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afewfantasies · 8 months ago

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🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - I - Nightmares

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: "Feyd-Rautha he's psychotic", at least thats what people say. Only, people forgot to add that your father's decided you were to marry. It's been over a decade and Feyd's committed to have the marriage and you with him as he ascends as heir and na-Baron of Geidi Prime.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: abduction, masterbation, voyeurism

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️

“Another one?” Your best friend and fellow Bene Gesserit sister asks as you wake in another cold sweat. Nodding you sit up in bed blinking through the darkness. Leia lights the lamp and a yellow glow shines into both of your faces. The first vision was a decade ago, you had been sleeping under the stars. Pale skin and a bald head. A large brute of a ban killed another. Then there was a boy clearly terrified but shaking with anger too. Black eyes, black teeth, pale skin, a temper. Year after year the visions became angrier, more psychopathic. Handing you materials Leia climbs into bed beside you and you begin your account of the vision.

“Will you tell the reverend mother?” She asks.

“Not yet” you confess ordering your thoughts and placing the coded message on the scroll. Leia watches in silence. This vision was in a black room probably on Geidi Prime. You were asleep on a larger black bed with four posts. You were asleep only to wake up to the black eyes looking down at you. He’d never spoken before but he’d said two words in the strangest grittiest words before. “You’re mine” unlike all the other dreams you felt him in the bed, felt the friction of him coming closer, felt his breath on your skin, the heat coming from his body.

“Are you alright?” Leia asks, handing me a glass of water.

“No” you confess as the two words haunt you. There’ve been all kinds of visions. Brutal murders, sick torture, murderous games with concubines, moments of tyrannical rage and now. Now he’d come for you. Stepping out of the bed you find solace in the coolness of the stone on your feet. Leia follows and you search your things for the herbs that dull your senses. It’s a necessity for sleep and reprieve. Since childhood you’d been careful not to share but as you’ve grown it’s only become clearer and clearer the subject of your dreams. He was tall, strong, angry, well off, psychotic and some would say handsome. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron and your original betrothed.

“What is it?” Leia asks.

“He’s coming for me mother must teach me the way” you say against your training with fear and foreboding.

——-

Feyd’s earliest memories were of you, he’d been with his father on your home planet looking into your cradle. Your mother was beautiful and your father kind. You were peaceful and little and he’d held you in his arms. He felt protective and during the commitment ceremony he’d meant every word. As a second son your world was promised to him. Even as a child the differences between your two cultures were glaring to him. The freedom to play and be a child, the kindness of the people and you was something to look forward to. But then Rabanne had murdered his father, and his mother had been indifferent and after a few years it enraged him to no end. In a fit of anger he’d killed her. Even with all of his concubines he’d never felt as peaceful as he had with you in his arms as a child. He’d stopped a genocide in your home world looking for you only to find your mother’s kind eyes fearing for her life. He’d done right by sending her to a peaceful planet instead of taking her life. He learned you had been taken by the Bene Gesserit sisters which meant you could be anywhere. No matter where, he intended to find you.His heart felt like a displaced magnet. Angrier still was the fact that he imagined you living a full life without him. Unbothered, not tortured by the distance as he was, happy and serene. Still he could not disclose his search to anyone in fear for your life. He would have to move carefully to keep his commitment to you.

Another planet, stepping off the ship he’s given respect by the procession awaiting his arrival. His heart races; he knows your close. Sticking earplugs into his ears he applies the fasteners having his guards to the same. No one would use the voice on him today. He moves quickly spilling no blood. He can feel you. He’s getting warmer. He can feel it. Moving quickly he heads down into the belly of the academy moving quickly through the bunkers. His heart pulls as he passes an entryway stopping when he has a familiar sensation. Heart racing violently against his chest he stops Turing to face the steel door, he stops breathing allowing the violence of his heartbeat to reverberate through him like a war drum. Feyd-Rautha signals for his men to wait outside. Using the code scrambler he gets into the door. Hiding you hold your breath ducking down into the thick of your clothes, the sound of the alarms system’s failure are blaring. Fear racks through you as you try to keep calm remembering the Bene Gesserit mantras. Fear is the mind killer. The noise stops and you relax a little waiting for an announcement. Heavy boots hit the floor forcing you to freeze, the steps come closer stopping in front of the closet. Leis screeches and its muffled, trembling you contemplate your next move. The steps come closer and you see the door open, light filters in. You cover your mouth hoping for safety until a black eye meets yours. Familiarity and horror paralyze you. Pale skin and a bald head. The face from your nightmares. Feed-Rautha Harkonnen. Pinching yourself you discover he’s finally free’d himself from your dreams and is now material. He steps in separating the close from around you leaving you crouched against the wall with no cover before sitting on your bed and watching you like he has all the time in the world.. His smirk is unsettling and it takes a moment before you stand feeling silly and all too vulnerable crouched in the deep closet.

“Get dressed” he croaks but you’re shaking like a leaf. Snarling he procures robes from the closet placing one over your head. The trembling intensifies. And he steps back feeling rejected. Leaving he has his men pack up your things and then there’s a barrage of people asking you all sorts of questions from what you like to wear and eat and do and it’s all so much. You’re loaded onto a Harkonnen ship and placed in a room alone. Looking through the window you gaze into space. When a few hours have passed you hear the door open and know it’s him before it closes. He takes a seat in his leather robes. You turn to face the man who moves like a snake. He’s more terrifying in person than in your dreams. His eyes watch your every move drinking you in. Parting his lips and showing his black teeth.

“Are you comfortable?” His words come as a surprise. It’s the thing you’ve least expected. It takes a moment before you nod, trying not to be rude as you look around the room.

“Yes, thank you” you respond.

“We are heading to my home world. I understand you have different needs. The Mentats are sourcing food and clothes if there’s anything you need let them know” he explains sanely.

“Ok” you respond, your hands begin to shake again. You sit on them trying to hide the true fear you feel. House Harkonnen is known for many atrocities.

“I’m sorry” you apologize, terrified and embarrassed.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks.

“A Harkonnen” you confess and his snake-like eyes look displeased.

“Do you know who I am to you?” He asks, forcing you to frown.

“Nothing” you respond only to regret it instantly. Feyd-Rautha takes a breath inflating his chest as he trembles with rage, the paleness of his skin flushing as searing anger bubbles to the forefront. He stands stepping back from you in fear of hurting you.

“My father and yours promised us to each other” his fierce voice cracks as he struggles for control. His terrifying blackened teeth make your eyes shut. He’d done terrible things to people, slight and then slash that's how it went. He was one with his knives and happy to use them. You wait for life to end, your breath to hutch and everything to fade into darkness but it doesn't happen. You hear boots hit the floor three times. Bravery, curiosity? Perhaps it was so quick and painless that this is purgatory? You open your eyes and see Feyd has given you more distance. He’s recalled his anger and he stands stoic, fierce and regal.

“Do you not remember?” He asks because that day had been so monumental to him.

“I had heard heard whispers but …” you trail considering the realities and the odds. Your visions, how you’ve been in hiding. Out of all the things they call him; liar isn’t one of them.You consider the possibilities and it comes to you. Your heart begins to race, you feel stinging in your thumb, like a pinprick. A commitment ceremony was held. The realization is dizzying. “You wish to be married?” You ask and he nods. “To me?” You specify and he nods again. “But I’m nobody from an extinct world. I’m not even a high ranking member of my order” you declare in truth.

“No, you will be na-Baroness Harkonnen” Feyd says, taking a step in your direction. He watches you try to make sense of it. He’d never considered your reaction to being found, he hadn't expected fear or reluctance. He expected your inherent trust in him for you to cling to him for support and comfort as you once did, for you to relish his touch and be most comfortable in his arms.

“na-Baroness” you whisper, looking up at him. Pride fills Feyd at the sound of the words coming from your lips, utter perfection.

“My wife” he rasps and somehow your fear seems unfounded. “I made a vow that I do not intend to break” Feyd says recalling you in his arms as a babe. Your eyes looking up at him without fear in your swaddling helpless, innocent, true and his. A knock at the door causes him to withdraw, he turns standing in front of you. The guard tries looking around to you until Feyd stomps a foot. The man averts his gaze telling Feyd your landing is imminent. Nodding he straightens his gown as he stands tall. Feyd-Rautha holds out a hand. You take it with a deep breath and it seems to amuse him. The heat of him feels familiar. “There will be a crowd, I will send you along in a pod”

“With who?” You ask standing with him.

“My men” he specifies and it's unsatisfactory. Grabbing your head dress you place it on your head and move forward that way. You hold his hand he secures yours warmly walking at your side. You keep up with him and as the door descends you start to tremble. He stands in front of you as you try to overcome your fear. His eyes are reassuring, his strong hands gripping yours in solidarity. There's no weakness in him. He’s all strength, cunning, volatility, rage and psychopathy. His eyes urge you to get a grip but the roar of the welcome party is unnerving. Your fathers reign ended to a crowd. Soldiers came and there was shouting, there was cheering and you had no time to say goodbye before your mother put you into an escape pod with a scroll. You arrived at an outer planet to find out your father had been beheaded. It’s why you hate crowds to this day.

“Not today” he whispers motioning for someone to come get you. The roaring is violent and you follow them into a pod lighting up at the sight of Leia. The two of you embrace each other warmly. In moments you’ve deemed each other okay. The guards watch the two of you closely. Sitting beside her you take a moment to check the beauty mark on the inside of your thumb. It had been there as long as you could remember. You should be terrified by your current predicament, inadequate training, no preparation, playing a part of an unsanctioned plot of sisterhood, at the mercy of perhaps the galaxy’s most unbalanced man. But he’d been nothing but reasonable thus far outside of your abduction.

The cheers from the people are thunderous, they celebrate his return with conviction. Once outside the pods you become acquainted with the sprawling palace halls. Uneasiness fills you and your hand clasps Leia’s for comfort, something your guards eyes settle on. Saying nothing you follow behind him seeing a Mentat among your escort. You’re brought into a grand hall with a stately black stone table. Fresh colourful food is on one side while rare organic meat is on another, the sight of the bloody dishes and iron rich aroma sickens you and Leia.

“I wish to retire, I am exhausted” you declare unable to sit. The silent guard turns to you nodding. He motions for a Mentat to guide you and Leia to your quarters. You're separated from her after a long hug. Your room is far grander than your quarters at the academy. It has a familiar quality of the ones from your home world. The colours are less sterile, the hues less grey. Pulling open the drawers you find lush vibrant fabrics, the sort of robes you remember your mother wearing before the fall of your house. It's a strange thing. Turning you lean against the dresser puzzled by the days events and not nearly as scared as you should be.

Finished and energized by his warm reception Feyd-Rautha heads to the dining hall. He waits against the door when he hears no chatter. Bracing himself for anything he pushes open the doors to find the room empty with the exception of the Mentat and a few guards charged with your care.

“She wished to retire” the Mentat explains.

“Did she eat?” Fey’d asks.

“No” The Mentat responds. Feyd’s mood sours, settling into a rage, if it were anyone else he would have dragged them back out of the room, placed a collar around her neck and forced her to do as he pleased but it wasn't anyone, it was you.

“Set the table in my quarters” he demands heading into his rooms. Undressing he removes his armour until all he has on are slacks and a tunic. Feyd dismisses his staff sitting at the table and pressing a button. A screen emerges from the wall with a wide panoramic view of your quarters on display. He watches you as he eats, watches you let your hair down from the ornate style of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. He watches the sway of your hips as you go from room to room. He watches you admire the artwork that's been placed there. Feyd-Rautha watches you with pride and admiration, you weren't trying to run as far as he could see. He watches as you return to the sleeping chambers. He feels himself stiffen as he watches you undress, standing he drops the rare meat drawn to the screen with a crooked grin as you make your way to the cleansing chambers. The bounce of your breast, the softness of your skin, everything has him solid as stone. He watches you step in and the misting of water commence, the beads of water glisten on your skin, he zooms in to get a better view of you unguarded. The surprise in your expression as the automatic system goes through the washing ritual.

His thoughts are heinous and depraved, his need for dominance, ownership, acceptance and submission are more than he can take. Releasing his manhood from his plants he begins stroking it roughly. For the first time he doesn’t call his concubines to satisfy him. They would all fail miserably, no one but you would ever again, but this night he would have to do. He needed you so bad he felt desperate. Stroking himself faster he’s practically salivating as the chamber begins drying you, the way your hair blows, the surprise in your eyes, the suppleness of your skin. It takes everything in him to contain his hunger for you, control his passion, his need. He wanted to be inside you marking you, claiming you with his seed. Watching your expressions change as he takes you further and further into the pleasures of passion. You would be his wife soon enough. His hands would never leave your warm flesh. He would keep his manhood sheathed inside you training you well. Coming hard from his own fantasies Fed’s shallow breaths bring him to a stark realization. He would do anything to have you stop trembling at the sight of him, he’d try to be as patient as possible. He needed your submission, your acceptance of him, and he needed it to be real, to want to share his bed. Looking up at the screen he watches you dress in sheer bed robes. Climbing into the large bed he watches you find comfort in it.

“You’re mine” he says to the screen as a promise.

🖤

Thank you so much for reading 🩶 let me know if you enjoyed, want to be added to the taglist or anything else on your mind 🩶 comment, like & reblog for more Feyd. xx

TAGS: @elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22

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differentsoulsweets · 4 months ago

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Apollo

Απολλων [Apollo] God of prophecy and oracles, music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease

Epithets: ⟡ Proopsios [Foreseeing] ⟡ Phoibos [Bright] ⟡ Akestor [Healer] ⟡ Alexikakos [Averter of Evil] ⟡ Theoxenios [ God of Foreigners ] ⟡ Pythios [Slayers of Python] ⟡ Chrusaor [Of Golden Sword] ⟡ Daphnephorios [Bearer of Laurels] ⟡ Loimios [ Deliverer from Pague] ⟡ Moiragetes [Leader of Fate] ⟡ Pagasios [Pagasaean] ⟡ Hekaergos [Far-shooting]

Domains: ⟡ Prophecy & Oracles ⟡ Light ⟡ Music & Arts ⟡ Song & poetry ⟡ Archery ⟡ Healing & medicine ⟡ Plague & Disease ⟡ Protection of the young ⟡ Boys ⟡ Sudden Death ⟡ Knowledge ⟡ Herds & Flocks ⟡ Protector of Fugitives

Devotional acts: ⟡ Donate to medical charities ⟡ Draw or Paint ⟡ Read poetry or listen to music ⟡ Sing or play an instrument ⟡ Go to the library

Associations

Symbol: ⟡ The Lyre ⟡ Silver bow & Arrows ⟡ Dolphins ⟡ Swans ⟡ Crows ⟡ Ravens ⟡ Lions ⟡ Wolves ⟡ Mice ⟡ Griffins ⟡ Hawks ⟡ Snakes ⟡ Laurel wreath ⟡ Fire / flame ⟡ The sun / Light ⟡ Tripod ⟡ Apples

Element: ⟡ Light

Color: ⟡ Orange ; yellow ; Gold ⟡ Red ⟡ Pure white ⟡ Pink ⟡ Purple ⟡ Green ⟡ Blue

Crystals & stones: ⟡ Sunstone ⟡ Amber ⟡ Honey ; Yellow Calcite ⟡ Rutilated ; Clear ; Rose quartz

Fruits,Vegetables,Flowers,Herbs: ⟡ Cypress ⟡ Laurel ⟡ Larkspur ⟡ The-apple-tree ⟡ The palm tree ⟡ Hyacinth

Animal: ✧Swan ⟡ Raven ⟡ Tortoise ⟡ Serpent ⟡ Wolf ⟡ Dolphin ⟡ Mouse

Incense: ✧ Bay ⟡ Frankincense ⟡ Cypress

Food & Drinks: ⟡ Red wine ⟡ Olive oil ⟡ Water ⟡ Fruit ⟡ Honey ⟡ Almonds ⟡ Citruses ⟡ Cinnamon ⟡ Coffee ⟡ Herbal tea with Honey cakes ⟡ Bay leaves ⟡ Anise

Day, Season, Time of Day: ✧ Sunday ⟡ Middsummer ⟡ Midday ⟡ May

Tarot: ✧ The Sun ⟡ The chariot ⟡ Strength ⟡ Temperance

#witchblr #deity worship #greek gods #hellenic worship #deities #hellenism #hellenic polytheism #hellenic deities #apollon deity #apollo deity #apollo

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frost-queen · 8 months ago

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My mortal flaw // part 3 (Reader x Zuko)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget, @ficsmoothie, @reallysparklychaos, @deafeningartisancandy, @multifandom-lover01, @smilefortae, @bravelittlebastard, @mysticwitchcraftco, @roseazura, @katie-tibo, @savannah0111, @defnotriri, @darkened-writer, @avrilh, @anea08, @mymoonempress, @tcey0

Summary: Clinging to life, you have a fever dream of how it all started. How you came to meet your intended. Meanwhile Zuko's temper resurfaces when not knowing for sure if you'd make it out alive. [series]

An ancient roaring filled the skies. It made Zuko pause for a moment. Looking upon the ancient spirit of the sea. The avatar amidst, with bright lighted eyes and tattoos. – “Nephew.” – Iroh called out seeing him linger. Zuko tore his gaze away, following his uncle back to the ship. They left the northern water tribe to their fate, running away. One would call them cowards. Others caring, for it was with a purpose they were running.

Two to be precise. One it was too dangerous for the prince to be involved. Zhao’s doing infuriating Iroh. Two they had to bring you to safety. The moon’s disappearing made you vulnerable. Unable to bend. Leading to Zhao’s men to fight you. Assuming you were with the water tribe from your attire.

Zuko having left you to fend for your own while he searched for the Avatar. The one thing that would restore his honour. Honour which meant a great deal to the fire prince. Banished by his father with the claim to only return with the avatar.

They got hoisted up on the ship. Zuko rushed with you to the quarters. Iroh following close by. Zuko kicked the door open with his foot, rushing inside. Pantingly, he laid you down on the bed. He turned away from you as Iroh came nearer, kneeling beside you. Holding a hand above your head to see the state of you.

One of prince Zuko’s men entered. – “Get us out of these waters!” – Zuko ordered loudly. The soldier bowed his head and took his leave. Iroh brought your hand up, checking your pulse. – “Is... is she?” - Zuko asked unable to look. – “No… it is faint, but still there.” – Iroh answered. Iroh looked up surprised when he heard the door slam.

His nephew nowhere to be found. Iroh tended back to you. – “Pray the moon spirit returns.” – he said with a worried face. He exhaled deep. If only he had stopped Zhao better, he could’ve prevented him from killing the spirit. If only he had stopped Zhao sooner. By the moment he wanted to end the prince.

Zuko appeared on deck, shouting orders. His men working to the bone to get them out of these waters. Away from the Northern water tribe. Zuko walked forwards looking up as he saw the moon once more. The grim world back in balance. The ship steered through the waters and ice. Breaking it apart. The ice platforms dispersing into smaller bits.

Zuko shouted some more orders, pointing firmly at everyone he thought was slouching. Standing still in the middle of the deck with his hands behind his back. He inhaled deep, exhaling long with a hot breath. A bit of fog forming before him. His head turned slightly, looking a bit over his shoulder. He blinked numbly. Letting his shoulders hang a bit, knowing you were back there, fighting for your life.

Iroh had placed wet cloths on your bruises. A special crème made from herbs plastered on your wound. He knew you needed a healer, but they had none. You were the only one capable of. Now he could only watch you. From behind the table, he kept an eye out, pouring himself some tea. Slightly shaking his head, he wasn’t sure if you’d recover. If Zuko would recover.

Knowing how rough your path had started out. An agreement of marriage between two nations. Knowing very well his brother only accepted just to unleash more dishonour on his nephew. Yet what Ozai didn’t seem to see, was that prince Zuko might draw strength from this agreement. Iroh took his tea and came sitting by your bed. Humming a soft song that reminded him of his own son.

Ladies came and went. Taking you from room to room. Where you had first bathed. Then sat down for your hair to be done. Then you got led into a room where they dressed you. Two girls walked around you in opposite ways to wrap a band around your waist. They pulled hard at it making you gasp soft. They bound it, coming to the front to bow in your presence. – “You’ll bring peace to us all.” – they said opening their arms with long sleeves that covered up their hands.

You got pushed off the small stool. – “You are ready.” – Another woman said. Much older than the girls had helped you. She had entered the room without you noticing it. You looked at yourself in the mirror, not sure what to feel. – “Not yet.” – another voice came through, a male’s voice. Looking to your side, you saw your father, the chief enter. – “Our pendant for balance.” – he said revealing the necklace with the circle pendant on it. He moved his arms over your head to hold the necklace against your neck. – “You must proudly show it.” – he said as you touched the pendant.

He kissed your cheek as it made you smile. – “You’ll bring peace to us all.” – he said as well, making your smile falter. A heavy burden being bestowed upon you. Feeling as if the whole world was looking at you. Your father took you by the arm, guiding you outside. The doors opened as you were blinded by the bright sunlight at first. The entire courtyard filled with people from your town. They bowed in unison making you swallow nervously. Your father let go of you.

You took a few steps forwards, down the steps. Pausing midway to look back at your father, who remained stationed. He gave you a proud nod. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the people. Going down the steps further till you reached the courtyard. The people moving aside to create a pathway for you to walk. As you kept walking, they all bowed their heads when you passed.

“Please bring peace to us.” – a woman said when you passed her. A man followed somewhere behind her. – “Please bring peace.” – he spoke with a bow. Soon you heard from all sides, people asking, begging for peace. Depending on you and this agreement to bring peace back to the world. That with this unison the fire nation would seize their torment.

Keeping your head high, you didn’t want them to see the worry you were carrying. Having the entire town and the nations depend on you. To make it right. To bring back balance to the nations. They couldn’t depend on the avatar anymore. There hasn’t been an avatar in a hundred years. People grew hopeless. Now they had been given hope once more. The people closed the pathway behind you, coming back together to say see you off with well wishes.

You neared the edge as the crowed feeling sunk into nothingness. Complete solitude as you descended alone. You accepted the hand that assisted you on the boat. To start your journey to the fire nation. Doors opened as it revealed a long corridor. Alone you had to walk up to accept your end of the agreement. The corridor felt cold, despite being light up by fire.

Hands over each other inside your sleeves, your gaze shifted doubtfully down. Taking a soft breath to ease your nerves. – “Ancestors. Hear my plea.” – you said softly. – “Help me to make this work. To not uproot my tribe. Keep my father standing tall.” – you finished your prayer before you reached the end of the corridor.

The hearing of you winching in pain made Iroh get up. At that same moment entered Zuko the room once more. Iroh’s hand on your forehead. – “She is burning up.” – he let his nephew know. Zuko clenched his jaw, balding his hands into fists. – “Then cool her down!” – he shouted at his uncle. Iroh stared baffled at his nephew. – “How?” – he said with open hands.

He was no use as a fire bender for this. Zuko groaned angrily, slamming the door shut behind him. Iroh sighed soft. – “Forgive my nephew…” – he spoke to you. – “We feel helpless Y/n.” – he lowered his head. He placed the blanket better over you. Iroh dapped some sweat off your forehead with a dry cloth. You were winching in your unconsciousness, fighting of dreams that only meant to torment you. Iroh got startled when the door opened once more.

Zuko entering with a bucket of water. – “Do what must!” – he ordered. Zuko set the bucket rather forcefully on the ground. A bit of it splashing over the side to wet the flooring. Iroh scooped his hand inside, pulling away at the ice coldness from it. – “Where did you get such ice-cold water?” – he questioned. The water they had on board wasn’t nearly as cold as this. – “The ocean.” – Zuko responded with a grunt. – “Now do as you are told!” – he insisted, taking his leave once more.

Iroh glared briefly at the door. – “That temper.” – he sighed out, not liking that it was showing itself once more. Even against him. Iroh wetted the cloth with ice cold water, wringing it before laying it on your forehead. It made you shiver in a breath, shuddering at the cold touch. Then your body eased as your expression seemed to calm.

“One last thing.” – Ozai spoke making Zuko pause before boarding the ship. His lip still trembling a bit. Ozai stepped aside revealing you. – “Don’t forget your bride.” – he said with a sneer. The young prince widened his eye at you. You went down, kneeling on the ground, head low to bow to the fire prince. Lifting your head up, you addressed him. – “Prince Zuko.” – getting back up afterwards. Zuko couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

His expression twitching a bit. Trying to settle for shock or anger. – “I don’t want a bride. I don’t need a bride.” – Zuko made clear. Ozai flashed a stern stare at the young prince. Zuko lowered his head, making himself small. Ozai gave you a little push towards the prince. You stumbled forwards unsure why you were meeting the prince at a ship.

Zuko groaned frustrated getting on the ship. You looked behind you to Ozai. He pointed firmly at the ship. Two men grabbed you by each side, forcing you onto the ship to join your intended in banishment. The ship set sail as it felt like you had failed. How could you bring peace to the nations if you were banished from the fire nation.

Zuko stood by the edge of the ship, gripping the railing tight. You decided to walk over to him. – “Prince Zuko.” – you said reaching out to touch his shoulder. The moment your hand touched his shoulder, he brushed it off rudely. – “What do you want!” – he shouted at you, startling you. You stared back at him, seeing the bandage on his one eye. You didn’t know what happened, but you could see the pain in his eyes. You reached out, wanting to touch his cheek.

To show him your compassion. Before your hand could touch his cheek, he pushed it forcefully away. – “I’ll burn you!” – he yelled out letting fire blaze out of his hands. It made you stumble back, tripping as you fell down on your bottom. Fearful you looked at him. Zuko tore his gaze away from you, not wanting you to look at him. You got up, running to the other side of the ship. To be as far away as possible from him.

Zuko puffed annoyed when you got positioned beside him. – “Prince Zuko.” – you greeted him with a bow. Zuko only turned his posture more away from you. Iroh cleared his throat loud, ushering his nephew to show his manners. Zuko sighed loud, turning back to you. – “Must I really?” – he questioned. – “Yes!” – Iroh insisted upon. Zuko sighed again as it started to bother you how uncivil he was. This wasn’t something you planned on either.

It wasn’t that you choose to be the fire prince’s bride. It was chosen for you. Only knowing of the arrangement on the day you left your town. Like any good daughter of the chief would do, you simply accepted it. Knowing there was nothing to be done about it. – “It’s not that hard.” – you told Zuko, still waiting for a proper greeting. Zuko groaned loud, setting his hands on fire from frustration.

“Zuko!” – Iroh called out in fury. Zuko took a deep breath, calming down. With a bit of annoyance, he set himself over it. – “Princess…” – he started holding his knuckles against the palm of his other hand to greet you. – “Took you too long.” – you interrupted taking your leave. Zuko blinked confused before he understood he got played. He shouted angry.

“I should throw you in the ocean for disrespect!” – he yelled with a firm point. You kept ignoring him as it upset Zuko more. He moved his leg up, letting a wave of fire go to you. You spun around, moving your hands across. A stream of water scooped up from the ocean dimming his fire before it could reach you. You then bend another stream letting it wash Zuko off his feet.

He got tackled by the water, rolling over the ground, drenched. He coughed loud. He looked surprised at his hands as they had grown ice cold. Captured by ice to the ground. Lifting his head up, he saw you lower your hands, taking off. Zuko was furious. Letting his hands heat up to melt the ice around his hands.

Pissed off, he got up with a loud scream of infuriation. – “Zuko!” – Iroh shouted knowing his nephew wasn’t going to let this pass. Zuko stormed after you, braising on the inside. You wanted to grab the door but pulled your hand away when a blast of fire hit the door first.

Turning around, you saw Zuko panting. – “Is that how you show respect to your prince!” – Zuko shouted. – “It seems MY prince doesn’t respect me so why should I?” – you said tauntingly, emphasizing on the ‘my’. Zuko bald his hands into fists. – “You’ll respect me!” – Zuko said storming over. His movement, made you move back, hitting the door with your back.

“Respect goes both ways!” – you snapped back. – “My prince.” – you added mockingly with a sarcastic smile. Zuko’s gaze seemed to pierce through you. You moved from out of his cornered situation. Zuko exhaled deep, pressing his hand onto the door. Lowering his head as a tiny smile appeared. When he caught himself showing weakness, he clenched his expression once more.

Iroh lifted his head up, hearing the door open gently. Zuko entered once more. – “How…” – he only had to say for Iroh to understand. – “Her fever is coming down. You have your ice water to thank for that.” – he replied dapping your forehead some more. Iroh noticed his nephew lingering awkwardly by the door. – “Do you want to…?” – he offered gesturing at you. Zuko shook his head, taking a step back. – “No…no…” – his voice fading out. – “Zuko…” – Iroh said with sympathy, urging him to come near.

Zuko pressed his lips a bit together, shaking his head. Iroh sighed as Zuko had once again left the room. He watched your state carefully for the next hour till you finally showed him a sign of life. Your chest flinching as you were withholding a cough. The cough came out, followed by some as you felt the pain everywhere in your body. You winched at the pain, reaching for your side. Slowly your eyes opened as the first thing you saw was Iroh.

“Shh shh it is alright Y/n. Try to remain gentle.” – he said reassuring as you were trying to pull your upper chest up by your elbows. You fully came to sit up with his help. – “Where…?” – you asked looking hazily around. – “Our ship.” – Iroh answered. He also knew your next question before you could even form his name on your lips. – “He’s above deck.”

“I... I need to…” – you started wanting to get out of bed, but Iroh stopped you. – “No, you are still too weak Y/n.” – he reminded you. You pulled the blanket a bit back, seeing the bandages around your stomach. You then noticed the water bucket by Iroh. Bending water out of it, it surrounded your hand. You then brought your hand to your stomach. Exhaling satisfying healing your own wound with your bending.

Iroh looked in wonder as it never stopped amazing him. Gasping loud, you let your head fall back in the pillow. A bit worn out from your healing. It took you but a moment to recover. You weren’t going to take no for an answer. Iroh knew he couldn’t keep you bed bound so he helped you up. He assisted you out of the room up to the deck. Weakly you held your side, still feeling the bruises.

Zuko stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sea. Something caught his attention, making him slightly turn his head. Seeing a glimpse in the corner of his eye, he turned his head more with haste. His eyes widening at the sight of you. You let go of Iroh, stumbling forwards to Zuko. Zuko got in motion, meeting you half-way. You sunk through your knees as Zuko caught you. Keeping you upright.

With shock was he staring at you. Moving his hand to your cheek. Moving some strays of hair aside as his knuckles brushed against your cheek. You smiled weakened. – “My prince.” – you said with love. Zuko let his fingers stretch against your neck, fingers brushing on your skin. Hand on your neck, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips onto yours. Kissing you deeply.

He pulled away; his attention drawn to around him. His men all bowing. You took a step back from Zuko as his hands dropped to the side. You bowed to your prince as well. A sudden movement made you glance up. Eyes widening in wonder seeing Zuko bow to you as well. It made you smile softly. Iroh hastened over, giving you support as you were still recovering. – “What do we do now?” – Iroh asked his nephew. Zuko looked out at the sea before answering. – “We head for the earth kingdom!” – he ordered as his men got to work.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

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thecupidwitch · 7 months ago

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Day of the Week Magickal Correspondences:

Monday

Planet: Moon

Tarot: High Priestess, Moon

Color: white, light blue, gray

Stones: moonstone, pearl, fluorite, amethyst, quartz, sapphire

Herbs: moonflower, jasmine, gardenia, white rose

Influences : astral realm, clairvoyance, creativity, dream work, emotions, family, fertility, healing the home, illumination, inspiration, intuition, love, prophecy, protection, psychic ability, travel, truth

Tuesday

Planet: Mars

Tarot: Strength, Wands (5, 6)

Color: red, orange

Stones: carnelian, ruby, bloodstone, garnet, red jasper

Herbs: basil, ginger, blak pepper, patchouli, holly, dragon’s blood, nettle, thistle, thorns, wormwood, hawthorn,

Influences : power, war, courage, agression, revenge, hexes and curses, distruction, ambition, sexual identity, sex magick, self confidence

Wednesday

Planet: mercury

Tarot: The Magician, Wheel of Fortune, Pentacles (8)

Color: blue

Stones: Agate, citrine, aventurine, sodalite, lapis, hematite, emerald

Herbs: lavender, rosemary, fern, cherry, licorice, poppy, mugwort, plantain, apple, fennel

Influences : communication, arts, change, mental power, education, divination, psychic power, divination, wisdom, knowledge, traveling, spiritual enlightenment, mischief

Thursday

Planet: jupiter

Tarot: Pentacles (ace, 9, 10)

Color: royal blue, green and purple

Stones: amethyst, sapphire, turquoise, lepidolite, sugilite

Herbs: cinnamon, sage, nutmeg, melissa, clove, honeysuckle

Influences : money, business, manifestion, justice, healing, abundance, luck, fidelity, honor, justice (legal matters), leadership, loyalty, prosperity, relationships, well-being, success

Friday

Planet: Venus

Tarot: Empress, Lovers, Cups (2)

Color: pink

Stones: rose quartz, pink tourmaline, moonstone, jade, peridot, emerald, ruby

Herbs: red hibiscus, rose, lavender, rosemary, jasmine, blue lotus, violet, birch, sage, ivy

Influences : beauty, emotions, fertility, friendship, happiness, love, passion, pleasure, sexuality, wisdom

Saturday

Planet: Saturn

Tarot: Temperance, Swords (knight, 2)

Color: Black, Gray (dark), Indigo, Purple (dark)

Stones: onyx, obsidian, smokey quartz, jet, pumice

Herbs: myrrh, moss, thyme, basil, hemlock, nettle, peppermint, pomegranate, hyacinth, mallow, juniper

Influences : banish, binding magick, death, protection, freedom, justice, karma, banishing, uncrossing magick, hexes and curses

Sunday

Planet: Sun

Color: yellow, gold

Tarot: Chariot, Sun, Wands (ace)

Stones: citrine, sunstone, pyrite, gold, goldstone, carnelian, orange calcite, tiger’s eye, amber

Herbs: sunflower, chamomile, calendula, marigold, bergamot, oak, rosemary, oregano

Influences : accomplishment, action, ambition, attraction, authority, beauty, confidence, creativity, energy (solar), fame, freedom, friendship, goals, personal growth, healing, hope, illumination, justice, leadership, light, protection, spirituality

tip jar

#thecupidwitch #witchcraft #witch community #witchblr #witchcore #witches #witch #green witch #grimoire #book of shadows #days of the week #text

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esoteric-chaos · 8 months ago

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Spring Equinox Masterpost- Spoonie Witch Friendly

Art Credit: Anastasia Catris

The Spring Equinox, also called the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, is usually celebrated between the 21st of March in the Northern Hemisphere (In the Southern Hemisphere around September 20th or 21st)

In 2024, Ostara and the Spring Equinox land in the Northern Hemisphere on Monday, March 19th.

The Spring Equinox celebrates the arrival of spring. Celebrating balance, growth, and new beginnings as Winter has finally ended.

Spring Equinox Correspondances

Colours

Light Green

Lavender

Sunny Yellow

Light Blue

Pastel Pink

White

Herbal

Lemongrass

Daffodils

Tulips

Violets

Apple Tree

Cherry Blossom

Primrose

Birch tree

Hyacinths

Dandelion

Garlic

Ash tree

Jasmine

Edibles

Honey

Salad greens

Spring veggies

Fresh berries

Mead

Herbs

Eggs

Seeds

Bread

Edible flowers

Quiches

Custards

Maple

Animals

Hares

Baby Chicks

Snakes

Robins

Bees

Butterflies

Phoenix

Ram

Crystals

Fluorite

Moonstone

Silver

Aquamarine

Clear Quartz

Amazonite

Symbols

Bonfires

Flowers

Rabbits

Eggs

Seeds

Baskets

Flowering or Tree Buds

Lambs

Birds

Spiritual meanings

Purification

Cleansing (removal of stagnant energy)

Growth

Transition

Motivation

Balance

Birth

Good fortune

Kindness

Joy

Fertility

Scents

Coconut

Citrus

Floral scents (rose, lilac, jasmine, etc)

Herbal scents (rosemary, basil, mint, etc)

Gods / Goddesses / Spirits

Eostre – (Anglo-Saxon)

Aphrodite - (Greek)

Gaia - (Celtic)

Gaea - (Greek)

Venus - (Roman)

Athena - (Greek)

Aurora - (Roman)

Eos - (Greek)

Isis – (Egyptian)

Freya - (Norse)

Persephone - (greek)

Cybele - (Roman)

The Green Man - (Celtic)

Odin – (Norse)

Osiris – (Egyptian)

Pan – (Greek)

Thoth – (Egyptian)

Adonis – (Greek)

Apollon – (Greek)

Apollo - (Roman)

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I've got you covered.

High energy celebrations and ritual

Deep cleaning of the hearth and home

Nature hikes

Visiting farmers markets

Making preserves

Create a fae garden

Create a seasonal altar

Abundance/Prosperity ritual

New beginnings ritual

Low energy celebrations

Wear pastels

Create flower crowns

Light a candle with scent correspondence

No spoon celebrations

Opening a window

Journaling Prompts

Keeping hydrated

Drink floral tea

Rest

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you're enough no matter what.

Also please note some stuff is UPG. A great book is Year of the Witch by Temperance Alden for honouring the celebrations and if you wanted to work more seasonally. It's not Wiccan-based and has plenty of resources for every witch.

Feel free to post how you celebrate in the comments or reblogs!

Want to see more of my posts? Check out my Wheel of the Year Masterpost or my Main Masterpost.

#witchcraft #witch #electic witch #witchblr #paganism #spoonie witch #spoonie magic #ostara #wheel of the year #witchy #spring equinox #seasonal magic #ostara masterpost #ostara correspondences #spring equinox masterpost #spring equinox correspondances #spoonie #chronic illness magic #chronic illness

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moonchildxoxx · 3 months ago

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Are we a moment, or a lifetime Part 2

A/N: You are responsible for your own media consumption. MDNI 18+

Warning: talk about terminating a pregnancy, Fetus called a baby multiple times, and semi graphic birth scene ( it’s really not that bad)

Pairing: Tsu’teyx human ! Female! Reader

Word count3,673k

Synopsis: it continues right from part one

[ Request are open]

Master List

Rules

[Previous] // [Next]

"We need to keep this quiet" He murmurs, his voice quiet. The last thing she needed was everyone hounding her, demanding answers about this. Mo'at nods, agreeing that this should be kept quiet before turning and going to a small side room, searching for something. He keeps his arms firmly around her , his face buried in her hair as he murmurs reassurances and tries to soothe his own racing mind "It'll be alright"

He repeated, as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. Mo'at re-emerged with a small, woven basket. It was full of various things, but he couldn't see what exactly through the woven cloth She set it down beside him, gesturing for him to look inside. He gently shifted her out his lap for a moment so he could lean forwards, looking inside the basket. His long fingers pull back the lid, his brow furrowed as he looks at the contents. The basket was filled with various things. Some herbs, some berries, and a few other bits and pieces he doesn't notice Mo'at motions to them, pointing at specific things "Make sure she takes these everyday. Some of the herbs will help with the nausea, the berries will help replenish the energy. I will try to find more" Tsu'tey just nods silently, still trying to process that he was going to be a father.

The next few months had gone by slowly and quietly. Tsu'tey had kept her pregnancy a secret, much to the growing frustration of the scientists as she avoided them more. He was almost overly protective of her , following her everywhere and trying to keep her from anything even slightly dangerous or tiring. Mo'at had been of great help, bringing over herbs and berries to help with her sickness and any other issue she had had. But as she grew, it became more and more obvious to the others that something was wrong

She was more tired, her stomach was obviously bigger, and everyone was starting to notice. They tried to bring her to the lab for tests and scans, but Tsu'tey stood in their way, refusing for them to do anything more. He knew they would poke and prod and study her, not even considering her as a person anymore.

He would bring her to Mo'at every time she had even a slight pain or issue, worried that anything unusual was a bad sign. Mo'at assured him that it would be okay, but every time she looked at (Y/N) distended stomach, you could see the worry in her eyes. Tsu'tey was always at her side, his touch gentle and warm. He would soothe her nausea with a few berries and a cool rag, and soothe his own worries by pressing his giant hands against her stomach and talking quietly to you both.

The other's, particularly the scientists, were becoming more and more frustrated at her and Tsu'tey's secrecy, getting more demanding and more desperate to get (Y/N) in the lab. Tsu'tey's temper was wearing thin and he eventually snapped at Max when the scientist tried to force her in for a scan. It had been a long day, and she was feeling particularly exhausted from being on

her feet all day. Tsu'tey had taken her to the lab to work on a project with Max and Norm, but she was starting to feel faint. Max had tried to gently persuade her into the medical room, saying it was just a quick check to make sure everything was going okay and that it would only take a couple minutes. Tsu'tey had lost his temper and shoved Max aside, forcing him to get away from her. "No" He snaps, his voice low and quiet. His golden eyes almost glow with anger as he glares at Max. She'd never seen him this angry. He turns to look at (Y/N), the anger leaving him immediately as he looks at her face. Her face was pale and her hands were shaking from the effort of staying upright. Tsu'tey instantly steps in to support her, gathering her in his arms and gently holding (Y/N) against his chest. Max was frustrated , his jaw

clenching. "I don't see why we can't just do a quick scan. We don't have to do anything invasive, it's just to check everything's going well" Norm intervened

"Max-" But Max cuts him off, his eyes locked on Tsu'tey

"it's literally our job to collect data" "And what are you going to do when you get that data and if you don’t like it , huh?" Tsu'tey snaps back, his whole body tense.

"What if you get some readings you don't like, what then, huh?" He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around her , holding her to his chest while he glares at Max, almost shaking with anger "If the fetus is unhealthy or showing signs of abnormality, then it may need to be terminated-" Max keeps going but Tsu'tey doesn't even give him the chance to finish the sentence before his fist clenches at his side, his knuckles turning white even as he holds her with his other arm "There will be no 'terminating'" Tsu'tey practically growls that last word, his body practically shaking with anger "This baby is not a data point. It's not an experiment. It's our child" Max's eyes narrow, but he holds his hands up "okay, fine, it's your child. But don't you think a scan could be helpful? I mean we can find out the gender, we can see how it's developing-" (Y/N) cut him off “ Tsu'tey I want to go home” In an instant, all of Tsu'tey focus switches to her.

He instantly notices how pale she was and how tired she looked, and gently scoops her up in his arms, holding her against his chest. He shoots another glare at Max and Norm as he starts carrying her out towards their home. He practically ignores her protests, gently shushing her and murmuring reassurances as he carries her back to their home. As soon as they got home, he carefully set (Y/N) down on the soft, woven pile of blankets that served as their bed. He carefully lowers himself down behind her, pressing up to her back and gently wrapping an arm around her waist. He nuzzles his face into her neck and breathes out a long, slow breath, finally letting his guard down for a moment

He presses his hand gently to her stomach, his long fingers splayed across her skin. He can feel the swell of her belly, the bump of the baby inside. He kept his eyes closed as he breathed her in, nuzzling his face against her. She nuzzled back ,she was exhausted

He tightened his grip around her waist as he pulled her even closer against his chest. He can tell she was tired, her whole body shaking with exhaustion. His lips pressed against the back of her shoulder as he tried to soothe her. She fell asleep on him. He feels (Y/N) relax against him as she sleeps , her breathing slowly evening out. He keeps his arms around you, holding her tight against him and burying his face into her hair

He stayed awake, watching her face as she slept. His mind still races, but his mind is calmer than it was earlier. Now she is here, safe and sound and asleep, he can finally allow himself to properly relax. She stayed asleep. He stayed awake for a while longer, simply watching her sleep. He gently pulls the covers up around her, making sure she is properly tucked up and comfortable. After a while, he slowly feels himself start to doze off too.

She slept till early morning. The sun raised slowly, filtering through the woven shelter and casting it in a soft, warm glow. Tsu'tey slowly wakens a few hours later, opening his eyes to see (Y/N) ace softly lit by the morning sunlight He slowly sits up, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at her. She was starting to stir, her eyes fluttering open. He watches her for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches her wake "Good morning" He murmurs gently, reaching out to brush his fingers gently over her cheek He lets his hand cup her face, his calloused fingertips gently tracing over her skin, as if he was trying to commit every little part of her to his memory She nuzzled him. He feels her nuzzle against him, and his smile widens slightly. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He lets his arms wrap around her, pulling her close against his chest as if he can't get close enough to her. Her skin is warm against his, and he nuzzles against her hair and the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her. He feels his own anxiety from the other night ebb away, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. She gently grunted " I want this baby out " she muttered. He couldn't help but let out a small huff of a laugh at her comment, his chest rumbling with a quiet chuckle. "I know, I know" he says, his hand gently rubbing her stomach. She lay back yawning again. He follows her down, lying back with her as he continues rubbing her belly. He can feel the baby moving under her skin, shifting around inside her .He leans in, gently pressing his lips to her stomach He murmurs against her stomach "your mommy is getting impatient with you" He lets his lips linger, pressing soft kisses against her skin. She laughed softly " hey you would too if you carrying a watermelon He smiled up at her, his lips still against her stomach "You're right, I would" He glances down at your belly again "it's your fault, you know" he jokingly murmurs to the baby "You've given your mother a difficult time" He gently starts massaging her stomach, his hand large enough to span almost all of it at once His fingers gently rub in soft circles, as if he's trying to soothe the baby as well as her. He can feel the taut skin of her stomach under his fingers, still stretched tight around the bump (Y/N) started to doze off again. He notices her starting to fall asleep again, and he can't help but smile a little. He knows she’s tired, and knows she needs the extra rest. He nuzzles against her stomach again, then leans in to press a kiss to her cheek "get some sleep" He gently pulls the covers up around her, making sure she is warm and comfortable. He shifts to lie behind her, his large, muscular body pressed up against hers as he wraps one arm around her waist and pulls her close

The next month or so passes in a similar fashion, Tsu'tey being overbearing and overprotective.

Every time she not feeling well, he's at her side, and he's constantly trying to keep her from getting tired or exerting herself As her due date approaches, he gets increasingly apprehensive and nervous, spending almost every minute at her side and fussing over every small issue she had until she hit a breaking point. “Why don't you go for a short huh?" (Y/N) suggested He glances at her, raising an eyebrow. His first response is to protest and say he doesn't want to leave her, but he can tell she was feeling smothered and fed up with how overprotective he's been, and he sighs "You really want me to?" “ I think it'd do you some good besides I'm not leaving our marui" He lets out a small huff of a sigh, knowing she was probably right, and reluctantly nods "Alright, alright. I'll go" he says, already missing her before he has to leave. She nuzzles him. He nuzzles her back, letting his forehead rest against hers for a moment "I'll see you later" he says softly, before reluctantly pulling away from her and grabbing his bow. She grabbed her tablet and read for a little while before taking a nap. It takes a few hours before Tsu'tey comes back to the marui. He's carrying a couple of fish in one hand, He sees her lying there with the tablet and a part of him relaxes, relieved to know she hasn't left the marui like he was afraid she would, She was curled up asleep in the nest. He sets the fish down, before gently laying down beside her. He tries not to disturb her, as he knows how tired she had been. But he can't help gently nuzzling his face into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent

He lets out a soft sigh as he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close against his chest. He can feel the bump of her stomach against his , the baby growing more restless and running out of space in her belly. He gently shifts himself to where he's lying behind her, spooning against her back and resting his hand on her stomach. He lets his fingers rub in gentle circles against her skin, hoping to soothe not just the baby but her as well

As her due date approaches, Tsu'tey becomes more and more stressed and restless. He spends every single minute of the day by her side, refusing to leave her unattended at all. He has nightmares nearly every night while he's supposed to be asleep, about the baby being born dead, or dying soon after, while she is bleeding out and fading right before his eyes. He'll occasionally wake up in a cold sweat, but tries to stay quiet to avoid waking her up. He stays as quiet as possible as he pulls her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight against his chest. He buries his face into her hair, trying to calm his hammering heart and steady his breathing

(Y/N) hummed in her sleep nuzzling him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his nose pressed against her skin. He lets himself breathe in her scent, taking in just how alive she was. He can feel her heart beating against his, the steady thump of it calming and reassuring him. He lets his hand rest on her stomach, feeling the bump of the baby. They've gotten so big, it's easy for him to feel every kick and squirm they give. He can't keep the smallest smile off his face as he feels them stirring inside her, but the anxiety and stress over the impending birth is still weighing down on him

He tries to shake himself out of the dark thoughts, instead focusing on the baby. He rubs her belly in small circles, silently praying to Eywa that it goes well, that everyone will be okay. He tries to keep his voice soft and quiet, but he can't stop the quiet words from leaving his lips as he murmurs against her skin, "please let it be okay, please let them both be okay..."

He keeps his nose against her skin, breathing in ragged breaths as he tries to will himself to sleep.

But the dark dreams keep coming back, the images of the baby crying out weakly as she slowly fade away, the blood staining his hands and clothes, the image burned into his mind. His grip around her tightens as he shakes those images away, nuzzling against the nape of her neck. He wills himself to think of happier things, of the baby being born healthy, of the first time he will get to hold them, of the joy that would bring.

It had been a long, hard few months . (Y/N) had been monitored by Mo'at carefully, and Tsu'tey was more overprotective than usual, watching for any signs of distress.

The days ticked by, slowly approaching the moment. She was laying back on a sleep mat Tsu'tey by her side keeping her up. Mo'at knelt between her legs, guiding her through the process. She was gripping Tsu'teys hand tight. He was kneeling beside her , leaning his head on her as she squeezed the life out of his hand. Mo'at occasionally spoke, encouraging her to push and reassuring her that she was doing well "Good, good, push. You're doing so well" Mo'at's voice was as encouraging as she could be, trying to get her to do what was needed. She could already make out the head. Tsu'tey pressed his forehead against hers , his fingers intertwined with hers . "You're doing so well, you're perfect" He breathed, his breath hot against her skin as he tried to distract her from the pain "Nearly there, you're nearly there. Push again" Mo'at knew it would be hard, but she also knew (Y/N) was strong. "That's it, you're almost there" (Y/N) cried out, the pain intense and burning. She couldn't do it anymore, she felt like she was going to pass out. "I can't, I can't-"

"Yes you can, you're doing so well" Tsu'tey assured her, his free hand moving to the side of her face, trying to soothe her , she let out a low, guttural sound, gripping Tsu'tey hand even tighter. The pain was nearly blinding now, and she was exhausted but she was almost there. So incredibly close. "One more push for me, come on child. You're doing so well" The encouraging words from Mo'at spurred her on, gritting her teeth as she used all her strength to push one last time. The push seemed to last forever, but the moment it was done, a soft wail filled the air. The sound of a baby crying.

Mo'at smiled, gently picking up the baby and holding them in her hands. A moment later, Tsu'tey raised his head from (Y/N) shoulder and looked at the baby

"Is, is it-" he couldn't form a coherent sentence. His chest was heaving and he was shaking from the adrenaline.

“It's a girl" Mo’at's words were said softly, her voice quieter than usual as she spoke. A girl, a beautiful, perfect little girl. The crying baby was placed on (Y/N) chest, still covered in birth fluids and the cord looped around her. You could see the pure disbelief and love on Tsu’teys face. He was in shock "Congratulations"

Mo'at's normally sharp voice was quiet, a small smile on her face. She reached out and patted (Y/N) thigh gently "You did well, child”.

Tsu’tey leant over her , his lips brushing against her forehead, his breath hot against her skin. "You did so well" He murmured, his voice cracking slightly as he looked down at the little squirming baby in her arms.

The baby seemed to calm as she held her, her crying ceasing and being replaced with little sounds like tiny chirrups. He reached out and stroked a finger down the baby's cheek, his touch as gentle as he could. He couldn't believe how small she was, this tiny little baby, this perfect little thing .Tsu'tey raised his head again to look at (Y/N). She was exhausted, and covered in sweat and blood, but she never looked more beautiful to him . “She’s perfect” He murmured, his voice a mix of awe and tiredness. He carefully sat down on the ground next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. The baby was still in her hold, and she could feel the protective way Tsu’tey was wrapped around her (Y/N) nuzzled her baby. The baby squeaked under her affection, her tiny limbs wiggling again as she let out a soft sort of purring noise. Tsu'tey watched the two of you with a soft expression, his fingers tracing small circles on the baby's tummy

"What are you going to name her?" Mo'at's sharp voiced interrupted the moment, her eyes on her and Tsu'tey as she watched (Y/N) with the tiny baby

“Kamari " Tsu'tey's eyes flicked away from the baby and over to her, a quizzical look on his face "Kamari?" He repeated, tilting his head a little as he tested the name she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. It was the first thing that popped into her mind when she looked at her. Tsu'tey thought about it for a moment before giving a small nod "Kamari.." He said again, his eyes falling back down to the baby in his arms. "You like that, little one?" Kamari gave a small noise as if she was agreeing with her father. The baby wrapped one of her tiny hands around Tsu’teys finger, gripping it tightly. Her hand was so tiny, yet her grip was remarkably strong. Tsu’tey chuckled breathlessly as he gently tugged his finger, watching her not let go with an adoring look in his eyes “Oh you're totally screwed " spoke (Y/N) Tsu'tey gave her a side eye, his mouth tilting up in a small smirk "What do you mean by that?" He asked, his thumb tracing soft circles over the back of Kamari's tiny hand "She's got you wrapped around her little finger". "She's not the only one, you know" He murmurs, his eyes flicking up to look towards her, that smirk on his lips. Then his gaze falls back to the baby in his arms, his expression immediately softening Kamari let out what sounded like a little squeak, her tiny fingers grasping onto her father's finger with her surprising strength. Mo'at chuckled quietly, crossing her arms as she watched Tsu'tey interact with the baby

"You're in trouble already, Olo’eyktan “ Tsu'tey huffed in response to Mo'at's comment but didn't disagree. He knew exactly what she meant, He was completely enraptured, this little girl was the perfect combination of you both. He knew he was falling in love already . The baby let out a tiny gurgling sound, wiggling its tiny little arms as it snuggled against (Y/N) chest.

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soldat-buck · 7 months ago

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i had a vision while making coffee this morning

bg3 culinary headcanons: Companion Edition

- Shadowheart: absolute zero regard for contamination while cooking. kitchen habits of a permanent bachelor. licks the tasting spoon clean and keeps using it to cook. eats hot cocoa straight out of the container with a spoon. thinks pouring ranch over an entire head of lettuce and eating it like feral animal while holding it over the kitchen sink counts as "salad". if you can get past the contamination thing, the food she makes actually tastes pretty good, even if it's sometimes odd (she cooks like a stoner, despite being perfectly sober. she is just Like That).

- Astarion: perfectly capable of cooking, and actually can cook quite well. food may not taste the same after becoming a vampire, but his enhanced sense of smell tells him nearly everything he needs to know about how to season and cook food properly. he doesn't cook because he doesn't like to (washing dishes? by hand? no fucking thank you, being undead is harsh enough on the nails and skin. finding a good lotion for normal undead dryness is already impossible)

- Lae'zel: in the modern world, if her life took her in a chef direction, she'd be in a Michelin star restaurant as the world's best and most terrifying sous chef. she absolutely would throw a knife at you for fucking up her plating (she'd intentionally miss. the first time). no nonsense is ever tolerated in her kitchen, but that doesn't necessarily mean she's got temper issues (her coldness and lack of tantrums is what makes her terrifying). she'd put Gordon Ramsay in his place for his rage theatrics and then make him weep with joy after serving him the most competent omelet he's ever had in his life. if she likes you, you may address her as "Yes, Chef!" outside of the kitchen.

- Karlach: uses 4 pots to make ramen. not because she's doing anything fancy or elaborate with it, the first pot was too small and started boiling over (whoops). the second one was, oh hold on, that's a cast iron pan, maybe you're not supposed to use that for boiling liquids, huh? wait shit, can't use this one either, i'm not supposed to use metal spoons on nonstick, don't want to scratch it. There we go! this one is the right size! and if i scratch this one, it's fine! wait, where the fuck did the flavor packet go (you should definitely be concerned about leaving her alone for the weekend)

- Wyll: very resourceful cook due to his Blade of the Frontier days. can improvise a meal out of damn near anything. can identify every edible plant and mushroom and tell you how to use it in a dish. would carry an herb garden in his adventure pack if he could. would absolutely thrive on the show Chopped (he's actually banned from auditioning again because it's not fair to the other competitors to have him on). he could make you a dessert featuring rattlesnake and fresh picked clover, and you don't know how or why, but you actually like it

- Gale: approaches the kitchen the same way he approaches most things in his life - academically. knows the proper safe temperature to cook meats/etc to, knows how to brown an onion, knows what seasonings are typically used together for certain flavor profiles and how to match seasonings to proteins. knife work sucks because he uses mage hand for mise en place and his mage hand has shitty DEX, but he's scared of his chef knife from the one time he sliced his thumb open (he was cutting an onion with improper hand placement and the knife slipped)

- Minsc: would exclusively eat by dumpster diving if it weren't for Boo's disapproval. eats like a human garbage disposal. he will eat a n y t h i n g that fits in his mouth, he is the least picky eater you will ever meet. does not understand how food challenges in the show Fear Factor are supposed to be challenges

- Halsin: world class forager. very competent hunter. prefers to eat everything as raw as possible. understands but doesn't believe in strict food safety because obviously stomach acid kills germs (and anyway, a little dirt here and there never killed anyone; exposure to germs is good for your immune system). open-mouthed kissing him is gambling with your health. makes the best vegetarian salads but do not trust any chicken he has "cooked". people with weak CON might want to consider avoiding his food

- Jaheira: uses Talk to Animals to Cinderella/Ratatouille rodents in the kitchen. she commands them like she's in perilous battle and the entire world is at stake (also rodents are worse to direct than cats, they do not know the difference between left and right. there's a lot of "No! Not that cupboard, the other one! NO, the OTHER other one! Flank him, he's off balance!"). making a cup of tea is a convoluted, stressful process that takes 10 times longer than just boiling the damn water yourself

if you want more bg3 culinary headcanons, there's also: the Absolute Edition

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astra-ravana · 1 month ago

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Undoing Spells

There are many different ways to undo a spell, these are just some generally effective methods.

Perform the spell backwards: Gather the original components of the spell and do all the original steps of the spell in reverse order with opposite intentions.

Perform a nullification spell: perform a new spell with the intention of nullifying your original spell. Gather any components you feel are appropriate for this purpose. Some suggestions:

• Herbs: Lily, basil, sage, jasmine, eucalyptus, rosemary, lavender, aloe, fennel, frankincense, oregano, clove, ylang ylang, vetiver, sandalwood, rue, palo santo, sweetgrass, cedar

• Crystals: Amber, emerald, hematite, labradorite, peridot, malachite, tiger's eye, nuummite, lodestone, sardonyx, kyanite, shungite, selenite, sodalite, amazonite, lithium quartz, calcite

• Tarot cards: The Fool, Death, the Magician, Temperance, the Hermit, the Hanged Man

• Other: Grey, black, or white candles, black salt, bells/chimes, coffin nails, crossroads dirt, charcoal

Physically undo the original spell: If the spell was something such as a jar spell or sachet, you can physically undo it with the intent of magickally undoing it as well. A cleanse afterwards will help with the nullification.

#magick #witch #lefthandpath #satanic witch #dark #witchcraft #spell work #spellwork #spellcasting #spells #spell #Undoing #eclectic #eclectic witch #witchblr #witch community #pagan community

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brailsthesmolgurl · 3 months ago

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APPRENTICESHIP

Preview: Set back in the olden days of China, your attendance was much summoned by Master Li Shen, a renowned Medical Physician that is in need of an apprentice. Known for his stoic personality, your temperance was definitely tested. But, could there be an actual explanation behind his stoicity?

Warnings: Angst but does come with fluff (that does not actually last long heh), surprise side character oops, suggestive themes because i know chu dirty dirty (like me)

P.S: I am not a doctor, hence most of the 'medication methods' mentioned in here are for the sake of the plot and is not and shall not be implied to real life practice! Futhermore, I am not a historian so I am not the best at depicting traditional China perfectly, all of the basis of my descriptions are taken off of the Chinese dramas I used to binge on. This story was also highly inspired by this amazing artwork and the most recent memory of his! He is always known as Doctor Zayne in modern days, so why not give it an inspirational twist and make him a highly honoured doctor in the older days of Chinese history! Divider is sourced from here!

The night after the incident, y/n could not wipe off the way events had unfolded during the night where Li Shen was tending to her wounds. The feeling of staying afloat while she was unconscious, could it be Li Shen who was carrying her back to his abode? Did he found her in the alley that night when the attack had happened? Or right when it was about to happen? She had so many questions, but little to none answers.

Running on assumptions does not seem to be worth her time either so she decided to confront Li Shen about it. However, it took her more than a week to muster up the courage she needed to ask him such questions that had been bottled up in her. Back to the current moment, she was sat in the treatment room, next to Li Shen, jotting down notes on the bamboo sticks for patient records. "Your wounds are not as deep, provide this young man with some herbs. You can take it everyday and you shall see improvement."

She wrote down the herbs that would be issued to the man and propped the ink brush against the ink stone, awaiting for the ink to seep further into the bamboo slip. Li Shen had gotten up, muttering to her that he shall be in his chambers and had asked her to finish up the current patient. Much obliged, she put the bamboo slip onto the tea table and grabbed some bandages made out of woven cotton.

The patient that sat in front of her was quite a good looking young man, long silvery-white hair that flowed down to his waist neatly tucked behind his shoulders as he was sat in front of her, top peeled off for her to examine his wound. He calls himself Qin Che when he was asked for his name at the start of the treatment. The man had eyes the shade of rubies that glinted whenever he watched her focusing on applying the herb onto his wound. So, this is the girl that the physician had set his eyes on? Qin Che finds it amusing.

"If it hurts, you can tell me and I shall let you have a breather." She glanced up from his naked torso and beamed warmly. Qin Che looked down at her, nostrils hanging high when he barely felt the sting of the herbs laid on his wound. He sighed and tugged a side of his lips up in a smirk, ruby gaze dancing between her eyes and her lips. Studying his prey carefully, watching her basking within the glow of the moonlight. "Is everything okay?"

"Never better." His voice, grumbled through his torso as he replied. This prompted her to fix her gaze back to his wound. The patient's body was full of cicatrixes, some formed scars, some still healing and some newly acquired like the one she is currently treating. He might be that tough of a hunter to obtain such scars. Her trail of doubt was interrupted when she felt a pressure against the top of her head. Looking up, she noticed Qin Che has his palm sat on her head, the smirk still stuck on his face. "You're as pretty as a doe aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" She was ready to pull back but his hand shifted positions to grab her by the nape of her neck and he pulled her upwards, his strength so great that all it took was one arm to get her secured within his lap. Y/n gasped but was immediately shushed by the man whom had already pressed his lips against hers. Her hands came up to push against his chest but it was to no avail. The man is built like a rock, heavy and immobile. "S...Stop." She begged with squeaks but the man did not budge, tongue darting out to lap at her bottom lip as his other arm grabbed her by the waist to secure her within his embrace. "Please..no..."

Based off of her will, he eventually pulled back, still holding y/n on his lap and he watched her flustered emotions, her arms raising up to shield her face. But Qin Che stopped her, wanting to savour the expression she was holding for the past few minutes. "You had never been touched before, haven't you?" His voice littering goosebumps onto her delicate skin. "Now I know why Li Shen was willing to leave you alone in the same room as me." She sensed betrayal, as if she was pawned off to a stranger for mere entertainment. Yet, she could not believe that Li Shen would do this to her. However, she could not even put a finger on what was going on in his head most of the time so who is she to assume that he may not have bad motives towards her?

Her mind is starting to be overwhelmed, hands turning cold, head still bowed low to avoid the intense gaze of the man with scarlet orbs. "He wouldn't do that." Her lips muttered what her conscience wants to believe but Qin Che only removed her off of his lap and he stood up, his height much taller than Li Shen's, making him much more intimidating. "You're lying." She could sense his presence, that same overwhelming aura she had gotten the moment she had entered the room. Fingers gripped under her chin and her head was tilted upwards, eyeing the man with the half naked torso, and a wicked smile on his handsome face.

"A pretty flower like you do not deserve to be deserted within such barren lands." He released his grip on her chin and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. His gaze seemingly had softened under the flickers of the candlelight. "It has been my pleasure to see you my princess. I look forward to our next meeting." His hands retracted, leaving the burning sensation behind as a mark. Pulling on his top, he secured it with a knot and he grabbed the sword that he had placed leaning against the wall. When he turned, she caught sight of his waist tag.

The small and compact identification tag was carved out of jadeite jade, the sheen of green unnaturally brighter within the shine of the moonlight. In this day and age, waist tags identity one's status, family lineage and also their wealth. Jadeite tags marks as one of the most influential beings within a nation and the fact that Qin Che has one, it enshrouds her small mind even more. This man is not an ordinary hunter as what she had figured, he is a scion. Her lips could not utter anything, for she had pieced the explanation for his aura, his scars, his attitude and his sword together and now had grown to be more wary of him.

Out of respect, she kowtowed, forehead pressed tightly against the back of her hands. The man sauntered over to her and she closed her eyes, anticipating any forms of physical contact that she does not even have the strength to fight against but it did not came. Instead, the man served her a command. "Fear me not, for I will come back for you, my flower." He ran his hands smoothly down the back of her head till he reached her nape and he knelt down on one knee, whispering into her ear, his breath batting against the shell of her ear. "Next time, I'm afraid I might not hold back my desires on you."

Li Shen got up from his seated position and headed over towards the patient room that y/n was last seen in. He was wondering why she has yet to bring by the patient records for storage. Sliding the doors open with a thud as it came to a stop, he was taken aback with the sight of her on the floor, hair once in a bun now unkempt, flowing down her back with ends meeting and spreaded out on the floor. Her dress was slightly crumpled and she was caught staring into the expanse of the cold hard floors. His heart faltered yet again.

"Y/n." He leaned down to her, lightly tapping her shoulder to elicit a response. Y/n's head turned as her name was called out and he could make out that she had been crying, with streaks of moisture on her cheeks that glistened under the moonlight and her eyes that was unwilling to meet his. "Did something happened between you and the patient while I was gone? Did he do something to you?"

Her lips quivered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes when Li Shen asked her about her wellbeing. The sense of betrayal had blinded her with such rage that she pushed him off, making him stumbled back and sat onto the floor and he watched when she dashed out of the room. "Y/N!" He shouted for her name, pushing himself off of the floor with one arm and he started sprinting after her.

Qin Che's arrival was undue. It was in the middle of the night and the man had appeared at his doorstep, with a huge gash on the side of his hip, blood soaked through his top. He is a stranger, for Li Shen had never met someone who had looked so intimidating like him. Although blood was dripping down from the sides of his lips, he seemed unfazed by his wounds, only asking for herbs and he shall be on his way.

But Li Shen still took him in, because assessing the way his clothings were tainted red, he could have died if he were to be told to leave the premises. However, his crimson eyes got Li Shen wondering if he was the myth that was foretold by the villagers; a king who failed to be crowned due to betrayal, a forbidden king so great that he moves only within the mist, bearing bloodshot eyes like a beast and with a strong desire for revenge against the kingdom. No questions were put forth of course, as Li Shen has never been the one to pry for answers. Especially when this man may be a dangerous individual.

Leaving her alone with Qin Che however, was not a decision he made abruptly. It was observed throughout treatment, that Qin Che was too weak to make any advances hence he decided to leave her alone to finish cleaning up his wounds. Li Shen had retreated back to his own quarters to seek for any other viable herbs that he may prescribe to the man. Yet again, Li Shen's guilt hits when he spots her disheveled figure on the floor, failing to meet his gaze and now refuses to be within his vicinity.

The physician trudged through the bamboo forests seeking for her, lantern hung at the end of a long stick, grasped within his tight grip as he navigated through the forest. The skies being the only witness to the events that had unfolded, quietly mocking Li Shen's emotions by sending thunder crackling through the dark voids of the night. Rain would come soon and his heart grew wary, worried for her safety. A few more moments went by and he heard rustlings of leaves, followed by sniffles.

"Y/n?" He tried to call her name again, and the lantern lit the narrow paths ahead, till he spotted a figure squatted near the berry bushes. "Y/n..." He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her any further and he asked. "Are you---" But trails off when he seeks her ankle peeking out from beneath her skirt, a few cuts littered on them. There are no doubts she would not be slightly hurt as she did charged out without any guidances of any lanterns. Yet again, Li Shen was relieved at least she is in one piece.

Without even seeking for her permission, the man bent down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up onto her feet. Y/N only continued sniffling, tantrum seeking defeat when she was urged to climb onto his back and she got on, holding onto the lantern to light their way home. The journey back was a bit of a distance, and the two were entertained with the choirs of frogs, chanting to welcome the rain that was about to pour. "Why did you gave me to him, alone?" She was the one who broke the silence, itching to seek for the ugly truth, or so that was what she had in mind.

"By no means I intended to. I wanted to get him another kind of herb so I was off to my room to look through my medicinal records." Li Shen explained, eyebrows now knitted together when he tried to balance himself while carrying her up a slope. "What happened in the room when I was away?"

Her voice was hushed, indicating her fear and embarassment. "He...He kissed me." The way Li Shen's body stiffened got her stamping her face against his back. The thunder had cut through the awkward silence in between them, and rain drops started to fall. The young physician looked up at the night sky, and continued his journey, not uttering anything else to combat the ongoing silence. He directed his focus towards getting them out of the rain as soon as possible.

Conversations with Li Shen were held to a minimal threshold for the next few days as there has been a spike in patients due to a common cold. Y/n was not allowed to be anywhere out of the premises of the clinic and is only allowed to treat selected patients, only females to be precise. Ever since that night, Li Shen's benevolence had been put to the test. Rejecting all patients whom had visited him during dusk and applying new rules to enforce her safety. Some may view this to be a result for his absolution, but Li Shen was put in a tight spot. In order to protect her, certain sacrifices would have to be made. His decision is perhaps absolute.

Y/n was sat at her desk, brush in her hand as she is writing a letter for her father, to bid a greeting to him as it has been a long while since she had last went home. Homesick she does feel sometimes, but ever since the new rules are applied, she felt even more lonelier than she had ever been. Small talks with Li Shen now are deliberately rarer, and she could barely muster the courage to ask his permission to allow her to go to the market with him for groceries. A knock on her door jolted her and she turned, facing the door as it slid open, revealing the man she had thought of.

Li Shen slips himself into her room, a scroll in his hand and a bag in another. "Y/n." His call for her name has always been gentle, the only time he had ever resulted to a frantic call for her name was when she ran away from him, out of his personal space, leaving him in a state of guilt and confusion. He took a seat opposite her at her desk and places the items he was holding onto the ground carefully. "I am here to discuss with you about some matters."

Setting aside her brush, she looked up at him and awaited for him to speak. Her mind wandering towards what would be the discussion this time, part of her wishing he would care for her, maybe present a change in her daily routines or maybe finally allow her to take a breather outside of the house with a much lenient curfew. But his stoic look does not look promising. "I will be discharging you back to your home town. You are no longer needed to be my assistant."

Y/n felt her world spinning, her brain hammering against her skull when he literally just verbally dismissed her. He handed the scroll, his eyes studying her shocked features, but he remained expressionless. "Was this because of what had happened? When that patient did something humiliating?" Y/n was upset when the whites of her eyes are starting to line with red veins, tears surfacing. "Or was it because I ran away and you find me to be troublesome to your operations?" She had never been so straightforward, so outspoken about herself that Li Shen is all the more convinced that she will no longer remember her past memories with him and this is the right choice for him to make. For her good and for his own to forget about her.

Reluctantly sighing, Li Shen's eyes failed to meet hers. His sanctimonious act felt like an abrasive insult towards the young woman. "Nary of your propositions affected me when I decided upon this." His hands worked on smoothing a slight crease on the shoulder of his white hanfu. "I took you in only because of your father's wish and insistent nature." And maybe I just wanted to see you again. The last sentence of his was hushed, restrained from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. "You may pack up your necessities, your carriage will be ready by tomorrow for you."

He caught her hunched figure, candle light painting warmth onto her now pallor face. The silence in between them was cut off with the sounds of toads croaking. Her small hands had scrunched onto the piece of scroll, distorting the scroll into a crooked semi circle. She looks pissed, but had uttered naught. "There is one more thing I had in my mind." Laying down the scroll in her hand, she looked up, pupils dilated as she moved closer towards Li Shen. She was expecting him to move back, to not be so keen on her invading his personal bubble but he stayed put in his spot. "What went through your mind that day, when you found me in the patient's room?"

An imaginary spotlight was placed onto the young physician, his eyes staring straight back at hers, his forest-like irises eaten by his black pupils. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise, she cuts him off with a question that reeked of dourness. "Were you elated perhaps?" His eyebrows furrowed as she continued questioning him. "That you managed to pawn me off to that patient and allowing him to display such indecent manners upon me." Her torrents did not seemed unending, her laments expressed through every single word of hers. "My father gave me a choice, whether to be married to someone of royalty that he had picked for me, or to work for you. I chose you, Li Shen."

Li Shen although seemed indifferent, he felt like he was to be blamed for the guilt she is feeling. Or whatever negative emotions she has to hold onto at this very moment. "I figured it can't be a coincidence, but, having you to send me off now, maybe it was my father's plan afterall. Maybe he did got you to set me up with that patient and after what the man had done to me, I would be bound to him, for I no longer maintain the chastity of my lips." The tears finally shown themselves, trailing down her pale cheeks and dripping down the edge of her jaw. "I never thought---"

"I would not do that to you." Li Shen chimed in before she could continue, already annoyed at the accusations that were placed upon him. He himself did not know that Qin Che is a royalty, nor did he paid specific attention to his identification tag around his waist. Li Shen placed two fingers under her chin and brought her face up just high enough so he may see her. Eventhough she is crying, she still nevertheless looked ethereal to his eyes. "I'm sorry that I made you feel this way y/n. But I did not act according to your father's will to find you someone of royalty. For I am no matchmaker." His eyes traced down her tear streak, till it came to a halt at her plump lips. "In fact, your father sent you to me not only because of your apprenticeship," his voice had gotten hushed and it was like he had silenced the croaks of the toads outside of the room they were in. All y/n could hear was the sound of his gentle voice, cooing her. "but he seeks for us to be in matrimony too."

Gasping, she blinked her eyes rapidly, refusing to believe that Li Shen is supposedly going to be the one that she shall be holding matrimony with. She could not bring herself to say anything, but to only be lost within his gentle, eager gaze. Li Shen's eyes darted back to her lips, and he slowly leaned in, giving up the advices thrown by his mind as he let his conscience took over him. "That day, when I found you, I was beyond furious. I never thought seeing you in that state would take me such great willpower to hold me back from acting brashly. I had never wished for you to be in danger, y/n." His lips hovered over hers, and she could feel his slightly quickened breaths feathering against her upper lips. "I want you, y/n."

The collision of theirs lips was a burst of emotions, a canonical event that shall reshape the course of their relationship. Li Shen had held back long enough that he thought his desires were going to vanish if she were to leave him. But the longingness he felt, mixed with his desire for her love, was not a good mix and it showed through his fervent kiss. He pushed her back, hand placed behind her head to be a cushion for her as she laid back against the mat. His lips were soft, gentle and needy, lapping over hers like soft tides over the edge of the beaches. His kiss had set Qin Che off to another tier --- imposing a new threshold for y/n--- as it was slow, unrushed, emotional and it felt right for her.

After a moment, their passionate embrace was withdrawn and Li Shen leaned back slightly, a tinge of scarlet now apparent on his cheeks and tips of his ears. The kiss was abrupt and with her most recent trauma, he was not sure if she could have taken their kiss lightly. However, she seemed to be spacing out, eyes slightly narrowed, lips slightly parted and complexion mimicking his, with the scarlet blush splattered across her cheeks too. She did not seemed to be in any abnegation, but she does bear the look of someone who was flabbergasted, or more confused. “My apologies.” The physician blurted out and her eyes travelled to meet his. Engaged in an intense stare, Li Shen could feel his heart trying so hard to lurch out of his chest.

“Li Shen.” A hand on his got the thump of his heart to slow down. Hearing the way she had called out for him and judging by the way she had reacted to his kiss, Li Shen was convinced that perhaps, perchance, she might not have taken it negatively afterall. “I think I need some time.” And there goes the crack on his heart. But when her fingers wrapped around his hand, it got him to continue listening to her. “I like you Li Shen, but I think with what had happened recently, I think it would do me good to retreat back to my home and to recollect myself.” Her words were drawn out slowly, as she seeks for his understanding on her situation, for she is nervous too.

“I understand y/n.” Li Shen reassured her, using his other hand to cup one side of her cheeks. “I will give you all of the time you need, but do not wrong me for giving up on you y/n.” A small smile then appeared on his face when she placed some of her weight against his palm, with her eyes closed, seeking refugee within his warmth. “I do want to be in matrimony with you.”

Her eyes slowly opened, and her smile surfaced. Under the cadence of the candle light, the dim, warm light danced across her face akin to how the butterflies flopped in Li Shen’s belly too. Being emblazoned with the memory of her lips on his, he could no longer look forward to that kind of passionate interaction as he knew that just because he got to hold himself back this time, it may not work as he intended anymore next time. And if her chastity have to be maintained till after marriage then Li Shen would patiently await for her, no matter what it takes or how long it takes for him. “I should leave you to rest for the night, y/n.”

Leaving her in the room, knowing that she would be departing the next day gave Li Shen a heavy heart. It was so heavy that it weighed in for his footsteps, the wood beneath evolved into imaginary mud, dragging his steps into clomps and slowing him down insignificantly. Arriving at the doors leading to his chambers, he heard a shrill of a crow, followed with an ear piercing scream. Li Shen turned and started dashing his way back to her room. It was no doubt that the scream belonged to y/n. "Y/n!" He called out, slamming both of her sliding doors opened, any harder, they would have broke off of its hinges.

Standing by the edge of her window frame, Li Shen could make out the figure that invaded her space. The broad-shouldered, towering man adorns a menacing aura that Li Shen had never encountered before. When he turned, Li Shen managed to seize half of his features in the gloomy room. This is the same guy whom had laid hands on y/n, leaving her stunned within the treatment room, unable to croak even a word, and leading her to flight due to his revolting actions. There, in the shroud of darkness, stood Qin Che, bearing the pupils of a monstrous beast that gleamed red under the silver moonlight, with y/n hoisted up in his arms like a porcelain doll that shall be shattered tonight.

Special tags: @xvysarene @pinkblusheschuu @uyenlee

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #li shen #li shen love and deepspace #qin che love and deepspace

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moondirti · 2 years ago

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cigarettes out the window

A colossal, behemoth of a man, trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows.

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 9.5k summary: stakeouts and cigarettes warnings: cunnilingus, masturbation, tummy bulge, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, nicotine/smoking addiction, reader has a backstory, mentioned alcoholism and illness, self-loathing, anxiety, canon typical violence, light gore, squirting notes: absolute fucking beast of a fic that took me way longer than precedented. no plot, just vibes - listened to the tv girl song of the same name throughout this.

Tendrils of silver-blue smoke dissipate into sour air – a slow, creeping stench. You’d tried opening a window; it hadn’t been enough. Testosterone and mildew clings to this room like a second skin, crusty stubbornness, impossible to scrape even as the sickly yellow wallpaper peels off thin adhesive.

The stakeout wasn’t supposed to last this long.

Laswell had given you two, three days tops. But the sun drowns behind the horizon line, and a dull navy sky blankets over failed reconnaissance once more. Night seven – your gloves are just as much ash as they are cotton.

A cigarette lays tucked between your forefinger and thumb. An ashtray, one you’d set, packed, glares up at you. Blown glass infracts a kaleidoscope of harsh fluorescents from the signage outside. Motel – warped on a divets edge. It’s empty.

You blink and draw another deep inhale. Your nose ignites with the acridity, tarnished herbs that rage as chemical warfare – a fog that clings to you.

Tar-coated throat, sticky with disappointment. You’d hoped for a blood red eventide, doused in merigold, full-saturation. You should have known better – Sudbury is stuck in perpetual insipidity. The season is verging on spring, yet pewter tones and lurid lighting are all that bloom.

You’re beginning to rot alongside it; skin wilting, bruised. You never were a peach, but you think you must have held something – some ripeness, plush, primed to sink into. You feel it shrinking now, draining out to feed some ignoble cause.

Or, perhaps, the tobacco carved it out of you years ago.

The thought does little to temper your efforts. The stick has burnt to its end, wrinkled, blackened with dying embers. You should stop – throw your lighter out the window and wake Johnny up. It’s his turn for watch.

Instead, you light another.

The buzz is instantaneous, intoxicating. Clean water poured over a blistering wound, relief for a tender moment before the sting boils over to become unbearable. Cyanide; you rely on poison in sheep’s clothing.

The door creaks open, rusty hinges a non negligible constant in discretion. You don’t have to peer over your shoulder to know; that manufactured energy, of which you pull from a box, triples, snapping bones to contort into something pulsing – genuine. His walks away from this decaying dollhouse are frequent; we all have our cravings.

You wish he’d hang around more.

The dank carpet blunts his heavy footfalls. Even then, you can’t miss his size. A colossal, behemoth of a man trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows.

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke.

“He still asleep?” Simon – Ghost, with the hard-shell mask still fit to his face – asks. You take a puff and force your eye to train on the wet concrete outside. Softened cement, muddy puddles pool in potholes to mirror their miserable surroundings. It’s not hard to believe that the sidewalk could collapse in the weight of his presence. A distinct vacuum, all consuming yet contained.

You wonder if he wears those layers for varied causes. Forked paths; keep out, stay in.

In the time it takes for his laden stare to leave your back, you’ve blazed through your piece ten times quicker than the last. Crackling nerves brush across your most vulnerable parts, you’re skinned, but you manage to screw the loose bolts in your confidence.

“Did nothing all day but act like he took a whole squadron on his own.”

Your chuckle lacks the humour you wish it held. Bone-dry, forced – it doesn’t tend to be that way with him; with his morbid jokes, shared between gunshots and close fatalities.

Alrigh’. I’ve got another for you, Scout. Husked in your ear, over the channel only used by the two of you.

Hm? You’re crouched on a rooftop, sniper fixed on a potential target talking to a member of the 141. It was snowing in Holland that day, powdered-ice a blanket for your moored elbows.

What kind of streets do Ghosts haunt?

Go on then. Spit it out.

The target had pulled a knife out on your operative.

A dead end.

His chuckle warmed you enough to pull the trigger with little shake.

Dead ends, dead ends.

He provides you with a noncommittal grunt that’s lost amidst rustling fabric. Your spine is stiff, reinforced titanium, ice-cold with frigid winds that pull in from the north. You can’t look back if you tried.

There’s little to discern from his reflection in the grimey window – where Simon starts, where Ghost ends. Deft shapes move between shadows, dressed in all black. There’s the metallic glint of a zipper, dragging down. The white smear of his mask. His shoulder catches dim light; he’s in his combat shirt, long sleeves, fit to tree-trunk arms. That familiar hum in your core returns, singing its pleas.

You swallow back the urge to continue the conversation, to extend the joke at Johnny’s expense. Instead, you prop your foot up on your seat to rest your chin on the curve of your knee. A boot remains anchored to the ground, keeping you balanced on the broken stool. One leg shorter than the others; it hadn’t been that way when you’d gotten here, but someone had insisted the wooden piece could hold his weight.

You slide your gaze to the man in question. He’s spread across the small cot in the corner, an arm thrown over his face. He’s rigged, gun in holster, pinky curled in its direction. In a slow wave state, but a soldier still.

You take turns resting, you and Soap. He says you snore.

He’s jus’ taking the piss.

And how wad ye know that, Lt? Ye're never around.

You hid your smile, then. It was a half truth. Ghost doesn’t rest, not here, but he makes a point to take his eight hour shift when you do.

Ever-present, as fleeting as twilight. You’ll wake every now and then to find him standing by the window (never on the seat.) In your transitional consciousness, you think his body might be slightly angled to you. But chalky stibnite smears over his eyes, and your quiet nightmares flicker like worn film – you can’t tell whether he’s looking at you; whether he stays to have your back or so he can leave when you wake.

“Anything new?” He’s crept up behind you now. A full-bodied voice, it’s muffled canon fire, sliced with that cockney inflection. Does he know his query is command?

“Feral cats got into a fight.” You settle on something to lessen the blow of his dissatisfaction – syrup, a flavouring agent. Additives to a sharp-pill mission. “Calico attacked that ginger kitten, over there. Mother was furious.”

If he notices your frantic dodge, he doesn’t comment on it.

He huffs instead, and places a white plastic bag on the table next to you. In it, styrofoam cartons stacked atop one another, pressed for space. You reel a string of focus to the street outside, still on the job, then scoot a little towards it. In spite of the lack of logo, the contents are unambiguous. A heady aroma, poignantly familiar; shallots, ginger, garlic, chilli.

Chinese. Your favourite. Yet–

You’re enraptured by sycamore; heavenly ascension into the woody musk of the overbearing body next to yours. He’s close, still standing, hips at eye level. You credit your sudden heat to his permeating warmth, and not the flush that crawls to your cheeks.

No, certainly not heaven. Purgatory – an intermediate condition. You’re waiting on some higher power to tell you what to do; move closer, hold back.

Dead ends. You itch for a third cigarette; should you offer one? You picture pink lips puckered around white paper, a sight for sore eyes. You’d suck the cancer from between his teeth, perched on one thick thigh.

Atta’ girl. Nice shot, Scout. Hit that one right on the mark. Kandahar, Afghanistan – the mark being a general’s eye.

You’d bathe in the blood of a thousand more men to rehear the feathered praise. It sits, ingrained in the gummy lining of your skull, there to stay until you’re cleft open to the world. It’ll happen one day.

Atta’ girl, whispered crackle into your ear.

Your heart lurches, beating on the hollow bars of your ribcage. It takes every bit of willpower to combat the reckless abandon that floods through you at the feeling.

With trembling hands, you take out the top box and ignore the way your elbow brushes the fabric at his crotch. SZC is scribbled on its cover with dried-out ink. Szechuan chicken.

You refuse to face him when you ask: “How’d you know?”

He moves to hand you a bottle of flavoured water, wrapped in a large palm. Clementine.

Right.

Jaunty cheers, claps on the back. You’re squeezed between Gaz and Price on one side of a booth, still equipped in full gear. The aftermath of your first assignment with Al Bravo, minimal damage. Your cheek is cut up, but you hardly feel it in the hazy satisfaction. Dim, golden lights. The tabletop is sticky with spilled booze.

Outlined eyes linger on the site longer than the pain does. You squirm and tell yourself it’s for lack of wiggle room.

“--and your plans?” Laswell nods, curving attentions to you. She’d been talking about her wife, about returning to a house someone has kept alive. Watered plants, betta fish too. You search for an answer that’ll hold as much significance and come up empty. Your lone fern is long dead by now.

“Order take out. Chinese probably, something spicy. Sick of the protein bars.”

“Mobile cooks are rare to find.” She chuckles. “but hey, I’ll drink to that.”

You don’t reciprocate, though; she turns to talk to Price in lieu of your frown. Simon’s still on you; hawk-like, scrutiny framed by the dark fabric of another mask. Bulky arms cross over his chest, his shirt folded to his elbows. You’d been surprised to find tattoos, ink shading the entirety of an exposed forearm, folded to the contours of rippling muscle. Missiles, dog tags, barbed wire.

You hope your droopy lashes are enough to hide the way you study him in turn.

Soap, ears tinged pink, beckons the barmaid. “Round o’ beers for the table, lass.” It pulls you from your stupor.

You wave at her – “Just a LaCroix for me, thanks.” – and bite your lip through the onslaught of objecting groans. It’s your second one, she knows to get you the orange kind.

Gaz: “How d’you ever let loose?”

Price: “You deserve as much of a break as the rest of us, Scout.”

You grimace and shake your head until they temper down to bemused grunts.

Then –

“You don' drink?”

It’d been a while since he’d spoken. His voice seeps like molasses onto snow. You think of the backyard maple popsicles from girlhood, your mom on the porch, drunk as she watches, uninterested.

“No,” You chortle. “Dangerous when I’m loose lipped.”

He’s spread across the ratty couch you’ve never bothered using – diagonal to you – legs parted with both feet on the ground. You look anywhere but the space between his knees.

“Don’t understand why we’re still here.” Capsaicin blazes up your tongue, vengeful in the fresh bout of air as you speak. Your stomach weighs heavier, cushioned in the swell of your gut, twinging uncomfortably – not for lack of space. Uncertainty; it looms like a mushroom cloud, the devastating fallouts of nuclear strife. You can’t imagine the Lieutenant a perverse man. Yet, to be eating alone like this–

“Chicken?” You offer, tipping your box with the prods of your chopsticks.

He cocks his head to the side, pupils trained on your conciliatory expression.

“More of a sesame guy, myself.”

Of course. Sesame; honeyed, cloying.

Las Almas – Graves’ betrayal too deep a wound to do anything but smoke as you wait for Soap to find his way back to you. Rendezvous at the church.

I’d murder for a whiskey.

You mean scotch?

I drink bourbon.

You’d giggled into the collar of your coat. Ghost’s tense leg tips towards yours, bumping knees.

Got a sweet tooth, Lt? Hummed for only him to hear.

Problem, Scout?

Negative, sir.

He’d taken your cigarette and extinguished it on a decorative cross, half-moon stare fixed on you as he did.

Simon’s one for caramelised spice, smooth sugar on the senses. Johnny had been shocked – like a good ol’ boy – but you thought it fit, oddly. This life means constant calamity, precipitous wrecking balls to unsteady foundations you try to rebuild. Bones, flesh – they shatter and rip and leave you with nothing but sand-grain memories that slip like water.

It’s hard to indulge in something so fragile. Heedless, stupid.

There are constants assured to never waver; you all have your vices.

“They’re in there. Jus’ a matter of waiting for ‘em to show their hand.” He adds to your initial inquiry. Sighing, you push your food away.

“Can’t we send in an extraction team?”

His silence is telling. Bottomless pits pin you down, an anvil in influence alone. Your lips thin to a pursed line.

It makes sense why Laswell won’t act on it – the compound across the street, said to be packed with chemists in cahoots with foreign extremists. If they’re truly a threat to national security, their circumspection is indicative of the havoc they could wreak. A treacherous threat is a quiet one.

Your pocket droops with evidence to the fact, your shoulders alongside it.

Bowed posture, loaded brow – exhaustion slowly inches up on you. You hadn’t noticed your arid state, sandpaper eyes, stooping lower with every blink. You foolishly wonder if he did, though; if Simon reads you like you do him. Does he know you trace your palm when you’re tired, marking the creases an old fortune teller read long ago? Your life line is vague, hun, so too is the sun. But would you look at that, oh! Your mother should be so proud – as thick and long as a tree root, that’s your heart line, right there. Sweet girl.

Your mother couldn’t have cared less.

You roll your neck to loosen knotted kinks and reach for the paperboard container in your hoodie’s side.

The cigarette doesn’t fit right in your hands this time; a paper-thin thing you draw life from, too easily collapsible. There are more substantial materials in this world. Rocks, erosive seasalt – a hobby or two. Muscle, timbre, blue-black eyes. A skull that meant death to most, but not to you.

You hold out on lighting it. Partially for current company. (More so than you’d like to admit.)

Simon’s arms rest on the back of the couch. He looks sinful like this, tempting. Freshly ripe apple at the centre of Eden; you don’t think he’d lead you to damnation, but his cold study tells you otherwise.

The hush isn’t awkward, not really. You can continue; you know he’d prefer it.

But something in him is blinding. Not a sun – red-hot, sweltering – he doesn’t make you sick after too long in his presence. No – more akin to an interrogative light; harsh, illuminating the sweat that beads at your temple. He urges you to spill, spill, spill, until what squeezes your chest releases its iron clutch and you’re panting with the release of a secret you never wanted to keep.

So–

“Where do you go all day, anyway?” You tease, cheeks rounded with a soft – or what you hope to be soft, and not an unsure grimace – smile.

“Out.” Simon responds, a scratch in his words. His chest squares, broadening into a behemoth that should intimidate. That’s why no one talks ta ye, Lt. Soap broached once. Ye’re too big.

All for weeding out pointless chatter, he’d said.

This is pointless. But he’s still here, drawn to bite back at your ludic jabs, tuned in to the miniscule breaths that escape you as you scramble for a response. You think you know him, think he knows you. You lick your lips. “Mmm. That’s news to me.”

And if you hadn’t been you – if you hadn’t been talked through a bullet to the thigh by his brute reassurance and dry humour alone – you might’ve missed the amusement that laces through his next syllables. “And where do you think I go?”

The reciprocation licks at the base of your spine. Yearning.

You suppress a shiver; seven trumpets to the apocalypse. His deep tone calls for devastation, Armageddon.

You spit the first thing that comes to mind.

“To shag it up with the girl in apartment eight.”

And still with the revelation of what you just said.

Your hands bury into your lap, embarrassment rising like a high tide in the pit of your bowels. If you were Soap, you’d have gotten away with it. Banter; she's aye asking about ya, Simon. Y’should give ‘er a chance.

But you’re a schoolgirl again; fresh-faced, wide-eyed. Pencil shavings, question erasers – flip it and ask about the boy you like. You’re naive enough to try it until ‘yes’ faces upwards.

“Afraid she’s not my type.”

And that’s all he gives you.

A silly hope bubbles, absent of all logic. You want to push it; to tear at delicate petals, chanting. He loves me, he loves me not. Silly recess games, dancing around each other on the playground: what is your type, Lt? Girls in sheer dresses to welcome you at the door? God forbid – the sergeant? John Mactavish with his stupid little mohawk and sunshine grin?

Probably far away from women who have their inhibitions compromised – who run on nicotine and not much else. Vacant husk.

But if it were him. If he was the force between your fingers – blood-filled, thickset, shooting into your willing mouth – you’d abandon it all in a heartbeat. Cheek on his shoulder, cunt speared on his knuckles. Pumping, slick. Licking the salt up off his forehead.

Fuck.

You tut and flip your cigarette – unlit – to put back in amongst the others. The exposed end, stuffed with grey cinders, sticks out like a sore thumb.

You’ll come back to it when you’re over this, when your dependency singles down to material things. Thirteen bucks, that’s all a pack costs – your wager on Ghost veers dangerously close to bankruptcy.

“Go to bed, Scout. I’ll take next watch.”

You don’t tell him Soap called dibs. They can hash it out between themselves. You dream of kissing covered lips. Dead ends.

You: Ran out of shampoo.

read at 3:25 am

He brings you 2-in-1, head and shoulders. Sandalwood.

“Didn’ know what you liked.”

You’re beside yourself – barely contained, beaming ear to ear. Your lungs push for space against the pitter-patter rhythm of your heart.

“Is this the one you use?” It comes out softer than precedented. Warbled, almost a purr; your chin is mere centimetres away from his chest as you look up at him. They bump when he mutters an affirmative. It’s convenient.

In your proximity, he fills the entire expanse of your vision. Simon’s massive on his worst days, titanic as he bursts through a sea of soldiers – but here, now, he’s larger than life. Impossible. Enigmatic. Either shadow or brick wall if you reach out, press yourself into him. A crook of the elbow and your hand would be at his groin.

You can smell it on him. The thin barrier of his balaclava doesn’t prevent it from reaching you; santalol. Mixed into his firewood, earth. He has fresh paint on his eyes.

It reminds you of scorched newspaper, doused in stimulants and the bite of tobacco. You crave it, even when your last still clouds bitter at the back of your throat. It’s more muscle memory than anything; a nervous tic. To flick a lighter and chase that short headrush.

He’s enough to hold you over for now, a drug in his own right, but you know – you know the second you turn to the cramped bathroom, door shutting behind you, your knees will buckle. You’ll step over grimy grout and scrub yourself until your skin is irritated, red.

You hold out for just a moment longer, peering up at your Lieutenant.

Anxiolytic.

Then, when you start to outline the rest of him, following the planes of his mask, you force yourself to pull away with an overturning ache.

You lie and insist you’re not too far gone.

Yet, you touch yourself to the thought of him.

Holed in the small square shower, your hand clamped over your mouth. The water runs discontinuous, broken by loud hisses and weak pressure. It’s cold at this point, nipping away at heated flesh. Has he left by now?

No, you hear muffled mumbles right outside. Johnny’s laugh barks loud.

You’ve long since finished cleaning off, engulfed in a heavy perfume. Sandalwood, masculinity. Ghost. Simon. A projected image lights your closed eyelids; him looming, cornering you into the tiled wall. The showerhead would come to his browbone at full height, but he’d crouch down and kiss you and his hair would drip, droplets beating your cheeks.

Atta’ girl.

Husky compliments for only you to hear, cleaving you open on his cock. (Your fingers slip faster over your clit.) Folding you in half, pumping you full, overflowing. (You whimper into your palm.) Biting down on his shoulder, divotting yourself amidst battle-borne scars.

He’d pinch your guts, you’d feel him in your chest. Tummy bulge, too much, too big. (Your hole quivers around the meagre thrust of your hand.) Spitting in your mouth, filthy, pushed down into a pillow, a wall, the floor. Bruised glutes, pistoning hip. (A bubble in your core nears popping.)

Problem, Scout?

Euphoria builds, a swelling cacophony of string-plucked and pressed pedalboard longing. A colourful sunset bursting into sight. Your legs squeeze; the air tastes like mist and warm sex – you chase the hints of masculinity that drift into the mix. His shampoo, his eyes. A presence more profound than anything else, unmoving and stubborn in the undercurrent of your life. Lodged into a river bank, a buoy when drowning.

A constant assured to never waver – blameless vice. Like sweets, like cigarettes.

You picture his broad spread – shadowed gaze, hulking thighs. Arms powerful enough to manhandle you into anything and everything, wet clay to his ministrations. It’s not enough – this frantic rutting, hurried masturbation confined to a cubby. You need to feel the extent of him, every bit of skin pressed into yours. To trace those tattoos with washable markers, idle and lazy on a couch, laid up on his lap after a long nap. Domesticity, the type you lacked back home.

A knot clusters at the base of your spine, stuttering in and out of existence. You won’t be able to place it, can’t coax it out. Only him, only him.

Simon.

“Ya almost done, lass?” Soap raps at the door.

Your heels slide on wet ground. You’re able to pull your hand out from between your thighs in time – smacking against cool walls to stabilise yourself – but not before you let out an emphatic yelp.

“Bonnie?” He exclaims, louder.

You gather your breath, blinking. The world tilts.

You’ve been in here too long.

“Yeah! Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll come out in a bit.”

Bloody hell.

You halt the spray of water and towel off in a stunned silence – floodgates locked once more. You will yourself to think of anything else – the threat across the street, chemists, terrorists, flavoured water and the saltpetre you shoot off with little thought. Kerosene, bullets lodged in gaping wounds, your mother’s liquor cabinet – closed off, cold heart.

They always round back to him, duplicitous hands that lead you astray. Off on the wrong path.

Prominent veins that disappear behind painted gloves. Knives strapped to bullet-proof vests. Remembering you liked Chinese, and returning with supplies mere minutes after you’d sent the text. His voice, burrowing deep into marrow, thrumming the very sponge.

Or – maybe he’s everywhere, all at once.

Dead ends.

When you emerge, your skin is still slightly damp, clinging to the loose clothes you’d thrown on in a fit. Soap leans against the door frame, waiting on you.

“Had us worried for a second.” He smirks. Us – you glance at the other. Simon stands by the window, diligent. “Hope ta God ye didn’ use up all the hot water.”

You mimic his shit-eating expression. Faux mirth, it doesn’t quite resonate. “The cold is good for your skin, Johnny.”

“A'll take yer word for it, then.” Soap nods, patting your shoulder before slipping past.

You’re left alone with him.

There’s a persistent twinge, still lodged up velvet walls. It returns with gnawing sincerity at the sight of him. You hold it back, dismissing your internal pleas for a promised release, and tentatively pad over to where he stands.

“Hey,” You whisper. His head tilts the slightest bit, just enough for his spilt-ink irises to latch onto yours. Your gaze flickers down to the jut of his chin.

“Alright?”

Three beats before your response. No. Never. Can’t be.

“‘Course.” The tremble in your legs speaks to the contrary. Nails bite into your palm. You add – “Nothing happened?” – with a vague motion to the street, redirecting your tension to something substantial – a mission with a foreseeable goal.

“Kitten lost its mother.” He echoes, taking in the way your expression lifts. “Roadkill.”

“Oh.” Your chest throbs, a faint bang of the doldrums.

“And,” He appends. “Laswell’s informants say the targets will make a move sometime tomorrow.”

You ruminate on the knowledge, turning it over in your head. It doesn’t exactly fit, too slippery to be anything to trust. You concede for the time being.

“And when they do?” You ask.

“We’ll be ready for them.”

Naturally. You hold onto his tone, that grim determination fizzing through you, charged particles, rallying electricity. And the lightning, that devastating bolt that burns with every bullet, every spotted threat, is a credit to him. Lieutenant, spearhead of your team.

You find yourself thinking about the after. When sloshing alcohol fills their stomachs in celebration, and the report has been typed, filed into a manilla folder to spoil on some general’s desk – would this memory, too, gather dust? The glimpse of you, doused in his scent, flushed. Takeout, asleep with company – a semblance of true home abandoned between these musty walls.

It’ll be hard not to miss it.

You click your tongue, still on the precipice of something. Like hanging off a cliff – you can’t see far enough to gauge whether there’s water to break your fall. Your orgasm is a forgotten prospect by now; you’ve depleted the limited alone time you have for the day.

But–

You search for your cigarettes, that familiar grittiness stuck to the roof of your mouth.

They’re laying on the table, next to Simon’s car keys and gun.

You take the smallest step forward, wrist spasming. But a large hand wraps around it, completely overtaking you.

You’re stopped before you can even reach out. He’d been following your eyes.

“MacTavish’s certainly got bad timing, hasn’ he?” He starts, slowly pulling your hand up to his face. You’re a ragdoll, succumbing to his command.

What did he mean by that? Bad timing?

Your gut bottoms out, sinking to unfathomable depths.

He can’t know. Can he?

The Sahara Desert. Cracked lips, sunken skin. Your nose burnt, peeling under an unforgiving sun.

He’d noticed you lagging behind. I’ve got water in my bag.

I’m good.

You’re not. Drink.

And unscrewed the bottle when you proved too weak.

Ghost is renowned for that brutal efficiency, barked demands in a chaotic field. His strength rings louder than any grenade, released strikers, thrown into your line of vision. As it charges, you picture death and the unfulfilling void your life had been. Mud blows onto your face. Mud, and flaming plastic, and the gore of other victims. A shrill sound only you can hear; danger of going deaf. Danger, danger. A final fatality. No survivors.

He doesn’t miss a thing.

He halts when your fingers bump the stretched fabric of his mask. You can feel his breath, hot steam. Skin prickles, and your panties pool with the reminder of his mortality. A ghost, but living nonetheless.

He draws a deep inhale.

He knows.

“Didn’t finish, pet?”

Shit.

That fucking voice – pestle onto mortar, grinding you down into a candied paste to gorge on. He’s a century old being, emerging from a prison – Tartarus – only to find you, supple and sweet as nectar and completely willing. You blink up at him with lidded eyes, damp eyelashes fanning the crease of your lid.

“No.” Barely a whisper, all breathlessness.

His head dips, stooping low to match your height. You can trace the lines that paint seeps into.

“Turn around. Face the window.”

Chastised, guilty as a child caught doing something naughty, you swallow the stone in your throat and do as he says. Somewhere, floating in the deep recesses of your mind, you’re aware you can refuse. He won’t strike up a counter – would pat your hip and send you off to bed.

But your back is to his abdomen now, swapping body-heat and the groans of your internal organs. He’d almost bled out on you once; on a mission in Russia – limping, bread-crumb trail of maroon ichor on untouched snow. Your fear had you heaving into a metal bowl, tucked away in an aeroplane bathroom, refusing to leave until he’d been stabilised next door.

You’d be the traitor that shot him before you pass this up.

A widow’s sky; bedarkened, weeping. Clouds roll over the moon, kraken-cruel, coughing great gouts of water onto the drab buildings in your area. It’s hard to see much beyond the hazy neon sign, scintillating behind fog, and the lone street light. The weather is ideal for enemy attack; they could camouflage in the great pour.

As it stands, though, all you focus on are the gloves that brush up and down your arms.

“Keep an eye out. Got it?”

Wet hair shakes when you nod – so quick to succumb to his every whim. His torso rocks from behind you – a soundless chuckle – and the air shifts as he moves, occupying himself with something, just out of observation.

You’re determined to do right by him. Atta’ girl, rumbled in that inflection of his. Squinting, you leer out on that wretched building, as it has been eight hours a day for the past nine.

But warm hands start to run up your shirt. Calluses skim, finding the knife-wound scar at your side, pressing into dimpled flesh. He kneads you – tapping into that lush centre, tender as a peach, still there. You’re ripped from your moniker, Scout, and transformed into a blubbering miscreant.

It takes you a stupidly long time to piece it together. You feel it before you realise; the rough-leather touch, dry enough to scrape gooseflesh. Fingernails, cut short, scratching nerves, wheedling so they shoot liquid desire down to your core.

He’d taken off his gloves.

Your back arches with renewed vigour, jaw hinging, no barrier between the empty room and your drawn out moan. He’s fucking fire on you, licking up the available expanse of skin until his thumbs brush the plush underswell of your breasts.

You frantically search for his forearms, scrambling for purchase in his onslaught. It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last caressed like this. Enough for you to feel brand new, wrapped gift in a prim little bow, eager to be spread, undone.

A plea balloons in you, knocking teeth, choking. He pinches your pebbled nipples in reprimand, a speechless warning, and you understand, tilting upwards to keep an eye out, lips shut.

“Look at you, desperate little thing.” He groans, working your tits with Herculean strength. You nearly collapse at the glorious pain it elicits – unwavering focus pointed solely on you, that pragmatic means to an end. You tighten your hold on his wrists, his frame your only support.

“O-Only for… ah–” One hand travels down your navel to coast on the waistband of your sweats. You hiccup, forcing your resilience, staying on task. Keep an eye out

“This what you think about? When you stuff those tiny little fingers up your cunt and tell yourself they’re enough?”

But you see nothing; nothing but glowing prospects, the sight of what you could be. Rain – inundated, broken to blacking out, sparking power lines, exposed wire.

You wobble and tail end into a prominent bulge, lower back skimming coarse denim. Simon meets you halfway, lugging you closer, until you fit perfectly against him. Head to chest, back to –

He grinds his pelvis into you, etching himself permanently there. An invisible scar, another brand for your time with the 141 – one marked in black, virile crest onto wool. He’s massive; no one can ever be enough after him – if it was up to you, there won’t be.

“Fuck.” You pique into a whine. “Please… Please, S–”

“Not here.” He says, slotting his nose above your ear. It’s damnation, this game of tug-of-war, tightroping the line between seething torture and bliss.

“We can be quick,”

And he growls, ripping into a feral noise that stuffs your senses as he cups you, finding your soaked distress at its source. “I’ll take my time with you. With this–” He twists a nipple, a sharp sting. “With this–” He pinches the plump fat of your cunt. “Fuckin’ hell, pet. Wicked, is what it is – what you do to me.”

You bite your tongue and drink the blood that beads, vision blurring with hot tears. It’s the lull after an extinguished tab, the crawling addiction – more, more.

You need to see him, to look straight ahead at an eclipse as it darkens your world.

“Yours. I– D-Do whatever… you want,”

Simon shudders, shaking you along with it, as though you’re one. “I’ll ruin you.”

“M’already there.”

And then two digits press into your folds, gathering the slick that drips. It must be phantom, with the way the sensation shoots through you, undeterred, stirring that coil of buried pleasure. It must be – supernatural, unreal, startlingly mythological, spoken only through word of mouth for fear of what legends can wreak on paper.

But it’s fucking real. You’re far too familiar with fleeting dreams, of grinding down on pillows that are too pliable to compare to him. Reading fairy tales to take you someplace else, those books burnt, along with your oak shelves.

This tangibility – the true ripple of muscles under, behind, around you – is nothing of the sort. You feel it in your liver, your throat. Picking the plaque that lines your lungs.

Simon absolves you of all treason, all guilt. You only exist as you are now, a puddle of divinity.

But as he starts circling your clit, you’re able to discern a slip in the shadows through your bleary lust.

Along the perimeter of the compound walls, just across the street.

“H-Hey–” You croak. He tugs you tighter against him, thick finger starting to breach you. Seizing his arm, you bury your lips into his sleeve. “Simon.”

He slows his efforts, buried quarter way, at the first knuckle. It twitches within you – he can taste the gravitas in your tone.

“Lt… I think– I think I see something.”

Destiny switches on its axis, warping back to grim reality. When Ghost instantly withdraws, bolting for his gun, you emerge from the pool of ignorance you’d so willingly dove into. Disappointment, devastation. Undeserving of more than this fleeting touch, non-ordained. Whatever good deed you’d committed to be able to encounter heaven, combated by the kills you’d enacted – hellish girl.

“SOAP, OUT, NOW.” Ghost bangs at the bathroom door.

He turns to order you – something about spotting him as he goes to confront the threat.

You’re at a standstill, paralysed – your irises the only things that move as you hunt the cause to his sudden urgency.

Why’s he so worried?

It was only a shadow.

Could have been the kitten. Or the Calico that terrorises it.

A car. Some teenager reckless enough to drive in this downpour.

You’d ruined your one chance. Your position will be compromised, and when the gunpowder clears, he’ll wake from this purgatory and paint you just as you are. His teammate, relative rookie, nicotine kiss.

And him, Ghost – Lieutenant. You’ll be stuck searching for Simon in the fissures.

But your name is not for nothing.

Scout. You’d earned it in Mexico, on your first mission with him. Spotted a cartel’s corps from a mile away, crouched in the undergrowth, dressed in all green.

You’re the reason we’re alive, kid.

It comes to you clear as diamond, purified with static pressure and graphite. Filling in the scratches, glinting – winking – at you.

A red laser, pointed straight at your chest.

Sniper.

“GET DOWN.” That cockney cadence, launched louder than ever before.

Your Lieutenant doesn’t yell, not at you.

At Soap. At Gaz. Sometimes even at Price.

Never at you.

“SCOUT.”

A careening mass throws you down onto the carpeted floor – a crushing boulder in weight alone. You hardly register the solid arms that wrap around you – the hard-plate chest you’re tucked against – before a clamorous whistle strikes the motel.

The blast bursts near your head, spewing merciless fusillade. The walls cave in, fire rupturing from the screeching bomb.

Red clouds your vision – blood or ire or your harrowing life, flashing before your eyes.

There’s a ringing in your ears. You think of Simon, of climbing sycamore trees and sleeping on its branches. Eating honey from a pot, disposing of your damned habits – that one upturned stick, to be lit once you’d moved on. Your Papa had told you the tale, skin-wrapped bones, laying on his deathbed.

Back in the trenches, my friends and I would invert a single cigarette upon buying a new pack. If we lived long enough to smoke it, we were of the lucky few.

You lose consciousness, buried beneath rubble and a hulking body.

Kerosene, arson – gunmetal sulphur pouring into your bedroom in the dead of night. You had owned a collection of vintage dolls, dressed in decorative lace and bonnets, given to you by a distant relative. Their porcelain faces had melted in the heat.

You’d been counting stars the evening before, perched on a ledge, waiting for one to blink onto the obsidian. There was a meteorite instead, a streak of glimmering marvel on the edges of a tree, dissolving in earth’s atmosphere. You hadn’t made a wish, but you’d left the window open for your Papa to come back.

It was the only exit out when your door crumbled to ash.

A vermillion blaze versus a two story drop. You took your chances barefoot when your mother’s liquor cabinet fed the flames, inferno now. Jumping out into the muggy yard, your nightgown snagging splinters. Cushioned by a rosebush she had stopped tending to – dry, with razor-sharp thorns.

She was too inebriated to rise on her own two feet. Dead, along with the house, once home.

When you come to, you’re in the medbay back on base.

You suffered a second-degree burn on your shoulder and a head trauma worth eight stitches, and not much else.

Your brain, switched out for bromine-doused cotton, takes a while to recall the events that led you here. You play a game of catchup before you greet the world, memories stuck behind a blurry pane of overwhelming emotion. You don’t exactly remember so much as you feel; desire, confusion, a terrifying sense of peace while embraced by a force that meant safety.

No, that’s not quite right.

Your neck aches. When was the last time you ate?

You need a cigarette.

Not embraced.

Your eyes fly open.

Simon.

“Hey, hey.” Gentle hands press your torso, thumbing you back down on the stiff cot. The voice is higher-pitched than his, softer. Laswell. “Easy there, Scout. You’re still hurt.”

The monitor picks up on your alarm, beeping in tandem to the staggering tread of your heart. Your ribcage closes in on itself, paradigm of dread – you can’t stop the nervous tremor in your fingers.

A white halo frames the Inspector General, highlighting the flyaways on her blonde bun. Her blouse, typically steam-pressed to perfection, gathers in wrinkles instead.

You’re sure you look worse. Your tongue wilts with lack of hydration.

“W-What happened,” Thankfully, she picks up on the croak in your tone and hands you a bottle of water. Unflavoured – not clementine.

She goes about explaining as you drink. Faulty information, distorted by word of mouth. Turned out to be one day off. They’d been intent on transporting their cargo – the unlawful compounds worked on for months – until someone tipped them to your location. One too many sightings, I’m afraid. The boys were reckless with how often they left.

You digest the events with little more than a nod. Building anticipation constricts your throat; your attempt to address it comes out unsteady,

“And…” The question dies before it's posed, breaking off to clot the air. Your fears; too afraid to speak them into fruition.

But Laswell gives you a small smile, patting your blanketed calf.

“They’re alright. MacTavish is still out – he got the worst of it I’m afraid. Was as naked as the day he was born when we found him, but he’s stable.” A cold wave of relief urges the humourless chortle to tumble from your lips – an excavation of a grim unease, fossilised deep in your gut. “The Lieutenant was discharged last week.”

Biting your lip, you duck your head to idly observe the IV taped to your forearm. A new haar of synthetic smoke purges you; for once, a deep inhale of a substance that won’t rot. The knowledge that he’s okay – fully whole, out there, somewhere – lends itself to that tantalising urge, fulfils it better than thirteen bucks every will.

You follow the tube that pumps you full of drugs and land on your phone, glowing on your nightstand.

“We were able to salvage a few things. It’s broken, but it works.”

You blink and hope your appreciation flashes through.

Lemon antiseptic, the metallic tang of stainless steel left out in the open. An intercom, someplace distant, blares static orders to the late night nurses that bustle down the hall.

It’s not until Laswell leaves and you’re alone, restless, entangled in taut sheets, that you check your messages.

Two unopened. Both under one contact – Lt.

Found him in the wreckage.

sent tuesday

Accompanied by a photo.

A ginger kitten with a scalded nose, curled up in the crook of a tattooed forearm.

You don’t see him for a month afterwards.

The Captain and Kyle visit after Soap wakes. They crowd into your room, in full arms, and tell you stories about Damascus.

Kibbeh, they call it. I was just about ready to stuff ten into my pockets. It was just that good.

Don’ tempt me, Garrick. A'v been livin’ off soup an jello for two weeks.

You slump into your single pillow and imagine you’re anywhere but here.

Bulgur wheat pounded with meat, rolled into a ball – toasted pine nuts and spice. Standing below mosaic arches, cover from the light shower and a fragile, pellucid sky. Backgammon in a cafe.

Atop a windowsill, legs swinging as you look for your Papa in the night. Still full from your peanut-butter and jelly sandwich dinner, made with grubby little hands, tiptoeing to reach the kitchen counter. Roses, just watered, still thriving.

Coffin nail, death stick. Flipping a cigarette, seated across a man who refuses to let you light it. Szechuan chicken smeared down your throat, a disused motel transformed sanctuary. That titillating crush, culminating to desperate gropes, attuned to what you like.

As your sutures dissolve, you spend an endless stretch of time hovering over a keypad. Your last sent message – what’d you name him – left with no response. Dead ends.

You ask Laswell to get you a pack of Marlboro red and deplete the twenty before you’re discharged. She brings along a fresh set of clothes; leggings, a hoodie and gloves. They keep you snug when you step out into the winter wind.

Snow detonates under the crunch of your boots, the world around you imprisoned in a glair-white silence. Nothing sounds, nothing stirs, nothing sings. Your breath is visible, glittering like angel-fire. A buzzing mind – founded in two cigarettes over the past hour – entices you to act beyond reason. You rent a car and drive three hours out.

It’s 9:02 pm when you text him, curled up on the couch in your safehouse.

You: finally out

[attached: current location]

And you don’t wait for a response. You place your phone face down and click to a random gossip network. All on D-list celebrities – you forgot to pay your cable bill.

Actress baby bumps and divorce scandals sing you to sleep.

read at 9:03 pm

Broad shoulders – dusted in powder from the storm outside – occlude your entryway.

You bat away the exhaustion roiling your senses, breathing through the obnoxious lurch of your stomach.

Ghost towers over you, ball cap and mask covered, larger than you remember him.

You’re the one who invited him. And yet–

His actual appearance unnerves you to the point of emphysema.

It all comes swarming back to you.

The pulsing ardour, renewed vitality pumped into a hollow conch. Wet firewood, camp smouldering as fat droplets, sobbing clouds, splash on a barbecue. That smell that carries in with harsh weather – coal and warmth from an unknown source, snuggling under a quilt with a window swung open because you just can’t get enough.

Bottomless chasms, anointed scelaras – central heterochromia, flecks of blue and a ring of black painted onto pupils that pin you down.

Your brow furrows, indents to store the unspoken, bereft of assurance. Your inquiry cracks with a petrifying amount of vulnerability.

“How are you?”

He takes a step forward. “Your head–”

“Almost a scar at this point,” You grin, brushing over the wound.

“And Johnny?”

“Better than ever.”

“You mean to tell me, you haven’t been in contact with anyone since Sudbury?”

A candle flickers from its place on your television console – peppermint and the aroma of melted wax. You’d muted the program at one point. Now, all there is to go on is the polychromatic motley of cartoon characters, suffering injuries that progressively grow more animated.

The scene illuminates Simon’s otherwise shadowed form – pink and blues lighting the skull on his face mask. You’d travelled to your couch, spread across its length with him seated at your feet. His thigh tenses by your ankle.

“Hm.” Pinky twitching, it brushes your heel.

“Sent on some other mission, then?”

“Negative.” He gruffs, the clipped answer popping like kindling logs, and shifts towards you. Cushions sink, unused to his musculature, and LED hues warp along the exposed skin of his forehead. His hood is still up, hat fixed on his head – you can’t see his hair – but ashen eyelashes tell you it's blonde.

You watch the way his knee jumps, boot tapping the hardwood floor. Since you invited him in, suspense has radiated off everything he does. Like he’s primed, in that instinctual mode that triggers before a fight, panther on its haunches.

You think you know why.

“It’s not your fault, Lt.”

His brow bone sets, hanging over the boundless stare that slides to you.

Knees bending, you tuck your legs underneath you to move closer. Pandora’s box.

“I left too often. Got spotted too many times.”

The concession comes in an earth-shattering quietness.

Simon tends to corners, alleyways too narrow to fit him, eclipse, his subtlety the upper-hand in every battle. Dressed in tenebrosity – a gloaming shade, stibnite eyes – he veers on the precipice of anonymity. He had been, for the longest time. Ghost and that’s all, assurance to a quick kill before he fades from the radar. No safehouse, no name, a quick glimpse at a face. His file, composed of black bar censors.

Who’s he? Newly introduced to the 141, tail of liquor not far behind you.

That’s your Lieutenant. You’d do well to keep him as just that.

When you were a kid, you thought twilight was when the world would be plunged into the slag, a stygian crypt. Darling child, you should be in bed. When the moon turns its back on you and you’re left with nothing but the northern star.

But your Papa pointed the truth out on one of your several camping trips, just the two of you in the midst of a congested wood, laying against thick Sycamore trunks.

Twilight is when the sun rounds just below the horizon.

That little clarity, paling blue. When you wake up to the reflection of its rays blushing your tent walls, and you’re able to see the outline of your hands. Still dark enough to go back to bed, but a sign you have a new day waiting on you. The tipping point of tranquillity.

He’s twilight; here, now. Laying down a slice of guilt he stuffs bone-deep.

“And you saved my life.”

Simon takes a moment, then nods, a minute incline of his head.

“I’m sorry too, y’know.” You smooth over the hair that feathers his forearm. This one is a blank canvas, completely bare save for the white scars that cross it. “If I hadn’t distracted–”

“No.” His hand is sweltering when it engulfs yours. “Don’ apologise for that.”

An ignored promise rustles. Not here. I’ll take my time with you.

“Simon…”

He murmurs your real name in response, the sound pulled deep from within the recesses of his chest, as though it’s been stored there for aeons. A gem in a dragon’s den. It calls to vertigo, a surge of adrenaline, free-falling. Like tilting your body back on a swing, legs kicked to the air – knowing there’s sand to break your tumble but screaming nonetheless.

“I still–”

His head dips low to face yours. Nose on nose. A warning rumble as he snarls.

“I know, pet. Me too.”

Your pulse thumps, centred in on that bundle of nerves at your core. Cornered prey, backed into the arm of your couch. Touching yourself to the thought of this very thing, enclosed in a shower, him right outside – he fills your view. All you see are those eyes that light with lechery. All you feel is his arm, rounding your waist.

“Y-You– haven’t… haven’t seen my bedroom yet.” He shudders, then stiffens, clasping you securely to his man of steel. His mouth tucks to your ear, subsequent whisper a savage vow.

“I think I’ll be able to find it.”

With one swift heave, he throws you over his shoulder, resolute against your coquettish squeals.

“Don’t you fucking hide from me. Spread your legs, pet, let me see that cunt.”

An iron wall presses you down onto the duvet, suffocating, completely submerging you in skin-wrapped sinew, meaty arms caging you in on either side. Your panties were the last to go, stubbornly moist and clinging to glossy lips. He had helped you slip them from your ankles.

“J-Jus’ fuck me… We can do the oth… other stuff– ah-”

He’s still in his jeans, a staunch contrast against your nude, slot between your trembling legs. Nails graze the edge of his belt buckle. The bulge constrained by denim is enough to tempt you in forgoing the foreplay.

But he slaps your thigh, the blow sharp as the sting that blossoms under impact. Your hips buck, a hiss blowing from between your teeth.

“It won’t fit like this,” Simon grits, hooking those large hands under your knees. He manoeuvres you with little effort, folding you in half to bear your pussy to his wandering eyes. The hoodie slips off when he hangs his head low.

Honey tresses, dirtied blonde – streaks of brown. Cropped short at the sides but unkempt where he’s able to brush it back under the balaclava.

Your panting halts for the second you take him in. Eyes flicker up to your open expression, lips parted. You don’t see it, but he smiles – just the slightest bit – under the mask.

“You’re quivering.”

“Huh?”

His thumb swipes over your hole.

“Oh–”

He takes advantage of your reverential state and dives, sliding to lay on his front. You’re hardly able to register it when he flips off his mask, before his nose presses to your clit, stifling heat completely engulfing you.

“Fuckin’ hell.” A groan, muffled by lewd slurps and squelches. Your back arches, and his arms move to support it as you thrust into his eager mouth.

Simon fucking devours you, absorbed in the endless slick that seeps. Dextrous, mimicking the motion’s you’ve long since memorised in your fantasies. Those nights in Sudbury, where he kept you company as you dreamt of being splayed on that cot, three fingers plunging into your airtights depths. He sucks the moisture, that sticky sweetness that transforms into something else in his presence. From polluted waste, toxic chemicals rung from cigarettes and self-loathing, to nostalgia, nectar – life before it had gone to shit.

He’s stone while keeping you in place, intractable, offering you no choice but to clutch onto fresh sheets and sob out to nothing. No prayers, no pleas; you’re an incoherent mess in his onslaught, tangent syllables of Si…mon and so g-good. You don’t beg for release or deceleration – nothing you say goes. It’s just him, just that fucking… expert tongue, sinful desire. Fingers buried into flesh, calling sore bruises.

To find purchase in that hair, clinging onto locks that are still somewhat damp. He’d showered before he came, soaped in sandalwood – 2-in-1. It’s convenient. You’ve gained an affection for the fragrance, foraging for it everywhere. Cologne, air-freshener, chapstick. Jotted on your grocery list, shampoo, body wash – timbre tinted, essence of him. You capsize into the masculinity that emanates from those honey curls, pushing him onto you, tongue swatching deeper. Deeper.

You’d take him raw, too. Post-workout, sweat-coated. Stripping those layers after a mission, laying him down. Lemme take care of you. Musk, unadulterated redolence. The salty tang down his pecs, licking fervent adoration, a four letter word spelt in glistening spit upon a muscled abdomen. Cupping his balls with steadfast devotion, gaping fauces clicking with the ram of his tip, swallowing him deeper. Deeper.

The digits that had been there – testing waters before the motel was bombed – return, gathering the liquid that pools down the crest of your ass. He brushes the tight ring of muscle, pauses, then carries on in his endeavour to stretch you open on his fingers.

Nothing could prepare you for the empyrean pleasure that wracks through you when the two are fully situated, up to their ends, quirking back to hit that spongy wall.

“So fuckin’ tight. Can barely move ‘em, pet.” He groans. Your eyes squeeze shut, neck thrown back, rising into salvation. Paradise.

No; beyond that. This gratification wasn’t born in strife, no wars were waged in its name – the first crusade, witch hunts. It’s a thread, separate from it all, diverging from literature and alcohol, taking with it nicotiana, an uprooted plant. It’s something new, something the two of you create – Simon, Ghost, embedded into someone who’s waiting a lifetime for him.

“I– I’m–” Your insides entwine, tingling self-indulgence skipping up your spine, hightailing your head. He’s added a third, scissoring your velvet walls apart, giving into the vacuum and delving with twice the power. “Simon! Ple… Please–”

“Give it to me, c’mon.” Your calves curve over his back, holding him there. Gut, intestines, your heart; they threaten to snap, to succumb to the eternal gravitas of the force between your legs.

You gush into his wide mouth, flooding him in a heady ambrosia.

And Simon – leviathan that prospers in the cavernous wet – swallows it all, kneading tempting circles under your knees.

“Atta’ girl.”

“I bought you something.” You mention between hushed moans.

His heavy body wraps around yours, holding you to a bare chest, his hips pistoning lazily into the plummet of your pussy. A swollen cock spears your open, wedged so deep it touches your cervix with flighty pecks.

Likewise, he presses sloppy kisses on the bend where your neck meets your shoulder. His chin is still soaked with liquid sex.

“Yeah?” The taunt vibrates through you. You feel it settle in the place you reserve, just for him.

Delirious, stuffed chock-full of your favourite vice, you giggle. “Mmm. Chocolates.”

Rough fingertips seek your clit, deliciously abrasive as they rub it in, unyielding. Your fourth orgasm slithers up on you.

“Chocolate?”

You turn to meet his lips, clacking teeth. When you speak again, you realise with dizzying lucidity that the taste of tobacco is long gone, replaced by the evidence of intimacy and lingering bourbon.

“Y-yeah… Sweet tooth.”

Simon drives himself deeper into you.

“There are sweeter things.”

He’d named the kitten Tommy.

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