#link rushed into the darkness with NOTHING to save them

[mothknight42]

twilight princess is the best zelda game of all time because it is a story about community at its core - it about fighting tooth and nail for the people you want to love and protect, about teaching that real strength and power lie in your bonds with others, about overcoming loneliness and fear and apathy for your community .....

[myfandomprompts]

Unhealthy Addiction

(drugdealer!Aemond x Reader)

Synopsis: Your sister is a drug addict, at the mercy of a dreaded drug dealer group led by a mysterious man. When you decide to save your sister from this life that kills her, you didn’t expect to build a whole other addiction to a perfect stranger.

A/N: Just some illogical & weird moderndark!Aemond smut in the October mood.

Words: 5.6k Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, dom, oral , vaginal, fingering, manipulation, possessive, begging, light bdsm, slight mention of drugs, praising

Your sister was at her lowest.

She kept screaming at you, scaring the neighbours, alarming the entire street when she went into one of her tantrums and you didn’t know what to do. She was hurting, a pain that only something chemical could ease and you refused to indulge her. This was all she had in mind, getting that fix, and she didn’t mind doing the most violent things, saying the cruellest things to you in order to plead her case.

She kept screaming how she could not be done, how she bought all the drugs from this scary guy, that he convinced her to sell for him. That she couldn’t refuse.

She had no control over herself anymore, but you didn't back down, you had to get her clean.

So you decided that you would take care of it for her. 

You made her tell you where she got it from, a shady little place on Silk Street with shady people going around all day and night with business even the police didn’t even dare looking into as you forced her down to the ER. If it was the last link that tied her to this life and her addiction, you would cut it, and, as she dozed off in her hospital bed, you rushed to her flat in apprehension, grabbing the bag full of those terrifying substances and heading down to Silk Street.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you knew you had to do it. You just had to give the bag back, explain to them that your sister wanted nothing to do with them anymore, pay up whatever amount was necessary to make them forget about her and leave.

How naive you were.

You knock on the scruffy-looking door with a trembling hand, the chilly night already settling around you as dogs barked in the distance. 

The door creaks open, dim light filtering through a slim screen of smoke that comes out of the  messy room. The few people inside look concerningly calm, the soothing electronic music making their head bob inconsistently as the smell of weed slowly reaches you and tickles your nose.

“What?” the huge man at the door says in a flat tone, tattoos on his face but alert eyes strained on you.

“I… have stuff to give back to you,” you courageously state, staring back at him with all the fierceness you could muster and only earning an unimpressed look.

You owed it to your sister, you could do it.

He gauges your appearance mercilessly, unfit for this place and only when you take out the heavy plastic bag out of your purse does he nod silently and step aside to let you in. 

You retain a cough, the scent of smoke becoming much stronger as you enter and making your eyes sting. Several pairs of eyes which weren’t hooded and gazing into the void looked lazily at you, eyes so dark there was no more colour in them, swallowed by the blackness of their centre. Two or three men stared at you like they would jump at you at the first false movement while the few women present were half laying on the couches, mouth open in what looked like delight, but you knew better.

A chill goes up your spine, hearing the door close behind you in a sharp snap while you feel the air shift around you.

You did not belong here.

“Who are you?”

The man came out of nowhere, brown skin and brown eyes, luxurious dark hair falling to the side of his face and all dressed in white with a heavy chain hanging around his neck. He scrutinises you, looking you up and down with a judgmental frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” you state after a difficult swallow. “I’m here to return this.”

The man eyes the bag you extend to him, a flash of recognition passing through his features but he doesn’t take it, rather deepening his frown. “Where did you get this?”

You bite your lips, growing uneasy under his gaze. All that you wanted was to leave this place as quickly as possible, even if you had to lie to achieve that. “Maria doesn’t want to do this anymore, and we don’t want any problems. So I’m doing the right thing, and returning it to you.”

The man sneers, an amused smile dancing on his lips and you tense. “Yeah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. You’re her sister, aren’t you?”

You don’t have time to answer as the man at the door approaches him with a serious look on his face, ignoring you. “Cole, the boss is back.” 

“Perfect timing, he’ll want to see this,” the man named Cole answers without taking his eyes off you. “You’re coming with me, sweetheart. We’ll sort this out, don’t worry.”

You could feel it, the trap closing in on you as he takes the bag from your hands and turns away for you to follow him. “I just want to give you this and leave. Please.”

He gives you an uninterested look over his shoulder, shrugging. “It’s not up to me.”

You shiver as panic starts to fill your nerves, the desire to flee, to run becoming stronger but you make the sensible choice and do as you’re told. 

He leads you into a cold-lighted room where the sole wide window is draped with a thick grey curtain and blocks your view of the humid night. The carpet floor is dirty, rendering you uncomfortable as you advance further into the room, chairs and stools stacked along the walls and an old looking desk standing at the opposite side. Even the huge couch below the window isn’t welcoming, the mess on the low table in front of it is filled with objects you don’t recognise.

You shouldn't be here.

Cole throws the bag on the table unceremoniously, the sound startling you as he commands you to wait. “Don’t touch anything.”

You try to settle your breathing, the room suffocating you as you realise that you are stuck, led there by a fool’s hope of coming to an understanding with these men, with dangerous people. You recall the frightened look on your sister’s face as she yelled at you, saying that she couldn’t fail them, couldn’t upset them.

Maybe you should have listened to her. Maybe you should have been scared too.

Muffled whispers filter through the door over the faint music, making you turn around with renewed anxiety as you recognise Cole’s voice. You know your time is running out, and you have no idea what’s going to happen. But then the door opens and you freeze.

It isn’t Cole, but someone much taller, leaner, terrifyingly attractive. 

He has long silver hair, silk cascading down over his shoulders that are wrapped around a dark green vest. He wears black trousers, matching with his tee-shirt that clings to his form and contrasts with his skin, fair and white. He effortlessly radiated an unsettling confidence, which you could feel even from a distance, making every muscle in your body tense, and you don’t know where to look. He hasn't even spoken yet.

His eyes are fixed on you, a perverted glow shining within them but you can’t meet it, too focused on the angular features of his face, on how flawless his marble skin and thin red lips look under the dim light. Everything about him is captivating, from his collarbone that peaks from under his shirt to the long scar that runs across his left cheek and further up his eye.

At this moment, you understood why your sister had been scared.

He stares at you for a while before finally smiling briefly in unconcealed satisfaction and closing the door. You don’t move, too stunned to utter a single word as he slowly walks towards the table to pick up the plastic bag and examine it closely, humming to himself. You watch, speechless, noticing the red marks over his knuckles, the bruises that stain his fist and you swallow the taste of iron in your mouth. 

The bag is carelessly dropped again as he reaches for a cigarette within his vest without a word, fingers enticingly coming to trap it between his lips and you’re hypnotised, desperate for him to acknowledge you, to say something. But then he flicks the lighter, casting an orange flame on the upper side of his face and you can’t help but gasp.

Unnoticed in the dim light, you can see it now, see how one of his eyes shimmers an icy blue, while the other one shone darker, deeper.

Blue as the night sky.

“You’re Maria’s sister?”

His voice makes you jump, his deep and velvety tone making the hair stand at the back of your neck and your heart race in your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, words coming out of your throat in strained sounds.  “Yes, I am.”

He nods, one corner of his lips curving upwards slightly as he takes a drag, making a thin curtain of smoke escape his sharp nose. “And you’re here because…?”

You manage to swallow the lump in your throat as he draws closer, intelligent eyes searching your features, making you hyper aware of how small you are compared to him. “I… just want to give the drugs back, so she can leave this part of her life behind. We won’t cause any trouble, I-I promise.”

He stops inches in front of you, his body going rigid as his eyes turn a shade of black, making you take a step back in reaction. “And what makes you think I can let that happen?”

You widen your eyes at the soft-spoken threat, freezing as you cower under his gaze.

He sees this. It makes him smile. 

“Relax, kitten. I'm not going to hurt you…” he says in the same unsettling tone as his blue eye lowers to the way your chest heaves under your shirt. “It’s just… not how we do things. When you take my stuff, you make a commitment, and you have to go all the way through with it or you get punished. There is no return policy.”

You could see it now, right beneath the scar, the gemstone shoved inside of his eye socket, as blue as the starless sky. It glowed softly, beautifully, and you were left to wonder how a man like him could be so dangerously pretty.

You urgently chase the thought away, slapping yourself internally as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze. “She can’t-,” you try uselessly, feeling the noose slowly constricting around your neck. “I understand, but I’ll pay for you to take it back. I beg of you, it represents almost nothing for you. Please…”

Something noticeably shifts in his eye at your last word, his nostrils flaring as he takes some time to compose himself before asking. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, thrown off by the question and unable to come up with the simple answer and he grows impatient at your silence. He takes a firm step forward, making the back of your knee hit the chair behind you as the faint heat from the tip of his cigarette reaches your sides somewhere over the skin of your hand.

“What’s. Your. Name?” he repeats slowly, a hint of darkness in his voice.

“Y/N,” you finally blurt out, barely hearing your own voice as he claims your space like it’s his own, prowling.

His lips form silent syllables as he repeats your name to himself, finally satisfied. “And do you know mine, kitten?”

You silently shake your head, feeling excitement rise at the prospect of knowing, shameful eagerness taking hold of your mind, not thinking for a second that it might anger him.

But he only clicks his tongue in disapproval, watching you like you’re nothing more than a nuisance. “I’m Aemond, and if you had known that, kitten, you wouldn’t be here. Because everybody fucking knows I don’t take things back.”

Your nerves stir in renewed fright as his words ring like a death sentence in your ears. You have to find something, anything that would suit him, please him, but your mind draws a blank, the intensity of his gaze holding you in place. You remain silent as he takes a drag from his cigarette, not tearing his eye from you and when he suddenly turns away, it leaves a cold trail of chills along your spine.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, your lungs burning from your previous lack of air as he wanders around the room.

“I take it you don’t use?” he says unexpectedly as he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray before taking the bag again on the table, drawing a round white pill out with his usual soft tone.

“No…” you answer weakly as he rolls the pill between his fingers, your eyes following the movement, transfixed.

“Mh… You’re one of those… The ones that don’t take wrong turns, the good girls.”

The stress that had settled between your ribs turns into something warmer at the calling, his tone inexplicably making the last ounce of courage you have left emerge. 

“If I didn’t take any wrong turns, I wouldn't have ended up here.”

He stills, his eye darting towards you like a single-eyed hawk and you bite your lips in instant regret, almost drawing blood as teeth sink into the thin flesh. His eye lowers to it and you instantly let go with a bashful expression.

He chuckles darkly, a devious smirk appearing on his features and you blink. “See, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t think you’ve realised the opportunity you just walked into… Y/N.”

You feel your stomach turn as reality hits you, your worst fear taking shape right in front of your eyes. Whatever he wanted with you, you could not let it happen, you could not fail your sister and get into the system like she did. She needed you. “Please, Aemond, I only want to be square with you and-”

There was a loud sound, plastic being crushed under immense force as his hand wrapped around the bag and violently squeezed. He took a deep shaky breath, his flashing gaze fixed on you as his knuckles turned white under the pressure. But it was gone seconds later, acting like it had never happened as he dropped the bag and started walking towards you.

“I used, once. This is how it all began,” he stated, a single slender finger brushing the edge of the table as he advanced. “I wasn’t really addicted, but I knew it was enough to cloud my mind, to make me believe that I needed it. But do you want to know what I really need, kitten? Why I stopped?”

You tried to hold his gaze when he lifted a single heated eye at you, excited by his little story, excited by something. He was in his element, he had the upper hand, he knew he was in control. You were only a slave to the fiery blood in your veins.

His finger had reached your arm by the time you registered his question, looming over it like a reverse magnet, untouching. He smiles when he sees chills prickle over your skin there, right before his pupils spread wider, an ink drop in water and you hold your breath.

“I like people begging me. I like the desperation in their voices, their scared little expressions as they mutter pathetic excuses, their pleas as I beat them…” You can feel the thrill in his tone, the pleasure that radiates off him, and you gasp when his finger finally touches your skin, burning. “I like hearing them beg me when they realise there is no escape, when they realise I’m the only solution, that I alone can give them what they want…I like this sensation of control, and I need to feel it on my own terms. Without any substances."

His hand has travelled down your arm, finding your pulse and you feel the thrumming of your heart meet his fingertips, pressing the delicate vein there. You wonder if he can feel your blood running within it, hot and wild. 

“You know, when Cole told me there was a lost pretty girl that wanted a refund, I laughed and could not wait to scare that girl. How naive she must be, how foolish. Coming here, wanting nothing more but to protect her poor little sister, asking what I cannot grant you, thinking you’ll get out of it like it’s nothing and not realising the mess you’re in. Just… perfect.”

You want to talk, argue, but you had stopped breathing altogether when his face leans slightly closer to your shoulder and you hear him breathe in your scent, humming within your neck. 

“But then, here you are… Pleading me, not once, but three times, kitten, with your sweet little tone of yours and I just-” he inhales brusquely, his pupil now completely blown out as you tremble beneath him. When he manages to talk again, his voice has dropped several octaves lower, guttural. “And now, let’s say that scaring you is not the only thing I want to do to you.”

The air feels sucked out of the room as tension fills it, palpable within the silence and you retain a whimper. His hold on your wrist turns stronger, as if to mark it, your pulse constricted beneath his fingers and you suddenly feel dizzy, gravity pulling you backward as you lose balance. You drop in the chair behind you like a stringless marionette, overthrown by him and his overwhelming presence.

He doesn’t flinch, neither does he comment as he leans over you, strong arms resting on the armrests at each side of you, trapping you as if he had planned everything. You huff when the tip of his hair grazes the skin of your cleavage, a silver curtain dropping under his face.

“So we're going to try this once…. Say please to me again, and I might reconsider your sister's situation.”

A ray of hope cuts through your foggy mind at his words, determination spurring within you as your treacherous tongue already rolls to form the words, eager to please him despite the lack of air in your lungs. “Please...”

The wood at your side cracks as he tightens his grip on the armrest, a repressed hiss dying within his throat as he composes himself again, hooded eye fixed on you, smothering.

“Hm… Yes,” he breathes, content visible on his features. “But the thing is, kitten, your sister was useful to me. She had access to people I didn’t, people like you. I’m sure you can see why it’s difficult for me to let her go.”

You know he is taunting you, dragging out what he wants from you and you know you have no choice but to indulge him, you need to indulge him. “She won’t survive if she keeps on, please.”

You can feel it, the pleasure he takes out of it, the delectable sensation he draws from your words as he licks his lips, a devious smirk tugging at them as he speaks slowly. “And what about you… Kitten?”

The near whisper makes your spine go rigid, his nose coming to loom over the junction of your jaw and you truly try to answer. “I- I don’t understand…”

He is the first to notice as his eyes are drawn to the sudden movement of your body under him: how tightly your thighs are clenched together, how tense you are as you shift, muscle tenses.

You blush shamefully, untying your legs to try to soothe the ache there as well as the heat pooling between them. He lifts a knowing eyebrow, observing you with excitement. "Hm… Not such a good girl after all, are you, kitten?”

He slowly lowers himself, broad hands coming to stroke the length of your thighs from your knees to your hips, the heat of his palms scorching you through your jeans and you repress a whimper, failing. “Did begging me turn you on, kitten?” 

His voice is hoarse, playful. You notice his own arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants and it makes your legs widen, watching helplessly as your body responds to your primal urges. “Do you need me to touch you? Is that what you want?”

You struggle, trying to fight what had been evolving since he had entered the room but you find yourself overpowered by your desire, submerged by it. "Yes…"

He arches his eyebrow higher. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, please."

He almost groans as he slowly comes to unbutton your jeans, a warm hand sliding under it and your stomach tenses when he connects with your dampness. "Fuck, kitten. Do you want to say please to me again?” 

He rises, giving himself a better angle as he comes to close his face over yours, suffocating as he waits for an answer out of you. When you give him none, he proceeds to grab your chin, pressing your cheeks between his fingers as he continues to stroke the heat between your thighs.

His face is close as he breathes your ragged breaths. “Lost your tongue?”

His gaze is unforgiving, his lips parted in delectation as you moan under him, and you suddenly feel the need to taste them, to chase them.

The movement makes him pull back, tutting as he grips your cheeks tighter. “That was bad. Very bad of you.”

You let out a plaintive whimper when he steps away, his hands departing your wet core and mouth as he comes to stand before you, jaw hanging low, slightly panting. His gaze is fixed on your glistening skin despite the harshness of it, a punishing glare within his eye as he lowers his jeans and briefs in order to free his bulging girth. You feel your mouth salivate as he starts pumping himself in wide long strokes, gaze transfixed on your face.

You’re unable to look away, heaving and hands gripping the wood of the chair tightly. You don’t realise the grinding of your hips against the surface of the chair, unconsciously chasing for what he robbed you of, wanting.

“Stop that,” he commands in a strained voice as precum starts leaking from his tip. You immediately obey, your body stilling as he comes closer, a pang hitting your core at the sight of his continuous movement over him. “You want a taste, kitten?”

One of his hands reaches for your hair, fingers tangling in them softly as he continues to stroke himself steadily, looking down at you with parted lips and he almost purrs when you nod bashfully. He guides you on the floor, eyes blown wide as he makes you kneel before him by a slight pull of your hair. You lick your lips in expectation, soothed by his hand within your strands and feeling the heat radiating off of him. 

You feel warmth spread within your cheek as you approach but he suddenly yanks your hair strongly, holding you into place in a hiss. “Then beg for it.”

He has stopped his ministrations over himself, rather squeezing the base of his shaft and making the already swollen tip inflate with blood as he watches you with a harsh and wild blue eye. You have to swallow the saliva that has accumulated in your mouth to talk. “Please, I want you in my mouth, Aemond.”

He groans as he lets go of his throbbing cock and loosen his hold over your scalp, allowing you to finally run a playful tongue along his length and wrap your hands around him, appeased by the sounds you draw out of him. “That’s it… Good girl.”

You try to go slow, hollowing your cheeks while you take him deeper and deeper, but as the minutes pass you feel the pressure of his hand in your hair tighten. The next moment he is claiming your mouth, making his tip hit at the back of your throat in loud lewd sounds as well as gag several times before he lets you go with a low growl.

You try to settle your breathing again as he wipes the single thread of saliva that connects you to his cock before probing you up by your chin, chest heaving in lust. “Do you even know how good that begging mouth feels? Do you even realise?”

You only feel the aching inside of your lower stomach heighten through your daze, and your mouth forms lazy words you don’t know the purpose of, blinking weakly. “Please, Aemond…”

“Fuck, kitten. Are you going to ask me to fuck you, is that it? Is that what you want to say?”

His thumb grazes the side of your jaw and you barely acknowledge his length against your hip, hot against your flesh. “I- Yes.”

A low grumble escapes his mouth right before you’re pushed on the sofa without warning, his hands rushing to get rid of his vest and pants before tugging at yours, forcing you to dig your hands into the cushions as he bends you over.

You quiver as your skin is met with the cool air but the next moment he moulds his chest against your back and you freeze, his mouth coming to position inches from your ear as a rough hand grabs your throat from behind, squeezing.

“From now on, kitten, you beg me for everything. You want to be touched? You beg me. You want to touch me? You beg me. You want my cock? You say please. You want to cum? You fucking ask permission. You’re gonna be extra polite for me, you understand?”

You let out a strained sound against his fingers he takes for an affirmation before taking hold of your hips, not wasting a second to align himself near your entrance and you exhale in want as he lets go of your neck. Your fists clutch the fabric of the sofa as he runs his length against your folds once, twice, and you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration, feeling his pleasure growing at what he knows you’re about to say. “Please…”

You hear his satisfied growl as his fingers presses deeper into your flesh and you let out a quick gasp as he plunges into you in a swift stroke, quickly replaced by needy moans as you feel the ache in your loins sharpen. He fills you, his thrusts growing from controlled to erratic, faint praises whispered through the sounds of smacking flesh as he roams his hand over your back, and soon you feel your muscles pulse around him in building tension.

It makes him tighten at once behind you, fingers bruising the flesh of your ass as he suddenly withdraws and with a few last strokes, spills onto your back with a ragged groan.

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made…” he tuts while you whimper from the sudden loss, feeling your walls pulsating over nothing as he watches his cock glistens with your fluids. “You don’t care about being dirty, do you? You just like being a good girl.”

You whine again as he spreads his seed over your lower back soothingly, not caring for the stains but rather snaking a hand under your shirt, cupping one of your breasts to squeeze it as you wiggle under him, his name on your tongue.

“What is it, kitten? Do you need to cum?” he purrs as he caresses your breast firmly, hoisting you up against him.

“Yes please, please…”

His hold tightens, his face coming close to your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek as he coos. “Prettier.”

The heat in your stomach thickens, heart racing against your ribcage in nervousness and you melt into his embrace. “P-Please, I need to cum. I need you to make me cum.”

He hums in satisfaction as he turns you around, flattening you against the back of the couch and yanking your shirt over your head as he spreads your legs, his jaw dropping in elation when he slides two fingers inside of you, making your head fall back with a loud moan. Your legs barely hold you as he rubs his thumb over your clit at a consuming pace, his long fingers finding the rough spot within you as if he had known it all of his life, and you’re soon panting heavily.

His gaze is fixed on your face, enjoying every moment, every painful expression as you’re closing on your high, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants and when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, he stops, violently squeezing your inside between his three digits.

You wail at the sensation, meeting his harsh gaze and fascinated eye and soon you let out a strained sob, your inside muscles constricting painfully. “Aren’t you forgetting something, kitten?”

You swallow with difficulty as he smiles, his grip on you merciless, unmoving and you feel your legs tremble. “Please, don’t stop, I want- I need to cum. Please, I beg you.”

“Good girls ask permission, remember?” he grunts as he starts his movement again, rough digits now too slow on your wetness. “Try again.”

“Can I please… cum,” you plead in a strained sob, gripping the back of the couch more tightly but when he starts stroking your insides again, you see nothing but white, the coiling sensation within your core finally snapping and he doesn’t stop until you’re a puddle under him, letting you sink on the couch in a ghosting embrace.

“That’s it,” he soothes, grazing your waist and breast before gently making you suck on his fingers after the last shockwaves of your climax, tasting yourself through your heavy breaths. “Such an obedient little kitten.”

You slowly start to get the control of your legs back as he wipes some sweat out of your hair, but his gaze is nothing but soothing. “Fuck, look how hard you made me again, with you begging me so sweetly…”

He slowly runs one of his hands up your thigh, his hardening state hitting your flesh briefly before he lifts your knees up, positioning his weight over each of your thighs and you blink in anticipation, too dazed to utter a word. You angle yourself better against his body, the only confirmation he needs before he plunges into you again, this time his desire is too strong to wait for you to find your composure back.

It burns, vividly so, your swollen flesh barely recovered from your previous climax and you start moaning loudly, your hand rushing to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds from escaping your throat.

Two hands come to snap it away, lacing them over your head in a secure hold and you sink your teeth in your flesh when you meet his fierce gaze, the roll of his hips unfaltering. “No no no, kitten. Let them hear you, hear how desperate you are for my cock, how much you like begging for it.”

“Kiss me.”

He recoils slightly, his thrust slowing gradually as his single eye widen, the black of it taking over. “I don’t kiss my pets.”

“Please...”

Your voice sounds broken, a hint of determination within it that makes him blink and you can clearly see him battling himself for a moment before he crashes his lips against yours. The suddenness of it makes you moan against him as he devours you, the roll of his hips starting again deeper, needier.

It hits every right spot despite the overstimulation and soon you feel a numbness take hold of you, goosebumps spreading over your body. “Aemond, I’m going to-”

He grunts against your mouth as his hand comes to play with your breast again, freeing one of your own in the process that you bring to his face, stroking the smooth skin there along with the scar that marks his cheek. “You’re not cumming yet, I need you to wait a little while longer, alright kitten?”

His thrust slows again and you feel the pleasurable pain of being denied once more, filled by the need to obey him. “I can’t-”

“Don’t you dare cum before I say so, be a good girl and wait for my fucking permission, you understand?”

You close your eyes in a tremendous effort not to let the stretching sensation of him rocking inside of you overcome you too fast, your back arching under him and you feel his free hand flatten against your stomach to immobilise you, shushing you in a husky tone.

You beg one last time, feeling your guts heating up with the way he is chasing his own climax with deep thrusts and you dig your nails in his shoulder.

“Fuck… Come on, kitten, come for me, you can let go.”

Your vision blurs, your eyes rolling back as you cry out, your body going numb under the shattering pleasure and you don’t register anything, not how he follows you minutes later as you clench around him nor where he spills himself. You just feel like your limbs don’t obey you anymore.

You huff, feeling Aemond’s scent and sweat envelop you and when you open your eyes he is looking down at you with a hooded eye.

His thumb massages a spot over your shoulder and a sorry expression passes on his feature as he sets a strand of your hair aside. “I can’t grant you what you asked for.”

You feel cold all of a sudden, the air biting your damp skin as his warm fingers graze your cheek, feeling your disappointment. 

“I’ll leave your sister alone, as you wished, but I’m not taking the drugs back. You’ll have to find a way to sell, as Maria promised she would.”

A wave of relief runs through you, happiness for your sister but an odd sensation takes place within your chest as the man next to you watches you with fierceness. “Because you… you’re going to be very useful to me, kitten.”

You don’t glance away, you don’t recoil.

Because you’re not sure you want to leave anyway.

Tagging @watercolorskyy and thanking @babyblue711 for the beta reading. We cannot disappoint.

[lendeah]

The currents of destiny

Chapter 2: Power hungry.

Summary: G'Axir shows Astarion what his life would be like had Tav carried on with the Ascension ritual. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav Word Count: 3.3k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

[AO3 Link]

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NOTE: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. DARK CHAPTER. THANK YOU.

Before Astarion could protest or question further, a blinding white light engulfed him and G'axir both. He felt himself being pulled through space and time, his body weightless and disoriented.

Suddenly, he regained control of his body. And his breath was caught in his throat: he was in front of Cazador, his master still alive and well. His companions were a few meters away, watching him with apprehension. In an incredible turn of events, he had been transported back in time to just a few hours earlier. He attempted to call out to them, but his mouth moved on its own before he could say anything.

"Help me do this, please"

Astarion's heart dropped as he realized what was happening. He was a helpless spectator, forced to watch his own actions unfold without any control. He watched Tav's face, the conflict swimming in her eyes.

"We would kill all these people... seven thousand, Astarion. Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"These people died years ago trust me on that. All that's left a feral spawn, desperate for blood. If we release them how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?" he replied, but he sensed he was trying to convince himself just as much as Tav.

In the past, this was the point when Tav had refused to assist him. Now, however, she looked torn, her brows furrowed as she considered his offer.

"If I complete the ritual... think of the power I'll have. With me by your side we can we can save the city - we can save ourselves!" Astarion could hear the desperation in his own voice and he hated himself for it.

He could feel everything his mind was going through at that moment: fear, hunger for power, and a sense of desperate urgency. But amidst it all, he also saw the turmoil reflected in Tav's eyes. He could see the internal struggle she was facing, the weight of the decision weighing heavily on her shoulders, something he hadn't noticed before.

After a few seconds, he could sense the parasite quivering inside his mind, the telltale sign that Tav was opening her mind to him. The moment their minds linked, Tav's presence flooded his senses, and he saw himself through her eyes, standing in front of Cazador, his back to her revealing the intricate design of his scars. He felt her emotions; the trembling anxiety and deep concern, but also the unwavering trust she had in him.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but be curious about the potential outcome. The power and control that completing this ritual would bring were too enticing to ignore. And with Tav's help, he could finally get revenge on Cazador and be truly free.

After that, the vision blurred and flashed, a dizzying array of images assaulting Astarion's mind. He saw himself marking Cazador's back with the complex patterns that adorned his own back. Then, the image shifted and he was throwing his master into the very place that should have been his. In that moment, a blinding flash of red washed over Astarion and he felt an overwhelming surge of power coursing through his body. His senses were overloaded, his mind expanding to absorb all the knowledge and abilities that came with the ascension. It was like being struck by lightning, a rush that left him breathless and reeling. He repeated a series of words, an enchantment that felt unfamiliar on his tongue.

And after another flash, Astarion felt... nothing. No fear, no hunger, nothing at all. What is going on?

His surroundings slowly came into focus: the ground beneath him strewn with the bodies of his siblings, all lifeless and still. Blood stained the walls and floor, a stark contrast to the pristine stone that adorned them before. His body turned to look at Tav and his companions, who were still watching him from the sidelines. And they looked completely horrified at the sight.

"What have you done?!" Karlach screamed.

But his body, that other version of him, still didn't feel anything. The Ascended version of himself - stronger, more powerful than ever before – remained expressionless. A sickening realization hit him like a punch to the gut - his siblings, seven thousand souls, Sebastian, the Gur children... all dead because of him. And at that moment, Astarion felt a surge of guilt and shame wash over him. He couldn't believe what he had done. He had been consumed by his hunger for power, driven by his past self's desperation.

I didn't mean... I didn't think... Astarion stammered, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. But the words were lost in the void of his consciousness.

"Astarion…" Tav's voice was filled with disbelief and sadness. "Has this... really been worth it?" her voice cracked with disappointment, the sadness and guilt in her eyes too much for Astarion to bear.

He could feel the pain radiating off Tav. He needed to reach out, comfort her... but he couldn't. He was trapped inside his mind, a prisoner in his own flesh.

His body moved towards Tav slowly; reached out and cupped her cheek gently with its hand.

"I did it for you, for us," he whispered softly, running its thumb against her bruised and tear-streaked cheek.

And yet… as he saw the raw pain etched into her features; as he watched tears welling up in her eyes, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks; as he heard her whisper his name one more time – filled with sadness, disappointment, and an indescribable heartbreak – he felt nothing. His body felt nothing but pride and greed for more power. And the thought terrified him to his very core.

“Trust me, Tav,” His voice spoke on its own accord, before his consciousness was moving again.

He couldn't see anything else around him, just the overwhelming brightness that seemed to swallow him whole. When Astarion opened his eyes, the stone and debris had been replaced with pristine white walls adorned with elegant artwork. As he took in his new surroundings, a soft breeze tickled his skin and the gentle sounds of seagulls filled his ears. He was gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sparkling blue sea stretching out before him. He was no longer in the ruins of his past; he had been transported to a beautiful seaside bedroom.

Confusion filled his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Was this another vision? Or was this reality?

His body turned from the windows to the space next to him, and he realized Tav was standing in front of him, looking... tired. And bruised.

"I really can't believe you let me do that... killing all those people..." Ascended Astarion chuckled darkly, "such a pleasant surprise."

He saw the guilt etched on her face, the sadness. Astarion felt his stomach churn at the thought that Tav might hate him for what he had done. But I didn't mean to...

Astarion's body walked towards Tav, reaching out to cup her face gently in its hand. But instead of the usual warmth and tenderness he felt towards her, there was only disgust. His body was repulsed by her weakness.

"I... I just wanted what was best for you," she replied softly, looking at her hands.

"You sweet, sweet thing," His body spoke in a mocking tone, the hand that once held such tenderness now gripping Tav's chin tightly, making her look at him. "I want what's best for you too, of course. And... one wicked turn deserves another."

Wait, what? Astarion felt a cold and ugly realization seep into his mind. Could he really mean... No, he wouldn't...

"Isn't that what you want, pet?" his body continued.

No. No she doesn't want it. What is this?! Stop this! "I-I just want you to be happy. I want us to stay together," Tav's voice trembled as she tried to reason with his body.

"Is that so?" His body countered. "You're the one that I want, the one that I love and you could be so much more if you want it. One little bite, and you could be mine, forever..." his ascended version said. But Astarion could taste de lie on his tongue. He wanted to make her his spawn.

And at that moment, Astarion felt pure unadulterated terror like he had never felt before. No! No no no! Astarion screamed, clawing at the invisible bars of his conscience. Please, no! Not her! Astarion's screams echoed inside his head as he watched his body move closer to Tav, his eyes glinting with hunger and desire for control. But it was no use. He was trapped inside his own nightmare, forced to relive the horrors of his past as he became the monster that once ruled over him.

His body was now leaning towards her, close enough to feel her soft breath against his lips, close enough to see the fear in her eyes – a fear he could not respond to. "Say it, love," it cooed dangerously, its voice a haunting echo of seductive promises.

"I... I..." Tav stuttered, her trembling hands tightly clutching the front of his shirt.

"Are you ready to join me? To accept this immortal gift? Say yes..." a commanding whisper slipped past his lips against his will, dark hunger coursing through his body. Astarion felt his soul scream in agony, unable to alter the horrible course he had set them on. Because he already knew that look in her eyes, that determination. It was the look she had when standing up for him against his siblings, the one she wore while letting him drink from her every night, the look she gave him on the night she confessed her love. The look that said she would do anything and everything for him.

Slowly, her lips moved, and a small whisper escaped them. "I love you..."

No! Astarion's soul shrieked inside his mind, but the body wasn't listening. Astarion tried to push back against the darkness, to will his body to do something, anything, to stop itself.

As tears streamed down her face, she whispered a tearful "yes." He longed to comfort her, to promise that everything would be okay and to protect her from the monstrous version of himself.

But it was too late.

His physical form gave into a cruel grin as she submitted to his will, and Astarion could feel its disgust at her degradation, at her weakness.

"I knew you'd come around..."

His body gently captured Tav's soft weeping face between his hands, his thumbs brushing away the mournful tears on her cheeks. "Such a good girl," his voice was honeyed darkness, "You'll be so beautiful... everlasting... My dark consort."

His body slowly pushed Tav down to the floor, her back resting against the cold stone. It was a cruel twist of fate that the one person who had shown him kindness and acceptance would now become his first slave. Tav closed her eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. The irony wasn't lost on Astarion, he was giving her a lover's kiss before death.

As his body pulled away from the kiss, his icy fingers traced down from her throat to the collar of her shirt. He slowly peeled it off to bare her neck, not breaking eye contact. "Tonight I shall drink every drop of your blood, own your body, kill your mind. It will hurt a bit, but worry not; the pleasure will be far greater than the pain." his body said, grinning wolfishly at Tav who was paralyzed in fear, yet rooted in love.

She was heaving, fear evident in her features. "P-please, just... be gentle."

No! Please, don't kill her! Not her! Astarion's conscience screamed for him to stop, to save the woman he loves from this fate. But he was powerless, trapped inside his own body as it lowered its head towards her exposed neck. The scent of her blood, warm and sweet filled his nostrils. His fangs bore into her flesh and released a mouthful of hot crimson life that made Astarion's instinctual heart pound with excitement even as his soul recoiled in horror.

He felt completely helpless as he witnessed his own body draining the life from Tav, not even able to look away. He was forced to listen to her soft gasps and whimpers, unable to do anything to stop it. The person he loved more than anyone else was slowly dying at his own hands. He could do nothing but watch as she lay on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood, her once vibrant skin now pale and her lips lacking their usual rosy color. Those same lips that he had loved to kiss and watch curve into an easy smile were now still and lifeless.

If he could have shed tears, he would have wept in despair and regret. If he were in his own physical form, he knew he would be retching now. But he could do nothing but scream and claw, the pain all consuming in his soul.

After what seemed like an eternity, his body finally pulled away from Tav's neck and stood up straight. He wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand and looked down at Tav's lifeless body with a sense of triumph.

"You were delicious as always, dear," his voice echoed inside Astarion's mind.

And just like that, he was once again drifting through the vast emptiness of space. But his exhaustion and defeat were so overwhelming that he couldn't bring himself to care.

When the light faded after what seemed like hours, Astarion found himself standing in a familiar place - Cazador's Palace once again. But this time, it was... different. At first, he couldn't pinpoint it. But then, he noticed: the paintings on the wall didn't depict his former master anymore. He froze as he watched the stranger with white hair and red eyes watching him from the portrait. The man's face was unknown, but something about him felt...familiar. Remnants from another life.

He couldn't look away from those piercing red eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. His body stepped closer, reaching out a hand to touch the painting.

And he realized, it wasn't a stranger; it was himself. Older, more weathered, and with a haunting look in his red eyes. The first time he was seeing his face in 200 years. His finger slid over the canvas, feeling the rough texture beneath his touch. There was pride emanating from this version of himself and it sent shivers down his spine.

What is this? he whispered inside his mind, his voice cracking with emotion.

The realm of possibilities... that might have unfolded had you embraced ascension... your destiny left unfulfilled... G'axir's voice echoed through his subconscious.

Astarion's stomach churned as his body moved around the room. Everything had been changed. The furniture was placed differently, new artwork adorned the walls, but it still retained its eerie and dark atmosphere as it did with his old master. As he traversed down a never-ending corridor, his steps echoed loudly in the eerie silence. Servants scurried past him, their heads bowed in reverence. But there was something off about them, almost as if they were under some sort of spell. Their movements were stiff and mechanical, and their eyes lacked any emotion or life.

After what felt like an eternity, his body finally reached the grand dining hall. Two servants dressed in impeccably crisp uniforms opened the massive doors for him. The room was filled with the warm, flickering light of numerous candles, illuminating the extravagant decorations adorning the walls. A long table stretched across the room, set with elegant china and silverware that could only belong to a king. But there was no one sitting at the table, creating a strange emptiness in the room. His body continued past the elaborate table, towards a magnificent throne that now stood at the far end of the room.

No. No, no, no.

There, atop the throne, draped in garments more regal than his master Cazador had ever let him wear, sat Tav. Her skin was nearly translucent, veins snaking just beneath the surface like tendrils of a creeping vine. Her eyes radiated an unnatural crimson glow that revealed her spawn nature. Tav's face held no familiarity in its gaze; only vacant submission under her crimson eyes. She looked nothing like the woman he had known - stubborn, fierce, and full of life. Now all that remained was an empty shell drained of hope and vitality, turned into a puppet. The sight of it made his stomach flip. This could not be happening. It was a nightmare.

He watched, appalled, as his body ascended the steps to the throne with a predatory grace. She, on the other hand, stood from the throne, head bowed in submission. He took his place on the seat, pulling Tav onto his lap. She sat there silently, not moving or uttering a single word.

I'm so sorry Astarion whispered brokenly inside his head.

And then, horror upon horror, his body began to speak.

"My beautiful pet," he murmured into the hollow of her neck. "Isn't it a delight to see how far we've come?"

She met the gaze of her new master with an impassive face - a puppet on strings. "Of course. I couldn't be happier, my lord," she replied, though her face remained impassive, not even a ghost of an emotion flickering in her eyes. Her body seemed rigid, save for the slight tremble that shook her form.

She didn't fight back or resist, which only fueled the anger of his ascended self. He could sense its thoughts; how she was now dull and uninteresting, lacking all the fire and fight that she once had.

"Ah, so compliant..." his mouth whispers, tracing a thumb along her jawline - a horribly intimate act that made Astarion's heart lurch in revulsion. "But you've been very bad, trying to sneak out at night," his body continued, pressing its lips against Tav's neck in a mock kiss. "And you know what we do to naughty pets..."

Astarion's mind was filled with revulsion and disgust at the scene happening before him. His worst fear had come true: he had used and abused her feelings until there was nothing left of the person she used to be. He couldn't believe he had almost let himself become so consumed by power. He couldn't believe he had begged for Tav to turn him into this. Into... his master.

He had everything he had ever wanted: power, control, and Tav by his side. And yet, holding all this in his grasp, his body felt empty. Devoid of any emotion. The ritual had given him everything he had hoped for, and he had paid the price with his soul.

"Now," the voice continued, "I think it’s time you show your master just how truly sorry you are."

Ascended Astarion's hand tightened around her throat as he dragged her towards his lips. She struggled against his grip, clawing at his arm and gasping for air, but he was too strong.

"NO! Astarion, please!" She begged, out of breath.

Astarion was panicking, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break free from his own body's control. As Astarion's mind reached its breaking point, G'Axir's voice echoed back in his head.

In your gaze... the aftermath unfolds... revealing the life consumed by an insatiable hunger for power. G'Axir supplies in his mind. Prepared to venture forth... into the next glimpse?

Astarion could feel his sanity slipping away as he pleaded, Stop this, I beg you! I will do anything but please get me the fuck out of here!

And finally, the vision stopped.

Note: Oof, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions, hard torturous version. I promise next chapters will be lighter than this one. Also, I think I have left my Astarion traumatized (even more). LMK if you want to be added to a taglist :)

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[trashogram]

i found a kinktober prompt list you could use if you’d like too-

https://www.tumblr.com/synamartia/763053984746455040/got-a-little-somethin-somethin-for-yall-hope

i was wondering if you could please do Lucifer with biting, or sex pollen, or body worship, or dacryphilia, or daddy kink. Any prompt will do tbh i am not picky 😆

((Thank you so much for the link! These are all good — I think if I don’t get any requests on a specific day, I’ll take from that list and write something small 💕))

Kinktober Day Two — Sex Pollen

Rated E: Slight dubcon, f!reader, penetrative sex, fluids

You liked Charlie’s father well enough. He was a high-strung and dramatic eccentric — and the literal King of Hell — but it wasn’t difficult to warm up to him given a little time. In fact, if you caught him in the right mood and setting (without a certain radio host chomping at the bit to antagonize him), Lucifer was a fun person to converse with. He had so many ideas and whether big or small, there was always conviction behind them that you found admirable.

Take for example, his spontaneous idea to create a greenhouse behind the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie had been hesitant, unsure of how it would benefit her residents until Lucifer dressed it up as gardening being a relaxing hobby.

‘Nature walks can be beneficial to mental health as well.’ You had chimed in — a rarity that had heads turning in your direction.

It seemed to sell the idea to Charlie, who’d been batted back and forth between her father and Alastor. The perpetually smiling Overlord had thrown bitchy quips and comments to dissuade the princess from agreeing. Not for any real reason, as most of his arguments took jabs at Lucifer more so than the greenhouse idea.

With Charlie on board and Alastor undoubtedly hiding a pout underneath that plastered grin, Lucifer had smiled gratefully at you. Such a simple thing, but you had coasted on the rush of dopamine that came with it for days.

~ ~ ~

You still thought the greenhouse was a good idea.

The already humid air that wrought a sticky sensation all over your flesh had turned sweltering with the sweat pouring down your body. You could see the glisten of it on your arms, contrasted with the very fine shade of rose gold dust that covered you from head to toe, as you kept your arms locked around Lucifer’s neck. It made you stand out in a lush array of jungle growth, dark yet phosphorescent in the strawberry champagne-tint that had consumed your vision — but Lucifer’s alabaster outline was positively glowing as he rutted into you.

Every thrust was balm to the ache that permeated your being. Your very soul. And you wished you could tell him so, if only to stop his litany.

‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!’ Lucifer looked near tears, stifling the grunts that escaped with every slide into your dripping heat.

You wanted very dearly to respond that he had nothing to be sorry — it was you that had gotten too curious. It was you that had reached out to touch that mysteriously strange and interesting plant out of bounds. It was you who’d touched your lips with the powdery perfume exuded by the plant’s treacherously deep, dark purple blooms and you who’d licked over them as they tingled and buzzed. You were the one that needed him to save you from the pain that had you convulsing not even a minute afterward — but all you could do was mew and whine and clench down on him.

Your fingers, smeared like your lips and, dug into his platinum hair and tugged. The pollen wouldn’t hurt him, so he swore to you, and you could bring him close for a kiss. Lucifer whimpered into your mouth, sucking the fine spores from your lips like it was sugar. His hips smacked against yours, faster and harder as you bestowed affection onto him. In spite of the jacket he’d draped behind you, you could feel the texture of the tree trunk at your back insistently, though the irritation was dull.

Everything that wasn’t Lucifer’s solid body, his high keens and quick pants, his greedy mouth, and his perfect hard cock gliding past your walls and kissing your womb was dull. Insignificant. Nonexistent. Nothing.

With your heel tilling into his backside, you had the Devil yelping. The over-loud squelch of your sloppy cunt being fucked relentlessly stopped as he spilled into you, hips stuttering until cum dripped down onto the mossy ground below.

[achaoticeternal]

nothing between us

aemond targaryen x reader part two - can’t you see...? ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ word count: 3.6k summary: under the influence of his mother, Aemond has followed the Faith of the Seven closely. The second son of the King is proud to meet a young noble Lady who shares the Faith as closely as he does.  a/n: there will be a part two :)  warnings: AFAB reader, theme of obsession, religious themes and guilt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“And may the Mother and Father watch over us as we walk in light…” The prayer rolled off your tongue with a finish. With a nod of your head, you finally rose from your spot at the altar.

The High Septon bid a dismissal as the halls of the sept began to clear. Your mother linked arms with you, serving as your guide through the crowd. She kept a warm smile on her face, nodding to both nobles and peasants alike. Though your father was just behind you, not showing the same warmth to the general public as your mother. 

You continued to follow out the doors, the sun shining brilliantly upon the capital. The light bounced off the blue waters, reflecting beautifully onto the shore. It had been either overcast or raining for the past week or so. But a day of sun was something you would truly thank the Mother for later. 

As you continued to be tugged along down the steps of the sept, your arms slipped out of your mother's, instead lifting up your skirt to be more diligent with your steps. In the courtyard below, merchants and spinsters began to announce their wears, bidding anyone who dared to take a look. Usually, they would be selling more exotic things than they would on any other day. 

With a giggle, your steps picked up as you tapped your mother on the shoulder, “We must stop by one of the book stands! I’ve read practically everything I can access in the prince’s and king’s library. A book from afar would be a welcome distraction!”

“You and your books…” Your father chuckled behind you, patting your back, “You’ll have to choose quickly, the Hand is summoning the Small Council to convene once that bell strikes two.”

With a nod, you picked up your steps, hoping to get to the book stand sooner. However, you were stuck behind a group of stragglers who cared to chat far more than they cared to walk. A sigh passed your lips as you continued trying to move around the group and reach your destination soon. You were able to press yourself against the wall in order to squeeze through the small gaps the group of elders made. When bumping past them, you whisper small apologies and pardons.

It isn’t until you are fully around the group of elders offering you small smiles that you are able to take large strides. You take the steps two at a time, hoping to beat the rush of the audience fleeing from the sept this morning. A smile spans across your face as you eye the end of the stairs, close enough that you feel the sparks of gratification stir inside. Accounting for the commoners surrounding you, your steps continue light and quick against the cobblestone. 

Yet what you did not account for was a mother and her two small children toddling next to her. The little girl drops her wood carving of a bear which tumbles down the stairs. As the toddler leans down to grab her belonging, you take a swift sidestep to avoid falling upon her or her mother. And just as quickly as relief passes through you, your foot dips into a small hole in the ground, causing your balance to unfavorably sway. Your hands can cling to nothing to keep you up and so you feel yourself free fall into the courtyard.

You brace yourself for an impact that never comes. Instead, two firm arms have caught you, saving you from any injury of landing so roughly.

“May the Seven bless you! Thank you,” The words spill from your lips as you regain your footing, standing to meet whoever has come to your aid. The breath exits your body as you meet, the violet eye of one Prince Aemond Targaryen. A dark cloak hangs over his shoulders, the hood pulled up most likely to hide his silver blond hair from straying eyes. If not for your somewhat familiarness with the royal family, you might have dismissed him as another stroller in the courtyard. Except you do recall seeing him and the Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower, observing the service in the sept just mere moments ago. The only other indicator to confirm that it is the Prince is the two King’s Guard that has joined his side, their shoulders relaxing when they recognize your noble appearance. 

“My-”

“My lady,” Aemond is quick to cut you off, clearly wishing not to be recognized, “May I ask where you were rushing off so quickly? It seems patience might not be among your virtues.”

Before you can properly answer him, you feel a hand on your shoulder -- your father who bows his head slightly in observance to the prince, “I apologize for my daughter’s clumsiness, ser.”

Aemond’s face remains stoic as he addresses your father, “All is well, my Lord. Perhaps we might thank the Seven that your daughter fell into my arms, rather than injuring herself or others on the abrasive ground.” 

A pause lingers for a moment as your father tries to find his next words. Should he thank the prince? Correct his daughter before the royal before him? Instead, you reply to the prince’s original question.

“There is a book stall that is only in the market once a moon with books from across the sea. I’ve almost read everything in the royal libraries, so I hoped to find a new text to read,” Your tone was polite, and kind when addressing the prince. You almost swore to the Mother that the corners of Aemond’s lips twitched into a smile before his disposition settled once more.

“Enjoy your noon then, I hear the Hand has summoned the small council and tends to busy them later” the Prince spoke with a nod, “my Lord, my Lady.” 

And just like that, the Prince and his guards have almost dissipated among the crowd. They are undoubtedly returning to the Red Keep, yet you wonder why the Prince did not join his mother in the royal carriage. But the thought leaves your mind just as quickly as your parents escort you to the book stand, not wishing for you to cause another scene.

--

The sun has fallen past midday and your father has long left you and your mother to attend the meeting in the Hand’s tower. While your Lord Father attended to work and the realm, you entertained your mother in one of the social dens of the Keep. Your mother was currently perched on a chair by the window, completing some needlework. In the chair opposite to her, there you sat with the religious text of the Faith in your lap. 

This was Sunday tradition, and even if your father could not be in attendance, you would not deny your obligation to thank the Seven for all they do for you, your family, and the realm. Though you knew nearly every passage by heart, your mother insisted you read so as not to be distracted from the outside temptations of the world.

But the book only kept your attention to a certain extent. Your mother was too enamored by her craft to notice when your eyes strayed from the pages and to the people that passed through the Keep. It was mainly guards going about their duties, and servants tending to wherever they must, but even Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon made a pass through. 

Both the Targaryen princes were walking in the direction of the Hand’s Tower. Most likely to participate in the Small Council meeting as a part of their royal duties. After living almost two moons in the castle, you noticed that the elder brother, Aegon, did not share the same satisfaction in performing his tasks as Aemond did. Once you swore that you watched Aemond nearly drag his brother to one of the council meetings, but you would never vocalize such. 

Here they were, the Targaryen princes, strolling through the corridor. Aegon was currently speaking but was too distant to make out what he quite said. You only assumed it to be a joke as he laughed while Aemond seemed less than entertained. But with a slight turn of his head, the younger prince caught sight of you, continuing your readings to your mother. He noted the book in your lap, familiar with it himself due to his time with his own mother, and offered you a nod. 

A moment later, the princes were gone. It was as if you had only imagined it, in fact, you could have convinced yourself the slight interaction had never happened. Except your mother spoke up when she noticed you had fallen silent, “Continue reading, dear.”

-- 

Days passed and with it, routine settled into place. Consistently socializing with the other nobles taking residence within the Keep, attending septa lessons, and continuing your residency in the library. However, a new commonality slithers into your routine. At least once a day, your path would cross with Prince Aemond, just briefly, but always the same gesture. Just a nod. 

You had anticipated today to be no different, spotting the prince earlier in the day. He had been sitting in the gardens with his beloved sister, Princess Helaena, as she cared for her collection of insects. Others would gossip of the princess’s peculiar curiosity, but you thought it endearing, almost divine, in how she cared for even the smallest of the Seven’s creatures. While you took station across the garden, Aemond gently passed back to his sister an arachnid one of the maesters had brought back from the citadel as a token to the princess. Once the creature was safely in Helaena’s palm, Aemond almost instantaneously caught your gaze. 

The impromptu action caused your breath to hitch in your throat. As always, you offered the Prince a nod of your head and a smile as a sign of respect. And as always, Aemond returned the nod. But then the corners of his mouth twitched upward as well, eyes locked on yours. It was the first time you had seen Aemond truly smile. 

Now that smile haunted your memory whilst sitting and attempting to read one of the new books your father recently purchased for you. It was some Braavosi epic that reached astounding popularity, yet now hardly held your attention. The poems bored you more than the Concise History of the Construction of Lemonwood. Taking the pendant of the Maiden between your fingers, you silently prayed to the Gods to rid these thoughts of the prince from your mind. Even as innocent as they were… you did not want temptation to come knocking at your door.

But the Gods speak in rhythm, or at least enjoy seeing mortals grovel, you thought as none other than Prince Aemond entered the library. He wore his usual dark tunic and trousers with a matching waistcoat and belt to cinch it all together. Even outside his training garbs, he reminded you firmly of the Warrior. 

Prince Aemond offered you a curt nod upon his entrance to the library before making his way over to a previously organized stack of books. Most of them were about the histories of Old Valyria with the occasional book on law and reform. It seemed Aemond was consistently studying as if that were his duty to the realm. Though you acknowledged that it was part of what was expected of him. 

Your focus finally returned back to your own novel when the Prince decided to claim your attention once more, “I have not seen that book in this library before.”

“Pardon me, my Prince?” You looked to him curiously, surprised at his observant eye.

“That book,” He gestured to your hand, “The binding is not only fresh but there is not a book in this library with a green cover and red stitching. That red stitching is not of Westeros either.”

You blinked a few times, absorbing this information, “You would be correct, my prince.”

“Then how did you come across such a book, my lady?” 

Swallowing your nerves, you continued the light conversation with the Prince, “My Lord Father bought it for me from a Braavosi merchant.”

“Mmm… if I recall, it was the same day you took that tumble,” He raised his brow.

“Yes, my Prince.” The day I tumbled into your arms.

“And, if my memory serves correctly, you made a sentiment on how you’ve already read through the titles in this library.”

“Yes, my prince.” You agreed once more, “All titles that I was permitted to read.”

“Permitted,” The word lingered on his tongue as if it were a curse, “I see.”

Silence fell over the library. You assumed it to be the end of your conversation with the prince. Minutes passed and you returned to your pages, mulling over the same lines for what felt like eons. That was until the prince called your attention once more.

“Who gives you permission as to what books you read?” There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place, but it stirred something within you.

“That would be my Lord Father,” You answered softly, “my prince.”

Then footsteps thudded across the floor. Aemond moved swiftly from his desk to stand before you instead. From your seat, you gazed up at the tall lean prince. In your current position, he towered over you and a warm hue of orange outlined his head from behind - as if he was carved from the perfected chisel and marble in the hand of the Seven. With ease, he took the epic from your hand and replaced it with a slightly heavier book. 

“At this time every day, I expect you to meet me in the library and read this to me,” Aemond instructed you.

Looking down, you took note of the title: Encounters of the Maiden and the Warrior.

“As you wish, my prince,” You nodded your head, “But I must ask my Lord Father for-”

“I am your prince,” Aemond interrupted, “Are direct orders from your prince not enough for you to do as you are told?”

You did not respond. Words were lost on you, and how could you correct him? He was right, in a sense… wasn’t he?

“Then the matter is settled,” He tilted his head, “Besides, your family mulls over religious texts quite often. This is simply a text to expand such education.”

Without another rise from yourself, you opened the book and began to read it to him. Aemond settled himself in a chair opposite of your own, fingers lightly tapping against the wood of the armrest. His expression gave away little of what he was thinking, so you simply continued.

The activity continued till the end of the moon. At first, you anticipated the meetings would only last till you finished reading the book aloud to him. But it shocked you one day when Aemond would instruct you to skip a few pages or even entire chapters. When you questioned him about this, he simply dismissed them as unnecessary to your divine education. He did not allow you to press the matter further. 

--

One evening, you joined your mother in your parents’ apartments after a visit to the Sept with your mother. Together, you had participated in your weekly prayers to the Mother and Maiden, lighting a candle for each. When you both returned, you recounted the trip to your father who had been too tied to his duties to participate. 

Dinner plans had been arranged for the families of Small Council members to have a private feast with the royal family. Typically, your family would pray in the godswood of the Keep before attending any supper, but tonight your parents thought it best to make an exception. 

Your mother had just finished pinning your hair when a knock fell upon the chamber door. Looking at your father, he answered the guest’s knock. 

There stood Prince Aemond, and his loyal King’s Guard, Ser Criston Cole. It was rare for a royal to come calling at a door. Quickly, you all rose to your feet, paying respects to the prince before you. While your father and mother offered him a nod, you honored the prince with a curtsy. 

“My Prince, why might we have the pleasure of your presence?” your Lord Father asked.

Aemond’s eye drifted over your form. He drank in the sight of you, prepared even if simply for a dinner with the King. His eye then adjusted back to looking your father in the eye.

“I have come to call upon the young Lady,” He stated simply, “I’d like to pray with her in the godswood before supper, under supervision, of course.” The prince gestured to Ser Cole who remained still. 

Warmth filled your cheeks and chest at the thought of being alone with the prince. It wasn’t your first time, of course, but each private moment with him brought over a wave of new emotions. 

Taking a moment to think, your father then nodded his head in agreement, “You have my permission.”

--

Ser Criston was notably trailing quite a few steps behind the prince and you as if he did not want to infringe upon the interaction. A part of your mind wondered if it was by order or out of the guard’s own consideration.

Aemond had led you from your parents’ apartments to just outside the garden wall. Your arm was carefully linked in his own, shoulders brushing against the other with each step. While you walked, you recounted your visit to the sept to the prince. He had not inquired, but you disdained any silence between you both and he did at least act amused. Amused as the prince would allow himself to be, at least. 

“And who gifted you your pendant of the Maiden?” The prince asked.

“My grandmother, before she passed,” you explained to him, “It was hers. A gift from my grandfather upon their betrothal.”

“I see,” He nodded, falling quiet once more. 

Before another word could be uttered, you arrived at the courtyard where the small godswood lay snug. Though you appreciated having a place to properly pray to the Seven nearby, your mind always trailed back to the godswood of your own ancestral home. It was considerably larger than this, or any of the Southern kingdoms. You never commented on the size though, not wanting to offend those who tended to it or sought comfort here. 

As Aemond led you forward, Ser Criston remained in the archway at attention. His eyes focused on the halls, surveying for harm as expected of him. 

Just as you approached the heart tree, Aemond stopped his moments, keeping you tucked into his side. Your eyes turned to his face, scanning his demeanor for a clue of what was in his mind.

Suddenly, he spoke once more, “My mother often comments on the fact that there is not a proper weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s godswood.”

After a pause, you offered him a response, “I believe I understand her sentiment.”

The prince turned toward you with a raised brow, dropping your arm in exchange for taking your hands in his own, “And what is that sentiment, my lady?’

Your eyes flicker over his face, the faintest hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. Tearing your gaze away from his face, you refocused down… down at his large hands which grasped your own. His cool, calloused hands nearly engulfed your own. Such thoughts sent a chill down your spine. The warm feeling returned, but you pushed away your acknowledgment of it. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked to where a weirwood tree might take occupancy in this godswood, “I do not wish to speak in ill opinion of the crown, my prince.”

“I want to hear your thoughts,” His hands squeezed your own, albeit gently, “Speak them.”

With a sigh, you continued as instructed, “Very few Targaryens, much less Targaryen Kings have truly devoted themselves to the Seven. The show of faith is merely a guise to appease the High Septon and common folk. As I’m sure you are well aware, it was always said that Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. Being compared to Gods does not ignite one to take up faith in what one might perceive themself as an equal to. So King’s Landing and many southern kingdoms are sullied with sin.”

Silence hung in the air, but the prince did not weaken his grip upon you. Worry sank in your stomach, wondering if you had spoken too freely for the prince’s liking. His common smirk played at his lips once more, “An observant lady… a very smart girl.”

The small praise made your heart drum against your chest, You could sweat to the Gods that he could feel it in your pulse too as he ducked his head closer to your own.

“My smart girl has been paying attention to our lessons,” His breath was warm against your face. His eye flickered from your own to the pendant resting atop your chest, “Good…”

Slowly, Aemond released one of your hands and raised his own up toward your face. His fingers took hold of the pendant, thumb grazing over the engraving. Then, he brought the pendant closer to his face, the tension of the chain against your neck, causing you to lean closer to him. His eye now held your gaze in a moment of surprising intimacy. Aemond raised the pendant to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it, eye never once leaving your own. 

When he released it, the pendant fell back upon your chest. You released the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

“Now that I’ve given you my blessing,” Aemond’s voice was warm, but still caused your skin to prickle, “Get on your knees and pray…”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[the-fat-raccoon]

🌌 astro-gnomey Follow

Some of you don't want to hear it but at some point we're going to HAVE to acknowledge the effects of storm sorcerers (and keiromancy as a whole) on the environment. The wizard council has been pushing for regulations on these practices for years due to its large ecological effect on the realm, and yet it still stays unregulated because of misinformed petitioners who insist on preserve this harmful practice.

x x x

🌬 420haz3it Follow

hey ops ex here. they literally went through my family's tome of spells and destroyed every page that contained keiromancy. spells that were in my family since the Wizardry Renaissance, that saved towns from floods and droughts alike, are now lost to time and space

also as people in the notes pointed out all of those links are blatant misinformation that ignores what storm sorcerers have done to protect not only their local communities but the environment as a whole for centuries, and the people who spread this information are the exact same people who advocated to repeal the wishing star protection act.

hating keiromancy has always been a distraction so astrological mages can push for more unsafe practices in their own field. don't let them lie about their intent, and don't let the wizard council rush the process to earn an astromage liscense.

🪄 tradmage12 Follow

Being from a family of storm sorcerers puts a direct line from you to the Great Calamity that wiped out our magic for a millenia. You deserve to lose that tome and every last spark of magic in you.

🌬 420haz3it Follow

what

🌬 420haz3it Follow

theres no way youre serious. you dont actually believe that.

🪄 tradmage12 Follow

We all know it, the Great Calamity would have never happened if the sorcerer faction had listened to the wizard councils orders and steered clear of dragon hunting. But they didn't listen, and everyone suffered because of it. Don't act like there's no reason to not trust your kind with their own practices. You just can't help yourselves.

🌌 astro-gnomey Follow

I leave for the Berry Harvest and come back to this mess, really funny how you'll mention me taking action against your family's evil dark spells but don't mention that you only dated me for your weird gnomeplay fantasies. Also pay attention to the language used, very Anti Mage rhetoric being spread. What else would you expect of a storm sorcerer, of course they want to keep their powers, I'm going to shut off reblogs if people in the notes cant see how they're being manipulated by keiromancers. Quit trying to be 'progressive' when you just want to keep ruining the course of nature and keep down the mage class.

🌬 420haz3it Follow

get me off this fucking lichsite. there is no 'anti mage rhetoric', that's not a fucking thing. mages aren't some repressed class no matter how much you want to pretend that, they haven't had to deal with magical restrictions since before the great calamity even happened, meanwhile sorcerers to this day are still fighting to be seen as magical equals.

and while im at it 'keiromancers' is a made up term to put all weather magic users under one umbrella, as if forms of keiromancy arent so diverse amongst the realms that you cant even begin to compare them. it is not the same as saying necromancers. dont even start that bs.

also, gnomeplay is perfectly normal and acceptable between consenting partners, which we were, so idek why you bring that up. if i as a half elf want to have gnome partners theres literally no issue with that, youre mad because gneillielle has a more bountiful gourd harvest and far more whimsical tunes than you ever brought to our relationship.

storm sorcerers have done nothing wrong, you're the problem.

perhaps some shadow work could unlodge the staff youve got stuck up your cap and you could see the filthy fuckign system youre supporting as an astromage, im sick and tired of this.

🎱 claire-vances-fourth-eye Follow

op starts posting untagged wizard council x reader failed abjuration content in a year btw

5,482 notes

[demonvampire180writes]

It Was Dinner and a Movie

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Rating: Teens and Up

Trigger Warnings: Mild homophobic language

Word Count: 3,406

Completion Status: Complete

Ao3 Link: It Was Dinner and a Movie

Like one would expect, the bar was crowded for a Friday night, basically every seat from end to end occupied with folks waiting to be seated.

Buck and Tommy wove their way through bodies, Buck’s pinky linked around his boyfriend’s, searching for an empty table. In the far back corner, Tommy spotted a hightop just being cleaned off and, with their linked hands, gestured to it. Buck nodded and made a beeline for it, just as another couple laid eyes on it. Scooting into it Buck cried, triumphant, “This table is ours!” He whooped and Tommy couldn’t help but chuckle as he slid into the seat across from him. It was only a two top so they, unfortunately, couldn’t sit next to each other but that was fine. Tommy preferred looking at the younger boy's face head on anyway.

He was a vision after all.

Smirking, Tommy kept the comment to himself and settled in, leaning back in the chair with his hands clasped on the table. A few minutes later, a harried looking waitress approached them, a tablet in hand. “Evenin’ boys, what can I get cha?” Her accent was thick, made thicker, he was sure, by the bags under her eyes and the messy blond bun with hair sticking out every which was as though it had been thrown up in a rush and hadn’t been brushed smooth in a long while.

“Can we get a pitcher of whatever IPA you have on tap, and do you want to start with a basket of onion rings?” He glanced at Evan who gave him a nod of approval. “That will be all for now, thanks.”

“Sure thing, hun.” She smiled tiredly at them, laid down two generic beer branded coasters, and turned on her heel to serve another table. Both men watched her go.

When she was out of earshot Evan muttered, “Man do I not miss my customer service days. I loved it, but when days were rough they were rough.”

“Oh, so, you mean like your job now?” Tommy asked wryly, eyebrow quirking. His boyfriend leaned across the table and smacked him in the chest with the back of his hand. He didn’t hit him hard but Tommy rubbed at his chest with a pout anyway.

“You deserved that.” The waitress came back then with a pitcher full of dark beer and two glasses of water that she sat down on the coasters. She then placed two empty glasses down and motioned with the pitcher as if to fill them. Evan held up a hand and said, grinning that grin that made a woman’s panties melt, “We’ve got it, no problem. Thank you.” Her shoulders seemed to sag in relief as she placed the pitcher in the center of the table.

“Onion rings should be out soon.”

Tommy held out a placating hand. “No hurry. We’re not in a rush.” She seemed to relax even further, saying no more as she once again turned and disappeared back into the crowd. “Now, do you mind telling me why you think I deserve your abuse?”

“For being a sass master, obviously.”

“Just when did I sass you?” Tommy asked as he filled first Evan’s glass, and then his own, taking a long dreg of it with a smack of his lips to finish. Whatever the waitress had chosen tasted fantastic, though it was on the hoppier side of what he’d usually drink.

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded vaguely like your entire existence is sassing me but he asked anyway, “What was that?”

“Oh nothing.” He sing songed. “I was just saying that being a firefighter is different. We’re not servicing customers, we’re helping people in need.”

“You could argue that customer service people also help those in need.” Tommy replied, unable to help himself. His grin grew at the pout on Evan’s face that stayed even as he gulped down half his beer.

Snorting in a not so eloquent way, Evan replied, “Helping a person whose coupon doesn’t work is not the same as saving one from say… a capsized cruise ship in the middle of a hurricane while your not-yet-hot-pilot-boyfriend saves the day, even making fake mouth static at the fire chief.”

“Oh? Tell me more about this hot pilot not-yet-boyfriend?” His nose crinkled in that adorable way it did when he was teasing as he winked at Evan.

“That’s what you took away from my complaint about comparing apples to oranges?” Evan reached across the table and took one of Tommy’s large hands in between them and began to play with his long, elegant fingers, seeming to not even care who saw.

At that moment, Tommy really registered how much things had changed, even in the short three months they’d been official. Gone was Evan’s hesitation in showing public affection; they held hands when they went for walks; they kissed when they would meet each other at their stations, despite the guaranteed wolf whistles; there was no hesitation in leaning into Tommy anytime he could, just so he could soak up his warmth. Even now, as they sat there, hands together, Evan seemed to tune out the world. Their first date, Tommy had told him that nobody was looking; that nobody had cared. They just looked like two friends hanging out. While that was true back then, now there were definitely some eyes on them - not all of them friendly - and Evan Buckley couldn’t have given any fewer shits.

It made Tommy’s heart swell with pride, and happiness. It was moments like these where he thanked all his lucky stars that he had allowed himself to give this baby bi a second chance. He had the opportunity to show him off just like any other man. It settled some sort of deep, primal instinct in him. The part of him that felt the need to mark, and claim, what he believed to be his. A shiver ran down his spine at the image that thought created, and he had to shove it away before he got arrested for a public indecency charge. Evan cocked his head to the side with a look of confusion. Tommy just smiled and turned his hand over so they were palm to palm, fingers intertwined.

The rest of dinner went as smoothly as one could hope for a busy Friday night - the food came out a little cold, but still edible - and their conversation flowed when they felt a need to speak, and the silences felt comfortable when they didn’t feel the need to fill it. Two whole pitchers of beer disappeared as they finished up, their waitress appearing like magic. “Will this be together or separate?”

“Together.” Evan replied instantly. She didn’t even bat an eye as she rattled off the total. Before Tommy could protest, Evan had pulled out his card and handed it over, grinning smugly as he signed off on the receipt.

“This was supposed to be my treat, Evan.” He couldn’t hide the slight hurt in his voice. This was their do over and that meant him paying for the baby bi that hadn’t even known he’d liked boys until a few months ago. To his surprise Evan stood and came around the table just to drape his arms over his shoulders, wrapping his hands at the base of his neck and playing with the loose curls there. “Evan?” He asked, looking up into his man's eyes seeing as Evan was the taller one at the moment. Tommy felt compelled to put his hands at Evan’s waist, pulling him between his legs. The noise around them disappeared and he got lost in those baby blues until he felt a less gentle tug at his hair. Giving his head the slightest shake to clear it, he returned to pouting.

“Do you remember me telling you that I owed you a beer, and you said, and I quote ‘and you still owe me that beer’?” Tommy nodded, his fingers sneaking under the hem of Evan’s shirt just for that minute amount more skin contact. “Okay well, do you also remember when we went out on that first date I made a total fool of myself and then you snuck around and paid for the check?” Tommy’s cheeks pinkened but he didn’t back down, pushing his plump bottom lip out even further instead. Evan shocked him with a dive bomb kiss, earning him a little baby ‘hmmm��� of surprise. Pulling away he had that crooked little grin on. “Well you’ve kept spoiling me ever since and haven’t given me the chance to buy you that beer.”

“I like spoiling you.” He replied, maybe sounding a wee bit petulant at the idea that Evan didn’t like being ravished with gifts like a dragon gifting shinies to his pretty.

Evan’s body shook with suppressed laughter, the barest snort escaping between his pursed lips. “And I love to be spoiled.” He booped Tommy on the nose, chuckling at the way he scrunched it in protest. “Well I think I’ve thoroughly repaid that debt. So about that movie. You’re not gonna leave me at the curb after telling me I’m adorable again, are you?”

Tommy couldn’t help himself. He swatted Evan’s ass as he pushed to his feet so that he could stare down into his boyfriend’s eyes. “Only if you promise me to behave, you scoundrel.” Oh the way the man’s eyes actually glinted with mischief. “I don’t even want to know what you could possibly be thinking right now.”

Leaning in close, breaths hot against Tommy’s ear, Evan whispered, tone husky, “And if I don’t behave are you going to spank me, Daddy?” An uncontrolled shiver ran down through the pilot’s toes, a certain part of him starting to rally. He had to quickly shove all those feelings in a box or they really would be skipping out on the movies again.

“Evan.” He half heartedly chastised, pushing him away, putting enough space between them that he could no longer feel the heat rolling off of the younger man. Was it hot in here? Sweat trickled down his neck. He rolled his shoulders and then his head, catching it in the collar of his flannel before it could go any further. “At this rate we’ll never be able to catch a movie together.”

“Right at this point in time, I’m not sure I’d be too disappointed if we didn’t.” Evan bit his lower lip and looked up at Tommy through his lashes. Tommy groaned and pointedly turned away so he couldn’t be swayed by those damn eyes. Behind him, Evan laughed quietly enough it was almost to himself. Shaking his head, Tommy reached back, groping until he caught Evan’s hand, this time being the one to lead them through the crowd.

Once outside, Tommy used his phone to call for an Uber. On the way to the theater, the two of them snuggled close together to browse through the movie listings, debating the pros and cons of each one. Tommy, of course, wanted to see the rom-com playing that starred Ryan Reynolds (Evan totally ribbed him about only wanting to see it because a hot man was playing the lead.) Evan, who was woefully uneducated in the way of cinema, wanted something with more action and less narrative.

Tommy, being the great boyfriend that he was, and also because he loved a good action movie himself, caved in the end. Arriving at the theater, the two hopped in line for tickets, Tommy buying two for the most recent Marvel universe addition. Evan thanked him, cheeks turning the most beautiful shade of pink and Tommy couldn’t help but lean over to peck him on the cheek. His face lit up and he wrapped himself around Tommy’s arm, Tommy’s hands stuffed in his pockets.

Although they’d just eaten dinner, Tommy declared that you couldn’t see a movie in theater without popcorn and a soda. It just wasn’t a thing that happened. So the two of them made their way to the concession line, in que behind about five other people. Once situated, Evan pulled out his phone to start looking up both movie, and Marvel, facts. Smiling, Tommy slipped an arm around his back, snaking his hand into Evans left back pocket. Almost subconsciously the man snuggled deeper into him, allowing Tommy to tuck him in tight. As the line moved, Tommy guided him along, allowing him to geek out. He babbled a hundred miles a minute, coming out with fact after fun fact making Tommy grin.

People filed in behind them which Tommy didn’t even register until there was a commotion. A loud voice, male as far as he could tell, made a sound of pure disgust before whining, “Man, these fags are everywhere. Can’t even take my girl to the movie without them all up in my space. Hey, homo’s.” Tommy just rolled his eyes and kept shuffling Evan along. Thankfully the man hadn’t seemed to notice being called out. (That, or he wasn’t exactly keeping an ear out for others' disgust because he’d lived a heteronormative life up until Tommy came along.) Unfortunately the guy didn’t let up. “Hey you faggot, I’m talking to you.”

Sighing, Tommy craned his neck around hoping that, if he gave him what he wanted, the guy would just leave him alone. The man making the fuss was a white guy wearing jeans at least two sizes too big - he had them sagged so far down he basically had diaper butt - and an open short sleeve flannel with a white tank-top underneath. He wore a crooked red baseball cap over his close cropped white-blond hair, Dumbo ears keeping it floating over his skull like it had a trick wire attached. Next to him stood a curvy, but petite, Latina girl that was way out of this dudes league with her thick, wavy black hair she’d pulled into a half-up ponytail, the part pulled up done in two French braids that were tied together to make the ponytail down her back, and immaculate make-up. She wore a gorgeous sunflower yellow crop top that sort of had the peplum look around the bra band area and a slim fitting denim skirt that sat just beneath her bellybutton. While not an hourglass shape, her slightly larger hips and narrower chest made her outfit the perfect image. Even Tommy, a gay man, could appreciate her beauty.

To at least her credit she looked embarrassed for her boyfriend. She grabbed his arm and tried, futilely, to hush him. “Brad, shut up. Leave them alone.” She gave a half hearted apologetic smile to Tommy.

“No, you shut up. I’m sick of these freaks being able to run around free like it’s normal. Are you telling me you think it’s fine, babe?”

The woman blushed but didn’t let go. “They’re not doing anything, just let them alone.”

The man, Brad shook her off and took a step closer to them, brandishing a finger that he jabbed at them. Evan had finally noticed what was happening and his entire body stiffened, his lips drooping into a frown. Tommy’s blood began to simmer, this close to its boiling point. “If y’all wanna do that gay shit do it at home and leave us normies out of your freakiness.”

Oh that was it. Tommy had heard enough of this rhetoric since even before he came out and he was done with it. He could handle the heat, he was used to it, but Evan didn’t deserve to hear this shit. Not on date night. Not ever, really, but that was neither here nor there. Leaning in he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple before turning his attention fully on the brat thinking he was a man. Other patrons around them shifted uncomfortably. Tommy was a big man, he had a large presence even when he wasn’t trying to, and Brad was (attempting to) exude alphaness. He sneered with disgust as his date stepped back, clutching at her bag, biting at her bottom lip. Not that Tommy necessarily needed her to step in, but it was quite clear that she felt like she’d done all she could to tone the situation down.

“Listen here, and listen close.” Tommy growled, taking just one step towards their aggressor. “I have been dealing with men like you longer than you’ve probably been alive. And one thing I’ve learned about all those men? They are nothing but scared little boys under all their bluster. A limp, cold, hot dog has a better chance of keeping their wives and girlfriends happy because all their yapping is to make up for the fact that they can’t get their girl to orgasm. They bark like chihuahua’s because they know that if men like me went after their girls, there’d be no one left to settle for your weak, pale, ass.”

Brad snarled, cheekbones bright ride with his rage, and tried to lunge but Tommy put out his hand and held him back without breaking a sweat. “How the fuck would you know what a girl wants, huh? You’re too busy fucking boy pussy.”

Tommy grinned with a feral edge and he leaned in a little closer to breathe, “At least I know how to bring my partner to an O. Over. And over. And over again. Maybe check yourself before you start spouting bullshit. As a gay man, I guarantee I still know how to pleasure a woman better than you ever will.” With that he shoved Brad back and he went stumbling until he fell flat on his ass, gaping up at the pilot, mouth flopping like a fish with his loss for words. Flaring his nostrils at him, he turned his attention to his date and asked, “You alright, darling? Sorry for all this fuss.”

She blinked her large brown eyes at him and nodded. “N-no, I’m sorry he ruined your date night.” Her eyes flicked from Brad and back. “He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” Tommy cocked one side of his lips up in a smirk and winked. Her cheeks reddened as a small smile curved her own lips. After a second, she reached down to pull Brad to his feet, who had been screaming and whining the entire time about her not dropping everything to help him immediately like a good woman.

Tommy couldn’t hear what she was saying, she was hissing at him through clenched teeth, but he had no doubt that things were not going to end on a positive note for him. Finally he turned his attention back to the person who mattered and found Evan staring at him with stars in his eyes. He didn’t have time to ask why because it was their turn to order, they’d held up the line with their scuffle, so it would have to wait.

Once they’d procured their treats and were on their way to their auditorium, Evan grabbed Tommy’s arms and stopped them, turning him so he was facing the man. “I’m so sorry about all that, Evan. You shouldn’t have to hear shit like that.”

To his surprise Evan laughed, long and loud before saying, “Tommy, do you even understand how damn hot you are when you go all feral caveman?” Evan leaned in and captured his lips in a breath stealing kiss, even pressing his tongue in to tangle with a deep seated need. The heat from earlier returned and Tommy really began to question whether they actually needed to see this movie tonight. When they broke, Evan remained close, speaking directly into his ear, “You are so lucky we’re in public right now. When we get home, you’d better start praying because I swear I’m going to make you see God. Over. And over. And over.” He grabbed Tommy’s earlobe between his teeth, sucking before biting down.

Tommy groaned deep in his throat. When Evan leaned back, his face was flushed as he linked their hands once more, leaving Tommy’s regret to grow with every passing moment.

Their first day may have been a total flop but Tommy was beginning to think that maybe it had all been worth it after all. Squeezing Evan’s hand, he looked forward to what their future would bring, five minutes from now, five years from now, and beyond.

He’d found his match and no one would ever compare.

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s) 9

Part 8 / AO3 Link

Eddie felt like he blacked out. One moment he was on stage, playing his heart out, the next, Steve was leading him by the hand back to his car. Eddie had come to the venue with one of his bandmates, instruments in the back. When they got to Steve’s car, the keys were put in his hand.

“Your place”, Steve said, going around to the passenger side.

Eddie nodded hurriedly and in a rush of movements, they were off. He worried for a split second about the state of his apartment but those thoughts were pushed out when he felt Steve’s hand on his thigh. In the close space of the car, Eddie could smell him so deeply. He took a deep breath. 

“You looked great up there”, Steve said. “Have you been playing long?”

“Since I was a kid”, Eddie answered, wishing with all his might that they could get a red light just so he could look at Steve at least once. It had been only a few minutes but even that was too long. “My mom put a guitar in my hand and it was like…nothing was ever the same.”

“A natural.” Steve started to stroke his thigh. 

They came to an apartment complex and Eddie led the way up to the third floor. They got to his place and he paused as he unlocked the door. He turned to Steve with a sheepish expression.

“Gimme just one minute.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Eddie, I live with a child. A little untidiness isn’t going to turn me off.”

“I’d rather not welcome comparisons to a kid”, Eddie said.

“Fair enough. Go on, go and spruce it up before I see.”

Eddie thanked him and then went inside. Steve could hear movement from behind the door and after about a minute, Eddie opened it again. Steve took everything in and looked around. It had the makings of the usual bachelor pad, everything here was clearly Eddie’s. All meant for a single alpha. He smiled when he saw the teacher manuals, bookmarks sticking out from the lesson he’d left off at. 

Part of him wanted to explore some more, see all the little pieces of Eddie that could be found. But then there was a warmth against his back and a nose at his neck. Eddie’s arms snaked around his waist.

“I’d love to give you the grand tour. Starting with the bedroom~”

“I bet you say that to all the groupies.”

“You’re the only one hot enough to make it this far”, Eddie said, turning Steve in his arms. “And you didn’t even have to throw me your panties.”

“Hmm, sounds to me like you don’t even want them tossed to you”, Steve teased. “And after all the trouble I went through…”

“‘Trouble’?”, Eddie perked at that.

“Lead the way.”

Eddie released Steve, holding his hand only to take him to his bedroom. Steve closed the door behind them and then pushed Eddie onto the bed. Eddie leaned back on his elbows to watch Steve make a show of removing his jacket and shirt. Then he unbuttoned his pants and Eddie saw a sneak peek of what was to come. Steve licked his lips as he watched the alpha’s eyes darken and the scent of arousal began to fill the room.

Steve took off everything else, leaving only the black thong. The darkness of the fabric meant that Eddie couldn’t see the wet patch between his legs. But the way his nostrils flared, he could probably smell it. Steve walked closer and Eddie sat up, his hands moving reverently like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

Taking the initiative, Steve brought Eddie’s hands to his hips. Eddie licked his lips as his eyes traveled up and down the other man’s body, lingering on what must be a sopping wet cunt. He swallowed thickly. 

“When was the last time someone ate you out baby?”

“Well-”, Steve was saved from answering by Eddie diving face first, mouthing at his crotch like a man starved. His knees buckled and one hand went to Eddie’s shoulder while the other went to the back of his head, cradling it there. 

Eddie had been able to smell his wetness. Now he could actually feel and taste it. And it was so. Fucking. Good. He lifted one of Steve’s legs over his shoulders to spread him even more, still licking the fabric and sucking him through it. Eddie felt the leg by his ear tremble and he looked up. The purr that left his body, seeing Steve enraptured because of him, it must’ve traveled from his throat to his lips because Steve let out a purr of his own.

Steve felt Eddie pulled off and nearly let out a whine when he found himself on the bed. His legs must’ve been weaker than he’d thought if he was able to be moved like that. Eddie kissed him sweetly and then kissed down his neck, to his chest. 

“How the hell do you still have so many clothes?”, Steve breathed out.

“Natural talent”, Eddie winked. But he was beginning to overheat, so he paused to started undressing himself. He moved just a tad slower when he realized Steve’s hand was between his legs, stroking himself. 

“Careful Mr. Harrington. I might need to start charging you for the show.”

Steve snickered. “Please do not call me ‘Mr. Harrington’. Makes me think of my students.”

“Alright”, Eddie stripped off the last bit of clothing. “How’s about baby?” He kissed Steve’s ankle. “Or sweetheart?” He kissed his calf. “Angel face?” He gave one of Steve’s thighs a soft bite.

“Yes.”

Eddie peeled off the thong, duty completed and watched a string of slick try to stay attached. It was soaked from them both and Eddie was fighting the urge to stuff his face in it and he wondered how attached Steve was to this particular piece of underwear.

“I can tell you wanna lick it”, Steve said. “But wouldn’t you rather have the real thing?” He used his fingers to spread himself and a thick drop of pre cum dripped from Eddie’s cock. 

Permission given, Eddie dove in, his hips rutting against the bed as he ate Steve out. It was so soft and warm, he felt like he could get lost in it. All Steve saw was a mop of dark curls between his legs but he could feel everything Eddie was doing and it made him see stars. He felt something else prod him and when he looked down, Eddie was gazing up at him, asking with his eyes while his lips were wrapped around his clit.

Steve nodded and then he felt a finger push inside. Eddie treated him gentle, which Steve appreciated. He’d done his best to prep for the night, knowing what he wanted. But the fact that Eddie was taking his time, was enjoying the scenic route. Whenever his mouth left his pussy it was to lick his thighs, to kiss his hips, even to nuzzle his bush like every part of him was worth savoring.

During all this, he spread Steve open, bringing him to the brink before pulling back. Steve wanted to be frustrated but he liked going the long way. No rush, no fuss. He was more than happy to cum on Eddie’s cock. If it was like this now…he could only imagine during a heat or a rut.

Steve was lost in the thought as Eddie pulled his fingers out and reached for a condom. Steve sat up a little and held a hand out.

“Let me.”

When Eddie handed it to him, Steve took his time too. He got up on his knees and scented Eddie’s neck. That aroma was no longer just safety when he was on the brink of rejection sickness. It was a deep fondness, a strong attraction, and the utmost trust. Steve licked his throat and collarbone while looking down and placing the condom onto him. Even just the feather light touches were almost too much for him and he sucked in a breath.

“You don’t know what you do to me, sweetness”, he said as he laid kisses on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve used his fingertip to play with Eddie’s tip. “I think I have an idea.”

Eddie pushed him back down and lined himself up. He waited for Steve’s nod and then began to push inside. Steve waited until he was fully inside and then wrapped both his arms and legs around him.

“Feels so good, you’re so deep, fuck.”

Eddie growled in his ear as he started to move. Steve smelled so delicious. Eddie’s nose was pressed into his neck, fighting the urge to bite, to claim him, to make Steve his own. Steve wasn’t helping things by actually baring it to him, back arching as they pushed and pulled into each other. Everything about Steve was telling him to do it, to seal the deal.

Everything but Steve’s own words.

So Eddie stayed his teeth. But he was going to make sure that before the night was through that Steve would be carrying his scent home with him.

Steve was no nun, there had been partners after Billy, here and there, and of course, he had his own heats to deal with. But nothing could have prepared him for the way his orgasm crashed over him when Eddie thrusted just right. He scratched down his back (he’d apologize later) as his cunt squeezed down, trying to take his knot and milk it for everything.

He was still riding the wave when he felt that knot finally come inside and Eddie bit down on his shoulder as he came. For a few moments, all they did was breathe together. Eddie brushed the sweaty hairs away from Steve’s forehead and kissed it. Words lingered on his lips. Words that felt too heavy to say. So for now, he would let his body do the talking.

There was a split second where Eddie thought of everything the words might entail - changing his address, being a sudden parent to a six year old and all that it required, Steve learning about him and vice versa. It all sounded too good to be true. Definitely not the kind of pillow talk after having sex for the first time. So all he said was:

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pop it in like that”, he said, moving them to their sides.

“It’s fine. Not like I’m going anywhere soon. Hope you weren’t expecting to kick me outta bed.”

“Honey, it’s all yours. I’ll give you the deed and everything.”

“Actually, did you know that until the 50’s there was something called ‘common scent law’ that-no wait, nevermind”, Steve covered his face with his hand. 

Eddie knew that look. The ‘I had to learn something to teach my students and now I have an abundance of knowledge on this obscure subject’. He pushed a lock of Steve’s hair behind his ear and then kissed the hand that was hiding his face.

“We’re gonna be here a while, sweetness. Go ahead and tell me about now defunct laws.”

The way Steve melted, Eddie wished he could bottle it up and keep it forever.

Part 10 coming soon

Tags

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog

@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre

[sky-kiss]

Shadowheart/F!Tav: Ephemeral

A/N: Named Tav. And this is highly indulgent and just for me lol. But y'all can look if you want. Post Haarlep encounter. Because we stan a kinky queen.

Shadowheart/F!Tav: Laughing, Thriving, Gloating, at your Expense (Affectionate)

"Far be it from me to gloat," Shadowheart says, gloating. "But I recall speaking to something like this—what was it again?" 

The rush of blood in Joi's ears makes it difficult to think, let alone reflect. She tries to speak and ends up swallowing the words, chin dropping to her chest. It's a frankly surreal sensation—there are hands on her body, cupping, caressing, someone is mouthing at her throat…but it's nothing. The phantom pleasure is equal parts too much and too little, nerve strokes without pressure. 

Shadowheart hums. The heat of her makes it…better or worse, it's difficult to tell. She is blessedly solid, real, when she presses close, fingers stroking through Joi's hair. "Ah, I recall.  Unlikely to dispense carnal pleasures out of the goodness of their heart…does that sound correct? Feel free to nod your agreement. You seem quite…preoccupied." 

Joi nods. 

Some rational part of her brain realizes the half-elf is within her rights to feel this superiority—she had warned her about Haarlep's intentions. It's just that there's another part, the one not currently buzzing with abstract pleasure, that wants to protest. She'd had no choice—a lie, there'd been no reason to break into the House to start aside from her own wounded ego—but to play with Haarlep. 

"I thought," the tiefling starts, only to stop, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. "You'd be at least somewhat bothered." 

Shadowheart's lips curl up, bemused, a touch patronizing. "Not at all—I quite like you like this. And I rarely get the chance to just…observe." The phantom hands shift down her body, and she suffers the jarring impression of her legs being spread, even as she stands perfectly still. Something must show on her face because Shadow laughs again, walking her further into the alley. The cleric has the presence of mind to tuck them in a little alcove. "Go on—don't stop for my sake." She drags her lips across Joi's cheek. "If you can summon the presence of mind, I'd welcome any particularly sordid details."

Joi shivers, screwing her eyes shut against the sensation of something pushing inside her. Her mind struggles to adjust, trying to justify the texture, the duality of feeling achingly full and empty all at once. 

"My, that must have been good." Shadowheart's smiling, too damnably satisfied. She eases Joi's legs apart, slotting herself between her spread thighs. 

"Just…" she chokes. Shadowheart saves her with another kiss, swallowing her moan. It's a little like being at sea, the sensation of being rocked, something thrusting lazily into her. For the briefest moment, she feels the link to Haarlep solidify. They're more present, sticking inside her head, dragging their teeth across her mind. Their hand, her hand, ghosts down her stomach. Shadowheart marks its path, smirking, tangling their fingers together. 

"If your only intent is to stand here slack-jawed, I'll be tempted to put your mouth to better work." The cleric murmurs, and something in her tone, dark and authoritative, makes Joi clutch around nothing. 

And she feels something like Haarlep's approval, violently hungry, driving themself down on their partner in response to Shadowheart’s words. It steals the air from Joi's lungs. 

"You try holding a civil conversation when you're being…" She hisses, hugging her lover tighter. A shock of electric pleasure kisses along her spine, the sensation of being stretched to her breaking point, the phantom pleasure pressing and pressing for just a little more. Haarlep coos in her head, and she feels the point where her body gives. There should be nothing left, but Haarlep ensures she takes it. Joi fights to swallow, voice hoarse. "No elegant way to say you’re feeling...very full." 

"Mmm. Any guesses what you're full of?" Shadowheart laughs at her incredulous expression. "Not so strange a question, is it? I'd like to know if I'll be competing with an Orthon to satisfy you in the future."  

"You'd rise to the occasion." 

"But of course. But it would necessitate a touch more effort." She hums against Joi's lips, rocking against her thigh. Shadow chews her lower lip, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Do we think it's Raphael fucking you, sweet one? Should I be jealous?" Joi gasps, trying to push the image out of her head. "Of course, if you can't explain what they're doing to you…well, there's always the option of showing me later?" 

"Yes." 

"No need to convince you at all. Shame." Shadowheart pats her cheek. "You’re so eager. It’s sweet." 

It's openly patronizing. It still manages to twist something low in the tiefling's belly, naked want flooding through her. On principle, Joi grumbles, "You're upsetting Haarlep."

Shadowheart laughs. "Liar.  But I shan't keep you so…mentally occupied. Allow me." 

Her lover's hand steals under her robes and between her legs, adding a blessed solidity to the otherwise ephemeral pleasure. 

[awritesthings1]

The Midas Effect (Part 1)

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Royal Reader

Summary: After the King dies, the Dark Ones invade the Capital and burn your palace to the ground. You plan an escape, which ultimately fails and seemingly crash lands you back in time. Will the help of a familiar Jedi be able to save you from your fate?

Word Count: 2.5k+

Note: This is a oneshot, but consists of 2 parts.

AO3 link

Next part

-

When the sun begins to ache, and the birds catch the last worm, darkness floods the land. Vermin scurry through sodden trenches, squealing in delight at a moldy pastry found next to an unearthed tree. They come in the night, like shadows chasing you down the hallway. Your father called them the Dark Ones; vicious spirits starved of the violence they craved.

You never imagined they would come like this. As a child, your father reassured you they were nothing more than monsters that lived under your bed. Of course, he wrapped an arm around your trembling shoulders while tears rushed down both cheeks. He laughed a moment later when you told him you had seen a shadow under your bed the other night. You were too small to understand.

Growing up with the epitome of luxury, monsters living under your bed was your biggest worry. With a palace cherished by those before you, and love built into the walls, it was easy to forget how lucky you were. Your father was never King to you like he was to everyone else. He was the man who checked under your bed for monsters, and said yes when your mother said no.

Now, your old life is ashes in a pile of rubble.

Because the monsters didn’t live under your bed, they lived in Imperial bases.

“Would you like something to drink, my Lady?”

A gentle hand rests on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts.

“No thank you.” Your nose scrunches at the noise of the bubbling pot. It was too loud. What if the Dark Ones heard and were making their way up the mountain at this moment?

Vee, your maiden, knew you like the back of her hand. When you were born, she tied herself to your wrist for better or for worst. In her own right, she became your mum while your parents were busy doing whatever ruling a country meant. But with that came the inability to lie or hide things. “They won’t find us up here, now come have some tea.”

You pick at the dirt under your nails, considering her words before reluctantly grabbing the ceramic mug being shoved into your hand. The older woman sits next to you by the fireplace. Silence thins over the cackling flame, fanning away the curious insects.

You watch a spider spin a web in the corner of the miniature brick house. Luckily, a rural traditionalist farmer had found you and Vee picking at his crops and offered you some shelter for the next few days. You doubt he would have offered otherwise if you weren’t the next heir to the crown. Most traditionalists preferred to stick to themselves, living off the land the same way ancient civilizations would have.

A thunderous attack on the western front claps across the mountainside, rocking the earth beneath your feet. You are careful to clutch at the stone tiles as your drink spills into the cracks. Dirt gathers in your hair, no doubt sprinkling into the tea boiling over the fire.

That was how most of your nights started now.  

From the corner of your eye, Vee speaks up. “We can’t stay here forever. The war is getting closer.” 

You stiffen at her words, tucking your knees into your chest. “No, I cannot leave my people to fend for themselves… This is their home.” The last word bites into your flesh. You shift away from her embrace, feeling the heat of the fire burn closer to your skin. You accidentally inhale a deep breath of smoke, bursting out into a coughing fit.   

“I know, this was my home too,” Vee begins, soothing her hand down your back. “But I want to leave. My husband is waiting for me on Alderaan, and you are the only person keeping me from him.” When your coughing settles, you look to her and see tears brimming her eyes. She reaches for your hand. “Please, don’t make me stay.” 

The thorns in the palace gardens never stung as much as this. You wish you could wrap a bandage around this just as easily. But this was bigger than you, and who were you to subject her to this when she only stayed out of loyalty to your parents. 

“One more night,” you promise.

Her braid swings from her shoulder as she reaches to wrap a ratty blanket across your lap while simultaneously pulling you into a tight hug. “One more night,” she agrees, “but we leave Caridaan this time.” 

Despite not wanting to admit it, she was right. After spending months living back-to-back in freezing mountainous terrain, biding time was fruitless. Sitting around had only made you pity yourself.  

You nod your head. “First thing tomorrow,” you agree, “arrange a ship to Alderaan.” 

The woman squeals in your ear, embracing you in a tight hug. The rags drag against your skin at the contact, briefly making you flinch. You certainly won’t miss wearing whatever Vee hastily stitched together once your old clothes became unmendable. A warm dip in the refresher wouldn’t hurt either.  

As the woman settles by the fire and huddles her body from the elements, you wait until her chest lulls into the familiar rhythm of sleep. Rising from your spot, you drape the blanket over her shoulders, pulling it to cover the rest of her body. Quietly, you step outside. 

The horizon is buried under countless layers of clouds and midnight shadows. But on the cliffside, a chill of frigid air ghosts past your neck, triggering a flare of goosebumps down your arms. Golden streaks light up the night sky, but it’s not beautiful or mesmerizing. It’s disgusting and twists your stomach in a way worse than hunger. Because each light is a life being snuffed out. Fires, bombs, and weapons lay siege to little villages and peaceful communities, all in efforts to take the Capital. 

To take your throne. 

And while you may not live up to the name of your father, or be anywhere near powerful enough to stop the attack on your planet, you just may know one person who might.

-

Outside your window, a ghastly storm howled across Caridaan. Not that you had noticed, of course, because you were too occupied preparing your hair for bed. Dressed in your silk nightgown, you pinned it back carefully until the movement of your door drew you away.

The gentle steps of your mother rounds the corner. Your shoulders drop at the sight of her. Vee is by her side, nervously picking at her nails.

“Your father couldn’t come to wish you a good night, so I am here.”

You recognise the wavering tone in your mother’s voice when she speaks. Her eyes linger on the floor as she purses her lips, swallowing a shaky breath. The hairs on your arm raise.

Your mother was never an emotional person.  

“What happened?” You question, peaking a glance at Vee who looks equally as disturbed as your mother.

“Nothing, my dear.” Her voice cuts off, supressing a sob.

The tension in the room pulls taut.

Your mother attempts to blink away tears before reaching for a tissue on your vanity. “…It’s just that…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, scrunching the tissue into her palm and bursting into tears. You rush over to hug her without question. She trembles into your arms, gripping the back of your nightgown like a vice. “It’s your father.”

You suck in a breath at her words, the scent of a distinguished candle lingers.  

“He’s dead.”

-

A sudden jerk of the ship throws you headfirst into the wall.

“Maker! Are you hurt?” Vee cries out from her seat in the cockpit while squeezing the armrests to death.

Her voice is lost to a flood of alarms and a grunting engine. You crumble to the ground, clutching your throbbing head with a groan.

“Hold on! We’ve been hit!” Cries the Alderaan pilot, dipping the ship into a nose dive.

Your soul leaves your body as you are flung into the ceiling of the ship faster than you can blink.

“They’ve circled us!”

“Well? Do something!”

Desperately, you clutch at anything to ease your descent when the ship levels out. Fighting through the splitting pain in your head, you cling to a pipe heaving frantically for a break. When the ship levels, you drop down only to spit out the mouthful of blood and hair in your mouth. Without wasting a moment, you scramble to lock yourself into the closest seat.

Explosions continue to shake the ship, spinning your thoughts around.

“M’good” you mumble incoherently to no one in particular.

A series of coughs explode out your lungs, when a gush of freezing air pricks at your skin.

“Emergency hatch is open!” The pilot yells while flipping a few switches and pressing a big red angry button.

Vee’s hand reaches over her armrest to squeeze your hand. Tears are pooling down her cheeks.

Was this how you die?

The moon glares from behind Vee’s head, blinding you momentarily before a dark figure crosses your vision. Biting back the pain, you glare at the silhouette, desperately trying to work out if you were seeing things.

The Alderaan pilot struggles for what only could be seconds before a bright red light slashes at something before disappearing into the dark. You hear the pilot plead before they are carelessly shoved away from the console. You turn to Vee to gauge if you were imagining things, but she appears to be transfixed at the same sight.

“Hold on!” The dark figure commands.

You don’t think to question it as both you and Vee let go of each other’s hands to clutch the armrests.

Within a matter of moments, you feel the ship pull towards the ground. Your heart is thumping loud enough for the cockpit to hear. Fire catches at the descent of the ship, illuminating the cockpit with flaming gold light. Blood rushes to your head, consuming your vision in vivid white. Despite your grip, you begin losing sensation in your fingers. Fighting to stay conscious, a fierce scream rips from your lungs before the weight of your body disappears.

This is death. This has to be death. Your head was no longer in pain, and the feeling in your fingers had returned. You feel cold drops pelt your back as you hunch over on something sodden and gasp for air. You violently cough up your lungs, as your eyes adjust to your surroundings.

A rush of adrenaline laces through your veins.

Pulled straight from the pages of a horror story, the palace you once called home sits quietly up the hill.

Shivers wrack your body. You were dreaming, you had to be. But the violent pelting of rain soaking the ground beneath your knees says otherwise. You unwind your fists from the sodden grass, clutching your muddy clothes in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, you recognise it to be the slip you use to wear to bed. You pull at them, expecting your fingers to slip through the fabric like they would in a dream but the silk brushes against your skin the same way it always did.

Your blood runs cold. This was impossible. The palace burned down in the invasion.

“You know you shouldn’t be out here this late.”

You jolt, twisting around to see the Jedi Knight that guarded you in the months following your father’s death. Rushing to stand, your back is as stiff as a board while you watch him incredulously. Mud squelches under his boots when he moves to wrap his robe around your shoulders. He appears to be unbothered by the rain, instead squeezing your shoulders to give you a gentle nudge towards the palace. Your feet refuse to move.

“Anakin?” The disbelief in your voice is evident. “What’s happening?”

Anakin’s curls are plastered to his face as he squints through the rain to meet your eyes. His mouth hangs slightly agape, blinking at you sceptically for a moment before exhaling with an amused smirk. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you would pull something like this just to get my attention, princess, but I’m flattered,” Anakin remarks, stepping over you to sling his Jedi robe across your quivering shoulders.

Your nose fills as tears build in your eyes. Frustration, anger, fear and relief battle for your next words. “I’m scared,” you decide without much thought. The tears and exhaustion slip into your voice as you snuggle into the warmth of his robe.

The smile on the Jedi’s face falls, immediately gathering you up into his arms. Your nose presses into the nape of his already soaked neck, gasping for air between each sob. Anakin doesn’t mind though, letting you shift your weight into his body. The rain continues to pour down, plastering your now translucent nightgown to your skin. Ever the gentleman, his gaze shifts to the sky, blinking away the rain drops falling into his eyes. Your cries sink his heart but he knows that if you two were to stay out here any longer, you would surely catch a cold. Carefully, he maneuvers your arms around his waist then bends to cradle the back of your thighs and carry you through the mud to the palace.

You are too immersed in gripping the back of his shirt and crying into his shoulder to care. Maybe you were dead and this was the afterlife. But what about Vee? And your people? Had you left them all to die?

Your wet feet slap onto the stone tile as Anakin sets you down. “Am I dead?” You hiccup.

Anakin’s head shakes. “No, but I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You sniff, nodding gently while you take in the appearance of the room connected to the back entrance. It looked the same way you had left it before the fire. The candles were all snuffed out except for the one Anakin had lit and held to see your face through the dark. Even the boots of the servants looked hastily tucked beneath the table.

“Go change into something warm,” Anakin’s spare hand cups your cheek to draw your attention back to him, “I’ll have some hot tea ready.” His thumb wipes away the remaining drops of rain on your skin. You forget to breathe at the touch of his real hand. It’s short-lived though as he retreats through a door into the servants kitchen.

You are left in the dark, partly expecting to wake up any second. For a moment, you think you might be slipping away then realise it is only a draft from a window a servant must have forgotten to close. Reluctantly, you step closer, shutting the window quietly. You consider going to your room to change, but you know you can’t face crossing the threshold and reliving all those memories. So, you settle for one of the spare servant attire draped over a hook before meeting Anakin in the kitchen.

[k-howlett]

Prey | Jason Todd X gn!reader [PLATONIC]

TW: Character Death (Jason Todd), Mentions of hospital Equipment, Smoking & Drinking, light catholic mockery

Rating: Teen+, Implied Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Smoking & Alcohol Use, Gender Nonspecific, Angst (With A Happy Ending)

A/N:

A songfic to hopefully get you guys excited for my(@/k-howlett) September Playlist Challenge (Which will be a 30 day writing activity (Songfics) that you’re all welcome to participate in! I will drop the list of songs and characters (specific to my account) sometime this month!)

Thank you for the continued love on my series (Breaking and Entering), I am very much in a DC mood as a convention is coming up soon, though I have a residual rush of Deadpool and Wolverine overload so expect lots of superhero fanfics in the coming weeks!!

as always,

with love and healing

-Lark(ly)

♬⋆.˚

prey - the neighbourhood

⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

As long as,

you notice,

I’m hoping,

That you’ll keep your heart open

(keep your heart open)

I’ll keep mine open too

(I’ll keep mine open too)

♬⋆.˚

“They say some secret society runs the upper echelons of Gotham, y’know?” Y/N chimes in from where they lay on the roof of a beat-up Cadillac shell. The windows are busted out, and the paint is worn thin by Gotham’s relentless weather.

Jason tilts his head back, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Like the Illuminati? You gettin’ into conspiracies again, Y/NN?” His lanky frame is propped up against the car’s torn-off panel, his eyes flicking from the dark sky to Y/N’s silhouette, illuminated by the cold moonlight.

They were waiting for the fireworks to start, a rare spectacle that both of them, despite their tough exteriors, had always looked forward to.

“No, not the Illuminati. It’s much worse,” they insist, leaning over the roof to peer down at him, their face earnest, almost grave. The two of them, alley kids by definition, had always found solace in each other at the Gotham City scrap-yard. It was near the docks and dodgy as hell, but neither seemed to mind. They knew how to be careful—the needles that littered the ground were easy to avoid if you paid attention, and the dilapidated buildings surrounding the chain-link fences were just part of the landscape, nothing more.

Jason’s grin widens, that trademark smirk of his playing at the corners of his mouth. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you think the moon landing was fake too?”

“Oh, c’mon! Is it really that hard to believe? Think about it. The rich get rich, and the poor get poorer. Ain’t that what the saying is? Someone’s gotta be corrupt at the top, pullin’ the strings. How do you think Joker breaks out all the time? Or how GCPD’s incompetence hasn’t been talked about outside this city? Hm? And they say it’s hard to leave, too! Once you’re here, you’re stuck, ’cause they don’t want people like us to be free. To be like them,” they argue, their city accent thick with conviction, as if they’ve spent hours turning this theory over in their mind.

Jason chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through the night air. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to the old timers down at the docks. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me the Bat’s in on it too.”

Y/N rolls their eyes, exasperated but not defeated. “Ah, whateva. One day you’ll see. Just how fucked this place truly is.” They cross their arms behind their head and lie back down as the first burst of fireworks lights up the sky.

For a moment, the world is silent, save for the crackle of fireworks high above. New Year’s Eve in Gotham was a strange paradox—celebratory and bleak all at once. The fireworks painted the night in bright colors, but the streets below remained as grim as ever. Jason glances over at Y/N, their face softening in the glow of the display. He couldn’t help but admire their fire, their passion for things he often brushed off with a laugh.

There was a time when Jason himself had that kind of fire, the belief that something better was possible, even in a place like Gotham. But as they lay there together, watching the fireworks, a small part of him wondered if Y/N was right. Maybe Gotham was more than just a city—it was a trap, a cage, and no matter how hard you fought, you were bound to lose.

But for now, he lets the thought slip away, pushing it down with all the other doubts and fears that plagued him. Tonight was about the fireworks, about the rare moments of peace they found in this chaotic city. He wouldn’t let anything ruin that.

As the final burst of light faded from the sky, Y/N nudged Jason’s shoulder. “Next year’s gonna be better. You’ll see.”

Jason looked at them, his smirk softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah… we’ll see.”

♬⋆.˚

If you don’t ask,

I won’t tell

Just know that,

Just know that

It all hurts,

it all hurts just the same

♬⋆.˚

Y/N sits at the base of the headstone, laughter spilling out in bitter, uneven bursts. The years had worn them down, every laugh wracking their frame with a painful shake.

“You know, it’s comical, really,” they mutter, voice dripping with venom. “You ditch me, go play house with your new family, and now look where you’ve wound up.” They take a deep drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling from their cracked lips into a wry smile. “Look what they fuckin’ did to you,” they say, exhaling slowly. “What a cruel joke.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, his stance tense as he watches them. He expected something—anger, maybe even tears—but this? It cuts deeper than he’d anticipated. “Hey, cut that shit out,” he snaps, his tone edged with irritation. “Not here.”

“What, smoking outside?” Y/N laughs, the sound quickly turning into a hacking cough.

Jason steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “It’s disrespectful, Y/N. Knock it off.”

They grind the cigarette into the concrete, but not before taking one last drag. “You don’t mind, do ya, pal?” they sneer. “I mean, it’s not like you’re even really six feet under.”

Jason’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He crouches down beside them, his voice cold but tinged with something darker—pain, maybe, or regret. “Yeah, I do mind. This place is for people to rest, not for you to play out your bullshit. You used to hate smoking—your old man would blow that crap in your face, and you’d go ballistic. Where’s that Y/N, huh?”

“Don’t tell me how to process my emotions, Todd,” they spit, their voice raw with anger. “What’s it matter now, huh? Why show up after all this time? You’ve been prowling around the streets of Gotham for what, a year? And now you want to make a grand entrance? What’s your angle? You gonna pretend you’re not the same lowlife Mafia bosses we used to mock?”Their eyes bore into him, full of accusation and pain.

Jason’s jaw tightens, his eyes cold and hard. He takes a step forward, his voice a gravelly snarl. “You think I wanted this? To become the monster we used to laugh about? Gotham doesn’t give a damn about redemption. It chews you up and spits you out. I had to adapt, or die trying.”

He leans in, his gaze intense. “You’re pissed off? Good. You’ve got every right to be. But don’t act like you know a damn thing about what I’ve been through. You think you’re the only one who’s lost?”

Jason steps back, his voice unwavering and edged with steel. “Go ahead, hate me. But don’t act like you don’t understand. Gotham changes everyone. Even you.”

Y/N’s eyes flash with defiance. “I changed because I lost you, so don’t get it twisted. Gotham’s not the reason you’re like this. You’re on some vendetta trip. I’ve seen the headlines—throwing the Bat into a brick wall in front of the little bird? Talk about a temper. I thought I had a short fuse.”

They let out a bitter chuckle, the amusement in their voice sharp. “Guess I underestimated you. Always thought you had more control. But now? You’re just another angry soul tearing through Gotham like it’s personal. Maybe it is.”

Jason’s gaze hardens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You think you know what this is? You think you’ve got me all figured out? You don’t have a clue what I’ve been through or why I do what I do.”

Y/N’s smile fades, replaced by a look of steely resolve. “Maybe not. But don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re the only one who’s suffered. We all deal with our pain in different ways. You’re just louder about it.”

Jason turns away slightly, the tension palpable. “Maybe so. But at least I’m fighting to make a difference. Even if it means getting my hands dirty.”

♬⋆.˚

something is wrong,

I can’t explain

Everything changed when the birds came,

You’ll never know,

What they might do,

If they catch you too early

♬⋆.˚

“So, what was it like then?” Y/N asks softly, holding a beer bottle, their legs dangling off the edge of the rooftop.

Jason exhales sharply, his gaze fixed on the city below. “Shitty,” he responds with blunt honesty.

Y/N nods, their voice carrying a dry tone. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Jason’s expression turns somber, his voice carrying the weight of his regret. “For the record, I would’ve come sooner. If I’d known… if I hadn’t been so damn ashamed, I would’ve found you first.”

Y/N looks away, a hard edge to their voice. “But you didn’t.”

Jason’s shoulders slump slightly, a resigned acceptance in his tone. “No, I didn’t.”

A moment of silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken words. The city lights below seem to fade into the background, irrelevant compared to their shared pain.

♬⋆.˚

we need to fly ourselves,

before someone else,

tells us how

something is off,

I feel like prey,

I feel like praying

♬⋆.˚

“You keep a rosary in your car? Since when?” Jason’s disbelief is evident as he looks at the symbol.

Y/N’s voice drops to a softer, almost defensive tone. “Since your funeral service,” they reply, the memory clearly still raw.

Jason’s eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

Y/N shrugs, their expression a mix of resignation and irritation. “Yeah, seriously. The church preys on people when they’re down… and I was down.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “So you turned to Catholicism?”

Y/N’s gaze is steady but weary. “God doesn’t come looking for you. You go looking for Him.”

Jason’s face shows a mixture of skepticism and cynicism. “Wow, they really did a number on you. You’re all in, huh?”

Y/N’s patience wears thin. “Can we just drop it? I don’t want to get into this with you.”

Jason’s tone turns more challenging. “Oh, come on. You really think if there was a God, He’d let this city of sinners last?”

Y/N’s eyes meet his, a flicker of wry humor in their gaze. “Maybe He’s trying to flood it. That’s why it rains all the time.” They lock eyes, the serious moment breaking into shared laughter. The tension easing ever so slightly.

♬⋆.˚

so, so I’ll probably,

take you aside

And tell you whats on my mind,

But you, you’ll just keep it inside,

probably tell me that you’re alright

♬⋆.˚

“What the hell happened to you!?” Y/N’s voice is filled with shock and concern as they watch Jason stumble through the door, bloodied and barely conscious.

Jason collapses against the wall, gasping for breath. “You remember when we were kids?” he rasps, wincing in pain.

“Yeah, I remember,” Y/N replies tersely, their hands already working to remove his torn and blood-soaked clothes. “I lived through it.”

Jason coughs, cringing as Y/N begins to clean the gash on his side. “Remember how you used to say Gotham was run by some secret cabal?”

“I didn’t say that” Y/N corrects sharply, applying pressure to the wound. “I said the upper echelons were corrupt.”

Jason grimaces, his face contorted with pain. “Well, you were right.”

Y/N’s hands still for a moment, their eyes meeting his with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Yeah?”

Jason nods weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah…”

Y/N’s expression shifts from anger to a deep sadness, their gaze lingering on Jason’s battered form. They finish tending to his wounds with a gentler touch, their emotions raw and conflicted. The weight of his admission hangs heavy in the air, the reality of Gotham’s corruption and its toll on Jason becoming painfully clear.

“And?” Y/N prompts, their tone a mix of frustration and curiosity as they continue tending to Jason’s injuries.

Jason winces, his voice strained. “And that’s all.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “You givin’ me my ‘I told you so’ moment?”

Jason nods weakly, a small, pained smile playing at his lips. “Mmhm.”

Y/N’s expression shifts to a wry grin, a hint of triumph in their voice despite the grim circumstances. “Ha! Well, I guess that makes me right then. I told you so!”

Jason lets out a strained chuckle, his eyes showing a flicker of reluctant admiration. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. Just… don’t let it go to your head.”

♬⋆.˚

if I run,

If I run away, I’ll never know

What you want

And if you go then I’ll never grow,

I’m undone,

let me slip,

let me slide

♬⋆.˚

“You’re teaming up with the Bat to track down John Wycliffe—who’s at the heart of Gotham’s corruption and causing problems in neighbouring cities—and subsequently the entire court of owls—and you don’t even know if you’re coming back?” Y/N exclaims, their hands gesturing in frustration. “Why? I just got you back—”

“I have to, Y/N,” Jason replies, his tone firm but strained.

“You don’t have to,” Y/N argues, their voice filled with desperation. “You don’t owe Gotham anything. This place is falling apart—it can burn for all I care. We could leave, get out of here. Just come with me. Please.”

Jason’s expression is resolute. “I can’t. This is bigger than me. I have to see it through.”

Y/N’s voice cracks as they struggle to keep their composure. “Don’t do this. Not again. I can’t handle losing you a second time.”

Jason looks at Y/N with a mix of sorrow and determination. “I need to do this. It’s not just about Gotham—it’s about making sure things don’t get worse.” Jason gives a final glance over his shoulder, a grim acknowledgment of their concern, before disappearing into the night.

♬⋆.˚

Something is off, I can’t explain

You know what I mean,

don’t you?

Something I saw,

Or something I did,

It made me like this,

could you help me?

♬⋆.˚

“Bruce,” Y/N says with a formal, measured tone.

“Y/N,” Bruce acknowledges with a slight tilt of his head, his demeanor guarded.

“Are you still banning me from seeing him?” Y/N’s question is direct, their voice carrying a note of frustration barely masked by formality.

Bruce’s gaze remains steady. “Are you going to be calm this time? He needs rest, not another argument.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, their expression composed but tense. “I’m completely calm.”

Bruce studies them for a moment, assessing their sincerity. “Good. He’s in there. You can see him now.”

Bruce steps aside, allowing Y/N to enter the room. The tension between them lingers as Y/N walks past, their shoulders tense with a mix of worry and determination.

“I don’t want to fight,” Y/N says softly as they enter, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

Jason, looking exhausted with an IV drip attached, raises his hands in a similar gesture. “Yeah, I don’t want to fight.”

Y/N gestures to where Bruce had previously been “I heard you took a bullet for him. Quite the change from when you were on the news trying to kill him.”

Jason winces, but his expression remains guarded. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t on purpose.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Not from what I’ve heard. Seems like you’ve grown a soft spot for your messed-up hero family.” Y/N glances at him and the card on the table from Dick—His older adoptive brother.

Jason manages a tired smile. “Maybe just a bit.”

Y/N picks up the card and looks it over. “That makes you part of the team too, you know.”

“A hero? Not quite,” Jason says, shaking his head.

“More like an anti-hero,” Y/N replies with a smirk. “But definitely not a lowlife mafia boss or a villain.”

Jason chuckles, a weary but genuine smile on his face. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Get some sleep,” Y/N says, adjusting the blinds to block out the sunlight. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Though, with your track record, who knows if you’ll be here after you do.”

Jason groans. “Can you cut it out? I nearly died, Y/N.”

“You did die,” Y/N says gently. “But you’re here now.”

They share a brief laugh. Jason pulls a pillow over his head to shield himself from the light as Y/N makes the room more comfortable, tugging on the blinds to hide the rare Gotham sunshine.

“I’m glad you made it out this time, Jay.”

♬⋆.˚

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Approx. Word Count: 2,806

J.T. One-Shot (Songfic)

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Status Page: Here

Prompt/Character Requests: Open

[ms-fandomgirl]

BBHG: Mapo Tofu (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 2,565

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Mapo Tofu - Consisting of tofu set in a spicy red sauce with meat, this originally Chinese dish emigrated to Japan in the 1950s where it evolved into sweeter and more mellow flavors popular among Japanese cuisine.

Pale, golden rays of sunlight filtered through the large, double-paned windows, warming the kitchen in a gentle glow. On the windowsill, six houseplants of different varieties sat, basking in the morning light. Sticking out of the soil, small jewel-toned picks proudly displayed their names: Yuki, Kita, Suga, Tohru, Ren, and Souta. In the living room, eight more plants were grouped around the couch, still asleep in the darkness until the afternoon rays helped them rise.

At the doorway, Ibara Shiozaki stood, wringing hands betraying her otherwise stoic expression. “You’ll need to rotate Souta 45 degrees every two days, otherwise he begins to lean too much towards the sun.” She motioned to the last of the plants on the windowsill, small buds covering the plump, green succulent. “And don’t forget that Tohru needs to be watered last, since you also need to mix in her special plant food, but you can’t give it to Kita, otherwise he’ll die.”

You nodded, attempting to shoo her out of the door for the umpteenth time this morning. “Don’t worry Shiozaki, I’ve got this. I promise that I can handle your babies for a week.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking skeptical. “When you first brought your own plants upon move-in, they were in desperate need of attention. For someone with a medical background, I was surprised you didn’t immediately realize that action needed to be taken in order to preserve their life.”

While the words themselves sounded hostile, you simply laughed the comment off, shaking your head. Having Shiozaki as a roommate did nothing to cure the culture shock that came with the big city. Blunt, serious, and downright confusing at times, she had definitely added to the stress at first. However, she did, in fact, save your plants, and there was no way you could afford an apartment as half as nice as this one if you had been living on your own. Therefore, you quickly adjusted to her quirkiness and overall dependability as a roommate.

“My specialty is people, not plants, but I’m an avid learner.” you replied. “That’s where you come in, my incredibly talented, plant-mom teacher.”

Shiozaki scoffed, but a rosy blush crept its way onto her cheeks. She never could take a compliment. “Well, I emailed the instructions to you, just in case. I also–”

“–Left them taped to the fridge,” you finished for her. “Yes, I saw those two weeks ago when you announced that you had this mission. It will be fine, just go. You’re going to be late!”

Shiozaki looked like she wanted to argue more, but closed her mouth when she saw the time, her lips forming a tense line. If there was one thing she possibly valued as much as her plants, it was her punctuality, and right now you had a very good point. If she delayed any further, she would most definitely be late. Giving you a confident nod as you wished for her safe travels, she spun on heel and closed the apartment door, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

You glanced at the time on the microwave, inwardly cursing yourself as you too rushed to get out of the door. It wasn’t until you were at the crosswalk to the station that you realized your hands were too empty. The bento box you had left to dry the night before was still sitting on the rack.

The underground was busy today, although it was considerably louder than yesterday. Normally, the commuting passengers, while many in number, were heard by the sound of their shoes against the worn tile rather than their voices. Early mornings with no coffee and the stress of public transportation rendered them voluntarily mute.

Today, however, everyone had something to say.

Vendors of food stands loudly offered you their freshest pastries, your stomach saying ‘yes’ but your brain and anxiety very much saying ‘no.’ Around you, people clustered in groups, talking about the headlines on the newspapers stacked around the station. The words ‘top heroes’ and ‘tomorrow’ were the only ones to cling to your memory, the others brushed off by your hasty pace. How could anyone think about ‘tomorrow’ when there was still a whole day of ‘today’?

Therefore, it was hardly your fault that you didn’t hear the man at first, brain immediately dismissing his voice as another in the sea of mindless chatter.

“Oi, you there.” A small commotion erupted behind you, the sound of angry huffs increasing in volume as more people were pushed aside. You didn’t turn, anxiously peering down the tracks of the train, as though doing so would make it come faster. “Hey, Bento Box Girl! I’m talking to you.”

You were once again painfully reminded that your own bento box was firmly planted on your kitchen counter. Nonetheless, you did turn, wondering what poor person was being accosted like this so early in the morning. The scent of warm caramel and a familiar cologne crested over you like a wave, so strong you almost stumbled as though physically pushed.

Ah, that poor person was you.

“Me?” You stared at him, too shocked to be polite, not that it mattered. He definitely didn’t seem like the type for pleasantries considering that he had blatantly ignored any pretense of manners with both encounters.

The man in question rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The white t-shirt he wore stretched tight across his chest at the motion, confirming that the hardness you had felt from your trip the other day was, in fact, all muscle. You were sure the arms which had caught you were similarly structured, but they were currently covered by an oversized letterman, a large, burgundy ‘R’ emblazoned on the front left pocket. Narrowing in on his piercing eyes, more vibrant than the jacket, and sandy hair, you thought that the man looked vaguely familiar, too.

A sudden gust of wind signaled the train’s arrival, breaking your thoughts and stealing your attention away. The stranger didn’t like this, darting in front of you to prevent you from moving toward the opening doors and forcing you to face him again.

“What’s your secret?” His eyes bore into yours with unfettered determination, and a chill ran its way down your spine. You tried to side-step him, but he was obnoxiously quick for someone of his build.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, meeting his gaze with all of the strength you could muster. You weren’t a villain, but he was certainly making you feel like one.

He scoffed, as though insulted that you could be this clueless. “The curry. What’s the secret to your curry?”

A second passed. Then two.

‘Was this guy serious?’

“Just-” you began, realizing that he wouldn’t leave you in peace until you gave him an answer, “add something sweet, like honey. Yours was way too spicy. You need the balance of both, otherwise one flavor will overpower everything and it won’t taste as good.”

His brows furrowed, a slight nod being the only confirmation that he heard you. He turned to rummage in his own bag, and you considered the conversation over, trying to step past him onto the train.

His arm shot out, and you were once again blocked. In his hand, he held a small box wrapped in a pale orange cloth. A bento box. Your bento box. You looked back up at the man, who was looking at you with an expectant stare.

“I don’t have yours,” you said, shrugging sheepishly. “This morning was super busy and I didn’t even have time to pack my lunch. In fact, I don’t even think I have any leftovers since Shiozaki–”

He cut off your rambling with a wave of his hand. You thought he would be upset at your admission, seeing as his default reaction seemed to be pissed off, but instead, he simply leaned back, hands finding his pockets.

“You better bring me something good tomorrow, then,” he said, a devastating grin slicing across his face.

It was then that you were reminded how handsome this asshole was. That sense of familiarity wormed its way to the front of your brain again, and you wondered if you knew him from the cover of a magazine or on a billboard advertising the latest fashion. He certainly seemed like the type.

The station announcer called for last minute passengers, and you scurried through the open doors, abruptly cutting off any further conversation. However, it seemed as though he had accomplished what he came for. Instead of boarding the train, you watched as his red letterman turned away from the platform and made its way upstairs, melting into the crowd.

‘Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be such a bad thing to think about after all.’

* * *

“That man is loaded.” Hina leaned back in the hard plastic chair of the break room, hands coming together to form a peak as she began her analysis. “The jacket you’re describing is from the Fatgum Agency x Gucci merch collab for charity. The only pieces of sidekick merch were the letterman jackets, and they sold out in less than five minutes on pre-order.”

You had been giving Hina a dramatic reenactment of your morning events, and when you had mentioned the flashy jacket that the man wore, she had almost fainted. A few months ago, she had come into work with bags under her eyes and looking utterly defeated. When you had asked her what was wrong, fearing the worst, she had tearfully told you about how hard she had tried to get the Tamaki letterman, and how quickly they had sold out. You consoled her with a lunch out and Suneater plushie, but you knew the defeat stung, especially since she owned every other piece of Suneater merch.

“Maybe he’s in the yakuza,” Hina continued. “Besides having money, he must have had connections to score that jacket as well.”

You set your chopsticks down, thoughtfully chewing your tofu. “I doubt that a member of the yakuza would be buying hero merch, much less chasing after me for a curry recipe. Whoever he is though, the man can cook.”

After yesterday’s curry fiasco, you had been hesitant to try whatever he had prepared for you today. However, your curiosity won out, and you had unwrapped the bento to reveal a beautiful meal of mapo tofu. Like his last dish, this one was tongue-numbingly spicy. However, instead of being overwhelming, the different flavors of spice melded together perfectly to create a multi-dimensional flavor that left you craving more.

“So, you don’t think he’s all that bad now?” Hina questioned, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

“No, he’s definitely still an asshole.” You shook your head as you corrected her. “It’s just annoying that he’s also handsome, cooks well, smells good, and is apparently loaded.”

Hina snickered into her hand. “I don’t know, sounds like he’s still a catch. Maybe you just need to get earplugs so you can’t hear him when he opens his mouth.”

You could easily imagine the stranger’s rage if he realized you weren’t listening to him, giggling at the thought of his face turning red and veins popping out of his neck until steam began to actually pour from his ears. “I would pay money to see his face if he ever found out, but it would probably be the last thing I ever saw.”

Feeling a looming presence over your shoulder, you stopped the conversation short, turning around in your chair to come face to face with a very unhappy looking Gia. Her hands were on her hips, and she made a show of tapping her foot, as though she had been waiting.

“Ah, there you are,” she said to Hina, completely ignoring your existence. “I should have known that you would have been in the break room.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes but couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice as you responded. “Well, it is our lunch break for five more minutes.”  

As expected, she didn’t offer you any form of acknowledgment. Instead, she rounded the table to stand in front of Hina, brushing away the loose strands of hair that framed her face and were one hundred percent breaking the dress code. “Why did you go ahead and draw up Mr. Mori’s charts? I thought I told you to wait for me.”

Hina was handling the situation better than you were, giving Gia a placating smile. “You were busy with other matters at the time, so I went ahead and helped him since he is under my care.”

“But what if you missed something?” Gia scolded.

“I didn’t,” Hina replied. “I had Dr. Hayashi confirm it.”

You thought Gia might cool down after this statement, but if anything, it seemed to make her even more agitated. She sighed loudly, her voice lowering in tone but increasing in vitriol. “But you could have!”

She shook her shoulders, straightening herself back into a somewhat relaxed position. “Next time, please wait for me. As a senior nurse, it is my duty to make sure that our patients receive the most accurate and relevant care.”

Hina nodded in response, obviously wanting the conversation to be over. Thankfully, her wish was granted. Gia turned on heel and walked out of the break room without another word, head held high as though she had saved the day. When the door closed, you scoffed loudly, rubbing your forehead.

“She could have missed something too!” you exclaimed. “Even though her Diagnosis quirk is ‘made’ for the medical field, it’s only accurate 95% of the time. We’ve studied for years to get here. Surely that means we can fill out a chart and give a basic diagnosis based on the readings without her breathing down our necks.”

Hina agreed, groaning as she sunk down into her chair. “I know, but what can we do? She’s in charge of us for now. I’m just glad we’re still in our rotations so we won’t be stuck with her forever.”

You grumbled out an agreement, still unhappy about the entire situation. Someone definitely needed to take her down a peg or two, but you felt as though you had no right to do so. After all, she was your boss, and despite her general arrogance, her quirk really was perfect for this. All she had to do was touch someone, and she was able to give them a complete diagnosis of the patient with at least 95% accuracy if not more. Your quirk, while still being useful, was nowhere near the level that hers was when it came to helping others and saving lives.

A timer on your phone signaled the end of your break, and you carefully packed up the bento before wrapping it in its pale orange cloth. There wasn’t much left of the mapo tofu, and you made a mental note to cook something special for the stranger in gratitude, despite his attitude. Following Hina out of the door and back into the hospital hallway, you realized that for once, you were excited for the next day to come.

A/N: Yay! Second chapter is up! Thank you guys so much for the amazing support and kind words. I am so happy you have been enjoying it so far! My schedule might become a bit disrupted during/after Thanksgiving, but I will update you all if things change. Other than that, looking forward to next week's post! It's a long one.

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well. I've never done one before, so I'm not sure I did it right.

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 16}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: In the aftermath of a rather eventful and terrifying last summer farmer's market, you try to find a semblance of normalcy as best you can. Meanwhile, Frankie is up to something that is beginning to cause you to worry about the burden you've become in your recovery.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: medical jargon, mild language, emotional monologues, internal monologue, negative feelings, negative thoughts, ptsd symptoms, pining, emotional pining, depressive thoughts, description of pain and injuries, blood, descriptions of post shooting chaos, panic attacks, notions of death, hospital setting, mentions of needles and iv's, mentions of narcotics, use of prescription narcotics, feelings of inadequacy, angst

A/N: um, so it's been four months since i've touched this fic, then i woke up yesterday morning and just began writing like nothing. takes breaks when you need to, don't force things and it'll all work out. please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“C’mon, hang on for me baby, please, don’t-don’t close your eyes.”

“Mantequilla, everything is gonna be okay, I promise, we’re all here for you, please know that everything is going to be okay.”

“We’ve got you, you did so good, you saved my little girl, you did, you saved her.”

“Honey, we all love you so much, please stay strong, I’ll hold your hand the entire way there.”

“Let’s get you turned over, ma’am, c’mon. There we go, you’re doing amazing.”

“Santi, she-she-“

“Papa!! Papa, please help her, I love her! Tio Santi, do something!!”

“Merde, that’s so much blood, Frankie you’ve gotta focus, you’ve gotta calm her down. Get her home safe, to your mother’s, somewhere safe.”

“Will!! They got her, call Morgan! She went missing the second things got crazy.”

“Has anyone seen Benny?”

“They’re transporting her now, rushing her to surgery the second the get there.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, any donations with the same blood type would be appreciated. Who here is a positive?”

“Sweet girl, please, you’ve got to pull through, I know you can do it. You’re so strong.”

“No response, it’s been how many days now?”

“She’s being rushed into another surgery, she keeps clotting. They can’t figure out why.”

“Fransico Morales? You’re next of kin?”

“No, no, but we’re all she has. Her family is flying out, they’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Taylor, take a moment, it’s…it’s a lot to take in.”

“Daddy, why is tia all tangled in those machines, she’s going to be okay, right?”

“This is my son, he wanted to come and cheer her up because she always did the same for him when he was sick.”

“Please, mi amor, please, you have to make it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Fractered memories played over each other, words echoing and bouncing off of each other through the fog that was all you knew. You couldn’t feel anything, all of your senses stripped away, and you were nothing more than a half-conscious mind tunneling in and out of suspended darkness.

Beeping, an even beeping was the only steady thing you could make out. Sense of environment completely gone and sense of awareness slowly trickling in. Your eyes hurt as you slowly blinked them open, the faint lights around you too bright and you clenched them shut with a huff that pulled at your lungs. The stillness of where you were was shattered as the clattering of a chair sounded, followed by a pair of hands tightening around yours that were settled over your middle. A hushed order to go fetch someone and then a deep voice was rumbling close. You turned your head toward the presence hovering close to your left side, drawn to whoever it was.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, sweet girl.”

A grunt sounded from deep in your chest as you tried to open your mouth and respond. Then a gasp when pain reverberated from the same spot. You tried to shift your legs, hips feeling oddly numb but you couldn’t quite feel them. It was as if they were asleep, but… you cracked your eyes open a second time, squinting down the length of the bed you were in. Your legs were there, obvious underneath the thin, knit, scratchy blankets that only a hospital possessed. You tried to shift again, but even your hips didn’t feel like a part of your body. Your eyes flew open completely, tearing up at the brightness of the room.

Shuddering breaths pulled deep hurt, but you tried to shift again and again but there was no movement underneath the blanket. None.

“Okay, alright, querida, please. Take a deep breath, it’s-it’s gonna be okay.” Frankie. It had been Frankie speaking to you, close to you. His hands reached out for your own, where you had pried them from him to try and prop yourself up, wires and tubes pulling, clattering against each other and making your head swim. “The doctors-“

“I know this must be quite a shock, but it’s good that you’re awake!” A white coat, thrown over a modest skirt and blouse, blonde hair. A kind face, pinched. A furrowed brow. Bad news on the tip of her tongue.

You tried to speak, demand why you couldn’t feel anything below your waist. But you could only croak out the faintest notions of words. Everything was a blur, the hospital room you were in a mess of blue and white, the beeping of machines hurting your ears. Nothing made any sense, confusion coloring every thought as to how you got here and why.

“Let’s get you some water and food first, your body is pretty weak right now. Can I get a level two meal delivered to room thirteen eighty-nine, please?” She turned to address someone who had been hidden behind her, a nurse in teal scrubs.

“Tell me.” You managed to croak out, eyes fixated on her pinched ones.

“I would really prefer to get you a little acclimated.”

“No.”

Her eyes flickered toward Frankie, as if in a silent plea to get him to calm you down and put you at ease however little he could manage. But you ignored the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder, eyes trained on the doctor in front of you as you tried to find more strength to speak around the dry cotton feel of your mouth, the panging hunger that was present in your stomach, the lack of control over your body.

She sighed, arms holding the clipboard in front her in an imitation of a fig leave over her hips.

“We had you in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. I’m not sure all of what you remember, the brain is fickle that way, pushing things and events out in response to trauma.” She didn’t look from you as the sound of fast steps approached the door, nor when a large figure moved passed her and came straight to your right side. It was Taylor. Both of the most important men in your life on your sides. He was quiet, but you could see the evidence of tears in the puffiness of his eyes, the lack of a smile on his face as he hovered close.

“You were hit in the sacrum and coccyx region, paralyzing you from the waist down. We performed three surgeries to remove the bullet shards and repair as much of the damage as possible. Your blood flow and reflex reactions have improved but we had no way of knowing if anything truly worked until you woke. A week has passed since we stopped inducing you, we were beginning to think you might not wake up.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur, medical terms floating heavy in the air of the room. Daunting, terrifying, life altering. You didn’t think you could handle another life altering event of this caliber. But it didn’t look like you had to traverse it alone. You teared up once the doctor left the room, offering to come back and talk to you once visiting hours were over, though she had mildly glared at both men as she said it. But knowing them both, they had been alternating staying the night to watch over you past the set hours that allowed for them to be present.

You had two wonderful men who were willing to do anything for you, one with a friend group who would follow his lead and the other who had given you so much already. You hoped it wouldn’t be too much, taking what they were willing to give.

“It’s a lot,” Taylor’s voice broke, his words spoken through eyes glittering with tears. His hands tight around yours as he leaned his forehead against yours, completely in your personal space. “But we’ve done somethin’ like this before and we can do it again. We can do it again.”

You could only nod, throat and voice still weak from weeks of disuse.

He walked closer to the side of the bed, the man’s large build shadowing over you in the dimmer setting of the lights you had requested. The full effect of them too bright for you eyes after being unconscious for so long. You reached out to him, urging him to sit atop it as best he could as you all but threw yourself at him. He let you, aware of Frankie standing close to the other side, eyes watering as he heard the cries that began to bubble up from you.

“I-I-“

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re both here.” Taylor murmured, as he wrapped his own arms around you to pull you close. He smelled like your apartment, a mix of faint buttercream and the rose perfume you favored all rolled into one comforting scent. His own masked by the time he had been in town. “Alfred was here too, but he had to be taken back for school. He sat with you every day for that first week and read to you. He was so worried about you, mami. He kept talking with you like he always does, hoping you would wake up and respond.”

Frankie excused himself, his phone beeping in his pocket and the sound of you crying too much for him to handle all at once. You watched him leave the room, his shadow visible through the blinds in the window looking into the room as he paced up and down the hallway just outside. His voice a low murmur as he spoke with whoever had been trying to contact him.

“I didn’t mean to scare him…or you. I’m so sorry, that call – it must’ve been so terrifying.” You hiccupped into his chest, unable to stop the tears and emotions from flowing all at once, overwhelmed and completely at a loss of how to respond to anything at the moment.

Hushed words eradicated any ill thoughts you were having of yourself, comforting in their genuine indication. He assured you he had been able to handle it, that he was able to handle the hard things that came along with being bonded with someone for life, for knowing someone for so long. For having already done something similar before. But yeah, that it had been scary but Frankie had been as detailed and direct as he needed to be, levelheaded in his description of what had happened and what immediately happened afterwards.

Frankie came up to you both as he entered back into the room, a hand on both your shoulders to get your equal attention. You looked up at him with watery eyes, feeling so proud of how everyone was trying to keep it together for you but guilty at the same time since it had been something they had been dealing with for weeks now.

“That was the airline, they need someone to come in and take over a few tours for double pay. I wouldn’t normally turn them down and I will if you need me here. You’re awake now and I want to be here with you.”

“Y-you should go, if you want to, if you need to.” Scratchy words spoken with what little conviction you could muster. He was conflicted, worried about making the wrong decision.

“You need me here.” He didn’t argue so much as read the thoughts in your mind as clearly as if you had displayed for him to see. “You want me here.”

“Yes, but….money is money, Frankie. For your house, for your daughter, for everything. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I’m gonna run and get a coffee before you head out, I’ll stay the night, okay?” Taylor announced before he pressed a kiss to your temple and stood. Leaving you and Frankie truly alone for the first time since you woke up. You reached out to the man, gripping his open flannel shirt and lightly pulling him toward you. But he didn’t budge, his feet stable on the ground and his back not leaning to meet you. He wasn’t looking quite at you, but just beyond you. His eyes a little distant.

“I’m sorry.” Pulling your hands back to rest in your lap, you began to twiddle your fingers, unsure of what to do, unsure of why he was acting so weird and distant. Maybe he was just exhausted, mentally wiped out from waiting and waiting for you to wake up. Maybe…he was rethinking everything he’s once promised you…

“Hey, no, you don’t have to be sorry.” His eyes caught your own, his hands reaching out to hold your own as he kneeled down to be at your eye level. Emotions you couldn’t read swirling behind them. “I just- It’s just… you’re awake. And I’m so scared I’m going to open my eyes or wake up and you’ll still be unconscious…or passed.”

“I am awake.” You insisted, worried about this being an elaborate dream all the same. Some made up fantasy your brain concocted in its last moments and none of it was real, that you weren’t real anymore.

“I want to stay,” He pleaded with you, desperate for you to understand how hard it is for him to make the decision to leave, to heed the call of an entire week’s worth of pay in just a few days. But he had a plan and he had to stick with it, it would be for the best in the long run.

“C-can you stay tomorrow?”

“Of course, sweet girl. I promise. I just- this is important. For the both of us. I swear.”

“I believe you, Frankie. I love you.” You lifted your intertwined hands and kissed his knuckles. He repeated the words before he shrugged his jacket on and bid you goodnight. He didn’t kiss you back, instead squeezing your hands twice in farewell.

“Hermosa, I-I just-“ Frankie hung his head, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees the next evening.

He had gone home to change and get a little sleep after a hectic two days of back to back tours. A touch restful now that he knew you were awake, but still fleeting. His thoughts had been a jumble as his mind flashed your unconscious form across the backs of his eyelids. Bleeding, hyperventilating, being rushed into emergency surgery not once but three times. Of you completely still save for the slight rise and fall of your chest laid out in the hospital bed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or diminish anything but- just thank you.”

“You saved her, at such a great risk to yourself. But you did, you saved my little girl when I couldn’t. I have endless love and admiration for you, querida. Please, I am here for you. I will help you with whatever you need or want. And not just because of this, but…but until you don’t want that anymore. You’ve got me, sweet girl. I promise.”

The conviction in his tone was strong despite the way his words were pushed out with deep breaths, trying to keep his composure. His shoulders were quaking with the effort he was holding back another wave of tears. Too many emotions for him to handle since the second you had rushed in front of that gun aimed at his daughter.

“Come here,” You softly compelled him, trying to shuffle atop the bed. Feeling still numb below the tops of your thighs, only some control over your legs that you were trying not to dissect. Going over your charts and test results had helped a little, compartmentalizing that it was happening to you and mind working to help solve and reason the things you read as if it was a patient of your own. Work. And a lot of it was ahead of you.

Frankie shuffled up and out of his shoes, choosing to urge you forward softly so he could be the one resting against the back of the angled bed. He helped to situate you against his chest, his arms coming around you in a warm embrace, the smell of his cologne and body wash puffing up and surrounding you in a comforting way. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head, nose shuffling in your hair and making you sigh out at the human contact.

“I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Even knowing what would happen.”

“Te amo. Te tango mucho amor ti, querida.” He whispered hoarsely in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. All you could do was repeat the words to him, meaning them with everything in your very being. Bringing his hands up to rest over your heart, palms flat over your chest, you both just laid there soaking up each other’s company.

His thoughts took over as you felt your breathing even, reaching over to silence the television that had been playing quietly in the corner where it was installed high on the wall.

‘Everything was so loud, a cacophony of too sharp frequencies grating on his ears as he watched the way your body fell to the ground. The man with the gun fleeing from the scene as soon as the gun had fired, steps heavy as he ran as fast as he could. Pope taking off immediately after him, his own gun pulled from the holster attached to his belt. Permission to carry it around off the clock from one of the local military bases where he worked as a freelance advisor.

Frankie was rushing too, toward you. Toward his daughter. Toward you both. There was a pool of blood forming beneath you, having twisted yourself to prevent from falling on top of Alexia’s smaller frame. She was kneeling beside you, tears running down her cheeks as you reached up to cup her face. A pinched expression on your features and blood blooming dark low on your front. His little girl turned to him as he crashed to his knees behind her and brought her in a crushing embrace to his chest, hearing the hum of the crowd that had begun to form all around.

Shouts to call 911 and responses that more than one person was already speaking with officers, telling them of what had just happened.

She begged him to help you.

She begged him to save you.

Shouting at him in her small voice that she loved you and she knew he loved you too.

She buried her face in his chest as he leaned forward to try and get your eyes to focus on him, but you were barely able to keep them open. Lashes fluttering as your breath became labored. He was speaking, words falling from him as he fell back on years of training. Pinging questions off one after the other, getting no response from you for even one. Unresponsive in the worst way, body completely laid out before him and eyes now completely closed. You could’ve been sleeping, as you were still for a fleeting moment.

But then you started to convulse, body fighting against the bullets that had landed deep in your body. He tried to tilt your head toward him, to avoid you biting on your tongue or choking on your own breath.

A new set of hands was taking over, gently ushering him away as paramedics appeared on the scene.

He could only hold tight to his sobbing daughter as he watched the two technicians tend to you. Your chest ceasing heaving at an alarming rate, your breath almost rattling as your lungs desperately tried to keep working.

Blinking rapidly, Frankie focused his eyes on his hands curled over the controls in front of him. He was flying, the landscape of the city and surrounding greenery, the ocean all laid out before him. He was okay, you were okay. Alexia was okay.

He was at work. He was okay.

His fingers twitched at the clueless ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ of the tourists clamoring for views outside the windows. Their voices coming in clear through the headsets they wore to match his own. Completely in their own world and no problems plaguing them. Carefree.

He was at work. He wasn’t okay.

He should’ve stayed with you.

He should’ve turned down the offer.

But he had run at the first opportunity. Unable to stop the events from replaying in his mind on a loop.

Preventing him from sleeping, preventing him from being able to look at you half the time. Seeing you as you had looked right after the attack, seeing you as they rushed you onto the ambulance, seeing you as your chest went completely still once loaded up. The way your body didn’t respond to the attempts of resuscitation.

Mind torturing him by projecting you laid out in an open coffin. Copper hair resting around your lifeless frame, beautiful face covered in the wrong shade of makeup, hiding the freckles that dotted your face from him. Forever closed eyelids hiding your bright eyes from him. Black dress hiding your soft skin from his twitching fingers, itching to trace the delicate ink that decorated your skin. A masterpiece taken from him in a cruel twist of fate.

Shaking his head minutely, he shoved the fake notions out of his head and pivoted the helicopter toward the coast. Following and announcing the route for the tour that the people sat behind him had requested.

He was at work and he didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But he would try for you, because you were awake and waiting for him to return to you.

He pulled his sunglasses from where the frames were hanging from his collar and covered his reddening eyes.’

“Come on, two more steps and we’re home free.” The physical therapist was encouraging in the most grating of ways. Your normally polite and civil personality being shattered by the turn of events your life had taken. It was a lot of work now, but it had been a lot of work to initially discover that you had only minimal feeling and control over your lower half. Hips sore no matter how much medicine was added to your IV, legs numb and unresponsive more often than not.

But that didn’t stop the doctor from putting you on a physical therapy track of two appointments per week. Something you had thought was a lot right off the bat but not wanting to argue. Just as angered by the quick pace as you were determined to stick to it. It was the second week since waking up, discharge looming like a storm over the horizon, visible but not yet tangible.

There had been talk about Taylor renting a home to move into for the duration of your recovery. His son being taken care of by his co-parent back home with school having started. But Frankie had offered up his own home, a flush to his caramel skin as he did so. Not having wanted to ask you to move in under such dire circumstances. But he would be lying if he said the thought of offering you a space in his home hadn’t been on his mind lately.

Taylor had offered to split his time between Frankie’s and the apartment above the shop. An outpouring of love from the community delivered to the shop and hospital in overwhelmingly equal parts. Baskets of treats, flowers, cards, vouchers for services from all around the city and local vendors. Everything was being toted back between the two spaces that were now yours.

Lex indulging in the treats as she sat with you in the afternoons after school. Homework laid out before her atop the bed as you helped her with her math and writing. Different people picking her up while Frankie returned to work, determined to put in as many hours before he took two whole weeks off to help you transition to being home once you were discharged.

But right now, you were stood on shaking legs, arms braced heavily on the bars on either side of you as you stood between the set up of the parallel bars. Sweat dripping from your hair thrown up in a haphazard bun, skin sallow from the medication you were on a strict rotation of. You had forgone shoes, insistent that you wanted to be able to feel anything should it come back to you while practicing.

Your arms were shaking, holding up the entirety of your body weight on them, muscles straining and tattoos looking distorted with the flex of them. With a huff, you shifted your hips, right leg lifting slightly and managed to shuffle it about a foot before placing your foot down flat and tipping forward to even your weight with the new stance.

“Alright, you did it!” The nurse was a kindly young man, his arms hovering behind you as he waited for you to tap out. But you sucked in a deep breath and concentrated. Shifting your left foot ahead in the same manner before a spike of pain shot up from the arch of it as you settled it flat on the mat.

“Fuck! Okay, okay, I’m out. That’s all I got.” You wavered, arms shaking and legs beginning to tingle where you could feel them.

“That’s okay, you did good today. Four steps is progress.” The nurse helped you, gathering your form in his arms and lifting to get the pressure off your aching shoulders.

Santi was in the room when you were wheeled back, no sign of Taylor or Frankie. He informed you that they were both taking care of something for you which made you feel a little uneasy that they hadn’t told you themselves the night before that they wouldn’t be in to see you today. The nurse let the man take over with helping you get back into the bed, knowing you’d rather it be someone who you knew handling you for something a little more intimate of a move.

The man’s broad shoulders tensed as he supported your nearly dead weight, completely at a loss of energy from the days activities.

“Did they say where they were going?” You inquired, voice soft as you nuzzled your face into the man’s neck. He smelled so good and you were just in a very physically affectionate mood in wake of not getting any direct attention from Frankie in the way you were too hesitant to ask for.

“Mante, you know I would tell you if I knew, but they were like school boys, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact. I’m sure it’s just a surprise for you, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, allowing the man to situate your aching legs as best he could and covering you up with the blankets that had been brought from your apartment. He busied himself with getting a take out bag unpacked and placing containers over the collapsable table attached to the bed for you. A cup of coffee that smelled of caramel and foamed milk pressed gently into your reaching hands. He was so diligent, the soft curls of his graying hair falling over his forehead as he focused. When everything was set up, he settled into the chair beside the bed with his own container and began to dig in.

But you were still, only a sip taken from the hot coffee handed to you.

“Santi…”

“What is it, hermosa?” He looked up from his food, utensils loaded up and a bite halfway to his lips. “I get the wrong thing?”

“No,” A small smile offered to him as your heart fluttered in your chest, unsure of how to even broach the concerns that were crashing over you in overwhelming waves. “No, this is great. Thank you.”

The man watched you, eyes scanning your face as you averted your eyes. He let out a quiet sigh and set down his utensils completely, asking you to tell him what was really on your mind.

“Frankie…he, um, he-“ You felt like a complete idiot as your face heated up, tears welling in your eyes unbidden. Foolish question, it was such a foolish thing to be worried about when the man’s words were nothing but reassuring and loving. “Why won’t he kiss me, Santi?”

“Is that what you need right now?”

You warbled out an affirmative. Feeling for all the world like a pathetic lovesick fool even surrounded by everyone who you could possibly need in your life right now, everyone working together to help you in any way possible.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

A shake of your head was all the answer you could muster up.

“He’s probably just trying to respect you, not wanting to put pressure on you to be that way with him if you’re too overwhelmed.” Santi went on to explain that his best friend had trouble with stuff like this, showing his affection and feelings in wake of traumatic events.

That you should try not to worry too much, though he knew that was easier said than done. To not take it personally, but he admitted to knowing that might be hard to do as well, everything so much at the moment. He reminded you that you could reach out to you with anything at any time. He would try his best to be there for you in any way that he could. Even jokingly offering to pepper kisses over your face and approaching you with overly pursed lips until you erupted into a laughing fit at how ridiculous he looked as he loomed closer. He sealed the conversation with a genuine press of his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hands cradling your face in their warmth before he moved back to his seat and ordered you to eat.

Across town, Taylor and Frankie had a similar conversation as a bell dinged above them where it was nestled in the doorway to a shop front. The two men determined to surprise you with something that Frankie had quietly brought up one night following your first rush into emergency surgery. An approval of sorts he had been seeking after was granted instantaneously with a smile and words of encouragement from the only other man he felt like he could share the conversation with at the moment.  

“Discharge papers should be processed by end of day, looks like you’ll be spending the night in your own bed.” The doctor offered you a small smile. She had been worried about having you under her care when she found out you were a once trained medical technician, knowing how bad of a patient she was when sick herself. But you had surprised her, not talking over her or voicing opinions on what needed to be done. It had been another week, progress made in physical therapy.

You were able to walk the length of the parallel bars, slowly and with a lot of huffing and puffing. But it cleared you for outpatient treatment. The feeling in your legs was spotty, coming to you mostly in the mornings when you first woke up and at the end of the day after resting for a few hours. Something she was only mildly worried about, muscle atrophy from being unconscious for so long lingering even now.

But she had been confident that the feeling would come back completely, though she was honest when she said she was worried about numbness flaring up.

That’s how you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck as he pulled into the drive of his house. He was waiting for the garage to open, in order to make it easier for you to walk straight into the laundry room instead of having to attempt to tackle the stairs to the front door. Everyone would be over tomorrow, to celebrate your release. Giving you a free night to settle in and mentally deal with the shift in environments. Lex would be at her grandparents so Frankie could focus on getting you settled.

“One moment, just…want to get something set up before I help you out, okay?” His earnest gaze widened his beautiful eyes, watching you and making sure you were alright to be left alone for a moment. He was through the door and back in the garage in a matter of minutes, a shy smile aimed at you as he helped you down and got a walked ready for you. It had a cushioned seat in the middle, in case you needed to take any breaks when trying to move about. Something you wanted to argue but didn’t have a good one against.

You felt…weird. Having to rely on him so much, but extremely grateful that he was willing to. You’d seen friendships and relationships fall apart with this much stress and similar situations. Both as a professional and a civilian, as a friend. You only hoped this wouldn’t be one of the last things he did for you before telling you it was too much, that you were too much. Love could only encompass so much before it wasn’t enough to hold two individuals together.

Melancholic and depressive thoughts abundant as you tried to come to terms with what the near future would hold for an unknowable amount of time. There was no timeline with things like this and that’s what worried you the most. What if you had flares of numbness for the rest of your life, what if he began to see you as a burden, as work he had to come back to after doing his shifts at the mechanics and his flying tours. What if all your progress was meaningless and you woke up one day with no feeling at all?

He had hushed you on more than one occasion with soft words, promises he wouldn’t do that. Promises that he was yours, that you were his, that you were in this together. But doubt crept in regardless. Even more so in the realization that he hadn’t wanted to kiss you. He was quick to dodge your advances, placing placating touches of his lips to your hair instead; of pulling you tighter to his body instead. Almost as if he was hesitant to show you affection in that way and it was hard to handle when all you wanted was that type of comfort from the man you loved so completely.

His hands were warm as he supported your weight, but he didn’t shift you down to the ground completely, instead he pulled you flush against him. Your own arms tightened around his neck, feet barely touching the ground as he ducked his head to kiss you fully for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed. You melted into him even more, welcoming his lips against yours reverently, desperately.

The plush give of them against your own feeling like a true welcome home.

Shifting your hands up into his soft hair, you knocked the cap clear of his head as you parted your lips for him. He held you tight, not risking you putting too much weight on your own feet for even a second as he kissed you again and again, lips meeting yours in a dizzying display of his unfettered affection. Pulling at his curls, you pivoted his head to deepen another kiss, desperate for his touch and his taste. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back slightly to rest his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes slowly, watching the way his face was completely relaxed. The lines of his age smoothed out slightly as he moved to peck one last kiss to your slick lips.

He had set the table up before picking you up, at home during the day as he had received your hopeful text about the paperwork this morning. But he had run inside to pull everything from where it was keeping warm in the oven, lighting twin tapers set in the middle of the dining table. You tried to hide the squeal of surprise as he lifted you up completely, choosing to carry you bridal style over the threshold of the house and through the laundry room and into the kitchen.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do all this.” You placed a kiss to his cheek as he carefully set you down into a chair, making sure your legs were situated how you wanted them. “I woulda been happy with a fast-food drive thru, you know that.”

“I know, but I wanted to do something special for you.” He moved over to the closest chair, settling down into it with a sigh. He looked nervous, you realized as you took in the dinner had had made before picking you up. One of your favorite dishes filling the kitchen with its tantalizing scent. The boys had snuck in food from time to time, but it had mostly been bland hospital food for a majority of the last three weeks.

Frankie cleared his throat, your eyes lifting from the items on the table and toward him.

In his hands was an emerald velvet box, open to reveal a simple gold band with a sparkling rhombus diamond in the middle.

Your lips parted, a gasp falling from them as your heart stuttered hard in your chest. Hands dropping the utensils you had just picked up clattered to the table and you stared across the table at him. At a complete loss for words as he nervously shifted in his seat and leaned closer toward you to take your hands in his own, the small box set down gently beside your plate. His hands were shaking slightly, his nerves obvious as he bared his soul to you with his next words.

“Sweet girl, I know things are going to be touch and go for a long while,” He took a deep breath, chest pulling the fabric of his shirt taut with the action. His tongue peaked between his lips, a habit you noticed when he had a lot on his mind, and he was trying to sort through everything. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything to do with us, with you and me. You have me, you have me until the moment you decide you don’t anymore. I hope you don’t ever change your mind because I’ve been gone on you since the second you aimed that glare in my direction all those months ago. Will- will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Tears welled up the longer you looked at him, his eyes so wide and open, his voice cradling you with his earnest words. All you could do was nod, voice caught in your throat.

He let out a deep exhale, pulling a giggle from you when he broke out into the widest, goofy smile you had seen on him yet. You mirrored him, lips pulling as you squeezed his hands and leaned forward to rest your forehead against them clasped together.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fransisco. Of course.” You kissed the tops of his hands, one and then the other before you were pushing yourself up slightly, tentatively placing weight on your legs and surging forward to kiss him.

He only let you get away with one before he was standing from his seat and kneeling in front of you with the box in his hands. He carefully removed the ring from its spot nestled safely inside the velvet cushion and you held out your left hand for him. It took a second for him to place it securely on your ring finger, snug and perfect against your skin. It glittered in the candlelight and you felt a tear run down your cheek.

Frankie’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips connecting with yours as he chuckled breathlessly at having managed to pull out the surprise proposal. At your resounding yes. At the prospect of a concrete future with you.

“I love you so much, thank you for...for everything.”

“I love you too, you dork,” Your laugh sparkled against his parted lips. “I can’t believe you just thanked me for agreeing to marry you.”

“Well, you could’ve said no.”

“Not in a million years.”

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @jessthebaker @peppermintfury @for-a-longlongtime

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[quizzievivicalavellan]

How to Make Me Smile

In which Gale helps Aster fall asleep after a nightmare and Aster talks in her sleep. Occurs in the Underdark after confronting Nere.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53341882/chapters/142956958

**************************

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

A swipe of a hand, a body flying through the air.

Screams echoed. And laughter. Nere, teeth bared in a wicked smile. Red-hot fire reflected in his eyes.

Lava spreading, engulfing everything. At the center, a gnome, crying in agony. Flesh melting, exposing blood and bone. Lips half burned away. “Help me! Help me…”

*GASP*

Aster woke with a start. Her eyes shot open, and the gruesome image of melting flesh was replaced with the familiar walls of her tent, barely visible in the gloom of the Underdark. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps and her heart felt as if were trying to escape her chest. As she sat there shaking in the dark, the gasps turned to sobs, and her eyes stung with unspilled tears.

The same nightmare, now three nights in a row. Each time it seemed to affect her even more than the last. After everything she’d been through recently, most would find it odd that the death of a single gnome would be what finally gave her nightmares, yet that was the truth. Honestly, despite the mind flayers, the parasites, the goblins, and every other threat and horror of her adventure so far, she had been enjoying it. Her new friends actually valued her opinions and looked to her for guidance. She’d been able to help people, and she’d felt such a rush of happiness and victory and appreciation partying into the night with the tieflings after saving them from the goblins. She felt important for the first time in her life, like a hero in the stories the caretakers at the orphanage used to read when she was a child.

She’d been a fool.

People like her, like that gnome that Nere had cast aside like she was nothing, weren’t heroes. They were pawns in the universe’s great game of lanceboard, mere sacrifices for the truly important players. And Nere, though more formidable and horrible than Aster had anticipated, was far from the most important player in the Absolute’s army. How was a nobody like her supposed to defeat such a powerful foe? It was impossible. She felt so small and weak and insignificant as she sobbed into the darkness. The gloomy, cramped interior of her tent felt as suffocating as the growing dread in her heart. Aster wrapped a blanket around herself and stepped outside, hoping a walk might soothe her mind.

It was impossible to tell night from day in the Underdark; only the quiet of the camp and her own tiredness betrayed the lateness of the hour. Aster longed for the lush flora and cool breeze of nighttime forests that had always brought her peace, but the druid had to admit that the Underdark had its own kind of natural beauty. Instead of trees and shrubs, mushrooms of all colors and shapes decorated the subterranean landscape. Many varieties glowed defiantly in the gloom, shining across the ground like a mirror of stars in the night sky.  

The mushrooms weren’t the only things glowing. Light emanated from one of the tents in the camp – Gale’s. It seemed she wasn’t the only one having difficulty sleeping. Then again, Gale was a night owl by nature and could often be found lost in a book in the wee hours of the night. The thought brought a small smile to Aster’s lips despite the heaviness of her heart.

Gale – in the short time she’d known him, she’d grown quite fond of the wizard. A blush crept into her cheeks as a memory popped into her mind. Aster had been so embarrassed when she had accidentally imagined kissing him while they had been connected by the Weave that she’d almost run away. But then, she’d felt his surprise and trepidation morph into elation “A pleasant image, to be sure.” He had imagined it before too.

And yet, save for some stolen glances, subtle touches, and flirtatious exchanges, their relationship had remained imaginary, both of them too scared to make it real. Something real could hurt, something real could be lost. Aster was too familiar with heartbreak and found it hard to let someone close enough to hurt her that way again. She cared deeply for Gale, and he seemed to care a great deal for her, but it was difficult to be certain of the truth of his feelings. Between the fallout of his disastrous relationship with Mystra, the orb, and the parasite, he might just need someone to grasp onto in the middle of the chaotic storm of his life. Would he still need her, when it was over?

Aster blinked away her troubled thoughts and found herself right outside Gale’s tent, unaware that she had even been walking toward it, drawn to that warm light like a moth to a flame. Her hand hovered over the flap of the tent. Part of her wanted nothing more than to go inside and throw her arms around him and let herself cry into his chest. For him to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.

But the other part of her made her draw her hand away from the entrance and turn back toward her own tent. The part that didn’t want him to see her so shaken and weak, eyes red and tearstains on her cheeks. She took a deep breath to try and pull herself together. She needed to be strong enough to face whatever dangers lie ahead. More than that, she needed them, and him especially, to believe that she was. With a sigh, she took the first step away from the warm glow of Gale’s tent.

****

Gale couldn’t sleep. This was far from unusual for him, but it was frustrating, nevertheless. Although his body felt tired, the minute his head hit the pillow his mind started racing with the couple of dozen things he ought to be worried about at the moment, and several dozen others he likely had no need to worry about, though every day it was getting increasingly difficult to tell the difference.

To give his overactive mind something else to mull over, Gale cracked open one of the newer tomes he had found on his adventure, Fringe Philosophy, Vol. 5. by Taura Brinn, who had some fascinatingly radical opinions on the study of more forbidden magics. As he reached a chapter on implications of Netherese magic study for the understanding of the nature of the Weave, he heard a noise outside the tent.

It was probably just the baby owlbear their troupe had somehow ended up adopting. Owlbears were nocturnal creatures by nature, and the little scamp could often be heard getting into trouble at night. Still, he supposed he ought to make sure the noise wasn’t something dangerous. Well, more dangerous, anyway. Gale was not entirely convinced that the owlbear wouldn’t grow up and decide to attack them all, but Aster did have a way with animals, and he could hardly protest after seeing her smile when it showed up at their camp for the first time.

He put the book aside, leaving it open on the blanket to keep his spot, and walked quietly to the entrance of the tent. He carefully pulled away the flaps and peered out into the dark camp, gently lit by the glow of hundreds of mushrooms. He looked down and saw a familiar head of red curls start moving away from the tent.

“Aster, is something wrong?” he whispered, stepping outside the tent. She flinched in surprise and stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to bother you,” she whispered back, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

“Nonsense, you are never a bother.” He pulled back the flap of the tent with one hand and gestured toward the entrance with the other. “Would you like to come in?”

Finally, she turned around. Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away, turning her face as if trying to hide it behind the thick curtain of her hair. It was obvious from her red, puffy eyes that she had been crying. Gale realized then that this was the first time he had seen her cry, and his heart ached at the sight. He had a sudden urge to hug her, but he didn’t want to overstep and make her uncomfortable, so instead he kept holding open the tent until she stepped inside.

She sat down cross-legged on one of the blankets strewn across the floor and he sat down next to her on top of his bedroll. They sat there for what felt like a long time in uncomfortable silence. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, Gale started to ask “Do you want to talk about –“ but Aster interrupted him before he could finish the question.

“What are you reading?” she asked, pointing to the open book on the ground next to him. While the deflection tactic was obvious, Gale let her get away with it.

“Fringe Philosophy, Vol. 5. The author makes some fascinating points on the potential costs, benefits, and implications of the study of Netherese magic. It is rather technical and verbose; I doubt it would interest you.”

“That sounds perfect.” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “Would you… read it to me?” she asked shyly.

 “Umm, yes I… sure, I can do that,” Gale stammered out, taken aback by the request. Without another word Aster rolled up her blanket into a makeshift pillow, set it down next to his bedroll, and laid down on her back. Gale followed her lead and laid down beside her. He picked up the book again in one hand, resting the base of it against his chest, and began to read aloud in hushed voice just slightly above a whisper. “Consider, if you will, what an understanding the formation and structure of the Karsite Weave might reveal about the metaphysical essence of…” As he read, the sound of her breathing slowed and deepened.  

After several pages, he felt a weight press against his side. He looked down to see Aster’s head resting on his shoulder, her arm draped across the left side of his chest. The book almost slipped from his hand, but he caught it and set it down gently before it could fall and wake her up. Her hand brushed unconsciously down his chest, and both his heart and the orb pulsed rapidly beneath her touch. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t pictured it before, lying next to her, her hands on his skin, kisses hot and breathless...

He took a deep breath to calm himself. The orb thrummed dangerously at the rush of emotion and desire, a reminder of why he had not acted on his feelings for her. Well, part of the reason, anyway. The other major factor was his lingering doubt that she actually felt that way about him. Sure, he had seen that imagined kiss through their connection in the Weave, but she had seemed embarrassed and perhaps it was just a passing fantasy brought on by the warm embrace of the Weave. Many of their conversations after had seemed flirtatious, but Gale was sorely out of practice at detecting that sort of thing and had not been particularly gifted at it to begin with.

That was all true, but the biggest source of doubt was thus: what could she possibly see in him? He was a disgrace, a failure, a mere shell of his former self with but a fraction of the power he once wielded. Once, great feats of magic had come to him as naturally as breathing, and now even the simplest spells sometimes proved challenging. The great archmage Gale of Waterdeep, reduced to the ability of a novice by his own recklessness. He would do anything for her, give her everything he could, but he knew he had little to offer. She would realize that, sooner or later, and then she’d have no more use for him. He couldn’t go through that, not again…

“Mmhmm, Gale,” Aster murmured, bringing Gale back to the present.

“Yes?” Gale whispered, looking down at her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to still be asleep.

“Gale, you’re… sosweet,” she said, sleep slurring her words together. “Youalways… knowhowto… make me smile.”

And she was smiling. All the worry and sadness that had been weighing on her when she was standing outside his tent were gone from her peacefully sleeping face. It was as if she had read his mind, had heard his doubts and answered them. Yes, that was something he could do. He could try to be a source of comfort, a laugh, and a smile in these uncertain times, make her burdens a little bit lighter. It might not be much, but it was something.

“Scraaaaatch,” Aster whined in her sleep, her dream clearly having changed subject. “Wyll’s boots arenotforeating!... Good boy,” Aster mumbled, petting Gale’s chest as if he were the camp dog. Gale stifled a laugh, trying not to wake her.

“Goodnight, Aster,” he whispered, tucking a stray curl of red hair behind her ear. He closed his eyes as sleep finally washed over him, the two of them lying there together, both smiling as they dreamed.

[tenderleavesbob]

This is connected to this specific fanfiction featuring angsty UniWars. I'm unsure if there will be any others to this. Please enjoy!

The mailman dropped off the letter in a rush. He said the gates would close permanently soon and he needed to finish up to return home. He bolted away before Zelda could ask him any questions.

If the portals were closing, that meant the heroes' quest was completed. Zelda looked at the envelope in her hands with Queen Zelda written in an unfamiliar hand. The court had grown quiet. General Impa stepped closer.

Lana had arrived that morning with a strained smile and a pathetic excuse. Zelda now regretted not pushing for answers. She had just been happy to see Lana again.

Her hands were steady but her heart trembled in her breast as she opened the letter. Zelda already knew what the letter was going to say, but each word still cut through her.

Link wasn't going to come home.

The enemy was defeated. The timeline was safe again.

Link was never coming home.

"My queen," Impa whispered.

Zelda stared at the words as they danced on the page. At the bottom of the page, Mask had written his name without any flourish. An apology and a good-bye.

Link was gone.

She heard Impa bark orders to clear the room. Zelda heard quiet footsteps and then there was only Impa, Lana, and herself in the room. Zelda crumpled the letter with its damning words in her hand.

"Did you know?" she asked quietly, looking at Lana. Lana flinched and hunched on herself.

"Yes," Lana said.

"And you did nothing to stop it?" Zelda didn't cry. She wasn't sure if she could. "Despite your supposed love for him?"

Lana shrank backward. Impa tensed but didn't say anything. Everyone knew of Cia's obsession for Link, but few commented on how Lana had been a part of her. Lana's feelings remained unspoken, but Zelda never forgot and she knew that certain others didn't, either.

"The timeline had been splintered." Lana's voice shook. Zelda didn't care. It felt like she was holding a handful of blades instead of paper. "Cia's war united the multiple timelines. If I did anything to save Link, the timeline would have broken again."

Zelda stared at her. Her eyes felt painfully dry. "And there was no way to save him? All of your power, and you couldn't even try?"

Her tongue felt like another blade in her mouth. It had been years since Zelda had fought on the battlefield instead of in the court, but she still regularly practiced with her sword. She would be more than happy to practice her skills on Lana now.

Lana licked her lips. She looked at Impa, as if for support, but whatever she saw made her flinch again. "His fate was determined long ago," Lana managed. "But --"

"But?" Zelda's voice was cold. She felt cold.

She was never going to see Link again. The last time she had seen him, he had been so happy to reunite with Mask and Tune. He had been laughing. It was rare to see him laugh like that.

"I can take you to see him now."

It took little time under Zelda's and Impa's sharp commands, but it felt like it took forever to saddle up and head toward the forest. It was growing late but Zelda pushed them forward. By the time they passed through the caves and made it to the forest's edge, the sun was long gone and the moon was high in the sky.

It was a full moon. During the war, Zelda had watched Link sit with Mask during many full moons. She never asked them what they had talked about. She wished she had thought to ask.

Lana stopped them at the forest's edge. Grief twisted her face and her mouth trembled like she was near tears. Zelda didn't care. Sitting tall on her horse, Zelda glared at her. "Where is he?"

"There," Lana said. She pointed toward the trees. Zelda scowled and followed her finger.

Even in the darkness of the night with the shadows of the forest, the unicorn seemed to glow as it stepped away from the trees. It didn't move far from the protection of the forest. It seemed to look in their direction, the moonlight reflecting on its horn and pale coat.

"No," Zelda whispered. She had seen that unicorn during the war. Only once but she couldn't mistake its marks. She remembered how devastated Link had been by the sight of the unicorn, but she could never get him to talk about it. She never saw it again, and it had been pushed to the back of her head. Now she could only remember certain statues in the temple and certain stories of previous heroes.

"All of the heroes had an alternate form," Lana confirmed, tears in her voice. "The heroes of Twilight and Time were wolves. Certain magics would bring out their form. In death, it would become their spirit form."

The unicorn snorted and tossed its mane. The moonlight bleached it but Zelda remembered how it had shone golden. Just like Link's.

"This was Link's," Lana finished.

Now at last Zelda began to shake. She slid off her horse and started walking toward the unicorn. She stopped when the unicorn huffed and took a step back toward the forest.

"Link," she called and extended her hand.

Zelda didn't know what she expected. For Link to run to her? For Link to transform and stand as himself before her? For all of this to just be a horrid dream?

She didn't expect the unicorn and whinny. Zelda didn't expect Link to turn away and run back into the shadows of the forest. She gasped. and jerked forward. "Link!"

Lana moved in front of her. Tears streamed down her face and she looked old for the first time. "He's been dead for centuries, Your Majesty," Lana said. "He's gone."

Zelda stared at the forest. It was like the unicorn had never been there in the first place. Her hand was still extended uselessly in the air.

All those years ago, during the war, it had been Link's spirit standing before them, haunting Link even as he lived. A symbol of his own death. Had Link ever known? Had he suspected?

Now Zelda broke. She buried her face in her hands. She heard Impa whispering to her but she didn't care.

Link was gone. He had been doomed all this time, and Zelda couldn't do a single thing about it.

Link was lost to her.

Zelda wept.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter seven

live to rise series

seven: not worth my soul

series masterlist | prev chapter | final chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: An escape attempt is made.

chapter warnings: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE WARNINGS. This chapter contains many very dark themes. I have omitted them as they are all spoilers. Please see end notes for chapter-specific warnings and/or feel free to DM me.

Sorry this is late; life found a way to get in the way. This is the penultimate chapter and thank you all so much for coming along on this journey. I hope you bear with me through this.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You’re not cut out for this. This isn’t a surprise. You’ve never had the stomach for danger. 

Having to stand still and calm and like nothing at all is making your heart race, nothing is brewing a storm in your stomach, nothing is wrong? Like you aren’t facing near-certain death in a matter of hours? 

Your feet are stuck on the metal floor of the sponsor box and it’s not from the sun melting them there. You can’t even bring yourself to face Shand, stuck solidly in place staring out over the arena like you’ll fall apart if you move. 

And there are still two hours until he fights, let alone what comes later tonight. 

You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, thankful again for the light linen blouse and skirts. The circulators billow them with cold air for the sponsor’s comfort but you can’t seem to keep your brow dry. 

You’re the weak link and Shand knows it. Luckily, Gideon didn’t seem to register that at your report this morning. 

Probably because you had thrown up on his floor before you could say anything and he sent you away, thank the stars. 

When it comes time for Din to fight, the dizziness is creeping in. The normal nerves of a battle are incompatible with this newer, stronger terror. You’re practically shaking. 

No one notices, though. Not when all eyes are on the Mandalorian as his opponent’s ax settles in the meat of his shoulder. 

You think maybe your body betrayed you, that maybe you made a sound. The dryness of your throat was the only saving grace. 

Despite the way that everything in you has gone cold, hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes. You squeeze them shut. After all, you had promised. He had pushed and pushed until you promised not to watch. 

If there’s any mercy in the universe, you think, this won’t be the end. It can’t be.

It isn’t. 

Shand’s hand smacks against your arm and you realize she’s been speaking. You’re hurt that she hit you for only a moment.

“It’s over. He won. Go,” she snaps once she has your attention. 

You run. 

He doesn’t come back for a long time. You pace the cell, wringing your hands. He doesn’t usually stay in medical, shouldn’t need to, so this was… bad. You can’t hear with the way your heart is beating overtime, the blood rushing in your ears, the tunnel closing in until most of the room is just static. 

Until the doors open. 

The guards are gone as soon as it closes behind him, not caring for how pallid he seems or the way his eyes aren’t focusing. They’ve healed him, mostly, though you know the damage must be far worse than their bacta shots can fix. You’re at his side in a second, though your strength isn’t enough to hold him up. 

Between the both of you, he stumbles to the bed and you ease him down to sit. He tries to pull you down beside him with his good arm but you’re faster, right now, dodging his grip to move, forcing a canteen in his hand instead of your body. 

You’re out of the room before he can take a drink, though you know you shouldn’t. It’s almost too risky but far riskier  not  to. 

So you sneak into the kitchens. You’ve only ever used the passcode before to take the little containers of oil and fat left for you by Jyoti. She trusted you immensely and you were going to break that, now. Going to use her code to enter and take real, actual food. 

The guilt only lasts for a moment.

The stars align in your favor—or rather, you think, in Din’s, and you make it back to the cell with your contraband unnoticed. He’s dozing off, slumped against the wall, and your heart stops for just a moment before you see the rise and fall of his chest. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he scolds predictably when you rouse him.

“You lost too much blood,” you snap. Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he get it yet? Everything is on the line and he’s worried about theft? The list of your crimes is already insurmountable. A handful of Bantha meat and bread and cheese were hardly going to register. 

“I’m fine,” he says, slow and placating. 

“Don’t start,” you say with a huff. 

He puts down the sandwich and pulls you to him by the back of your neck, cupping gently until your foreheads meet. 

“I’m okay, kar’talyc. I’ll be okay.” 

“You better,” you try to say, but you choke on it. Here, in his arms, both free from immediate danger, you fall into the breakdown that’s been building all day. 

“We’re okay,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Nothing’s wrong that can’t be fixed.” 

And you have to believe him. 

When it happens, it happens so fast. 

It has to. 

You’re in the lounge. There’s a private room reserved, but for now, the three of you are in the crowd. Shand keeps the both of you close, making sickening conversation with other sponsors and encouraging them to ask Din questions about his armor.

It’s, of course, still mounted on display in the center of the room. There’s no barrier, no shield between it and the true scum of the galaxy that populates the room.

Thank the stars for Gideon’s ego. 

He’s not in the lounge tonight. Not yet, anyway. It’s a small mercy. 

There’s no signal when it begins. No precise timing, no secret comms. Those were not luxuries afforded tonight.

It just happens.

Shand looks at Din and he moves at once, twisting fluidly to shield you with his body. His chest pressed to your back. His to the explosion. 

There’s no chance for the dust to settle. Smoke and ash fill the room in hazy orange. 

Din’s hand is on your arm until it isn’t. 

Shand is by his side until she isn’t. 

You’re frozen on the spot until you aren’t. 

You finally move, the invisibility granted by your status letting you slip through the screaming socialites. 

Blaster fire pings behind you. 

In front, a green Mandalorian reaches Din. He doesn’t reach his armor, so you lunge for it. For the helmet. 

It flies from your grasp when the trooper grabs you. 

Shand snaps it from the air with a grappling cable, whipping it to Din. There’s another Mando, you think, moving through the smoke. A blue one, going for the armor.

Whoever’s in the green kit is strong enough to wrangle Din, yelling something unintelligible as they make for the new exit carved by detonators. There’ll be speeders there, at the former windows of the private room, and they’ll get him to the ship. 

You have to believe that’s true. 

It’s too late for you, though. 

You don’t even fight it when they drag you away. 

There’s no chance against two of Gideon’s dark armored troopers. 

You think you hear Din yelling and fighting to get to you, and you pray they have the sense to get him out. 

The troopers are not any gentler when you go limp in their arms, the ache of their grasp promising to bruise. You hang there, feet dragging, and find yourself blessedly numb. 

What awaits you will be worse than death, you expect. They’re going to extract every bit of information from you before they let you die. But it’s okay. 

He’s free. He has his helmet and his people. 

His son is alive. 

You’ve always been willing to martyr yourself for your residents. At least this last time will make a difference. A man walks free; a child gets to keep his father. 

Maybe in another life, you could have loved one another wholly. 

Dying for him will have to be enough.

When they lock you in the tiny cell, they toss your body to the ground, and your head cracks against the metal bench. The last thing you remember before you lose consciousness is that maybe you understand Vrar’s choice a little better. 

Death is the only freedom you’ll get. 

When they come for you again, you’re still unconscious. They remedy that with an acrid-smelling capsule cracked under your nose that yanks you back to the real world. 

Once you’re in binders, they drag you through the halls back to the sponsor lounge. 

Gideon always did have a knack for the dramatics. 

In the wreckage, there’s a slanted platform facing what still remains of Din’s armor. You’re dismayed that they only seem to have retrieved the chest plate and helmet, but even that is better than nothing. 

The troopers strap you in and leave you there. You suppose they’re hoping you’ll get upset at the sight. 

When Gideon swoops in, cape fluttering, he’s accompanied by an interrogation droid. You’d expected that, at least. Not that you aren’t terrified by the sight. 

You don’t intend to fight, though. You know next to nothing—he was always careful not to tell you anything he didn’t want tortured out of you. 

They won’t believe you, and they’ll torture you anyway. You know this. 

Gideon looks you over silently and then turns sideways so he can see both you and the armor. 

“Do you know what this is?” He gestures to a pauldron. 

“Beskar armor.” You keep your voice as flat as possible. 

“Technically correct, I suppose. I meant this specifically.” He taps two fingers against the mudhorn. 

“It’s a shoulder pauldron.”

He backhands you. A gasp escapes you, and tears spring to your eyes. 

“The symbol, you stupid girl.”

“Yes,” you give in. “It’s a mudhorn.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“It’s the symbol of his clan.”

“Did he tell you why the symbol of his clan is a mudhorn?”

“No.”

He searches your face but finds no lie. “I’ll tell you a little story, then, about this man you think is so high and mighty.

Once upon a time, he stole something very precious from me. A baby, you see, that was under my protection.”

You almost scoff, and he seems to be waiting for it. When you keep control, he carries on. 

“But when he tried to escape with the baby, he couldn’t get past a single measly mudhorn. All that bravado, and he had to rely on a little magic baby for help to defeat a single creature.”

When you fail to react again, he steps closer. Too close, really. 

“Some champion. You know he was only the Mand’alor by chance? The saber is mine by rights.”

“He won it from you.” He’s goading you, and you know it, but it works all the same. 

His palm connects with your face, and you cry out. 

“It’s such a shame. You were so well-behaved, so close to freedom. Yet you risked it all for… for what? For him to leave you behind to pay the price?”

“Wasn’t about me.”

“No? He didn’t, say, kiss you and make sweet promises for a future together? Did you really fall for the oldest trick in the book? A weak-willed, heartsick little girl sacrificing herself for a man incapable of love?”

Wretchedly, his words do tug on something deep in your gut. But it’s okay, you remind yourself. It doesn’t matter. 

You don’t, either. 

You just wish you had been able to send one more comm to your parents. Oh, stars. You can’t think about your parents. Nausea bubbles up in your throat. 

“You know, I admired them once, too. Of course, I was just a foolish little boy, jealous of the armor and the power. Until I learned of their savagery, brute nature, and primitive way of life. And then we had the trooper’s suits, but without the beskar…” His eyes are bright and wild. “Well, I solved that little issue, didn’t I? As the leader of Mandalore, I can do whatever I like with the beskar.” 

You still don't respond. You’re trying to tune him out. He thinks this will… what, convince you to share information you don’t have? Endure you to him? No, he just likes the sound of his own voice. Wants to boast and brag since his peers are tired of the same stories. 

You’re a captive audience. 

Unfortunately, this little performance requires your participation. But when he gets to that portion, his sudden question throws you entirely off.

“Who is the rebel spy?” he asks calmly. 

“The rebellion was eliminated,” you say automatically. This was the line coached into your brains, the truth the Empire wanted plastering the beaten down remains of hope. 

He scoffs. “Don’t play stupid with me, girl. Who was your contact? Who led this little ‘operation’?” His smooth voice was dripping with condensation. 

“I don’t know. I was only here as his attendant,” you recite. 

“I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to stay here all day. Luckily, I don’t have to.” His grin is practiced power, a crafted cruelty. “That’s the nice thing about IT-Os, you know? They’ll just keep going, even when you break.” 

He steps closer. “Or, you can report to me as is your duty. It can tell me if you’re telling the truth.” 

“I don’t know anything.”

“So be it.”

And with a swirl of his cape, he leaves. He actually leaves. Your breath picks up, hitching a little. 

The droid whirs as it nears you, the buzz reinforcing the mistake you’ve made. 

It shows no mercy. 

The IT-O may not have let you faint, but the troopers don’t care. Everything goes dark almost as soon as they have you in arms and you wake up in your cell.

The first thing you notice is that you’re about to vomit. 

Unfortunately, you do. 

The second thing you notice is the full body agony. As if your muscles have all been stretched beyond limits and you’re left to drown in the ache. 

The third thing you notice is the ash. 

It covers the ground, some soaking into a pool of your sick, some scattered. Whatever it was is curled into dark fragments, thin and brittle with blackened edges. 

You lay limp on the bench, arm dangling over the side. You try not to look at it, at how some of your fingers don’t sit quite right. Looking at them makes your head pound and your vision blur. 

Instead, you force your eyes to focus on the charred flimsy. It’s familiar. Too familiar. 

The colors don’t make a recognizable shape, too torn and burnt, but the way the colors flow over the paper is…

No. 

No. 

You can’t move. You can’t see anything else. The thick layer of ash and scraps tells you everything you need to know. 

The cell is blanketed in what little is left of all of the fighters’ portraits. 

Gideon isn’t there when the troopers bring you back. Just the droid. You can’t even control it, you start struggling, pathetic as it must seem, as they strap you onto the table. You’re hyperventilating as your chest feels like it caves in. You can’t take another day of this.

You can’t.

But you do.

Gideon wanders in around dusk, the setting suns visible through the wreckage. The IT-O stands down from its tortures but stays at your side, monitoring vitals and keeping you awake. The drone of its motor is enough to have you shaking. 

“So how many souls did you betray for one man?” Gideon says, brows furrowed as if he actually cares.

You don’t say anything, can’t really. 

“I know that’s what your little books were for. I am a man of culture, after all. When I visit planets, I like to learn a little about its people.” 

So he had gone. Personally. 

He answers your thoughts before you think them. “Don’t worry, your parents are fine. You still have a chance to spare them.”

The IT-O whirs and it’s over. You can’t. You know it. Gideon knows it. 

He smiles. “Who was your contact?”

“The sponsor. Shand.”

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Confirmed,” says the IT-O. 

You nearly faint when it talks. You didn’t know it could. It has a horrible, horrible voice and you know if you live past this day, you’ll hear it in your sleep for the rest of your life.

By now, you’re hoping it won’t be for long. 

“By the way,” Gideon says casually. “Those little pictures? One might consider those treason. Those are enemies of the Empire. You really should be thanking me for destroying the evidence. If you give me the name of the Rebel spy, I might even be convinced to forget about them.”

“I don’t know anything about a spy,” you say, voice cracking.

“False,” says the droid and you scream. 

“I don’t, I don’t,” you cry, but it’s useless. You knew that Gideon and Din suspected there was a spy. It was enough to condemn you.

“So be it,” is all he says before the troopers take you away. 

When they come for you again, it’s not the lounge they bring you to. 

It’s the arena. 

When you realize where you’re headed, having walked these halls enough that it’s ingrained in your core, you almost cry. It’ll be quick this way, you’re sure of it. Whoever you face will be desperate to win, and you, well. 

You won’t be. 

If only you could have been so lucky. You should have known Gideon wasn’t going to grant you the mercy.

It’s an all-hands assembly. Every Imperial, every servant, every prisoner. The troopers drag you up the steps and secure you facedown on the slanted platform. The restraints are excessive, rendering you essentially immobile. 

It doesn’t bode well for a quick death. You had still been clutching the fluttery hope that he’d just decapitate you. 

“Last chance to tell me who the spy is,” Gideon murmurs. 

“It’s me,” you say.

He laughs. “Oh, stupid girl. If it were, you’d be dead already. You see, even the filthy Rebels don’t leave their own to suffer torture. But you didn’t get even a lullaby, did you?”

You close your eyes. Your crooked fingers twitch of their own accord, a staccato beat on repeat. You hope he’s not watching, but just in case. 

Ni ceta. I’m sorry. 

“You’re certainly going to wish you did,” he promises. 

You don’t listen to his little speech. You try very hard to be anywhere but here, even as your body trembles beyond your control. 

When he ignites the darksaber, that tiny hope flutters back to life. 

It, and everything else inside you, turns to ash the moment the tip of the blade touches your skin. 

He takes his time. You’re sure you scream, but you can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears. Death lingers on the edges of your vision but won’t take your hand, won’t save you. 

When he stops abruptly, you don’t register it right away. The pain remains, though the blade is swinging in an arc somewhere behind you. 

Someone else screams. 

“Don’t let him bite it,” Gideon is saying to a trooper. The words don’t make sense. You think maybe you faint. When you come to, Gideon has his gloved fist around your neck, and you can see the blurry form of someone behind, restrained by troopers.

“I was right,” Gideon sneers. “You knew the whole time.”

“She didn’t know!” Eli says. “She didn’t know. We didn’t tell her.” 

“Shut up, or I’ll take the other one,” Gideon snaps.

Your vision clears enough to figure out what he means. Eli’s right leg has been sliced diagonally above the knee, the limb somewhere out of your field of vision. His saving grace, for better or worse, was that the wound was cauterized instantly. 

Much like your back.

When Gideon reignites the saber, Eli struggles. You wish you had the strength to tell him not to. 

You’re beginning to suspect neither of you will be dying any time soon.

When he finishes, Gideon is almost gleeful when he grabs a holopad to show you what the cameras are showing everyone. The Imperial Crest burned into your back, almost exactly where Din’s Mythosaur is. 

When you black out this time, he doesn’t bother to wake you. 

You wake in the cage. It’s dark and the arena is empty, but you’re not alone.

Eli has dragged himself to lean against the back wall, looking a sickly pale blue. You aren’t sure how he’s still conscious. Or how you are. 

He’s coaching himself through breathing and your own pain begins to fade in, your brain no longer able to ignore the new wounds any more than it can ignore the work of the droid.

“Why did you draw attention to yourself?” you ask him with a hoarse, shattered voice. “ I feel like that should be spy 101 or something.” You crawl closer, desperate not to die alone. 

He gives you a wry smile. “You know, I didn’t come here to make friends. Allies, sure. But not friends.”

“Oh, you absolute fool,” you sigh. Your head rests on his good thigh, allowing you to more easily lay on your side and keep dirt off your back. “I wasn’t worth it.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But maybe the Rebels left me here for six years, and I wasn’t allowed to save a single person. And then you came and cared so much.”

You sigh.

"You saved someone. Not for the cause, but just because you could. And you would have done the same for me," he says. “I don’t blame you."

But you wish he would. 

Silence settles with the stars. For the first time since you’ve been on the surface, you’re able to enjoy them.

“What?” Eli says as you stare upward.

“The sky is so pretty,” you say, huffing a breath. “The sky is so pretty, and we’re going to die.” 

“Technically, those things are always true,” Eli says.

His truth is, at least, a comfort.

next chapter

writing this made me physically ill even though it was planned from the start so if you want to cry/yell with me please do :(

title from "Towards the Sun" by Rihanna.

WARNINGS/SPOILERS BELOW -- -- -- -- -- --

Chapter Specific Warnings: graphic injuries, graphic descriptions of injuries, torture, graphic description of torture, mutilation, dismemberment, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, hopelessness, trauma, mental torture, anguish, angst, hurt NO comfort