at him, trying to snatch the Novis Staff.

Varian nearly dropped the stupid thing. Ironic, considering the hell it had caused. Merrick swiped again, this time managing to maneuver himself onto the little piece of mast. It was only two meters long, offering no distance for Varian to scuttle away or hide; but as he faced his enemy, someone who had once terrified him… he didn’t feel that fear. Instead, he could only feel… regret, maybe? That things had gotten so out of hand, that he’d been drawn back to the sordid family history he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

He was so tired.

There was another burst of lighting. Both teenagers yelped as it hit near the top of the bow, an explosion of light and sound that violently tore the worlds to shreds in mere milliseconds. Varian felt himself stumble, his feet unable to get purchase—

He toppled, dropping off the mast and falling the nearly twenty feet into the water.

Varian saw a flash of ink fall past him— Merrick, also dropping from the wreckage— and heard a splash. A split second later he felt a ruthless slam on his own back, the ice-cold water below feeling more like concrete with how hard he hit it. He instinctively opened his mouth to scream, coughing as saltwater rushed in instead of air. He was choking, drowning— he couldn’t tell what way was up, he was sinking— he tried to blink away the water, fruitlessly trying to force his hands into a paddle. The salt burned, his eyes, the cuts on his hands and arm, a burn that had somehow happened in the scramble. His skin felt like it was on fire, the sting worming in and sinking deep.

The Novis Staff was still in his locked in grip, his hands tensing in primal fear and unable to let go as he sluggishly kicked and flailed. There was debris everywhere, shadows that played across his blurry vision and made everything that much more disorienting. He felt something solid smack into his back— a board? A barrel? He couldn’t even tell— and screamed again, water rushing in to fill his aching lungs.

Varian’s vision began to go spotty. He began to feel a stabbing pain in his eyes and ears, pressure from his aching lungs demanding he do something, swim—

His limbs were almost lethargic. Like he was trying to swim through molasses. His chest convulsed, trying to force a breath; he inhaled more water, the salt of it clear on his tongue. He turned the direction he hoped was up, blearily reaching his hand toward the red orange of flames above. If… if he could just get to the surface…

Another convulsion had him breathing in more water. Spots filled his vision, the panic fully settled in. He was going to die here. He’d never get home. He was going to sink to the bottom of the ocean, just like his mother had. How poetic.

He tried one last kick, weak and ineffectual. He was sinking, limp hand still reaching for the sky. The light from the flames got dimmer as he got further away, unwillingly descending into the depths. His eyes burned, from the saltwater or from tears, he’d never truly know.

He’d never fix things with his sister.

Varian’s vision began to dim, then darken. He was paralyzed, unable to twitch so much as a finger. Maybe… maybe this was the end. He’d been looking for it, after all. And it was quiet, here. Dark. Almost peaceful. There were worse places to sleep. He blinked one last time, slow. His eyelids felt so heavy… He was so tired… Varian closed his eyes for a final time, and let the ocean claim him.

Maybe now, he would have his ending.

>>><<<

The first surprise was that Varian wasn’t dead.

Or, at least, he didn’t think he was dead. Not yet anyways. He could feel solid stone under his back, cold and unyielding. It leeched the warmth from his skin, but the chill was blissful on Varian’s pounding skull. He winced, trying to ignore the bright light coming from beyond his eyelids. Had he slept in again? Why hadn’t Rapunzel woken him up…?

He cracked an eye open. The room beyond was familiar. Not one he’d seen in nearly two years, but one he knew well from his nightmares. From the lofty, arching ceilings, to the solid marble floors, it was exactly as he’d last seen it, the day he’d help burn it to the ground.

The Hall of Portraits was as immaculate as ever, every golden frame polished to perfection and shining in the dim sunlight coming in from the domed skylight. Varian opened his eyes fully, wincing as he sat up. The headache disappeared as quickly as it had started, and the ache that had followed him for the past week was long gone. He felt like he’d slept a hundred years, groggy but rejuvenated all the same.

“Maybe I am dead,” he whispered to himself. The vague impressions of the last week filtered through his head, Pincosta, Ori, Geldam’s tomb. The sinking of the Der Sonne. His family, escaping at the last second. Varian, sinking. Oh, gods maybe he was actually dead. Just his luck to wind up back here for his eternal hell.

He stood, scanning the room. It had been years, but he still remembered the Hall like it was yesterday. Like he was still in that tower, hidden away like a precious artifact. Varian shuddered, looking for one of the exits, only to find that the walls had somehow extended to cover where the exits had been.

Oh, so he was definitely dead.

Varian scowled. Quick feet took him to one of the “new” walls, the alchemist rapping on it with a knuckle. It sounded solid, as did the rest of the paneling. The oak blended seamlessly. He sucked in a small breath through his nose, trying to keep himself from freaking out; the nerves were beginning to fray, the idea of being stuck in the Hall for longer than necessary striking him with dread.

The portraits were as unappealing as always, masterfully painted but with sneering, judgmental subjects who all leered at Varian from their place on canvas. He wandered, skimming over Geldam’s painting, then Kamron and Abelia’s, coming to a stop in front of Aisha’s.

She still looked every bit a warrior queen. She still held that stupid blue bundle, the representation of Varian that Aldred had committed to paint and canvas when the man had assumed him dead. He glared at it, this little piece of Aldred’s horrible obsession with bringing his son back to the Keep. It made him sick. Varian reached out, intending on ripping the stupid thing off the wall, when a voice stopped him.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Varian grit his teeth, tensing up at the familiar voice.

“Father.” His voice was flat. Varian refused to turn around, a hand still outstretched toward Aisha’s painting.

“Oh, come now,” Aldred sounded like he was pouting. It made something angry boil in Varian’s stomach. “It’s only been a few years, right? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten our lime together, my boy. I thought we had such fun.”

“I had fun tossing you off the tower, does that count?” Varian snarled, twisting and meeting his tormentor head on. Aldred seemed nonplussed, amused, even.

“I see that you’ve still got your mother’s fire,” he cooed. “Lovely. You’ll need it.”

Varian cringed as the man stepped closer, his body moving without thought. He backed as far away from father as he could, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. Too close, he thought frantically, too close, too close—

“I will not have my son be weak,” father declared. “You are the last of our line-- and you’re going to wake up.”

“W-wake up?” Varian cursed himself for tripping over the words. His whole body was shaking, small spasms that had his knees knocking and his chest shuddering. It was almost embarrassing, if he had the space to be embarrassed between the waves of terror. “What—”

“You’re drowning,” father said flatly. “Just like my wife did. Just like I thought you had. I refuse to let one of those freaks win against us— so you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to kill it.” Father’s face sunk into a scowl, leaning closer to the terrified boy in front of him. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Certainly seem to be, from my perspective. I will admit I didn’t think you had the balls… but you proved me wrong in the end, didn’t you? I forgot something crucial.”

“Wh—”

“As much as you are Aisha’s child… you’re my son too.”

Varian was going to vomit. He cowered back, bringing his clenched fists up to his chest in an attempt to self-guard, shrinking back into the wooden paneling next to Aisha’s portrait. Father seemed to grow tired of Varian’s panic, shaking his head.

“You’ve got the fight in you, like it or not,” he ground out. “And I’m telling you to grow up, stop being a coward, and finish the job.”

“I—” Varian’s voice was choked; he could barely speak through the lump in his throat. “I won’t, it’s not—”

“Not what?” Father’s voice was dangerously low. “Not right? What wasn’t right was you letting them into the tomb and handing them our family’s prized possession.”

Tears bit at the corner of Varian’s eyes. He couldn’t break down, he couldn’t, but seeing the man in front of him, the subject of his nightmares for over two years— it was a cloying, terrifying thing. His chest hurt, from how much his breaths stuttered. The alchemist was truly worried he might faint.

“I-I’m sorry, father.” His voice was weak, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Varian hated this; he hated that he could just be reverted back to the scared little waif that had been plucked from the ashes of Barviel Keep by father’s mere presence. It was like a switch had been flipped— Varian’s mind had immediately swapped back to the tactics that had kept the man’s bad temper at bay. The apologizing, the meekness, the way father spilled out from his tongue without thought. It was all things he’d had to work to break, after being brought home; it had been months before Varian was able to speak at a normal volume again, and even then he caught himself slipping if someone were cross with him.

He couldn’t go back. Not to that, not again. But here he was, trying to disappear into the wall once more. Varian hated himself for it. Hated father for reducing him to this again. Hated the cold tile under his bare feet, hated the wood paneled walls, hated the stupid domed windows.

He hated all of it.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Father stepped back, giving Varian a little space to breathe. “You’re being a disappointment, letting those aberrations get to you like that. You are the last of our line, yet you’re still clinging to a princess’ skirts like a child.”

Varian bristled, but kept quiet. He the words were trying to push out of his chest, clawing at his tight throat and demanding to be said, but he just couldn’t, not in the face of father’s ire, not while he was angry. His self-preservation wouldn’t allow for it.

“I expected better, after what happened,” father’s face was sour. Blue eyes, mirrors of Varian’s own, flicked up and above the boy’s head, focusing on Aisha’s portrait. “I expected better,” he repeated, more wistfully.

Varian inched to the side, trying to worm out from between father and the wall. He felt constricted, claustrophobic; he felt like he was being boxed in with the walls slowly crushing inward. Father noticed the movement, leaning forward and grabbing the terrified boy’s chin, forcing eye contact between them.

“You’re going to wake up,” he ordered, “And you’re going to finish the job. Are we clear?”

Varian breathed deeply, closing his eyes. He clenched his fists, grit hit teeth.

And then, he spoke.

“I won’t.” His voice was strong, but there was no mistaking the shaking of his bottom lip. “I won’t do what you tell me, not anymore. I-I’m older now, and—”

“And what?” Father seemed amused, “Does being older suddenly make you unable to understand an order? You’re trying my patience.”

Varian almost shrank back when the grip on his chin got tighter. Almost. “It means I don’t have to listen to you,” he managed to get the words out through grit teeth. “It means you don’t have any more power over me; you’re dead.”

“And you’re dying,” Aldred shot back, “Or did we forget that little fact?”

Varian brought a hand up, wrenching father’s hand from his face and moving away. The man seemed almost shocked by the sudden outburst, eyes following as Varian stepped into the middle of the Hall. He ignored the feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes on the back of his neck. He wasn’t backing down, not again. He’d stood up to Merrick, he’d stood up to Rapunzel.

He could stand up to a ghost, too.

“I hate you,” he said bluntly, and oh did it feel good to say. Father snorted, but Varian wasn’t stopping— now that the words had been let go, it was like unstopping a cork; his voice was flowing from him without much conscious thought.

“I hate you so much. I’ve hated you for two years, and I don’t think I’ll ever be finished. Y-you hurt my sister, you hurt Meave, you hurt me; and you…” he had to pause, to push back the salty tears in his eyes. “You killed my dad. You killed him, just because you wanted to.”

“I killed him because I was bringing you home.” Aldred’s voice was condescending. “Really, my son, only a few years away and you forget everything I tried to teach you.”

“Teach me?” Varian scoffed. “Teach me what? How to be the most hated king in the Seven Kingdoms? How to traumatize children—?”

“How to be strong.” Varian shrank back at the coolness in father’s tone. “I taught you how to take what was owed to you. Would you have rather grown up as a princess’ little pet?” The man scoffed. “Obviously you wanted to, seeing as that’s what you did as soon as there was no one to push you to be better.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Even if Varian had feared that very outcome, with Rapunzel’s protectiveness, it wasn’t the same when Aldred brought it up. “You don’t ever get to talk about her like that.”

Aldred’s face was stormy. Varian didn’t back down this time, even when the man loomed above him. It was like he was fifteen again, stuck under the thumb of a man who’d caused him nothing but misery— but unlike before, Varian met Aldred eye to eye. He didn’t cower. Not this time.

“You were destined for greatness,” Aldred said. “You were meant for so much more than this.”

Varian’s hackles raised at the reminder of what was supposed to be his name. His face twisted into something ugly, something angry. “I was born into love,” he shot back, unable to resist pointing out where his mother had truly denied Aldred any sort of connection to Varian as a child. The man hadn’t even known his name, until he’d stumbled upon the boy in Corona. It was salt in the wound, to be sure.

The insult hit, as it was supposed to. The man snarled, stalking forward and making a grab for the boy. Varian backed up, putting an arm up to try and push the man away. Aldred snatched his wrist, as he had so long ago— Varian pushed down the memory, the panic, the heart pounding surge of fear that sent his nerves screaming; the touch made his skin crawl, remembering how father had shaken him for speaking out of turn, had made him cry— and pulled the boy, his mirror, closer.

“Wake up,” Aldred pressed again. He tried to shake Varian, just like all that time ago. Varian squared his shoulders in retaliation, keeping himself exactly where he was. The man in front of him, the source of two years of night terrors, went oddly flat faced.

Varian was ready for the slap before it could hit.

He shifted, backing away. Aldred’s hand hung in the air, pausing when it missed the mark. Varian felt something smug rear up in the way the man’s tells had become obvious to him— the first point to defeating an enemy was to know it.

“No,” he said, voice flat. “I’m not done yet.”

Something caught his eye, in the back corner. A section of the wall, directly behind Aldred, had gone nearly black. Almost like… soot. Varian blinked, focusing on it for just a second, seeing how it got bigger. The ghost was unwinding.

Aldred himself looked… off. Now that Varian had gotten his proverbial feet underneath him, he could see the little details were different. The man’s face, though it was always thin and pointed, looked much more skeletal than before. One blue eye was darker than the other… the one Varian had carved out, himself. The edges of his salt and pepper hair were dark— almost singed. Hm.

“Do you want to go back upstairs?” Aldred asked him. The smell of smoke started to drift through the air. Varian’s fists curled at the threat— because it was very much at threat, just one he refused to let work on him again.

“I’d like to see you try,” the alchemist challenged. He wasn’t a scared little boy anymore— he wouldn’t be intimidated, or pushed down, not by anyone else. The black stain on the wall got bigger, smoking embers starting to pop up in the very center. The wallpaper began to curl from the heat, a few of the portraits getting singed on the side. Aldred’s eye was looking red and bloodshot. Things were beginning to crumble.

Good.

“I’ll drag you back to that room, if I have to,” the man threatened, the sudden spring of anger long since expected. Varian began to move, constantly evading the grabbing hands following him and keeping an eye on the wall. The flames had stirred to life, smoke and ash climbing through the air and spreading into the room. Varian winced at the sight of blood, ruby red against pale skin, began to leak from Aldred’s eye, looking almost like tears.

Despite the flames, Varian’s hands were… cold. Like ice.

The Novis Staff, it seemed, was still in play. Varian’s mind clicked— surely it had conjured this odd dream space. None of this was real. Father’s ghost may be here, may be lashing out as blood flooded from his now hollow eye socket, but—

“You don’t have any power, here,” Varian’s declaration was loud over the noise of flames. Aldred tried to interject, to wrest control back, but the boy wouldn’t have it. “You don’t.”

The fire had spread, encompassing them. Aldred whirled around, something like fear in his eye. Varian stood still, winding up in front of his mother’s portrait. The man was crumbling, his skin turning black and singed at the edges, the blood coming in rivulets. It was something to see, how quickly his abuser fell apart without the fear, the illusion of power, to prop him up.

“You’re still my son,” Aldred tried one last ditch attempt, stumbling forward as his body turned to ash. “You’re still my legacy.”

Varian was stoic when Aldred collapsed to the debris covered tiles. The man was nearly disintegrating, his ghostly form burning up just as his actual body had, in the fire that claimed Barviel Keep. The boy couldn’t find it within himself to feel anything other than a cold resignation— to watch as his nightmare finally crumbled away.

“I’m not your anything,” Varian said firmly. “Not your son, not your heir, not yours.”

He stepped back, uncaring when Aldred’s reaching hand fell to the ground and burst into a plume of dust and fire. The crackling heat around him, what should have felt like molten fire, was nothing more than a summer’s breeze on his skin. He looked down to the remains of his torment, and, at last, began to smile.

“Not anymore.”

Aldred let out one final, gasping snarl. It was pathetic, a wheezing noise from a dying memory; Varian watched as the man finally crumbled into ash. The room around him continued to burn, paintings crumbling into nothing but flaming wreckage, timbers falling from the ceiling, and yet… he didn’t feel scared. Not of the fire, not of the corpse in front of him, not of the memory of it.

Instead, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

Varian refused to open his eyes, listening as the noise of fire began to drain away. Soon there was nothing but silence left behind, echoing after the chaos of the banishing of Aldred’s ghost. He sucked in a deep, grounding breath through his nose, keeping his eyes closed for just a moment more. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, a steady, pulsing thing.

You’re alive, you’re okay. You faced him again, and you won.

It was a mantra, as the cold spread over his skin and a brief feeling of saltwater pressing on his chest faded in and out within seconds. The chill spread from his hand, stronger now, more stable. Varian kept his eyes closed until the sensations left. Instead, he stood as still as he could. Breathing. Listening. Grounded, and staring into the darkness behind his eyelids. The noises faded, as did the chill.

The smell of apples drifted across his nose; if he were more foolish, Varian would blame his dad’s cloak, still wrapped around his shoulders. Instead, he pinched his eyes a little more closed for a beat, preparing himself.

When he opened them again, he was somewhere new.

Somewhere he recognized.

The house in Old Corona, his childhood home, had been destroyed in the final battle against Zhan Tiri. Countless waves of black rocks had pockmarked the land, leaving countless villages in ruins. It had been part of the reason Varian had accepted the engineering position— and why Quirin had followed him in the new role.

Yet here he was, standing in the kitchen like he was three years old and waiting for his dad to return from the orchard, apples in hand so they could bake together. Varian turned, gently putting a hand on the weathered, old table. It was exactly as he remembered, the stains and burns from countless alchemy experiments gone wrong littered the surface. He could see a groove on the edge where Quirin had slipped with a knife while cutting vegetables when Varian had been around eight, even a few little nicks where Ruddiger had jumped up without fully retracting his claws first. It… it was home.

Varian blinked a few times, trying to shake himself from his stupor. The house was the same, just as the Hall of Portraits had been. Like a manifestation of his memories, brought to life. Father had infested one memory… but this one…

There was the familiar sound of the front door, opening and closing softly. Varian heard footsteps, heavy ones. He nearly burst into tears at the sound of them, as familiar to him as breathing. Someone, a man, was whistling, his deep voice echoing through the front hall as the person got closer to the kitchen. Varian couldn’t hold the tears back, suddenly feeling them flood from his eyes.

When Quirin turned the corner from the hall, standing in the doorway, Varian let out a loud sob. The man looked stunned, dropping the basket of apples he’d been holding. They rolled across the wooden floor, scattering around the kitchen without anyone to stop them. Varian and Quirin stared at one another, both of them at a loss for words for a fair half minute. Varian sniffled, biting at the inside of his cheek, and finally forcing his aching chest to say something.

“Hi daddy,” he said. His voice cracked, but he pressed onward. “I missed you.”

That seemed to break Quirin from his paralyzed state. The man rushed forward, reaching out to wrap his arms around Varian in a tight hug. Varian clung back, snorting when Quirin lifted him up and off the ground. His legs dangled, swaying as the man hugged him tightly. They stood like that for a long while, both of them unwilling to be the first to let go. Varian buried his face into the fur of his dad’s vest, inhaling the smell of apples and soaking his tears into the fabric.

After what felt like only seconds, Quirin finally put his son down. Varian stumbled a bit, wiping at his eyes. Quirin stopped him, cupping Varian’s cheek and wiping away the last of the tears with a large thumb. Varian sniffled pathetically, grabbing at the man’s hand like he would vanish again; his fingers were nearly white with how hard his grip was. Quirin didn’t notice, his eyes locked onto Varian’s face. The man looked shocked, nearly paralyzed.

There was a beat of silence, save for gentle birdsong outside the window. Neither of them seemed to know what to say—Varian’s thoughts were stumbling over each other in an attempt to be the first said, but it only made his silence stretch. Quirin’s shocked face sank into a warm smile, the man moving his thumb gently across his son’s face.

“You got taller,” Quirin said quietly, staring at Varian like the boy was about to vanish from sight the second he looked away.

Varian laughed wetly, trying to keep his hitching breaths from bubbling to the surface. “Yeah,” the boy choked out, “I, uh, I guess I did.”

He noticed how Quirin’s own eyes were shiny with tears. He didn’t comment on them. Instead he sank into his dad’s touch, the callouses in his hands familiar and comforting. Varian had never thought he’d get to see his father again, not even in a cosmic sense—but here he was, as strong and tangible as he’d been the last time Varian had seen him. All the quiet aches in Varian’s heart sprung to the surface, the misery and loneliness and loss that he’d suffered in the loss of his only parent, all of it rose up in one large wave, threatening to pull him under.

“You’re here so soon,” Quirin murmured. Oh, he probably thought…

“There was a— it’s like a magic, thing.” Varian’s words stumbled over themselves. “I’m okay. Or I think I am? I’m not really sure, there was a boat, I might be drowning. I don’t really know.”

Quirin let out a huffing laugh, reaching forward to hug Varian to him again. The boy went ecstatically, borderline throwing himself into his dad’s embrace. He’d missed this, so much; he hadn’t even known how much until he’d finally gotten his dad’s hugs again.

“I’m assuming the princess had something to do with it,” Varian could feel the way Quirin sighed, the crown of Varian’s head tucked under the man’s chin. It was strange; the last time they’d been together, he hadn’t been tall enough for that. Varian snorted, shaking his head.

“No, this one’s on me,” he admitted. “The Bayan royals had a… thing for weird magical stuff.”

Quirin’s body stiffened, hugging Varian to him a little tighter. “Aldred,” he whispered. Varian flinched, fingers curling tighter in his dad’s shirt. Quirin didn’t seem to register, muttering to himself. “He was going to take you away,” the man continued, “And— I tried, son. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Varian sniffed, allowing himself to back off from the hug so he could look his dad in the eye. Quirin looked haunted, like he’d aged a hundred years. The joy of seeing him slowly settled into something more bittersweet; knowing that their time had been cut so brutally short.

“You did your best,” Varian said. “He— he was a monster.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Varian couldn’t find it within himself to lie. “Yeah.”

Quirin’s face crumpled, the man closing his eyes and looking away. “I’m sorry, son,” he said again. Varian’s chest hurt, seeing his dad so devastated. “I should have been stronger.”

“It’s… in the past,” Varian said. It felt like more of a sweeping statement, after everything that had happened the last few weeks. Aldred, Barviel, all of it. In the light of newfound strength and determination— it all felt farther away. Put to rest, at long last. Like Varian could let it lie and be content. In the past, indeed.

Quirin cupped his cheek again. Varian leaned into it, blinking away tears again. “I missed you,” the boy murmured again.

“Are you… okay, now?” Quirin’s voice was as stoic as Varian remembered, but the teenager could hear the underlying concern. “I’ve been here for a while, I know that. Time’s passed. You grew up, and I wasn’t there for you. Someone’s taking care of you, right?”

“Arianna,” he started. “And Frederick. Rapunzel and Eugene. It was a month before they, uh, they found me. They brought me home.”

“A month,” Quirin’s voice cracked. “A month with that man—”

“He’s gone, now.” Varian cut him off, gently. “I, uh, I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

Quirin blinked, leaning back and looking Varian in the eye. “You…?”

“Yeah.”

“On purpose?”

“….Mostly?

Quirin surprised Varian by laughing, shaking his head. “I think you get that from your mother,” he said, still chuckling. “I certainly didn’t teach you that.”

Varian snorted through the quiet tears. “No,” he admitted, “No, you didn’t.”

Quirin tilted his head, putting both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You’ve grown up,” he said, wistfully. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” Varian’s voice was quiet. “We buried you in the palace cemetery. I didn’t know where— or if Old Corona, would have been better, or even back in the Dark Kingdom—”

“Wherever you are,” Quirin said, “That’s where I’d want to be.”

Varian sniffled. He wiped at his eyes, trying to keep himself together. “I don’t know if I want to leave, again,” he admitted. “I… I should want to wake up, right? But… you’re here, and I’m so tired, dad.”

Quirin’s face pulled down into a frown, the man patting Varian’s shoulder. “I know,” he admitted. “It’s exhausting, out there. When your mother left, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. You were only a year old, you know, and she’d vanished in the middle of the night, just telling me to keep you safe.” He laughed, something a little more self-deprecating. “I couldn’t even do that, in the end.”

He met Varian’s wide-eyed gaze, the gravity of the situation obvious. “I know you’re tired,” he consoled. “I know. But that doesn’t mean giving up is the right answer. Even if it means saying goodbye again.”

Varian’s heart shattered at the last part. He knew his dad was making sense. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, the tears carving lines down the soot on his cheeks. “Not again.”

“You won’t,” Quirin said, his voice comforting. “You’ll go back, and the rest of our family will be there. You’ll grow old, and maybe find someone like I found your mother. But Varian,” he tipped the boy’s face up to look at him, smiling sadly. “You’ll live. And that’s what’s important. We’ll see each other again, once you’re done with living a long, happy life. Not a second sooner, you hear me?”

Varian bit his lip, sniffling. “I promise,” he tried to joke. It fell a little flat, but it helped to break a bit of the tension.

His hands started to feel cold. The Staff was calling him, back to the land of the living. It had done its job and done it well. Varian was running out of time. He felt a spark of panic—it’s so soon, not enough time, he had so much to tell his dad before--

“Dad,” he tried to start, only for Quirin to calmly stop him.

“I love you, son.” The man said, wrapping Varian up in one last hug. Around them, the kitchen slowly started to disappear, their time together slowly fading away. Varian threw his arms around his dad’s neck, clinging with all his might. Quirin squeezed him once more, making Varian’s aching ribcage creak. “I’m so proud of you,”

Varian could feel his dad’s grip fading, the pressure of those arms slipping away.

“I love you, too,” he sobbed, closing his eyes against the brightness. It was gentle, but too bright. Their surroundings quickly disappearing into the bright void beyond. “I love you, dad.”

The light pulsed once, then twice. Even behind his closed eyelids, Varian was nearly blinded by the brilliance of it. His body was cold again, not uncomfortably so, but the chill in his skin was noticeable. The feeling of Quirin around him vanished, the spell breaking. The boy could feel a solid weight in his hand; pressure all around him began to wash in. Water, surrounding him. Any second now he’d be kicked back into the land of the living.

Varian laid back into the feeling and allowed the light to wash over him. He had a promise to keep, and a family to find. The light consumed him, and Varian let himself be pulled into it, ready for the next step.

It was time to move on.

>>><<<

Varian woke up to nearly being impaled by debris. He nearly screamed in terror, only just keeping his wits about him. He put a hand over his mouth, keeping the air in. The Novis Staff was still in his hand, probably the only reason he was alive at all, but the wreck of the Der Sonne was sinking around him. Chunks of the ship littered the water, as did cargo, rigging, and other wreckage that threatened to ensnare anyone who got too close.

Varian started to kick his way to the surface, awkwardly moving around the sinking wreckage and trying to keep his distance. The grey sky above was light enough that Varian could tell which way was up— a small blessing, but one he wouldn’t take for granted.

As he kicked, however, he caught sight of a dark smudge in the water, something that wasn’t debris. This one was moving. A person, Varian’s thoughts screamed. He began to make his way toward them, pausing as he got close enough to see who it was.

Merrick, it seemed, had gotten tangled in the rigging of the Der Sonne somewhere on the way down. The older boy was struggling, kicking at the rope and sails in a futile attempt to escape. He was yanking at the ropes almost desperately, tugging on them without actual thought or reason. Varian slowed a bit, unsure— but inwardly groaned at his bleeding heart. He shouldn’t have to help; he wasn’t obligated to try. No one would blame Varian if he turned around and swam for the surface and left his enemy to his fate. No one, that is, except himself.

Varian rolled his eyes, reaching for his belt and pulling out Eugene’s knife with his free hand. He swam close, keeping his distance when Merrick caught sight of him and swiped his human hand at Varian. The boy shot him a look, backing off and trying to portray innocence. I’m trying to help, he thought grumpily, the least you could do is work with me, here.

Merrick’s metal arm lay awkwardly limp by his side. It was easy to see that something in the delicate machinery had broken, causing it to be nothing more than dead weight. It was also tangled in the rigging, though not as badly as Merrick’s legs were.

Varian swam closer, bringing the knife up and starting to methodically cut at the ropes tangling the other teen’s legs. They were tied to what looked to be part of a mast, the weight of it swiftly dragging down into the depths of the water. Varian’s lungs burned— they needed to get swimming for the surface soon if they wanted a shot at making it. He kept cutting, slowly but surely getting the mage free.

Merrick looked almost confused, holding still so that Varian could work on freeing him. There was only a few more ropes to go, almost there—

Varian let out a shocked burst of bubbles when there was a sudden pain in his arm. He caught a flash of silver to his left, a knife in his enemy’s hand. Oh, that asshole. Merrick’s face was a flurry of rage, swiping again at Varian with the blade, only to fail. The alchemist began to swim backward, out of reach, only for the man to snag him by the ankle.

There was a loud crack, audible even underwater, and with a sickening dropping feeling, the mast began to sink even faster. Whatever had been holding it afloat had broken, leaving the mast, and the two teenagers by extension, dropping down into the void below.

Varian kicked at Merrick, trying to free himself. The mage had a deranged smile on his face— surely he knew that they both were going to drown, right?!— and tugged on Varian’s ankle harder. It seemed like, even after all this, the other refused to give up.

Problem for him, being that neither was Varian.

The younger boy aimed another kick, grimacing when he felt cartilage break under his heel. Merrick let out a stream of bubbles in lieu of a shout, his hand falling away. Varian flailed his legs with as much might has he had, kicking frantically for distance. He felt fingers graze his feet, only for them to latch onto the frayed edge of Quirin’s cloak. Varian nearly choked when it was yanked, pulling him down, down, down.

Varian panicked, flailing again at the rough treatment. He looked down, seeing the strong grip Merrick had on the cloak, and grimaced. The light from the surface was disappearing quickly, the mast more than heavy enough to drag them both down to the ocean floor. Varian grit his teeth, his grip tightening on Eugene’s knife.

With a calculated slice, he brought the blade down onto the edge of Quirin’s cloak. He felt a stab of guilt, as he cut nearly a fourth of the fabric away, severing the tie Merrick had on him. Varian kicked again, the last of the cloak tearing away and leaving Merrick with nothing but a handful of fabric. The alchemist managed to kick up, launching himself up and out of reach.

The mage below him tried to grab at the boy one last time, only to fail as Varian finally managed to slip out of his grasp. Merrick’s face switched from fury to a dawning horror so quickly it was almost comical. The mast was sinking faster now, air rising from it in a plume of bubbles. Varian was forced to look away from his enemy to avoid more debris as they too began to sink, dragged down by the larger pieces of the Der Sonnes sinking corpse.

Merrick was still trying to grab at him, even as he sank further down. Varian weaved awkwardly around a part of the Der Sonne’s bow as it passed, before watching with wide eyes as it caught up in the rigging attached to the mast, and therefore Merrick. The alchemist began to swim down again, trying to keep the other teenager in his sight, but with the combined weight of the mast and the new portion of the bow, the rigging and sail began to plummet through the water.

Within seconds. Merrick’s snarling face vanished into the darkness. Varian found himself stunned, floating in the depths as he watched the inky outline of the mast disappear. He held like that for as long as he could, waiting for… something. What, he wasn’t entirely sure. For Merrick to swim up? For another chance to try and help?

Whatever it was, it never came.

The fire in Varian’s lungs became too much to bear; he was forced to start kicking for the surface, frantically pumping his limbs, and pushing himself through the water. He was so close, just a second more—

His head burst through the water, a bare patch in the wreckage where the debris had already sank allowing space for him to hit blessed air. He flailed a bit, grabbing onto the first thing he could find and clinging tightly. A board, part of the outer hull, that could barely hold his weight. He clung to it anyways, holding close and allowing his aching body to rest.

Varian cast an exhausted gaze around the wreckage, forcing air into his aching lungs. The storm had calmed, the water gentle around him. Varian held tight to his salvation, his exhausted limbs nearly dropping now that he could finally stop fighting. With the Der Sonne’s wreckage starting to slip below the waves, everything had begun to calm. The alchemist settled, finally able to relax.

And then, for the first time in ages, he breathed.

[bitchin-beskar]

Unavoidable Consequences Part 2

Rating: M (sexual situations, cursing) 18+ ONLY please!

Word Count: 2.2k of pure smut! that’s literally all this is! 

A/N: Immediately after writing the request for @din-damn-djarin, I knew I was gonna write a second part. No lie. I love Javi, and getting to write for him is so much fun, so... here we go!!! And for @wickedfrsgrl, who specifically requested that I do a Part 2 so that I can “show those fuckers that Javi can grand slam it home” (honestly thank u for this amazing comment I fucking died when I read it), I hope I don’t disappoint! 

Warning! Features unprotected sex! This is fanfic kiddos, which means it’s not real. Whenever you’re doing the do, wrap it up please! Be safe and responsible!

Tagging: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @mrschiltoncat, @goblinqueen95, @pedrosdoll 

I tried tagging people who’d responded to Part 1 saying they’d be interested in a Part 2, but I’m sure I probably missed some people. If you’re interested in being tagged in any future works, please please please fill out this survey! It would really help me out so that I don’t miss anyone!

No. 

No, you most certainly weren’t done. 

The tension between you and Javi had been steadily growing the longer you’d been partners, and now that you’d had a taste of each other, neither of you wanted to stop. 

Javi had a very dominating personality, and oh it showed, in the way he kissed you, the way he held you down and devoured you, the way he pinned you to the bed. 

You moaned as Javi tore his mouth from yours, only to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck. Panting, you begged Javi for more. 

“Oh, fuck, please Javi, please, I need more, I need–” Your pleas cut off as Javi sank his teeth into the skin where your neck met your shoulder, causing you to cry out. 

“FUCK! Javi, please, I need you to touch me,” you whimper, pulling frantically at your restrained hands, wanting desperately to touch him. He releases you, and immediately your hands fly to tangle in his hair, pulling him back up and into another kiss. 

Javi’s hands aren’t idle, however. He’s busy toying with the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up, and he pulls away from your mouth in order to yank your shirt over your head. 

Even though there’s no more light in the room than when you woke, you can see Javi’s eyes darken as he stares, entranced, at your chest. You’ve always known what Javi thought of your breasts. He wasn’t exactly subtle whenever you were forced to wear more formal clothes to work, and you always noticed whenever he struggled to keep his eyes level with yours during conversations. 

But now, laying underneath him in bed, shirtless, Javi could stare as long as he wanted.

“Shit, compañera, you’re fucking gorgeous.” 

You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, but before you can stutter out a response, Javi leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples.

“Shiiiiiiiiit,” you groan, your back arching, unconsciously trying to get closer to the absolutely divine sensations that Javi’s laving on your breasts. “Oh my god, Javier–”

Releasing you with a wet pop, Javi looks up at you with hooded eyes. “That’s it baby,” he croons, nipping at your bare skin with his teeth while maintains eye contact. “Tell the whole fucking world who’s making you feel good.”

A shudder runs through your body at the dark tone of Javi’s voice, so demanding, so sinful. “Goddammit Javier, please, I need you.” Your voice is unsteady, and needy, nothing like you’ve ever sounded before. What can you do, though? Javier Peña just seems to bring out the worst–or best, depending on the point of view–in you.

“What do you need, baby? Hmm?” Javi’s tone is bordering on sadistic as he plays dumb, pretending that he doesn’t know exactly what you need. You groan in frustration, your hips gyrating, desperate for friction.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Fuck me!” You gasp, no longer entirely in control of the words leaving your lips. “God, please Javi, I need you to fuck me, I need it, I–”

You cut off with a gasp as Javi grinds his hips roughly against yours, the fabric of his boxers doing little to hide his straining erection. 

“Yeah? Is this what you need, baby? You need my cock?” Javi’s voice is positively dripping with seductive tones, even though you’re already writhing underneath him on the bed. “I’ve already given you one orgasam, and you want more?” 

Javi maintains eye contact as he leans down and bites down gently on your nipple, the sting causing you to squirm under him, inadvertently grinding against him. “God, you’re so fucking greedy, compañera. Just begging me to fuck you.” 

His teeth nip at your sensitive bud again, this time soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue. You’re breathless, but you force yourself to speak.

“Goddamnit, Javier, if you don’t fuck me, right. fucking. now. then I might actually kill you,” you gasp, frantically pulling at his shirt–seriously, how the fuck is this man still fully clothed? 

“You want me to fuck you?” 

You glare at your partner as he sits back, a smirk on his lips, pulling his shirt off over his head, throwing it somewhere on the hotel room floor. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as more and more of Javi’s skin is revealed to you. 

He suddenly lunges forward, gripping your hips and hauling you up the bed. You squeak in surprise, but Javi’s already leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Hold onto the headboard, baby. Don’t let go.”

As you’re reaching your hands up to grip at the metal bars of the cheap headboard, Javi’s gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down your legs, along with your underwear. 

You barely have time to feel even a flicker of embarrassment before Javi’s body is covering your own, one hand cradling your face as he kisses you desperately. 

His other hand is busy pushing his own pants off, and when he begins to press into you, the moan you let out is positively obscene. If the sicarios happened to be listening right at that moment, there was no doubt as to just what the two of you were doing. 

He pushes steadily into you, and you groan at the sensation, feeling more full than you’ve ever been before. You’d had your fair share of partners before, but already Javi was surpassing every one of them. 

Finally, finally, Javi was completely seated within you, his hips flush against yours. His forehead came to rest against yours, his breath fanning across your cheeks. “Fuck,” he groaned, his arms trembling with the strain from holding still. 

Your own mouth had fallen open, the air wrenched from your lungs as Javi had pressed deeper and deeper. And even though he’d paused to give you time to adjust, you were rather impatient. 

“Javier,” you breathed, purposefully clenching. “Please, move.”

A strangled groan left Javi’s lips, his hips inadvertently jerking. “Amor, please,” he begged. “I–I can’t, I can’t hold back if you keep–ungh!” He cut off as you clenched again. “I can’t hold back if you keep doing that, compañera.” 

You tightened your grip on the metal bars of the headboard, arching your back so that your breasts pressed against Javi’s chest, bringing his gaze to yours. “I don’t want you to hold back, Javi, I want you to fuck me.” You held his gaze, seeing the conflicting emotions in his eyes, the slight fear that you felt forced to do this just for the sake of your cover lingering. “I’m yours, Javi. Fuck me.” 

He hesitated for only a moment more, but he must have seen the truth in your eyes, the absolute trust you had in him, not with just your life, but now your body. A small smile flitted across his lips. “Well, just remember baby,” Javi’s lips brushed against your ear. “You asked for this.”

Javi suddenly pulled almost completely out, but before you could bemoan the loss, he thrust back in, and the suddenness of the movement made you cry out loudly. 

He set a brutal pace, pulling out quickly before thrusting back in, the movements causing the headboard to slam repeatedly against the wall. A litany of moans and gasps escaped your lips, unable to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. 

He was fucking you, plain and simple, exactly what you’d asked for, and you couldn’t say you were disappointed. His hips slammed into yours over and over, the wet sounds of flesh smacking against flesh filling the dingy hotel room. 

There was heat quickly pooling in your belly, the coil beginning to tighten. The entire bed was shaking with Javi’s violent movements, and you were practically sobbing as his cock brushed against your sensitive inner walls with each thrust. 

He stopped suddenly, withdrawing from your cunt, leaving you feeling empty. You whimpered at the loss, but before you could ask, he was reaching up and grabbing your wrists, encouraging you to let go of the headboard. 

“On your hands and knees, pretty girl.”

You tried to follow his orders, but you clearly weren’t moving fast enough, as Javi wrapped an arm around you, quickly flipping you over. You nearly collapsed face-first into the pillows, but you caught yourself on your hands at the last second. 

You didn’t have any time to adjust to the change in position as Javi’s hands gripped your waist, pulling your ass up into the air so that your pussy was level with his cock. 

He pushed in, much faster than the first time, and the both of you moaned in unison as he managed to sink even deeper inside you. You didn’t even care about the show you must be putting on for your neighbors, as neither you nor Javi were particularly... quiet, in bed. 

If you’d been staying somewhat professional, you’d probably be trying to think about how the noise the two of you were making was sure to cement your cover as a couple on vacation in Colombia. 

But it was pretty hard to stay professional when Javi was pounding into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips so hard, you were sure you’d have bruises. 

Every thrust pushed you forward, forcing you to rock forward on your hands, and the pleasure shooting up your spine was making your arms go weak. Eventually, you just couldn’t hold yourself up any long, collapsing forward onto the bed, just barely stopping from face-planting in the sheets. 

Javi didn’t stop however. He didn’t even seem to notice that you’d partially collapsed, too focused on giving you exactly what you’d been begging for. 

The coil was tightening again, and it almost shocked you with it’s intensity. You’d never come that close to the peak so soon after an orgasm before, but you couldn’t say that you were surprised that it was Javi who was able to bring you such pleasure. 

One of Javi’s hands left your hip, but before you could lament the loss, he wrapped the arm around you, cupping your breast and pulling you up so that your back was pressed to his chest, and his breath was against your ear.

“How does it feel?” He murmured, his thrusts less violent, but no less deep in this new position. “Your pussy was made for me, pretty girl, so tight, so warm, so fucking perfect,” he grunted, pinching your nipple lightly before trailing his fingers over your sweaty skin, until the palm of his hand rested on your lower belly. 

He pressed against your skin, and you groaned at the strange, but not unwelcome feeling. “Who else makes you feel this good, baby?” 

When you don’t answer right away, he pulled back as much as he could in this position, snapping his hips forward harshly, causing you to cry out. “Who. Else?” He growled.

“No one!” You cried, your whole body trembling. “Only you, Javi!” 

He didn’t answer you, instead choosing to shove you back down onto your hands and knees, pouding into you with a renewed vigor. Before you could really register, you were once again flying over the edge, your whole body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

You think you might’ve cried his name, but you couldn’t be sure, the blood rushing in your ears made it hard to hear much of anything. 

Javi’s thrusts were starting to lose rhythm, and you could tell that he was getting close. You clenched around him, and he groaned, long and low. He leaned forward, once more pushing his chest against your back.

“Fuck, pretty girl, I’m so close, I–” 

You didn’t even let him finish, already knowing what he wanted. You clenched around him again, and his hips stuttered before he moaned, loudly. You felt him release inside you as his teeth sank into your shoulder, trying to stifle his cries. 

Javi slowly fell to the side, keeping you pressed tight against him as he curled up on his side on the bed. His legs tangled with yours, and you felt him still twitching gently inside you. 

One of his arms wrapped tight around your waist, and the other wrapped around your upper chest, keeping you curled in his arms.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, his face buried in your hair. You nodded, wrapping your hands around his wrists, making sure his arms stayed locked around you. 

“I’m more than okay, Javier.” You whispered back, shifting slightly, and grinning at the noise he made behind you. “Do you think they bought it?”

Javi laughed breathlessly, twining his legs with yours. “Compañera, I’m pretty fucking sure all of Colombia bought it.” You can’t see it, but you just know he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face right now. “Every single sicario in the goddamn country knows who you’re fu–” 

You couldn’t exactly smack Javi from your position, so you did the only thing you could to shut him up. 

As he felt your walls clench around him again, he groaned again, cursing lowly under his breath. 

He went to pull away, probably to let you sleep, but you gripped him tight, keeping his arms wrapped around you, and his cock firmly inside you. 

“Just go to sleep, Javi.”

You closed your eyes, grinning as you heard him chuckle. 

“Yes ma’am.”

[vvasilisa]

" ever heard of boundaries? " / you know for who

& THE BEAST AWAKENS.   THAT PITCH  -  THAT FALLING TONE.  it’s a downpour of coming disaster  /  a collision of windpipes & bruises expanding on itself  ――   it’s the way that hiss parts those crass & dour lips  -  a motion of muscle under skin becoming far too tense,  the way a throat tightening at the release of these words, as if they were slowly coming up with phlegm   /   cough them out.  these words are spewed out of a deface expression   /  voice merely a whimper  -  that whimper,  it is laced in a venom that stings at deliverance,  & those fangs he has  -  those gnarly / awful fangs  -  canines dripping in the most potent of discourtesy.   [maybe i should yank them out.]   it’s expected,  from such a drab male, lacking any enjoyable qualities  -  causing him any distress would be a far more convenient -  interesting than conversing with someone so rigid, not that he could say much --  & so,  it would be a hedonistic form of teasing.   

 yet.  even in his tragic state,  his presence is rather intimidating   /   you though,   you have never been shy of danger   / those slate eyes,  they have been transfix on him   -  more specifically,  his face   /   the low breathes he takes   /  how they huddle & rattle his disfigured frame.       & this is how you came to stand over him,  &  this is how your hands came to sit against a shallow chest   --   does those limbs even have enough strength to fight  /  to stop you  ―   given if you take the span of his neck  /   hold  -  press  -  squeeze,   & when breath stops,  when you hear the depth of a esophagus collapse  -  you can let go.    PUTTING DOWN THIS MANGLED BEAST.  it would be a mercy. [you are starting to sound like annie.]  instead,  instead of satisfaction - instead of complacency,   you are met with the snarling, you are shocked,  really, that this man didn’t bite at your hand.   to bite at the hand that only want to make an attempt to offer aid  /  alleviate the pain  /  a peaceful end for his now, pitiful existence.   [ a wounded dog,  never knowing when to just lie down & die.  then again.  you both are, you just have the advantage of regeneration. ]   & at his remark, you creates space - steps will replace a response.   you felt the air spoil   /   your hair stands on end, oooh now this is arousing ― pieck, don’t be too unruly.  & your body relaxes.   a malodorous taste veils buds,   shame it was not his blood.  he really does pollutes the wake of his surroundings  /  & you are fettered in the same space as these people - how many times have you tried to kill this man, a reciprocally relationship  /   for this is one of your enemies.   no,   no,   no,    enemies turned allies?   no, allies made from desperation   /   allies till death fractures this sorry excuse of a truce.   it’s impressive how the end of the world can convene opposing sides,  even if it only meant to save their own hide.        

& little pariah,  oh pieck, you cannot help but think,   if failure is the only outcome & marley is destroyed  /   your father   /    your home crushed below a foot of a titan  /  crushed how annie used to crush bugs  -  heel to spine  /  heel to body  /  pressure applied till the crunching of body is heard & entails come spilling out from sides - sides burst from pressure   /  applied pressure till movement is null & fluids & skin are indistinguishable from another. DEATH.  DEATH.  DEATH. THAT ALL IT WILL BE.   [ just like how you chomp down on lackeys, the soldiers like him. you know the sound of a skull popping - fissure apart from the weight of teeth. ]  stop.   stop thinking about this now.  keep it together.    this is depressing.  & you know the validity it holds,    they are helpless  /  they have no merit / no power to stand their ground:  brawn & will & guns & outcry will do nothing  :   they will be stomped out before the instinct to run can form.   you can’t help but theorized - conjure up the worst conclusion possible.  because if you fail.    IF YOU ALL FAIL.  IF YOU FAIL PIECK.  IF REINER FAILS.  IF ALL OF PARADIS FAILS TO STOP THE DEVIL.    will these fragments that remain of them - you - humanity   /   if any live through this decimation, will the warring continue till bloodshed soaks an earth  ―――  & that blood will water the earth to wash the names - wrongdoings   /    eradicate any that stand to oppose.   maybe,   maybe paradis will finish the task to completion.  & when you are all gone,  they will make sure that the bones are all to be collected & structured into some icon of the hell that came to be  /  a titan of her own resemblance maybe    /   a reminder  ――   & may they pray till the holy mary  takes shape   /  founder ymir  /  she will sculpt herself from their delusions of what remains,  & may she herself see the errs of man’s hatred   /   & maybe she slit each their throats & lay them to bed  /  a kiss upon each mark their sliced into their skin  -  each self inflicted bite mark  /  & return them each to neath.  no ending to this nightmare seem desirable.   [may i be first if this fails]   hm,  you can’t fail.  you CAN’T.   YOU CAN’T.    you have to ensure your father safety   /   annie’s  ――― even if you fall in the process, even if you are left  -  guts in marred hands  /   fingers rend like his own,   &  your own intestine hanging out your mouth,  you have to fight.  YOU HAVE TO.  ――  for even annie,   she has time  /  she can live a nice long life without you.  your father deserves to see the promises you vowed become a reality  /   no longer a childish promise.  PIECK.   you have reason to defy ymir  /  to face the devil.     you have no choice.     

  ❛  ohhh?    i have  ― although,  they don’t really interest me too much.   ❛

a laugh.   & this man,   this man might be a damaged piece  /  but,  he is no pawn. 

 ❛   ― geez.  calm down, i was just checking to see if you were still alive, don’t give yourself a hernia, alright.   i will keep my distance.   ❛    for now.

〈 * RANDOM  -/-   @liberons​

[mildly-incoherent-ramblings]

Honey Sticks (Straws? Tubes? What Do You Call Them?)

A distant friend's friend was making care packages for trans people and asked folks on Instagram if they wanted them, so I asked for one. This has been a hard season on me and I thought hey, what the hell, worst case scenario I don't get one and its whatever. Right?

This was months ago, and I forgot almost immediately after doing so. It came today. 

There were lots of things included that made me happy, little gestures of sweetness. Two tea bags, one for sleep and one for relaxation, which I had not had much of either and needed. A sticker of a cute little spider, of whom I have complicated feelings for and have grown to love, though from a distance. Some candies, a lemon-honey cough drop, a very nice card, a note and a patch with an anarchy symbol framed in a heart that I bet will probably fade in 3 or so washes but I will wear anyways. It is after all, the thought that counts. But the gesture that warmed my soul and brought me great joy, was the honey stick. 

I didn’t process the significance at first. There were so many of these little items at once and I was just overwhelmed overall by this small expression of kindness. I thanked the person, followed them, thanked the person who had told them I wanted one and made sure I was following them, and set these things aside for a little while to tend to other things. 

I had a stressful situation involving a kitchen mess that triggered me a little and had just sat down after addressing said stressful situation when my eyes fixed on the little honey stick along with the candy I had been given. I ate the mango hi-chew first and briefly was paranoid it would fill the cavities in my teeth and have me regretting it. 

Then I went for the honey stick. I held it in my hands, rolled it gently between my fingers. I watched the honey move through the tube as I squeezed it in different places and the nostalgia started to set in. I remember long drives to the bay as a child with my grandparents and stopping at this little roadside farm that had produce and preserves and flowers and always, little straws filled with honey and sealed off, what I called as a child and refer to now as honey sticks. 

The texture was familiar, cool plastic between my fingers. I popped the seal gently with my teeth and pushed about half the tube onto my tongue. As soon as it hit my taste buds, I was transported to this place. To where my grandfather was still alive, in my mind, during a time where he and my grandmother were still at least as far as I knew, quite happy. The sweetness and the floral and the acidic and the smooth texture floated in my salivating mouth, as tears welled up in my eyes. I felt it coat the back of my teeth, savored it, before swallowing and squeezing from the tube the rest of its contents. I did not waste a single drop of this wonderful gift. I sat with the sadness and the nostalgia and the longing for some time. And then my eyes fixated on the pamphlet from his memorial service hanging in the corner. I miss the man, for all the problems he came with and all the unanswered questions and unresolved hurt I had felt. Missed that time where I had the privilege of being a child, before I was old enough to understand that though my loved ones loved me indeed, their love would only extend as far as their own perspective’s limitations reached.

The last two times I saw my grandpa sit in my stomach like bricks in a burlap sack. The second to last time, he was moving out of state with his good friend, and the last words he chose to say to me were “I love you, Granddaughter.” I had been out as transmasculine to my family for several years, and he was one of the only members of my family who flat out refused to support my decisions. I told my grandma about how I felt about this several months later, at the time worried this may be the last time I ever saw him. I felt like he did not want to see my transition, and did not want to see the man I would become. As much as I love my grandma, she doesn’t keep a secret worth a shit, so of course she went behind my back and told him everything. She always does. 

The very last time we saw each other, he tried to discuss this event and how it impacted him. By this time I was fully growing into my masculine body, had little pubescent hairs shading my upper lip and a deepened voice. He still adamantly misgendered me, refused to even look at me, the entire time. He simply could not see me. He asked me why I would do this to my family. He asked me why I would make them all suffer seeing me like this, as if my choice to live authentically was harmful to everyone around me. He was also under the distinct impression that our loved ones regarded my choices with the same level of disgust he had. He expressed revulsion and shame for my choices, and wanted to agree to disagree, under the impression still that he could just see me as a woman and ignore all the changes I had made and the life I was living, and how much even the other skeptical members of my family had adjusted since. He did not want another grandson, especially one who was a fag. That car ride brought a lot of tension, and the entire time we spent after with my grandma when we met her for lunch, was plated on a bed of unspoken mutual contempt for one another. He salted an already deep and still fresh wound, and it festered over. It still has not quite healed. 

Ironically, it would be revealed not too long after, that my brother had discovered that grandpa himself was in fact very much a gay man. While he was assisting him with formatting his cell phone, my brother would accidentally stumble on a still open incognito tab with some... very gay content still open. Along with that, a string of messages with his “good friend,” who had apparently been his lover the entire time. My brother responded with compulsory homophobic remarks that I will not repeat, but mostly just frustration that he had been dishonest with my grandma all these years. The discomfort that situation has inspired in me still hasn’t properly been unpacked. Everyone was wrong in that situation. Everyone.

Go figure. He and his good friend, “they were roommates.” 

When he passed, my father came and told me in person. I finally spoke of what had happened between us, and even he was angered by the hypocrisy, saying he had known for years that my grandfather was not straight. I know now that how he treated me was what he did for himself to avoid suspicion. Because if I had the audacity to be out, that meant there was little left for an excuse for him to hide. I threatened his cover. I threatened his disguise. I cracked his mask. I left his closet open ajar and he peered outside, horrified at the possibilities he saw.

Acknowledging all this, even still, I could not help but enjoy this moment of being brought back to this familiar childhood memory, before all of that would happen. This person who sent me this great gift could not have known the significance, but rest assured, I am quite grateful. I enjoyed this moment and then it was gone, and then it was back to reality in front of my computer, staring at the wall. The knowledge that that same man who loved me dearly was also undeniably cruel to me burned my skin and flooded my eyes. Hidden beneath that hurt and sadness, I felt remorse for him, because he never did feel safe speaking his truth to us, not even to the others in our family who related to him. I often think of his lover, and how painful it must have been for this man to mourn him publicly as a good friend, and privately as an intimate partner of whom adored him and cared for him in ways they could not ever feel safe speaking of.

Sitting with this conflict of nostalgia and longing for the safety of my adolescent ignorance, with the truth and the reality as I have come to know it, I let my own mask fall, and cried for the first time in months since he had died. It is possible to both love a person who was once good to you and also acknowledge when their actions created harm, and to hold them accountable. I do not believe it to be disrespect to the dead to also speak of their faults as well as their glory. Joy and sadness and frustration and unanswered questions looked down on me, crowded around me, mocked me.

My hands shake as I type and I am overwhelmed with the juxtaposition of these strong emotions.

Written some time in mid July.

RIP August 19th, 2020

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

21.12, trees and traditions, adam page

Title: trees and traditions

Theme: trees/decorating

Fandom / Character(s): Adam Page x Ivy, an OC of mine from a fic I keep abandoning.

Warnings: Bittersweet reunions, single mom au, awkward tension, fluff if you squint. Bad fluff, but fluff, all the same.

Word Count: my guesstimate is roughly around 1.6k 

So... I wrote this on a whim. It’s taken Adam Page and my original character Ivy, from that twice tried/twice abandoned fic that I still want to write so bad I can taste it, and it’s put... new things into play. And maybe.. if enough people like this... maybe I’ll be tempted to actually do something with this version, because to be honest, I liked this version better than the previous 2. This is my entry for the day for @champbucks​ 12 Days of Christmas challenge. 

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee​​​

@rampagewriting​​​

@writertoo18​​​

@thatnerdwriter​​​

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure​​​

@chasingeverybreakingwave​​​

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif​​​

@sassymox​​​

@champbucks​​​

@hungmanhorsecarriage​​​

@wardl0w​​​

@ryantaylorgirl​​​

@dilfmoxley​​​

@hotyeehawman​​​

@gabbynorth98​​​

@bec0m​​​

@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​​​

@daddyslittlevillain​​​

[ about page | masterlist | tag list ]

I knelt on the carpet in my new living-room, a big cardboard box in front of me, unwrapping ornaments. My son was passed out on the couch, surrounded by action figures. Nightmare Before Christmas was playing quietly for background noise because if I didn’t have some form of background noise, I’d be jumping at every little sound.

I’d just gotten out the tangled string of lights and started to work on untangling them when I heard a knock at the front door of the cabin. Right away, I tensed. My stomach tightened right up and every possible scenario I could imagine -and none of them particularly good, flew into my mind.

Before I realized what I was doing, I’d stood and my hand wrapped around the old wooden Louisville slugger that served as my only form of home protection for the time being as I cautiously made my way to the front door.

I let out a long and ragged breath when I saw Adam standing on the step, leaning against a thick wooden porch post.

After my heart finally climbed it’s way down out of my throat, I opened the door and peeked out. “Adam? My mom told me you were still on the road.”

He shrugged, stepping closer. He looked as if he wanted to hug me, but he wasn’t sure if doing it were a good idea or not. Just seeing him again after all this time though… Realizing just how much I’d truly missed the man. Among other things hanging around in the back of my mind at the moment.

I pressed against him, looping my arms around his neck, smiling up at him. The bat I’d been holding and totally forgotten about clattered to wooden floorboards noisily and from the open doorway, my son spoke up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Mama? You’re lettin all the heat out.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I broke the hug with Adam reluctantly and turned, kneeling down in front of my son, smiling. I looked back over my shoulder at Adam, who was gaping and then back to my son, whose entire face lit up.

He raised a hand, pointing it at Adam. “I..He.. We just watched him on the tv earlier, mama!”

“We did, sweetheart. Can you do mom a favor?” I smiled at my son.

“What you want me to do, mama?”

“Go back inside. You’re barefoot and it’s freezing out, slugger and if you got sick, I…” I hugged my son tight and he laughed, trying to push me away as I licked the side of his face. “Ew, mama, don’t cow lick me!”

“I’m supposed to. That’s what mama cows do to their calves, champ.”I laughed as I watched my son step back in the door. But he snuck over to the window right beside it, I could see his little fingers on the plaid curtain panels.

I turned back to look at Adam. His hand was resting against the back of his head and finally, after a minute or two of his mouth opening and closing, he chuckled. 

“He’s a cute kid. Took after his mom, I see.”

I gulped. I forgot just how much Adam’s flirting affected me. And what a visceral effect it had always been. Or maybe it just had the punch it had now because I hadn’t seen him in so long and now, here he was.

Standing right in front of me, quite literally, the one who got away.

“Ivy, I.” Adam started to say something, but I raised my fingertip to his lip, pressing it against. I know him like I know the back of my hand, we grew up together. We were in love once. I still love him, even if I can’t have him. I knew he was about to apologize for that last night we were together, the huge fight we had after he proposed and I freaked out on him. And honestly, in the time that’s lapsed since, I’ve come to the realization that he has no reason to. I was the one who flipped out and then left town in a hurry.

“Adam, no. I’m the one who should be apologizing right now, okay? But when you started talking like that back then, I… I kinda panicked. We were kids and I was nowhere near ready to handle that level of commitment.

,, and yet, when you became ready, Ivy, you somehow managed to find the worst man possible to get involved with. What you should’ve done, and you know it, is come back here. Settled down with Adam. Stopped trying so hard to escape this little town and embraced it, because really, was it any better out there? No.” my mind was tormenting. I tried to put the thought out and flashing him a gentle smile, I stepped out of the doorway, turning the knob to open the door. I thought if I turned away from him, just for a second, I could pull myself together.

“Listen, Adam. It’s freezing out here and I have a tree to decorate. So, if you want to catch up? I think we should move it inside.” I gave a soft laugh. Every part of me thought that he’d offer up an excuse and leave in a hurry. I didn’t expect him to want to hang around, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him to. From hoping against hope that he’d hang around, even if only for a little while.

Adam eyed the door and swallowed hard as his eyes fixed on me again. My eyes caught on the subtle bob of his throat as he did so, followed by the way his tongue trailed over his lips and I took a shaky breath. When he went to step into my grandma’s cabin, our bodies brushed just barely, and for the most fleeting of seconds. And everything came rushing right back, all over again.

How could I have ever been so stupid to just leave. Adam offered me the world on a silver platter and like an idiot, I ran. I had to know if the world was better. I had the whole world the whole time and I realized it way too late.

His hand lingered at my waist. An old habit. One I really missed. I swallowed hard, my eyes drifting up, meeting his as I did my best to put on my best friendly and neutral smile, despite the plethora of emotions that were fighting to the surface.

,, you’re not in the right place right now, Ivy. Not at all.” my brain weighed in on the situation at hand. I pushed any and all thought or emotion I may have been feeling out of my head for the moment. We stepped into the living room of the cabin and Adam let out a low, approving whistle at the Christmas tree tucked in the spot by the window and near the fireplace.

Just like Grams always did every single year.

“How’d you get that tree in here, hon?” Adam’s voice shattered through my thoughts and I glanced up from the box of ornaments I’d been hovering over because I’d seen an envelope sitting towards one side.

I straightened, wiping my hands on my favorite pair of jeans and shrugged. “Dragged it, mostly. It wasn’t that heavy.”

Adam nodded, going quiet again. He reached out, taking an ornament from the box on the coffee table between us and as he put it on the tree, he asked, “So is this.. Is it permanent, I mean.. My dad, he said somethin about a movin truck being parked up here for about two nights. Didn’t know you were the one who bought the place.”

I dragged my fingers through my hair and eyed the tree, glancing down briefly at the heavily glittered star shaped piece of construction paper in my hand and I cleared my throat, getting my son’s attention. “Hey, champ. This is your ornament, bud. Hang it wherever you want it to go.”

“Okay, but I made it for th’ top, mama.”

I’d been about to lift him up, despite my reach not being much of a difference, but Adam bent down, hefting my laughing son up onto his shoulders and then he stood up, letting my son place the ornament just below the very top of the tree, where the topper my grandma always used was going to go.

He was smiling as he stood my son safely back on his feet and for just a minute or two, my mind actually went there. I actually pictured how things might have been if I’d listened to my heart all along instead of being stubborn. 

I’d always thought Adam would make an amazing dad one day.

My son hugged his legs and then asked me if I was ready for the popcorn we made to make a popcorn garland earlier and I smiled, nodding. I called out to him as he disappeared into the next room, “Don’t you eat all that popcorn, Dean!”

“Aw, mama! Just a few pieces!”

“You heard me, little man.” I gave him that firm look and he nodded, disappearing completely into the kitchen. 

It left Adam and I alone all over again. And I realized that I had yet to answer the question he asked a few minutes ago. The tension in the air around us was so thick I almost couldn’t breathe and at this point, I’d have given anything to alleviate it.

“To answer your question… The move is permanent. There’s only so much I can take…” I trailed off. It wasn’t fair to dump out my problems on him. I wasn’t going to do that. I was the one who got myself into the mess I was in right now. I needed to be the one to get myself out and so far, so good. Things already felt a thousand times better.

I felt more at peace since I’d taken my mom up on the offer of moving into Gram’s cabin than I’d felt in years. 

Adam eyed me, concern filling baby blue eyes. But he didn’t ask anything. He nodded in understanding. We reached for another ornament, the same one, and our fingers brushed together clumsily. We stared at each other a second or two, with Adam pulling his hand away first and mumbling an apology before turning away quickly, busying himself with placing the ornaments in his hand on the tree.

I cleared my throat. “If you were going to ask, I’m fine. Better now, actually.”

He turned around and our bodies brushed just slightly all over again. His hands went to my elbows as if he were going to steady me and he gazed down at me as if there were a million things he wanted to say, but he didn’t even know where to start. And I felt the same. Seeing him again was both a comfort and a torture.

A comfort because instinctively, I knew I was home. I was safe and the crap of more recent years was about to be over and behind me.

Torture, because I was now confronted with everything I never even knew I wanted.

“You’re sure, right? He didn’t… hurt you or anythin’?”

I sighed and shrugged. “I signed myself up for it.” my gaze dropped down to the box of ornaments and apparently, he wasn’t having it. His fingers tucked beneath my chin and he made me look him in the eyes.

“You didn’t ask for anythin’ he did. None of it’s your fault, okay? I don’t care what happened. It ain’t my business. But I know you, Ivy. And I care.” he went quiet and I bit my lip, mulling over what he said. Seeing him get stirred up like he just had on my behalf only reminded me just how loyal he’d been. Just how much he protected me.

,, and just how for granted you took that.” the thought finished itself in my mind and I took a deep breath or two. “Thank you.”

I went quiet after saying it, because there was so much more I wanted to say, but I wasn’t in the shape to say it right now. Adam shrugged, flashing me that lopsided grin. Trying to lighten the mood.

“I mean it, Ivy.. If you two need anything, I’m right down the road, darlin.” he spoke up again for a few seconds and I nodded, smiling. I know I won’t ask for help unless I absolutely have to, but I know Adam wouldn’t be the amazing man he is if he didn’t offer. And I knew he meant it too.

“I forgot how well we worked together.” I blurted it out as we were finishing up with the last of the ornaments on the tree. My son slunk in, flopping down on the couch with the bowl of popcorn and the string and I flopped down next to him, nodding to the empty spot on the other side of the old plaid couch so Adam would sit.

Adam smiled and sank down, talking to my son. “Whatcha got there?”

“Mama said we’re gonna put all this on th’ tree, sir.”

Adam cringed a little, but he didn’t discourage my son from using the polite term. I smiled at him over my son’s head and he smiled back. I found myself wondering if maybe he weren’t thinking back to shared family Christmases between our families.

The way we were the ones who always opted to do this. The way in later years, we’d always retreat to the living room and turn on It’s A Wonderful Life, snuggle up on my grandma’s couch with the bowl on the table in front of us as we strung popcorn for the tree and tossed kernels into each other’s mouths.

“Your mama n me.. We used to do this when we were little.” Adam chuckled, catching my gaze. Giving me this fond and soft little smile. I smiled back and nodded, reaching for a handful of popcorn. “We weren’t as good as you were though, champ. Because when Adam and I were doing this, we usually ate most of the popcorn before we ever got around to stringing it.”

“We did not!”

“We did, Adam.”

“Your mama did.” Adam teased, giving me a wink. I gave him a playful pout and when my son was caught up in stringing a few kernels onto the string for the garland, I took a kernel or two from the bowl and lazily tossed them at Adam, who opened his mouth, snapping it closed as soon as he’d caught the piece or two that I’d thrown.

I couldn’t help the laugh and the smile that came. Or the thought that followed which I promptly tried to push down deep.

,, Maybe Adam showing up tonight and helping you with the tree is a sign, Ivy… Things don’t have to be over. There’s always just a shred of hope. Christmas is the time for miracles, after all...”