#the love of his life killed him just for him to bargain with fate itself to be put in a time loop to see them again

[yourinaudiblename]

giving nisroch more and more problems by the day <3 I love you <3

[heliads]

'homesick, but not for home' - kaz brekker

Based on this request: "y/n finally gets to visit their home country after years away in ketterdam with the crows. a sweet little slice of life with kaz finally getting to be kaz rietveld"

masterlist

merry christmas everyone! my present to you is kaz

Receiving a summons from Kaz Brekker usually means one of two things:  either you are about to be murdered, or he is going to ask you to do something before he murders you. Usually, that task involves the distribution of funds from your ledgers to his. However, as one of the bare few who has the privilege of making it to his inner circle, you would wager that there’s a third possible outcome from hearing from him:  he still wants you to do something, but you’ll be killing someone else.

Nonetheless, judging by the expression of the courier who tells you that Kaz is expecting you in his office, even being spared an imminent death doesn’t mean that this meeting will go pleasantly. Dirtyhands has a reputation around here, one just as dark and choking as those black gloves he so loves to wear. No one here knows Kaz as anything more than a shadow of a man, a killer, a convict. To learn that he wishes to speak to you is akin to hearing that Death itself is knocking on your door.

You, however, just smile and turn your feet towards the stairs leading to Kaz’s office instead. The Slat, home of the Dregs, is a rickety ramshackle of a building. Kaz has been doing his part to fix it up as he can, but the floorboards are still masterfully creaky and the oil lamps flicker ominously from their resting places beside each looming door. The stairwell is worst of all, a towering, beckoning talon that delivers you to your fate at the very top. 

Sometimes, you swear Kaz put his office on the top floor just because it would give his victims more time to contemplate their quickly approaching demise when they had to climb all the way up. Other days, you just assume that he was sick of the noise and wanted to find a place where nobody would bother him unless absolutely necessary. Knowing Kaz, both rationales are probably sound.

You knock once on the door to his office and, upon hearing your name called to come in, twist the doorknob and let yourself inside. Gathered in a loose semicircle on the few available pieces of furniture as well as leaning against the wall are Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Matthias, and Nina. Kaz sits, as usual, ramrod straight in a chair behind his desk, and gestures for you to take the final open seat.

“Looks like everyone’s here,” you note. “Should I be worried about missing anything?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jesper chirps. “Only that Kaz has been saving that chair for you this whole time. He keeps glaring at us whenever we so much as look towards it.”

Jesper looks as if he’d like to gossip about this a little more, but Wylan digs a sharp elbow into his side, causing the other boy to complain heartily. 

You just grin, sliding into your seat. “Good. I deserve luxury. I was never made to sit on the ground.”

Kaz coughs pointedly to disguise what you’re sure is a smile. “Now that we’re all in attendance, we can get started. I’ve heard news of a prospective business deal happening off the coast of the Southern Colonies. Expensive materials are being exchanged. Jewelry, artwork, the like. It’s all being conducted by Kerch merchers, but they took everything offshore to avoid the chance of getting caught. If we swoop in the night before and take all their bargaining tools, we’ll be richer and they’ll have to cave to our demands.”

“Of course, our demands,” Nina says, nodding. “What are we demanding, again?”

Inej smiles. “For them to stop breathing down our backs, for one thing. Also, they keep trying to cut into business. They needed this deal for an alliance between some of the wealthier merchers, but if each party thinks the other stole their riches before the swap, they’ll be so busy with infighting that they won’t bother us for some time.”

Kaz inclines his head gravely. “Precisely.”

Inej taps her fingers silently against her leg. “My question is when we’re going to stage the attack. We can attempt to hijack the ships before they leave the harbor, but I have no doubt that they’ll be crawling with stadwatch.”

“That’s why we’ll be sailing along with them,” Kaz clarifies. “The heist won’t happen until we’re on the shores of the Southern Colonies. That way, they’ll have let down their guard.”

Immediately, everyone reacts. Leaving the Barrel is an invitation for everything to go wrong. If rival gangs like the Dime Lions or the Razorgulls find out that Kaz’s inner circle isn’t in town, they’ll hasten to loot the place or kill your foot soldiers before anyone gets back.

“We have to leave the country?” Inej asks doubtfully. “That’s a tremendous risk.”

Kaz’s expression doesn’t shift a second, but you can still sense him tensing somehow, all too aware of the extra burden on his staff to maintain decorum and avoid attracting threats from his many enemies. “Think of it as a vacation. You’ll be able to get out of the city and go somewhere nice. Maybe even get some seaside air.”

Jesper snorts. “Kaz, your idea of a vacation is locking the door of your office and not running your numbers for five minutes. I didn’t think seaside air existed in your vocabulary except as a potential source of weakness.”

Kaz frowns. “Of course seaside air exists in my vocabulary. How else would I know to say it?”

Jesper rolls his eyes and looks as if he’d like to counter that with an equally terrible argument, but you cut him off. “I’d like to go,” you say suddenly.

All eyes turn to you. “Why?” Wylan asks.

A faint smile plays upon your lips. It’s easier to look at the ground than face all of their inquisitive stares, so you do just that. “I’m from the Southern Colonies. Used to be, at least. I’d always planned on going back at some point, but never got the chance until now.”

Truth be told, you were assuming that you would never get that chance. Your parents moved your whole family down to Ketterdam when you were about ten years old, drawn by the call of a quick profit. They were able to eke out a few tentative years, but the city swallowed them like it does everyone else. It’s just you now, you and the Crows and the dream that at one point, you might be able to revisit the place you once called home.

Even connecting ‘home’ and the Southern Colonies in the same sentence seems like something out of a dream. You’ve lived in Kerch for so long now that you can hardly imagine being anywhere else. The Crows are your family, the Barrel your home. It’s a strange life, certainly, but it’s yours.

Kaz’s face closes down. “I’ll go with you. Inej, you and the rest will maintain the Crow Club and its affiliates until we return. I don’t want to risk all of us on one endeavor.”

Matthias arches a brow. “You are willing to brave the risk of splitting up, though?”

Kaz turns a bemused expression his way. “Are you worried about me, drüskelle? And here I thought we’d never see eye to eye.”

Matthias snorts. “Don’t go that far, demjin.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” Kaz muses. “The plan is set, then. We’ll have three weeks to plan, and then Y/N and I will set off.”

He allows the rest of the Crows to leave, but gestures for you to stay. You pull your chair closer to his desk, sensing that the discussion will shift into more details of the mission at hand.

Once the last of your friends have gone, Kaz turns his gaze to you. His eyes seem to stare straight through your skull, and you get the strange feeling that he could read every thought created inside your mind if he just bothered to listen a little closer. 

“You said you were born in the Southern Colonies. I need to be certain that there will be no distractions for a job like this. Can you swear to me that you’ll be focused?” He asks you.

“It won’t be an issue,” you assure him. “I’ll see the countryside and then move on. Honest.”

“Well, I should hope you won’t be completely honest,” Kaz murmurs, the corners of his lips pricking up into a slight shade of a smile. “We are still robbing people, of course.”

“Of course,” you laugh. His eyes jerk up when you do, his gaze hungry for the sight of it.

And– see, this is where you start to get into trouble. You are a criminal, a member of a gang. Every day is a fight. You know that survival is the thing that matters most in the Barrel, survival and how much money you can make off of delaying your last breath. You need to have single-minded focus totally centered around how you are going to make it through each day, but instead, your brain has started drifting to unreasonable topics like the precise shade of Kaz’s eyes or all the techniques he uses to hide his smiles.

It won’t serve you well, this feeling like a slow burn in your chest. Kaz would be the very first to tell you that weakness will only get you killed. People are a weakness. Is Kaz, though? Sometimes, in vague moments in between the times when reality comes firmly back to ground you, you can almost imagine that he might feel the same way. Would he really entertain this idea if he didn’t feel something for you? Would he leave the Barrel to go all the way to the Southern Colonies with you if he could easily send Jesper or someone else?

In the end, all you can ever do is push the thoughts from your mind. The scheming and planning period has got to be your least favorite part of a heist, but unfortunately, it’s also the segment that takes the longest. Every detail has to be perfect or all involved will be caught in the act.

Eventually, though, you find yourself shipping out on a fine sea morning, headed towards the country that hasn’t been yours since you were a child. You and Kaz are pretending to be business partners, which is true enough. His cabin is next to yours. You’re fairly sure he already knows the identity of every other traveler on the ship, just in case.

Standing on the deck and watching Ketterdam retreat into a nameless speck on the dark, vast ocean, you can’t help but wonder what the Southern Colonies will bring your way. Your heart is surprisingly light in your chest at the thought of it. You have dim recollections of the rolling hills and drifting tides, although even these memories have grown hazy with time. You can’t wait to see it again.

By contrast, Kaz, standing by your side, seems far less thrilled about the whole idea. His black gloves are clenched tightly around the railing, his grip hardening whenever the ship tilts too much. You glance around to make sure no other travelers are within earshot, then ask him with a questioning glance, “Why would you make this trip if you don’t like the ocean?”

Kaz shoots you a wary look. “I’m perfectly fine with it.”

You scoff. “Nonsense. You look as if you’d like nothing more than to drain the entire True Sea and simply walk to the Southern Colonies on foot. You could have sent Inej or Jesper in your place, you know. Why’d you want to go?”

“I have to make sure the job goes smoothly,” Kaz informs you. “Business is best handled by myself.”

You arch a brow. “Lovely. Good to know that you’ll never let something pesky like sea travel stand between you and your ambitions.”

Kaz snorts. “I should hope you’d already know that. And to answer your unspoken question, you’re here too because it’s foolish to take international jobs without someone at your back just in case of trouble. I trust you to not let homesickness for the Southern Colonies get in the way. I would advise you to stick to that.”

You smile. “Goodness, Kaz, you trust me? No wonder you didn’t want anyone else with us, if the rest knew you were shelling out compliments this easily they would have teased you for years.”

In the corners of your peripheral vision, you swear you can see a matching smile slide onto Kaz’s lips, but it’s gone the second you turn to look at him. “Precisely my thinking.”

The journey takes shorter than expected, or maybe that’s just your restless thinking. In no time at all, your ship is docking at a port of the Southern Colonies, and you’re turning in a slow circle on the coast, taking in every single sight you can.

“Careful,” Kaz tells you, “You don’t want to come across as too strong of a pigeon. We don’t want to attract any new friends who anticipate stealing something off of us.”

He’s smiling, though, and you swear there’s something a little lighter in his expression than you usually see. Maybe it really is the sea air getting to him, or maybe the fact that he’s out of Ketterdam’s grimy clutches lets Kaz relax even a fraction.

Regardless, you’re happy for it. “Ridiculous,” you say, laughing slightly. “Not all the world is like the Barrel, you know. We don’t do that sort of thing in the Southern Colonies.”

“We?” Kaz asks doubtfully. “Three steps you’ve taken off the ship and you’re already a proper citizen again, are you?”

You just grin. “What, are you jealous? Scared I’ll leave the Barrel?”

He doesn’t answer, but quickly changes the topic towards finding accommodations for the night and planning out an intelligence trip near the location where the jewels are being held. Even walking through the portside town and crossing the streets feels like magic, in a way. You lived not far from here, and everything from the curve of the avenues to the bright sun in the sky feels like coming home.

As it turns out, you and Kaz aren’t the only ones affected by the easy way of life in the Colonies. The two merchers you’ve been tracking are discussing business in broad daylight, obviously not anticipating anyone to have followed them. The job will be easy, and the few days you gave yourselves for extra planning are largely useless since no more details are relevant.

Instead, you take it upon yourself to explore the surrounding countryside. You tell Kaz that he doesn’t have to accompany you every time, of course, he can stay back in the portside town if he pleases, but he still goes with you. It’s funny, the more time you spend away from the city, the more you watch the burdens slowly lift from his shoulders, the light return to his eyes.

One time, while walking through a wooded path, Kaz tells you it’s because this reminds him of his home, as well. He grew up on a farm, once, under a different last name and in a different life. He’ll never have that time of his life back again, nor, you think privately, will you have yours, but it’s still lovely to wander around here and pretend that you could.

The job goes off without a hitch. Soon enough, you find yourselves sitting pleased with jewels and artwork hidden away in your luggage, all items recovered without their owners batting so much as an eye. You’ll leave early in the morning before they can notice you. You feel a pang in your heart at the thought of leaving already, but you hadn’t realized you weren’t the only one thinking about it until Kaz visits your room at the inn late that final night.

You had known it was him at your door from the moment you heard his crisp knock against the wooden paneling. No one else moves or lives like Kaz, with so much precision. When you let him in, though, he looks more wild than you’ve ever seen him. His hair, for once, has lost its impeccable style and gone wild and unkempt. His shirt is wrinkled and rolled up to the elbows. It would still be a good look on him were it not for the fact that you’ve never seen him so little put together in the entire time you’ve known him.

Kaz doesn’t say a word until he is certain that the door is shut and bolted behind him. Then, all of a sudden, the words burst out of his throat, so beseeching that you have to wonder how in Ghezen’s name he managed to keep them from you for so long. “Don’t stay here,” he says. “Come back with me.”

You frown. “Who said I was staying? We’ve both got tickets on the ship departing next morning, Kaz.”

He waves a hand frustratedly to signal his disbelief in this statement. “Tickets don’t mean a thing. I need you to say it.”

“I did,” you frown. “Where else would I go?”

“Here,” Kaz says heatedly. “I’ve seen the way you look at the buildings, this place. You want to say here. Don’t you do it, Y/N.”

You shake your head softly. “I love it here, yes, but it’s not my home anymore than Ravka across the sea. I’m going back to the Barrel, Kaz.”

“With me,” he says uncertainly.

“With you,” you confirm. “Goodness, Kaz, did you really think I would stay? How could I do such a thing?”

“It’s very easy for people to leave,” he tells you. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that reminds you of brothers that have been buried, of farms that have long been sold to undeserving families that were not his.

“Not me,” you whisper. “Not if it was you I was leaving.”

His eyes, which have been sweeping your figure this entire time, looking for some twitch of a finger or jump of a pulse to betray you for lying, leap up to yours again. “Okay,” he says at last. “Okay.”

He leans back slightly, wavering on his heels. “I– I’ll go back to my room, then.”

Kaz doesn’t look as if he much savors the idea, and you decide to spare him from his thoughts, just in case. “You can stay here, you know.”

A soft breath is released. “That would– I could do that.”

He does. And, as your candles burn closer to the quick, as the night settles over this city, you cannot help but be glad for the time when you’ll find yourself in a different one. It has been nice to be here, but you would like to go home. And, most importantly of all, you are glad that Kaz will be there with you.

grishaverse tags: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @aoi-targaryen, @budugu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I loooove your Minotaur!Konig, mythological AUs are my favorite ❤️

Asterion is such a sweetheart with his love, but I can only imagine how he gets when he's jealous/protective. I see Asterion settling into domestic life as a husband and a sailor relatively easily because it's all he's ever wanted (more than what he wanted/thought possible if he's being honest), but all it takes is one man making aggressive advances on his wife and he's the dreaded Minotaur of Crete who cut through hundreds of soldiers to get through the palace and slaughter the king himself. All those feral, animalistic traits come rushing back tenfold when it comes to her, the center of his universe and the only goddess he'll ever worship. So it doesn't matter if it's a simple fisherman, a famed warrior, a prince from foreign lands, or the son of Zeus himself. Asterion had slit the throat of a demigod before; Theseus, a rival who he disposed of bitterly before he had even met his wife, the unfamiliar poisonous feel of envy trickling through the Minotaur's veins as Theseus mentioned a woman he'd come to the labyrinth with, a woman who would change his fate and make him different from the other heroes who had tried and failed to kill the Minotaur and escape that infamous maze. Yet the divine hero fell as easily as the others, and she ended up changing Asterion's fate instead, guiding him through the hell that had imprisoned him since he was a child, holding out her hand to him and bringing him out of the darkness of the Labrinyth and into the light. Asterion would kill a thousand heroes and kings for his love, become Death itself and burn down the world and the heavens alike just to keep her safe, keep her with him.

Anon you depicted him & his devotion so beautifully…

He has a lot to learn when it comes to society and living among people: the first time they were at the marketplace and she started to barter with some shopkeeper, he thought the bargaining male was insulting his woman. So he marched forward, grabbed him by his clothes and raised him to the chalked wall until she ran to him and explained the situation – amused while the poor shopkeeper almost pissed himself. She got a very good price after that!

And he will absolutely turn into a demigod, this chthonic warrior whenever he feels his beloved is under a threat or if someone tries to take her away from him. It’s not even about him being jealous (although he is that too): he just sees himself as the most able protector she could choose, and anyone who dares to challenge that will get stomped to the ground.

Clearly, she favors him between the furs as well, so it’s no use to try and snatch her away with perfumed beards, shallow promises or playful charms… She always runs her fingers through his hair, chest, head or thigh, looks at him with stars in her eyes. She obviously doesn’t need some shaved “hero” with an eloquent tongue when she has a bull like him.

Bulls don’t have time for philosophy and neither does she: his goddess prefers a strong man who can carry heavy loads and make her moan in bed. And whenever he does talk, he says what he thinks. It always makes her either gasp or smile so at least he doesn’t bore her to death like those oiled, fancy men… She likes his comments in bed, too, he can tell. To him, it’s nothing earth shatteringly special to wake her up in the middle of the night and announce that he’s hard. The thing between his legs was made for her pleasure after all, so why should he keep it to himself?

She always acts as if he has both done something wrong and extremely right because it always ends in her saying that perhaps he should fuck her then. Soon enough she's begging under him, clawing his back like a cat, sighing that she loves him.

He always tells her that he loves her back, as many times as he has to to make her shatter in his arms.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

“Sweetheart, if you knew the things I could do with you, you’d have run away a long time ago,” said the young man standing below the arch of the city gate.  If you looked at him full-on he seemed normal enough, but catch him in your peripheries and he seemed Wrong somehow.  Like he had too many sides to him, or like his limbs were just out of proportion, or like he moved with a grace that wasn’t quite human.  He reached out to run a finger along a stray lock of hair escaped from the pigtails of the young woman he was talking to.     

She groaned loudly.  “Don’t. We’ve known each other far too long for this bullshit.” 

The man grinned.  It was an unexpected grin, usually men like this are expected to smirk, or leer, or smile slyly, or even quirk an eyebrow if it came to it.  But the grin was real, open and glad, briefly washing away the aura of inhumanity and leaving merely a boy who very much liked talking to this girl. 

“But it’s funny.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“But it’s really funny.”

Let’s back up a bit.  Everyone knows that history repeats itself and certain outcomes always arise.  Violence is condoned through complacency.  Tyranny lasts for a while then tends to burn itself out.  Empires always end up toppled in the end.  These are our stories, at least, which crop up again and again.  The principle is true in other lands as well, they just happen to view different things as histories. 

Fulfaran was particularly high in story density as cities went.  It seemed you couldn’t turn a corner without running into a run-away princess, or a charming scoundrel, or a crone (crones were particularly bad – it was a 50/50 chance as to whether they’d try to destroy your life or give you genuinely good advice).  The markets were teeming with exotic goods, the castle at the top of the hill flew its banners brightly in the breeze, and there were established parts of town you went to only if you wanted to a. meet an orphan, b. meet a thief or c. fall down a hole.  Rather a good place for Reynard and Connie, who tended to be plagued by stories. 

Constance was a baker’s daughter who had been taken as a teenager to live in a tower by a witch in exchange for her impoverished family receiving enough gold to live on.  She never fully understood that witch’s motivations but that’s just how it went.  She had immediately proceeded with a number of escape attempts, most of which failed until Reynard had ridden below her window and she had bargained with him until he snuck a rope inside with her food deliveries.  He had claimed to be a prince, but wasn’t.  Connie knew he wasn’t quite human either, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it and she didn’t want to pry. 

She had wanted to go home, but she knew the witch would try to exact vengeance.  So, she said her goodbyes for a second time and started out in the opposite direction, which happened to be where Rey was headed as well (or so he claimed, in truth he had no direction or purpose.  But he liked Connie, she was sensible and she made him laugh). 

Unfortunately, it seemed the two of them were not fated to have an easy path.  For one, events kept transpiring which forced Rey into situations where he was expected to betray Connie.  Said events seemed rather upset every time he simply told her everything and they worked out a solution together.  Connie, on the other hand, was continuously being offered chances to fight royalty and claim a kingdom.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t like a kingdom, she commented once as the two of them wandered through the woods, but she didn’t think she had the training to run one.  She was, after all, a baker’s daughter.  She could make excellent bread but she didn’t care for administration. 

They also stubbornly refused to fall in love with each other, which seemed to make the stories very distressed indeed.  This was not helped by how within a few hours of meeting they had become firm friends – Connie rather thought they had been expected to be unlikely allies who hated each other at first.  But it wasn’t in either of their natures to hate very hard and she liked Rey – he was clever and cutting, but never cruel.

Eventually the events all became too much, which is why they had come to where they were, the main gate of Fulfaran.  The storied city.  Surely someone here must know how they could get out of this. 

Connie felt herself smiling back despite herself.  “Fine, it’s a little funny but I honestly don’t know how you can say stuff like that in public without wanting to curl up into a ball and die,” she said starting to walk again, under the gate into the crowds.  Rey fell into step beside her. 

“I have no shame,” he shrugged, “besides, I don’t know any of these people. No one’s paying attention and even if they were, they’d think it’s normal.  I’m pretty sure I saw at least three pairs of ‘people who definitely hate each other’ coming in after us."

Connie was going to reply, but she was cut off by a harsh voice that had snuck into their path. 

“Child! I see greatness in you—”

“Oh not today, thank you!” said Rey, doffing his cap to the aged woman in the dark cloak swaying before them.  Connie summoned up her best customer service smile, the one with just enough of a hint of rage in it that it tended to shut people up without them knowing why, and slipped past the figure. 

“Wait!” the crone cried, “there is a prophecy—”

“Probably not me,” said Connie cheerily over her shoulder.  “Try that girl with midnight-blue eyes over there, that’ll do the trick.”  She rolled her eyes at Rey who grimaced. 

“When we get to the inn we’re taking the most boring room imaginable,” he said emphatically.  “Nothing on the top floor, nothing with secret passages, just four walls and a bed.”  The two of them had long since given up on multiple rooms, or even multiple beds.  No matter how hard they searched every inn was always just a little too full. 

“We better do it quick, I want to sleep before dinner.  Who did you say this place was recommended by again?”

“Basically everyone I know who’s been here,” said Rey, scanning the buildings as they passed.  “They say it’s lovely, really quaint and unique. We should be there right around this corner—”

He halted.  Connie almost hit his shoulder but she hardly noticed, too focused on the inn they had found.  It was small and smoky, almost crumbling beneath the weight of the sky.  Hooded figures passed in and out, glimmers of gemstones sometimes flashing out from beneath their clothing.  The sign was covered in enough grime that it couldn’t be read and there was a large board on the front with dozens of papers stuck to it advertising quests, monster-hunts, missing people, missing dogs, various balls, festivals, and competitions, and the best shops to find weapons in the area.  Connie’s heart sank and Rey’s expression told her he was feeling the same thing. 

“I saw a TreacleTavern down the road,” he said under his breath.  TreacleTaverns were in every city and they were all huge and identical.  Connie nodded vigorously.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”  She all but shoved him back down the way they had come. 

As they left she shot one last look over her shoulder.  A young man was staring at them.  He had chestnut brown hair and an intense expression, as though he had seen them before.  He seemed oddly familiar to Connie, though she didn’t know how she might have met him. 

It was probably something very important that she would have lingered on had the circumstances been different.  Unfortunately for the stories, however, she was still extremely invested, come hell or high water, in getting her pre-supper nap.   

[toournextadventure]

Ok hear me out a Iliad/song of Achilles au for Wednesday and birb. birb obviously being Achilles and Wednesday as Patroclus. the lliad begins with the lines: "...Achilles rage, black and murderous... that pitched countless souls of heroes into Hades dark and left their bodies to rot as feasts for dogs and birds." And that just screams birb. It was said that Achilles rage shook the sea floor with his sobs, he shared a bed with a corpse, drag hectors dead body around the city of Troy 4 times and willingly submitted himself for death out of grief and rage over Patroclus's loss. Achilles rage was so immense that in the Iliad that Zeus had to intervene and restrain his rage because he knew that Achilles' anger could defy fate and destroy Troy before it was meant to fall.

Achilles' rage at Patroclus' death could elude fate itself.

Also for my song of Achilles enthusiast birb would be the only one to say “what has hector ever done to me” iykyk

Now for Wednesday in the actual Iliad Patroclus is more gifted as a warrior then presented in the song of Achilles. He killed 54 Trojans including a son of Zeus the day he died. He had to be stopped by Apollo him self from storming into the Trojan walls. It’s one of the only reasons that him potrying achilles worked. He was scary enough that, with Achilles armor, he was terrifying. And even then in the song of Achilles Patroclus Killed a boy when he was a child over a game of dice something Wednesday would very much do.

patrocles was an equal to achilles, not his disciple.

In the The Iliad: The phrase "to eat a man raw" is a very particular phrase reserved just for the gods, as only the divine are exempt from the culture-defining restrictions of human society (ie cannibalism, incest)

And in TSOA: Achilles' last words to Hector are "There are no bargains between lion and men. I will kill you and eat you raw."

Fun Conclusion: Achilles sacrifices his humanity to avenge Patroclus which is very birb and Wednesday coded

Honestly the roles could easily be switched and still work expertly which again I love bc both birb and Wednesday are so unhinged for the other that they would take "if anything were to happen to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself" a little too seriously. I love them you’re honor

No no way, you're cookin though. Because yeah, I think they're interchangeable but the moral of the story is it's them. The unwavering love and loyalty through life and death, treating each other as equals when you'd potentially be hard-pressed to find them doing the same for anyone else

[healinghyunjin]

Moonrise

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader (fem)

Genre: romance, fluff, smut; historical!AU, arranged marriage!AU, strangers-to-lovers, 18+

Word Count: 12.6k (whew!)

Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, outdated sexual norms/attitudes

Author's Note: For the first time ever, I’ve gathered the courage to write and post a fic of my own!! Many many thanks go to @the7thcrow​ for beta reading this for me, giving me awesome feedback, and generally hyping me up about this (I love you Corynn - please check out her awesome works as well!!), as well as @chanluster​ and @fizzydrink698​ for inspiring me with their bomb writing and encouragement while I was drafting this! As a fledgling writer, I’d really appreciate any interactions (please reblog/like if you enjoyed reading this!!) and feedback, positive or negative!! 

Summary: Seeing your future husband for the first time, you knew immediately, even from afar, that the rumors hadn’t even begun to do him justice. 

You leaned your head against the window of the carriage, hoping its steady vibration would help you relax. As your view slowly morphed from the flat grasslands of your home into the hilly terrain of the borderlands however, you sighed and turned away, closing your eyes and giving into the thoughts racing through your mind.

In just a matter of a few days, your world had been turned completely upside down.

As the princess of a strong, successful kingdom, you’d only really ever had one function – to serve as a royal bargaining chip – and that role had already been decided for you ages ago. From birth, you had been promised to Hwang Hyunjin, the crown prince of the realm adjoining yours. The wedding itself had been left up to some far-off date in the future, when both you and Hyunjin were of age and your marriage could serve as a politically expedient show of unity and collective strength. You’d never even met the man himself, something that you’d never expected – you’d always thought that you’d have time to meet, court, and slowly come to know him before you actually became his.

However, an unexpected tragedy dashed all of your expectations.

Just a few weeks ago, Hyunjin’s parents, the former king and queen, had been killed in a devastating attack while on tour, thrusting Hyunjin into power all alone at the age of 21. He had written immediately to your parents, asking them if they still intended to honor the betrothal given the circumstances, and, if so, whether it would be possible to have the wedding take place as soon as possible.

Your parents, being the consummate politicians they were, quickly figured out his motives – Hyunjin needed to stabilize his hold on power fast, especially in the midst of such an unprecedented power vacuum, and cementing an alliance with your family would be a great power move. As the connection would only benefit your kingdom as well, your parents had no problems with fully giving in to Hyunjin’s wishes, packing you off in days to face your unknown fate.

A wry voice snapped you out of your reflections. “I can hear your thoughts churning from all the way over here, you know.” You looked up to meet the eyes of your only companion. Chan had been at your side for as long as you could remember, first as a playmate, then as a proxy older brother, and finally as your trusted bodyguard; now, he was the only person from your previous life coming with you to your new one.

“It’s nothing Chan, don’t worry about it.” You returned to the window, taking in the rugged landscape of your new home, your new kingdom.

“It’s okay to be nervous.” Chan’s voice radiated empathy and understanding, things that had been in short order during the rushed few days leading up to your departure.

“All of these changes, uprooting your life and tying yourself to someone else, a stranger at that – that’s a lot for anyone to handle.” He reached across the carriage, placing a warm, friendly hand on your knee. “You’ve done really well holding everything in so far, but it’s really not good to keep all of your thoughts bottled up.”

At his words, the dam broke. “It’s just been a complete whirlwind, Chan. I just go back and forth between being angry and optimistic and resentful and anxious and ugh!” You bury your head in your hands in frustration. “I just don’t know how to feel about anything anymore.”

Scooting closer, Chan smoothed his hand over your head, trying to calm you down. “Take me through everything you’re feeling, hmm? Let’s start with resentment, maybe. Who are you resentful towards? King Hyunjin?”

You shake your head at that. “Not him – my parents. Not that I should have expected anything different though.”

Although he didn’t say anything in response, opting to squeeze your hand instead, you knew Chan agreed with you wholeheartedly on this. While agreeing to Hyunjin’s request and sending you away was one thing, your parents had also decided that, given the security risks of the recent attack, no one other than Chan would be allowed to travel with you to the Hwang castle.

You weren’t particularly surprised that your parents didn’t care about missing your wedding - they’d always been aloof, more occupied with ruling and governing than being loving parents. By this point, you’d fully internalized the idea that you were nothing more than a tool to them. But when you learned that Minho – your older brother, who’d been more of a parent to you than your actual parents ever had – wouldn’t be there to walk you down the aisle, you’d spent the rest of the night crying in his arms, feeling wholly and truly abandoned.

Of course, Minho and Chan, his best friend, had then proceeded to make their displeasure at the situation dramatically obvious. After all of Minho’s attempts at persuasion and threatening failed, he – along with a skeptical, but upset enough Chan – had snuck into the stables at night and broke the axles of every carriage your family owned in a last-ditch attempt to delay your departure. However, your parents were anything if not calculating; knowing that their hotheaded son would try to throw some type of wrench in the proceedings, they’d already asked Hyunjin to send over one of his.

The soothing pressure of Chan’s hand on yours brought you back out of your ruminations. “Well, you know exactly where I stand on that issue,” he dryly quipped, looking at you with a sly glance that made you giggle. “But I have to admit,” he leaned in closer, staring at you intently. “I am really curious about your thoughts on your new husband.”

“Well…I guess a small part of me is a little resentful at him for using me like this, even though I know he’s well within his rights to,” you lean back against the cushions with a sigh. “But, I don’t really blame him. And Chan, to be fully honest,” you turn to gaze directly into his eyes. “I think I feel sorry for him more than anything.”

Chan arched an eyebrow at you as you felt heat rising to your face. “A soft corner for him already? Interesting…” he trailed off, sending an appraising look your way.

That’s what confused you the most. You knew that you should be completely up in arms about this entire situation, ready to spit fire at your husband before even meeting him. However, your anger and resentment were directed almost fully at your parents. When it came to thoughts of your new husband, you were honestly caught more between anxiousness and anticipation – and a hope that this bolt out of the blue might be the solution to your own existential questions.

For, despite all of Minho and Chan’s best efforts, you’d always felt out of place at home. Minho had done his very best to be all of the family that you needed, but, as the crown prince, he had his own set of duties and responsibilities: a purpose, a reason for him to belong. You on the other hand – no one needed you. While you had always been good at keeping yourself occupied by reading and writing and helping around the castle, you’d always felt that you were floating around aimlessly – you had no role or purpose to anchor you.

Maybe that’s why, instead of dreading and resenting this marriage to a stranger, you were eager to finally get a glimpse of the man you were promised to. Maybe that’s why, as you caught your first glimpses of the castle looming over one last hill, you were filled with the sense that you were finally making your way towards your true home.

The receiving party at the castle might have been small, but it was almost buoyant with excitement and chaos. As soon as your carriage made it past the castle gates and rolled to a stop, you were swarmed by a motley crew of servants, grooms, and musicians, seemingly headed by two young men frantically trying to maintain control. One of the two, whose crescent-shaped eyes and thin lips reminded you of a fox for some reason, reached up to hand you out of the carriage.

“Welcome to your new home, my lady!” he greeted you with an exceptionally blinding grin, bowing over your hand. “My name is Jeongin, that over there,” he pointed over to the other young man, who had just succeeded in shoving through to the carriage, “is Felix, and we’re your new personal pages.” You and Chan looked at each other in surprise – you imagined that Hyunjin must be incredibly short-staffed at the moment, so assigning you two pages seemed almost an excessive act of consideration. “His Majesty should have just wrapped up his council meeting, so we can go find him in the courtyard.”

As Jeongin and Felix led your party deeper into the castle grounds, you felt the butterflies in your stomach kick up into overdrive. Chan, who had fallen into step at your side, leaned over to quietly whisper in your ear. “You know, rumor has it that the King is supposed to be very handsome?” He nudged your shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows at you in an incredibly annoying way. “I’ve even heard that he might be better looking than your brother, though I’m sure Minho would have something to say about that,” he laughed.

You narrowed your eyes at him, furiously whispering back, “And why are you telling me this now, Chan?” He looked back at you with a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Oh, I just wanted to make sure you had fair warning. I’m the one who has to catch you, you know, if you faint away at the sight of your oh so handsome new hus-” You interrupted him with as covert of a jab in the side as you could manage, but, from the smirk Jeongin was attempting to hide in front of you, it looked like Chan had accomplished his mission of embarrassing you. And taking your mind off your nervousness, you mentally noted to yourself, casting an exasperated, but affectionate glance at him as your party finally entered the castle’s main courtyard.

Seeing your future husband for the first time, you knew immediately, even from afar, that the rumors hadn’t even begun to do him justice.

He was tall, corded with lean muscle, and wonderfully slender, broad shoulders balanced out by narrow hips. His long and silky black hair almost brushed his shoulders; you could tell he’d hastily tied the top half up out of his face, giving him an almost rakish air – and giving you the desperate desire to run your fingers through it. As he moved into the light, you saw a sharp, angular face with lush, full lips and hooded, cat-like eyes.

He was beautiful.

On closer inspection, even though he was a stranger to you, the toll that the previous weeks had taken upon Hyunjin was obvious in the smudged hollows beneath his eyes. Your heart went out to this man, who’d lost his family and had the burden of an entire kingdom and its welfare thrust upon him in the span of mere days. What did you have to complain about in comparison?

You could feel the last of your residual resentment fading away, getting replaced by a deep sense of compassion – as well as a healthy dose of curiosity. What would this man, your future husband, truly be like?

While you and your welcome party slowly wound your way through the courtyard, Felix ran ahead to inform Hyunjin that you had arrived. As Felix gestured back towards your group, you saw Hyunjin visibly stiffen, losing his relaxed demeanor. As you watched him look around for you, you came to a surprising realization – Hyunjin was nervous to see you. Everything about his body language suggested that he was bracing for an unpleasant, cold interaction with his hastily acquired, unwilling bride. Smiling to yourself, you resolved to give him a pleasant surprise.

Once the two of you were in front of each other, Jeongin stepped in, giving you his arm to formally present you to his King. Giving Hyunjin the warmest smile you could muster up, you stepped forward into a deep curtsy. “My lord.” Peering up through your eyelashes, you saw a look of surprise flit across his face, before his features relaxed into the slightest hint of a smile. He gently took your hand in his larger, warm one, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it as you arose. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

Your skin burned where his lips had brushed, setting butterflies aflight in your belly as you looked up into his eyes. While Minho had always tsked at your romantic streak, even you had always thought that love at first sight was incredibly cliché and overwrought. The sensations running through you at the feeling of your hand in Hyunjin’s, however – at the subtle curve of your future husband’s lips and the magnetic depths of his eyes – told you something different.

You might already be falling for your King.

You startled out of your reverie as Hyunjin softly cleared his throat, straightening up from where he was bent over your hand. Had he caught you dazing out over him? As you watched him carefully, it didn’t seem like he had noted anything out of the ordinary - but, to your bad luck, someone else certainly had.

One of Hyunjin’s companions, another tall, lanky man, was eying you with no little amusement, a teasing smile on his face as he looked back and forth between you and Hyunjin.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too uncomfortable, my lady?” Your eyes snapped back to Hyunjin, addressing you with a soft smile, a look of guarded hope hovering in his eyes.

“It was quite pleasant, my lord, especially due to your assistance.” You inwardly smiled at the sound of Chan awkwardly shuffling behind you.

Withdrawing your arm from Jeongin’s, you stepped up to take Hyunjin’s instead. For just a second, imperceptible to anyone else but you, Hyunjin tensed, eyes widening as he looked down at you in surprise. At your answering grin though, at the excitement and energy in your eyes, he relaxed, guiding you to his side as he turned to introduce you to his companions.

From first impressions, Hyunjin’s inner circle seemed to be tight-knit and well-rounded. The perceptive man from before was Seungmin, and you weren’t surprised to learn that he was Hyunjin’s chief advisor. Jisung made you laugh with an overly exaggerated bow and effusive words of welcome; Hyunjin’s look of exasperated amusement at his antics clued you into their dynamic pretty quickly. From his armor and stocky build, you’d already figured that Changbin was Hyunjin’s personal bodyguard. Chan had gravitated to be closer to him, and you were just glad that Chan could have someone to lean on while he was there for you.

To be honest, however, you couldn’t say that you were fully focused on the formalities taking place. While you did your best to be attentive, you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering over again and again to your fiancé. Hyunjin had one of the most captivating, expressive faces you’d seen, and you were mesmerized.

Of course, it seemed Hyunjin was in a similar boat. You felt his gaze flitting to you throughout the conversation, studying you with a mix of curiosity and – if you weren’t mistaken – longing.

Before you knew it, you were being escorted away from your fiancé, who – if you weren’t just imagining it – seemed to be letting you go with quite a bit of reluctance. Due to the whirlwind nature of events in these past weeks, Hyunjin had an official state dinner to attend this evening, and, as you were not yet married, it would be improper for you to attend alongside him. Therefore, Hyunjin had dispatched Felix and Jeongin to show you to the former queen’s suite, where you could refresh yourself and relax in privacy before the wedding the next day.

Before you could make it too far, however, your little party pulled up short as you heard a shout behind you. Over your shoulder, you saw Hyunjin calling after you, catching up quickly with his long strides.

Running his fingers through his increasingly messy hair, he leaned down, lips almost grazing your ear, to softly whisper to you.

“If it is alright with you, my lady,” he looked at you with what seemed to be guarded hope in his eyes, “I would like to visit you tonight after dinner.”

His proximity, the feeling of his breath dancing over your face, sent a tingle down your spine. While your heart did a little somersault at the thought of seeing him again so soon, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make a little fun of him first.

“My lord – are you sure that…that kind of a visit would be proper? Given that we’re not married yet and all…” you trailed off as a dramatic look of horror dawned on Hyunjin’s face. You had to hold back a giggle as his eyes widened almost to comic proportions.

“NO, no, that’s not what I meant at all, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he looked. “I only meant, uh, that I just wanted a chance to talk to you more privately before the wedding tomorrow – with chaperones present, of course,” he hastily added.

You certainly weren’t going to turn him down – you were eager to get to know Hyunjin more, and you were very intrigued as to what he wanted to say to you. The two of you agreed that he would come up to your room after dinner with Changbin in tow; you would have Chan around also for propriety’s sake.

You watched Hyunjin stroll back, steps more confident than before, to his laughing friends, looking on with a fond smile as they teasingly clapped him on the back. As you turned to head towards your rooms, the butterflies were out in full force.

You were really, really looking forward to seeing Hyunjin again.

As the night wore on, your impatience only grew. Chan chuckled to himself as he watched you pace back and forth across the floor.

“Princess, you’re just going to wear holes in the carpet. You know that these state dinners drag on for hours and hours.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure His Majesty will be here soon.”

You knew deep down Chan was, as usual, perfectly right, but the anticipation and your nerves were messing with you.

Just as you were, against all of Chan’s counseling, about to give up hope, you heard a soft tap at the door. It opened just a crack, and warmth spread through you as the man you’d been eagerly waiting for peeked his head around the edge.

“I’m really sorry for being so late, my lady.” You could hear the sincerity in Hyunjin’s tired voice. “Would you still have a few minutes to talk? It’s perfectly fine if you want to rest up instead.”

“Not at all, my lord – please come in!” You tried to keep the excitement out of your voice as much as you could, but it seemed you hadn’t quite succeeded, judging by the grin on Chan’s face as he ushered Hyunjin and Changbin into the room.

As the two bodyguards stood in the corner of your room, pretending to make idle conversation, Hyunjin sat on the settee at the base of the bed. You were left no choice but to take the chair across from him, seating you above him, as if you were a queen and he a mere supplicant.

Hyunjin took a deep breath before slowly lifting his face to yours.

“From the day I sent that letter to your family until now, I’ve been anxious and unhappy with my decision.”

Your heart dropped.

Hyunjin took one look at the stricken expression on your face and realized he’d messed up.

“No, no, it’s not what you’re thinking, Princess! Ugh, I’ve been making a mess of this all day today, I’m really sorry.” He looked so apologetic that you couldn’t help but let him go on.

“I just think that – rushing our wedding like this, without giving you the chance to learn to trust me and be with me, and forcing you to uproot yourself with barely any warning – it was wrong. I was selfish, and I was weak. I should have sorted this out on my own and only brought you here when this kingdom – and I – could truly be your home. Instead, I’ve brought you to a land in chaos and disarray to live with a stranger.”

The words tumbled out of him in a rush; he’d clearly been needing to get it all off his chest, so you just patiently listened.

“I acted impulsively. I was exhausted, I was lonely beyond anything I’ve ever known in my life, and the only answer I could think of was to have you at my side. It would help me, it would politically benefit the country, and I’m immensely regretful to say that, in the moment, I didn’t think of anything else.” While his gaze had gradually dropped to his lap, he snapped his head back up to look at your face, a self-mocking, twisted half-smile on his lips. “I’ve spent most of my adult life promising to myself that, when the day arrived, I would be a good husband, I would make sure that you’re wanting for nothing – but when it came to it, I put myself first.”

“I really hope you can forgive me for my weakness, my lady – and that you don’t think too little of me for it.”

His sincerity and sadness, coupled with the pure exhaustion radiating from his body, made your heart melt. Forgetting that you weren’t alone, you found yourself reaching out to take him into your arms. Luckily, you caught yourself before Hyunjin noticed – but not before you made accidental eye contact with Chan and Changbin, who both abruptly snapped their heads away and pretended to study the walls. Swallowing a smile, you turned back to Hyunjin.

“My lord, please – don’t apologize. While I had hoped that we might be able to get to know each other before we got married, I’ve always known that you were going to be my husband – and that is something that I’ve always been excited about. I’m just glad I can be here for you now at least, so you have someone to help you shoulder your burdens…” While you hoped your words would be comforting, maybe they came across as too formal or rehearsed in the face of how raw he had been; Hyunjin still looked despondent. You had to show him how much you meant what you said.

Reaching forward impulsively, you grabbed one of his hands and clasped it in both of yours, startling Hyunjin with your sudden touch. “I – I hope our marriage can be a true partnership, my lord. I want to be a good wife to you. I want you to be able to trust me, to rely on me, to find and take comfort in me – to love me.” Your voice wobbled as you came to the end.

Sitting as he was, almost at your feet, Hyunjin’s eyes almost seemed to glow up at you, shining with emotion in the mellow candlelight.

Slowly, almost reverently, he folded your hands into his much larger ones, bringing them both to his lips.

“My queen…I don’t think you know exactly how much I want all of those things as well.” He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your right hand, and then your left. “I don’t think you realize exactly how much I want you.”

You softly gasped, both at the intensity of his words and at the sensation of his fingertips and plush lips on your hands. Hyunjin’s gaze darkened for a split second before he abruptly stood up to his full height, pulling you up with him. Then, to your utter surprise, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a warm, heartfelt hug. You froze for just a second, but recovered before he could pull away, shyly cuddling back into him. His body slackened under your touch, his embrace turning less agitated and more carefree. You could hear his heart beating a mile a second in his chest though, and you smiled to yourself as you realized that the proximity was clearly affecting him just as much as it was affecting you.

At the sound of two throats simultaneously, violently clearing themselves however, the two of you jumped apart – lost in your own little world, you’d both totally forgotten about the presence of your “chaperones.” You looked up at Hyunjin to find that his ears were absolutely on fire as he looked down at you, an adorably sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m sorry, love – I couldn’t help myself.” You knew it was just an innocent pet name, but the word still made your heart flutter a bit. Collecting himself again, Hyunjin did his best to give you an elegant nod, bringing your hand to his lips again for a tender kiss before beating a hasty retreat out of your room.

As a beaming Changbin went after him, you turned to find Chan leaning against the wall with a smug, knowing smirk plastered across his face. He coolly observed you as you tried to surreptitiously calm down, the feeling of Hyunjin’s lean, toned body pressed up against you still overpowering your senses.

“What?” you eyed him suspiciously, not liking the look on his face.

“Oh, nothing really,” he drawled nonchalantly, pushing himself off the wall. “Seemed like there were quite a few sparks flying between you and His Grace just now.”

You flushed, feeling your cheeks heat up yet again at the – honestly astute – observation and asked indignantly, “What in God’s name do you mean by that, Bang Chan?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Princess.” He just shook his head at you, turning around at the door for one final quip.

“I just feel sorry for whoever has guard duty outside your chambers tomorrow evening.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at you, narrowly slamming the door behind him before your pillow could make contact with his laughing face.

When you woke up the next morning, you were pleasantly surprised to feel a warm hum of anticipation thrilling through you, rather than the gut-wrenching twist of anxiety you had expected. Before thoughts of your husband-to-be’s luminous eyes and plush lips – and the memory of his body pressed up against yours – made you a little too warm, you scrambled out of bed, eager to face your wedding day.

Given the rushed, frantic nature of your wedding planning, you and your maids from home had had to be inventive to come up with a suitable wedding dress. Luckily, a few of them were wonders with the needle, and you all had managed to work together to modify your mother’s old wedding dress into something suitable for you. The final product – with its modern, fitted gold lace bodice, full skirt, and gold curlicues of trim and detailing – had taken your breath away.

As your new, unfamiliar maids helped you into your gown now, however, the dress just served as a reminder of everything you had lost and your newfound loneliness. You didn’t even have any one to walk you down the aisle. While you personally would have loved to have Chan do it, he wasn’t a knight yet; while that would be something you personally rectified as soon as you were crowned queen, it would be improper for him to be your escort in the meantime.

The sounds of thumping and raised voices right outside the door startled you out of your somber thoughts. Then came a sharp knock, followed by a muffled voice shouting to ask if you were decent.

One of your astonished maids rushed to the door, only opening it a crack to try and see who was stirring up all this ruckus, but a familiar, overly confident voice rang through, telling her to open the door and step aside. Minho?

You were absolutely, completely flabbergasted to see your brother stride through the doorway, Chan right behind him with a blinding smile on his face. You could tell Minho had ridden hard, his hair mussed and legs splashed with mud, but of course, your brother being himself, he looked no worse for wear. With a sob, you broke away from your maids to positively sprint into Minho’s open arms, snatching him up in a warm hug. Cupping your face in his hands, he gently wiped away a stray tear that was sneaking its way down your face. “Hey hey sis, don’t cry – you’ll ruin your makeup, and then Hyunjin’ll realize the mistake he’s makin-oof!” Laughing, you shut him up with a well-placed jab in the rib.

“Minho, how on Earth did you make it here?” You knew your parents had pretty much put him under house arrest after the stunt he’d pulled, and they were notoriously cutthroat when it came to enforcing discipline. “You didn’t stage a coup or something, did you??”

“As much as I would have loved to, nope. I’m here with the full blessings of our parents,” Minho drawled with a shit-eating grin, “thanks to some quick thinking on your husband’s part.”

You dropped your arms from around him, stepping back in surprise. “What?” you asked incredulously – Hyunjin had stepped in? “What did he do?”

“He somehow found out that our parents had banned me from coming to the wedding – seems like our messenger was very truthful about exactly why we needed one of his carriages for you.” You rolled your eyes as he turned to high-five Chan.

“So, he sent word to – ahem – ‘formally request the presence of his future brother-in-law the Crown Prince to discuss and solidify the terms of alliance between our two countries,’” Minho recited with a twinkle in his eye, “which basically forced our parents to let me come to the wedding.”

While you were still processing what he was telling you, Minho took a step back to look at you in all your finery. “Looks like my baby sister’s all grown up…you look beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you in for another warm hug.

Afterwards, he quickly left – swearing up and down that he just had a speck of dirt in his eye, he was definitely not crying, pfft – to change and get ready for the ceremony. As you sat down again to let your maids fix the damage from your tears, the only thoughts on your mind were of your husband.

There was absolutely no reason for Hyunjin to go out of his way to help you and Minho out, but he had done so, purely out of the goodness of his heart – sparing consideration for you and your needs even whilst reeling from the aftermath of his own personal tragedy.

He had already shown himself to be sensitive, thoughtful, romantic…everything you’d ever dreamt about in a husband – and he would be yours in a matter of hours.

You couldn’t wait.

For the most part, Hyunjin liked to think of himself as a confident person. Raised to be a king from the moment he was born, he had had the importance of poise, elegance – always having a cool, collected façade – beat into him from before he could even speak.

There was something about you, however, that tore all that training away.

Now, as he stood by the altar, the eyes of the relatively few attendees all trained on their young king, it was all he could do to keep a steady, neutral expression.

Hyunjin was nervous. Excited, giddy even – but still nervous.

From the moment he had set eyes on you, you had captivated him. In the days leading up to your arrival, Hyunjin had fully prepared himself for all the worst possible outcomes – outright rejection, sullen dismissal, cold hatred – and he would have deserved all of it. Instead, you’d shown up all eager and smiley, beaming up at him with such curiosity and warmth shining through in your eyes.

He fell hard, and he fell fast.

When he had held you to him last night, you looking absolutely gorgeous in the dimmed lighting as you shyly settled into his arms, it had taken everything he had to not just throw you onto the bed behind you and show you just how deeply he cared for you. But – he wanted to make sure that you knew that his feelings weren’t just founded purely off physical attraction or mere lust.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to relax, Hyunjin looked around him, taking in the ancient castle shrine where the wedding would be taking place. While all the royal weddings in recent memory had taken place in the grand hall, with hundreds of distinguished guests from dozens of realms, the rushed, pressing nature of this ceremony meant it needed to be much smaller and private.

Honestly, Hyunjin didn’t mind the change. There was something poetic and romantic about the two of you saying your vows at the same altar that his ancestors had for centuries, before pomp and ostentatiousness had forced a change – in this hallowed, sacred space that had borne the footsteps and heard the prayers of hundreds, thousands of people before him. He hoped that, being in such a holy space, his own prayers would be answered too.

Hyunjin didn’t know how he managed to get so lucky, but he’d found someone who didn’t want to just be his queen in name; he’d found someone who wanted to be his true partner, his soulmate. So, taking a moment for himself, he closed his eyes and softly, fervently whispered a prayer to the gods above, that he would be a lover, a husband worthy of you.

Well, Seungmin had always said that Hyunjin was too sentimental for his own good.

Before Hyunjin’s thoughts could go around in circles for much longer, he heard bustling from the entryway outside the shrine. The heavy, decorated doors were slowly pushed open, and Jeongin strode in, announcing, “Her Highness, the Princess…” The sound of his voice faded away into nothingness, however, as Hyunjin set eyes on you – his beautiful bride.

If you had thought Hyunjin was gorgeous before, he now looked ethereal. He had left his hair down to frame his face, giving him a more elegant look, while his head was crowned with a simple gold circlet. He was wearing an opulent red velvet doublet, cut to emphasize his narrow waist and wider shoulders and trimmed with gold accents that complemented your own dress, while tight fitting leather pants left almost nothing about his toned legs to the imagination.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, and it seemed like he was in the same boat as you. From the moment you’d set foot into the shrine, demurely smiling on Minho’s arm, Hyunjin’s gaze had been rivetted to you, his mouth lightly slack as he watched you sedately walk down the aisle, glowing in the soft light of the sconces.

A few paces before the altar, Minho gave your hand a warm squeeze before disentangling his fingers from yours, giving Hyunjin a nod before heading to his place by Seungmin. You finished the rest of the walk on your own before finally reaching Hyunjin at the altar, extending your hand to him yourself. While you heard some murmuring behind you, you wanted to get the point across – you were giving yourself in marriage to him. At the rather unorthodox move, Hyunjin let out a quiet, mirthful laugh, his eyes folding up into twinkling crescents, before taking your outstretched hand in his and bringing you to his side.

“You look absolutely beautiful, my lady,” Hyunjin whispered into your ear. A soft tingling ran down your spine as he placed his other hand on your lower back, guiding the two of you to kneel side-by-side in front of the priest.

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, you leaned in closer to Hyunjin, keeping your voice soft so only the two of you could hear. “My lord, about Minho…I can’t thank you enough for-”

Hyunjin cut you off with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t,” he shook his head as subtly as he could, casting a sidelong glance at you with a soft smile. “I just wanted you to have someone you loved here with you on your wedding day.”

You were prevented from verbally responding by the priest, loudly announcing the beginning of the official wedding rites, so you contented yourself with squeezing Hyunjin’s hand back, watching happily as a shy smile flitted across his face in response.

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur; the warmth of Hyunjin’s side pressed against you and the feeling of his fingers entwined with you overpowered any conscious thoughts you could have. Above you, the priest intoned the ancient words binding Hyunjin and you together, uniting your very souls as one – as husband and wife, king and queen.

Once the formalities came to an end, the two of you headed the procession to the banquet hall, where a lavish feast had been prepared in honor of the royal newlyweds. As you took your seat officially at his left side, a sense of rightness immediately settled into your bones.

Your maids were gathered at the edge of the dais, waiting to attend on you if you needed them. When your eyes met those of your head maid, she arched an eyebrow at you, pointing between you and your husband and giving you a double thumbs up of approval before dissolving into laughter.

Your young pages were off to the side of the hall, laughing over something with Chan and your husband’s trio of friends. While he was doing his best to be sneaky about it, you could see Chan casting lingering glances at another one of your maids, a gorgeous girl with long, fiery orange hair. You barely managed to keep a smirk off your face, delighted to finally have some dirt on your too-smug-for-his-own-good bodyguard. Meanwhile, Jisung especially seemed to have gotten into his cups a bit already, sending you a saucy wink when he saw you glancing their way.

Quietly giggling to yourself, you finally let your eyes drift over to your handsome new husband; as he was engrossed in a conversation with Minho on his right, you were able to admire his side profile, rendered almost angelic in the setting sunlight. He threw his head back in a joyful laugh, probably at some dry joke of your brother’s, and you realized, to your surprise, that this was the first time you’d ever seen Hyunjin laughing so brightly. His laugh took over his whole face, his eyes turning into crescents and dimples appearing in full force.

Your staring was so blatant at this point that Hyunjin couldn’t help but pick up on it, turning to you with a smile and quirked eyebrow. “Do I have something on my face, dearest wife?” He leaned his head onto his hand, teasing you with a twinkle in his eye. Now that you were seeing him so casual and relaxed for the first time, his beauty absolutely took your breath away.

“Not at all, my lord,” you beamed up at him, deciding to own up to what you were actually doing. “I was just thinking about how this is the happiest I’ve seen you so far…and how you look especially h-handsome,” you successfully bit the word out despite the amused smirk on Hyunjin’s face.

“I was also thinking, my lord, that… I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time too,” looking steadily up into his eyes so he could sense your sincerity.

“It feels so right to be here with you, at your side.”

Hyunjin was clearly taken aback by your words, surprised by your honesty. But he recovered quickly, the broadest, most genuine smile yet creeping across his face as he gazed down at you. Picking your hand up from the table, he tightly interlaced your fingers with his, bringing your hand to his lips for a slow kiss: a very public display of affection that had the onlookers tittering in delight.

“You won’t believe how thankful I am, how lucky I know I am to have you as my wife, my lady.”

As the two of you lost yourselves in each other’s eyes, soft smiles on your faces, it seemed to everyone around you that the clouds, the shadows hanging over their kingdom, were finally starting to scatter.

A few hours later however, as your maids prepared you for your marital bed, you’d lost your smile. Unwanted fear and anxiety started creeping back into you at the reality of the consummation taking place tonight. While your mother had gladly left most of her maternal responsibilities to your nanny and the maids, she’d still found it her duty to give you “the talk” before you left home. Of course, you knew the mechanics of what the act entailed, and, in your own innocent explorations of your body, you’d found certain places and spots that, if touched right, sent shivers running all through you.

However, your mother, in her characteristic cold and detached manner, had set you straight quickly. Sexual relations were for the man’s pleasure, and for his only – a woman who enjoyed such activities was loose and immoral. Your first time would be bloody and painful, and her advice for subsequent sessions was just to “lie back and think of your nation” – and the faster you fulfilled your responsibility of being a broodmare, the more quickly you could leave such activities to the king’s mistresses instead.

From everything you had seen of him so far, you had no reason to expect that Hyunjin would do anything to hurt or misuse you. Even though you’d only known him for a day at this point, you were confident that you could trust him to treat you well, and Chan’s teasing certainly seemed to suggest that you had nothing to fear from any of this. At the same time though, they were men – wouldn’t your mother know better about what it would be like for you?

Panicked, anxious thoughts started swirling through your head, and as your maids guided you to the royal suite, giggling at your side, you felt the warm giddiness from earlier recede, replaced by nauseating worry.

Your thoughts continued going around in circles, long after you were seated on the vast bed, alone after the maids shut you into the cavernous chamber. While the opulence and décor might have engaged you at another time, now they just added to your nervousness, emphasizing what exactly would be taking place in this room tonight. After what seemed like an endless wait, you finally heard a soft knock at the door – your husband had arrived.

Ever since you had shyly excused yourself from the banquet, Hyunjin had been not-so-patiently waiting for enough time to pass for him to escape into your arms. The rest of his circle, which had apparently readily welcomed Chan, had come up to the head table to join him and Minho. While Hyunjin had thoroughly enjoyed the banter and camaraderie for the first hour or so, he soon started to get impatient, restlessly drumming his fingers on the table, his thoughts fixated on you, his beautiful bride, waiting for him upstairs.

As always, Seungmin was the first to notice Hyunjin’s inattentiveness, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smile on his face. “Gentlemen, gentlemen - it seems like His Majesty isn’t fully satisfied by our company tonight,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow at Hyunjin. The ensuing snickering snapped Hyunjin out of his trance, leading him to flush and narrow his eyes at Seungmin. Before he could respond with a sufficiently sharp comment of his own, Hyunjin heard Minho sigh heavily on his right.

“This is incredibly awkward, especially for me of all people, so I’m only going to say this once.” Minho glanced up at Hyunjin with an arch look. “I think we all know where you actually want to be right now, so just put yourself out of your misery and go.”

Hyunjin didn’t need to be told twice. Rising to his feet with as much tattered dignity as he could still muster up, he swiftly said his goodbyes to his amused friends and escaped the hall, briskly walking back to his chambers. He stopped outside for a brief second, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He knocked softly on the door, trying not to startle you, and slowly entered the room.

From the moment Hyunjin had first set eyes on you, he’d thought you were beautiful. Now, however, with you arrayed in a sheer white robe and what didn’t seem like much underneath, your hair loosely tumbling over your shoulders and gleaming in the soft moonlight, he realized that you were so much more than could be summed up by one measly word. You were his queen, his goddess, and all he wanted to do was worship you and pleasure you as you deserved.

However, as he came closer, Hyunjin quickly realized that something was wrong. You were perched rigidly at the very edge of the bed, with your hands clasped tightly in your palms. He mentally cursed himself for thirsting over your appearance, as he could now tell that you were uncomfortable with how revealing your clothes were; you’d clearly tugged the robe around you to try and cover as much skin as possible. Even as he stopped, right in front of you, you kept your gaze on your lap, refusing to look up at him at all – something Hyunjin already knew was incredibly uncharacteristic of you.

Hyunjin cautiously came up to the bed, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you as he sat down.

“My lord,” you addressed him quietly. “I hope you enjoyed the rest of the feast.” Your eyes remained downcast, not meeting his own.

Hyunjin’s heart dropped as he realized that this is the only conversation the two of you have had where you hadn’t been looking straight at him, your eyes and expressions openly displaying your thoughts and emotions for him. Your body language was radically different from just a few hours ago; you were worried and scared and displeased – because of him and what the night ahead held.

How could he show you that you had absolutely nothing to fear from him? That he would give you the moon itself if it meant you would welcome him into your heart?

Making sure to not startle you with his movements, Hyunjin gracefully dropped to the ground in front of you, going down on one knee. Looking up into your surprised face, he extended his hand to you, giving you the freedom to take it or leave it as you please.

With confusion swirling in your eyes, you slowly lifted your hand from where it was tightly clasped in your lap and placed it into your husband’s waiting hand. As always, he tenderly lifted it to his lips, greeting you with the soft kiss that you had come to crave. This time however, he didn’t let go of it afterwards.

“I just have something to say, and then we will both decide where things can go from there, okay?” He slid his other hand on top of yours, wrapping your hand up, mirroring your own actions of the previous night.

“Nothing has to happen tonight, love. If you want me to sleep elsewhere until you’re comfortable, I will do that. If you just want to lay in bed together and talk to each other, we can do that. And if you do want to, uh, engage in more intimate activities…” his ears flared red yet again; you found his awkwardness refreshingly adorable – and comforting. “We can certainly do that too.”

He lifted a gentle hand to your face, brushing an unruly lock of hair behind your ear before trailing his fingers down to softly cup your chin. “But the most important thing is – we are not going to do anything that you don’t want to do, okay? Just let me know how you’re doing and what you’re feeling, and we’ll go from there.” He finished with an encouraging smile, his gaze so open and warm that you couldn’t help but trust him with your true thoughts.

“There – to be fully honest, my lord, there is a pretty big part of me that…wants to go further and…get more intimate with you.” You tried to drop your eyes to your lap, feeling slightly embarrassed, but Hyunjin’s hand was still there under your chin, gently tilting your head back up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. Heat followed his fingertips as they tenderly caressed your jaw, only giving you more proof that giving yourself to him would be a pleasurable experience. But…

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to say what you needed to say. “My mother told me that our first night – and honestly, every time after as well – would just be humiliating and painful for me; that it is my duty to bear it quietly as a wife; and that it would be wanton and immoral of me to get any pleasure from it.”

As you were speaking, Hyunjin’s thumb had continued steadily rubbing slow circles into the back of your hand, but his face had stiffened, mouth hardening and eyebrows furrowing.

“I mean, it doesn’t seem like she’s completely right, from what I’ve heard about it from other people – and from everything I’ve felt when I’m around you…” your breath hitched as Hyunjin’s head snapped up, eyes darkening just the littlest bit at your admission.

“But I’m not sure. I know I’ve just been sitting here and psyching myself out about it, but I just feel really nervous…and a little scared.” You looked down at your lap in shame, disappointed in yourself for not being able to just put up a brave front, for having to admit to your weakness in front of your new husband.

However, Hyunjin didn’t pull away.

“Is it…is it okay if I come closer?” You quickly nodded, and Hyunjin came up to come sit next to you on the bed. Slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull away or refuse, he slid his arm around your waist, allowing you to lean in against his chest – which, after a moment’s hesitation, you willingly, gratefully did. You buried your head into his chest as he calmly, patiently held you, rubbing his hand soothingly over your back.

“Angel…” At the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, you pulled back to find him gazing down at you, concern and affection shining in his eyes. “It’s okay. Everything that you’re feeling – it’s totally, completely okay.”

“Unfortunately, your mother wasn’t not wrong. If I were selfish, if I were to just chase my own satisfaction – it’s true that your first time would probably be painful and unpleasant. But…” he took your hands in his, turning you to face him directly.

“Tonight wouldn’t be about my pleasure. Tonight would be about you and what you want. If you would like – and if you trust me to do so…” Hyunjin’s eyes burned into yours with such passion that you could feel your heart starting to beat faster and faster.

“I can show you what it’s like when a man makes love to his woman – but only when you’re ready.”

He gave you a second to gather your thoughts, waiting patiently while never once changing the pace of his hand on your back.

But – as you looked back up at him – at your beautiful, soft-hearted, passionate husband, who you could already tell cherished you deeply, who looked at you as if his whole world was in front of his eyes – you knew that the answer was obvious.

“I – I want you. I want you to.”

“Gladly,” Hyunjin murmured, his fingers slowly sliding up to caress your cheek, the heat in his gaze making your heart nearly pound out of your chest. “My love.”

You felt his breath softly tickling your face and then – your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his soft lips on yours: nibbling, sucking, teasing, tongue darting out to taste you. Your hands slid up his arms to his shoulders before lacing around his neck, pulling him down more firmly into the kiss. Hyunjin groaned against your mouth, slipping his hand from your cheek to your neck – the gentle pressure sending unexpected waves of heat down your body – and coaxing your lips open under his.

His fingers danced across your shoulder, creeping along the lace edge of your robe. Giving your lips one final nip, Hyunjin hotly whispered into your ear. “Can this come off, angel?”

A little too embarrassed to look him in the eye, you shyly nodded your assent, twisting your fingers nervously through the hair at the nape of his neck. At the feeling of his fingers under your chin, however, you stopped fidgeting.

Hyunjin tilted your head up to meet his eyes, their lusty haze now pierced through with seriousness. “For the rest of the night, love, when I ask you if something I’m doing is okay, I want you to look at me in the eyes and tell me with your words, okay?” He pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to your cheek. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I accidentally pushed you too far or hurt you.”

“Yes, I-I understand.” You sat up straight in his arms before slipping out of his grasp, trying to command confidence as you stood in front of him. Reaching out for his hands, you brought them to the tie of your robe.

“You can take it off.” Giving your hands a soft squeeze, Hyunjin smoothly tugged you closer, placing you in the space between his legs before bending his head to work at the knot. You couldn’t resist threading your fingers through his luxurious hair, finally getting the opportunity to feel its silkiness yourself.

With an affectionate laugh, Hyunjin glanced up at you, almost done with his struggles with the tie.

“You really like my hair, don’t you?”

You nodded with a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah…I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you.”

“Well,” he chuckled, giving you a casual, flirtatious wink before going back to his task, “In that case, I give you permission to do whatever you like with it, whenever you’d like.”

“Aha!” Hyunjin had finally managed to undo the knot, now holding the robe together with just his hands. Looking up at you one last time for approval, he gently pushed the silky material off your shoulders.

As it pooled at your feet, you couldn’t help but flush as Hyunjin slowly took you in, the ardor reflected in his eyes growing stronger by the second. The chemise you were now left in was a sheer, skimpy, almost see-through little thing, probably revealing more than it actually hid.

Your initial embarrassment, however, slowly started giving way to boldness - the hunger, the fascination in Hyunjin’s eyes making you feel more powerful than anything.

It was you who made this man – your husband, your King – look so desperate with lust.

“Am I to your satisfaction, my lord?” you coyly asked, stepping even closer to him.

“Obviously, you are.” His voice sounded strained, like he was determinedly holding himself back. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Before you could respond, Hyunjin tugged you into his lap, somehow still having the presence of mind to do so loosely, giving you the ability to pull away if you wanted. Of course, there was no way you were backing off at this point, and when Hyunjin crashed his lips back onto yours, you responded with everything you had in kind.

You did your best to follow Hyunjin’s lead – of where to tongue, of where to nip – but you were slowly getting lost to the sensations yourself. To retain some grip on reality as his kisses became deeper and hungrier, your hands automatically sought out his hair again, fisting at the sleek locks.

Acting purely on impulse, losing yourself to the feeling of him ravaging your mouth and the sensations he was creating in your body, you none-too-gently tugged at his hair.

You expected Hyunjin to yelp in pain, to pull back in shock – you did not expect him to let out a passionate moan.

Suddenly, everything changed. One toned arm coiled around your waist, dragging you firmly up his legs, while the other slid up around your back, fingers tangling into your hair.

As you broke the kiss to let out a soft, drawn-out moan, Hyunjin seized the opportunity to draw your head back, exposing the soft column of your throat to his hungry gaze. His lips swept down from the outline of your jaw, leaving tender love bites over every inch of exposed skin on your neck, your shoulders, your chest.

All of your concerns, your anxieties – everything was forgotten at the feeling of his hot, wet mouth on your body, at the sensation of his lean, muscled legs underneath you. As your blood grew hotter and hotter at his ministrations, your hips instinctively started undulating against his, grinding down in desperate attempts to find…something, anything to satisfy the ache slowly awakening in your core.

When your hips caught and rubbed up against a hard ridge, drawing a low, dark moan past Hyunjin’s lips, you knew you’d found your prize.

Before you could take advantage of it, however, Hyunjin pulled away, wrenching a petulant, sulky whine out of you. Hyunjin softly chuckled, clearly amused – and turned on – by just how much you wanted him.

“Patience, angel,” he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead as he gathered you in his arms, laying you down on the pillows before covering your body with his, drowning you in heat and sensation. “We have all the time in the world to get to that – so let me have my fun first.”

Lifting himself up onto his forearms, his hands delicately cupped your face before he kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, weighted with the promise of what he would be doing to you next.

“Can I keep going, love? It’s perfectly, totally fine if the answer is no.”

The huskiness of his voice, the feeling of his lips on your body – you couldn’t get enough already, and you certainly weren’t about to stop him.

“Yes, please.”

Smiling at your eagerness, Hyunjin gave you one final kiss before rolling to his side, freeing up one arm to begin a slow descent down your body. Caressing your ruined, marked-up throat, he ran his fingers over the dangerously thin fabric of your chemise down your collarbones to the swell of your breasts. Cupping and palming your left breast in his large hand, he teased your nipple with his thumb, lips quirking into a satisfied smile at your sharp intake of breath. Watching as it pebbled under his continued attentions, Hyunjin leaned up to nibble at your earlobe. “You like that?”

You managed to squeak out an affirmatory “Yes, my lord,” but, to your surprise – and disappointment – Hyunjin’s fingers stilled from their movements.

He gave you a stern glance. “When I’m pleasuring you, sweetheart, I want you to say my name, not my title.”

“But – that’s not proper, I shouldn–”

“I don’t care about propriety,” Hyunjin cut you off heatedly, his gaze burning into you. “You’re my wife, my other half – my lover. I want to hear my name on your lips.” You were still a little hesitant, so Hyunjin went in for the kill.

“I’m not touching you again until you say it.”

And there was no way you could have that.

“H-Hyunjin, please – keep going.”

“Good girl.”

You gasped as Hyunjin suddenly dipped his head down to your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth with a violent suck.

Through the sheerness of your chemise, you could feel everything – the lush, wet heat of his tongue, the devastating pressure of his mouth. You almost didn’t even register the movement of his hand to your other breast, roughly working it while his mouth paid court to the other.

He hadn’t even taken your clothes off completely, but you could already tell that you were losing yourself to the pleasure Hyunjin was giving you. You leaned into the hand still cupping your face, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of his thumb slowly stroking your cheek, but it seemed like nothing could stop the wetness pooling between your thighs.

You completely gave up hope when he started dancing his fingertips from your chest to the softness of your belly, moving lower and lower until he reached your thighs, fingering the hem of your chemise.

“May I take this off, love?”

The level of care, the level of consideration he was showing you – continually checking in with you, even while the two of you were drowning in lust – proved to you that you had nothing to be worried about – and you were going to tell him so.

“Yes, Hyunjin – and also,” you reached up to smooth your hand over his head, affection blazing in your heart. “You don’t have to keep asking me anymore.”

“Make me yours, Hyunjin – I need you.”

Hyunjin just stared at you for a second, emotions swirling in his beautiful brown eyes, before he crashed his lips into yours for a searing, toe-curling kiss.

His hands slipped under the edge of your chemise, fingers pushing apart and dragging along your sensitive inner thighs, sending pleasurable tingles up and down your legs. When his fingertips finally found their prize at the top of your thighs, Hyunjin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Angel…” he groaned out, gently running a single fingertip up and down your leaking slit. “How are you already so wet for me, hmm?” You mewled in sensitivity as his finger oh so lightly brushed your clit, his eyes darkening in response.

“I need to see all of you, my love, right now. Can you get up for me?” Hyunjin pulled you up as if you weighed nothing and tore your chemise off you in one go, leaving you fully bare for his hungry eyes. As you fell back to the mattress, Hyunjin sat back on his heels, pink tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips as he looked his fill of you. The fact that he was still fully clothed, looking every inch a king in his finery, while you lay wantonly naked in front of him, like a freshly unwrapped treat for him to devour, excited you in a strange, almost perverse way.

He leaned over you once again, breath ghosting over your face as he intently searched your eyes. Finding nothing but excitement and love there – no hints of fear or anxiety – he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Now, let me worship you like you deserve – my queen.”

His lips burned a path down your body, adding to the existing artwork of love bites and leaving dozens of open-mouthed kisses in his wake. You were losing all sense of yourself to the heady desire…your world, your senses, everything was reduced to Hyunjin and the feeling of his hands and mouth on you.

Sucking one last hickey into the soft flesh below your belly button, Hyunjin eagerly settled himself between your legs. Almost immediately, you felt a single fingertip circling your entrance – the place you were craving him the most – before carefully, slowly pushing in.

Your head fell back against the pillows as you let out a keening moan. His finger wasn’t enough – it wasn’t even close to enough. But the pressure, the stretch that his finger provided, at least took the edge off the desperate ache in your core – for now.

At the feeling of your slick, wet walls sucking him in, Hyunjin looked like he was desperately struggling to hold himself in check, muttering obscenities under his breath. “You’re so fucking tight, love – what am I supposed to do with you, huh?”

The dirty words turned you on even more. As he slowly began to work his finger in and out of you, you mewled at the new sensations, moaning Hyunjin’s name with every twist and thrust of his finger.

You gasped when he added another finger to the mix, now fucking into you with both his index and middle fingers. While the first had gone in smoothly, the second met with a bit of discomfort – but nothing that could outlast the pleasure that you felt from his actions.

Once he could tell that you’d relaxed, Hyunjin started to slowly scissor his fingers, stretching your walls and increasing the delicious pressure inside your tight cunt. As you moaned in pleasure, uncaring now of the volume of your cries, Hyunjin leaned up over you to huskily whisper in your ear. “So tight, my angel, you feel so good around my fingers. I’ll have to take my time working this sweet pussy open for my cock.”

Your involuntary clench at his dirty words didn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, you like it when I say naughty things to you?” He arched an eyebrow at you, looking like some ancient god of lust as he continued pleasuring you. “Hmm, I think you’ll like it more if I use my mouth for other purposes though…”

Lowering his head between your legs, he flattened his tongue against your cunt in a single, broad, devastating lick.

You let out such a loud moan that you immediately slapped your hands over your mouth, ashamed of your wantonness. At the sound of a chuckle however, you looked down to find Hyunjin gazing up at you with dark amusement, a sight that only served to inflame you even more.

“Be loud for me, love. Let everyone know how well I’m giving it to you, hmm?”

He immediately went back to tonguing your clit, alternating between teasing flicks and devastating sucks as he steadily kept fucking his fingers into you. By the time he added in a third finger, you had lost it completely – forget the guards outside, you wouldn’t be surprised if the people still feasting downstairs could hear the echoes of your pleasure.

The desperate ache was only getting worse and worse. The pressure was growing and building and blocking out everything that wasn’t Hyunjin: that wasn’t his fingers; his tongue; his midnight eyes, holding your gaze as he fucked you into oblivion; or his naughty whispers, tormenting you and turning your insides into jelly.

You felt yourself hurtling towards some unknown peak, some unknown pinnacle of pleasure. At your broken whimpering and pleading, Hyunjin could tell you were close.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Let go for me, will you? Let go.”

And go you did – with the heat of his command ringing in your ears and the curl of his fingers inside of you, you fell over the edge.

Your hips bucked wildly as you moaned, so lost in sensation that you didn’t see Hyunjin staring down at you in wonder, watching you as if you were the most beautiful, wild thing alive. He tenderly helped you ride your orgasm out, pulling his fingers out before you became too sensitive.

Feeling absolutely boneless, pleasant aftershocks still tingling through you, you collapsed into Hyunjin’s arms, curling into his side and burying your head into his neck. After an initial, surprised moment of hesitation, Hyunjin wrapped his arms back around you, running his fingertips up and down your spine and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you came down from your peak.

“My good, good girl, you did so well for me, angel.”

Once you had caught your breath, you reached up to hold Hyunjin’s face in your hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. As the two of you deepened the kiss, you caught a faint taste of what you thought must be your own musk, a realization that started to slowly stoke the fire in you again.

Pulling away from your lips with a final peck, Hyunjin looked down at you, studying you with a fond but serious expression on his face. “That was probably a lot for you to experience for the first time – and I got too carried away to go easy on you, I’m sorry.” He winced as he delicately ran his fingertips over your marred neck and chest. “We don’t have to do anything else toni-”

You cut him off before the words were even fully out of his mouth. “No, no, Hyunjin – I want more. I want to become yours – in every sense of the word.” You grabbed his hands, entwining your fingers with his. “I – I want to explore your body too, and I want to give you the same pleasure you just brought me.”

Flushed beyond belief at this point, but still feeling a little bold, you shyly reached up to nose at his neck, laving your tongue over his pulse point just as he had done to you. You were rewarded with the image of him letting a breathy moan spill past his plump, kiss-swollen lips – only the first of many yet to come, you promised yourself.

You’d clearly pushed the right buttons, you thought as Hyunjin looked down at you, eyes half-hooded with the stirrings of lust. But something was still holding him back.

Stiffening in a way that he hadn’t since your first meeting, Hyunjin uncomfortably cleared his throat. “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but, do you – uh, do you drink some type of moon tea?”

Moon tea? You were utterly confused why Hyunjin was asking you this, especially now of all times.

“Um, yes, I do – I drink it every month to keep my…courses regular. Why…” you trailed off; even if you had literally released on the man’s tongue a few minutes ago, it still felt slightly awkward to be talking about this with him.

“Did you drink it last month?”

“Oh…” you finally understood where he was going with this. “I did, yes – so I guess there’s no chance of me getting pregnant from tonight…I’m so sorry, I didn’t kn-”

“Good! Don’t be sorry, love – it’s a good thing.”

What? You looked on, confused, as Hyunjin leaned back onto the pillows, a relieved expression on his face.

“The way I see it, at this point in our…relationship,” he glanced over at you, a hopeful look on his face, “I thought that our focus should be to just truly get to know one another…before we bring something as serious as children into the picture.”

“And…to be fully honest,” he propped himself on his side, running the backs of his fingertips down your cheek as he loomed over you. “I want you just for myself for a while.”

Your heart was full, almost to the point of overflowing. One of the things you’d been most worried about before meeting him was that Hyunjin needed you just to ensure the succession, to give him an heir as soon as possible. But now here he was – wanting you clearly, first and foremost for you, rather than what you could provide him with.

You loved him.

You loved him, and you ached to show him just how much.

But first – there was a question that had been niggling at the back of your mind the entire time.

“H-Hyunjin…” he beamed, happy to hear his name on your lips, eyes crinkling into those crescents you’d already grown to love so much.

“Yes, my love?”

“The moon tea…everything you did to please me…how do you know so much about all of these things?”

His relaxed smile quickly turned shy, laced with embarrassment. “When I turned 18, my father thought that I needed to get some experience to ‘become a man.’” His use of air quotes, coupled with what you were learning was a characteristically dramatic expression of annoyance, made you giggle.

“So, he packed me off to visit the royal courtesans for a few weeks. I felt pretty awkward, especially in the beginning…but the ladies taught me a lot about a woman’s desires and how a man can pleasure her, so I don’t think I really regret it. If it hadn’t been for that, I’m not sure if tonight would have been enjoyable for you…”

He trailed off, shrugging sheepishly. “Of course, I haven’t had any experience in the years since then, so, I’m probably not at the top of my game.”

“Why haven’t you?” As you studied the man lying next to you, rendered sinfully, angelically gorgeous in the moonlight, you knew it wasn’t for the lack of opportunity – Hyunjin had probably had girls throwing themselves at him since he hit puberty.

He flushed to the tips of his ears, but matched your gaze, his eyes open and vulnerable. “I guess I…knowing that we were betrothed, it just didn’t feel right to get attached to anyone else.”

You couldn’t stop the smile from overtaking your face. It seemed Hyunjin might be a bit of a hopeless romantic too – just like you.

“I felt the same way about it,” you admitted. “Minho always thought I was a fool for it, but I’d hoped that… one day, we’d meet and I’d fall in love with you and you’d fall in love with me and then we’d get married…”

You let out a soft laugh. Taking his hands into yours, you looked steadily up into his eyes. “Maybe the way we went about it wasn’t exactly what I expected…but I don’t think we’re too far off track?”

“No…” Hyunjin leaned back over you, surrounding you with his warmth and scent as his eyes wandered over your face, taking in each and every inch, before his eyes finally settled on yours. “No…I don’t think we are.”

And with that, he swooped in for such a soft, such a gentle kiss that you thought you might melt in his arms. You almost thought that this would be enough; that you would be satisfied if you could just kiss him like this for the rest of the night – for the rest of your life.

But as Hyunjin gave himself fully into the kiss, he dropped his weight onto you, bearing into you with such delicious pressure that – you needed more.

Thus, to Hyunjin’s utter surprise, you gathered up enough strength to heave him off you, sitting up before turning to your astonished husband.

“Anyways, I think we’ve done enough talking for the night. There’s something really important that we need to take care of, right now.”

“Oh?” Hyunjin quirked a cocky eyebrow at you, relaxing and leaning back against the headboard with a naughty grin on his face as he leisurely watched you clamber onto his lap. “And what might that be?”

You slowly, lightly dragged your nails up his clothed torso, mentally noting his sharp intake of breath as you grazed his abs. Running your fingers up to his neck, you hooked them into the buttons of his doublet before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“My dear husband – you’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw​ @commonintrest​ @emmojoy​ @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​​

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever  since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones. 

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant.  “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

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[pagingdoctorbedlam]

Ready for zombies, Zoro, and some hurt/comfort? Then take a swig of this potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event! (But please read the warnings first!)

Characters: Zoro x Reader; appearance by Bartholomew Kuma

Genre: Zombie/Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort (a bit light on the comfort though, woops)

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, blood, light gore, mentions of cannibalism, undead bodies

Inspiration: The concept for zombies in this fic is inspired by the novel Breathers by S.G. Browne (at least, what I remember from having read it over 10 years ago...)

Word Count: ~3.1k words

...

"Hold still, we're almost..." You apply the last bit of blush before appraising your handiwork. Not bad, if you said so yourself. At a glance, Zoro doesn't even look dead. "There. Want a mirror to see?"

"I trust you not to doll me up too bad." Roronoa Zoro yawns, even though the legendary zombie hunter no longer needs to sleep, having recently been turned into a zombie himself. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not in and of itself a death sentence. Most zombies act as they did in life, even if their bodies no longer recover the way a living human's does. The danger comes from the zombies who try to stop this decay by feasting on human brains...and sometimes more dangerous are the humans who've decided that every zombie is a ticking time bomb regardless of said zombie's intentions. 

At least Zoro had never been that way, but now he's got to hide from the hunters who once considered him a legend. Sure, it wouldn't be hard for him to fight off hunters, even if you've had to stitch each limb back on at least twice (and you're still not sure where one of his eyes ended up). But you'd rather your newfound partner in protecting innocent zombies not cause a scene simply by walking through the market.

"Remember, don't rub your face. This makeup cost me a fortune. And try to fake breathing this time, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it." He manages to take a breath that's believable but isn't so deep that it rattles the loose bones and organs in his slowly decaying chest.

Both of you get to your feet and finish the rest of your preparations for the outside world. Your clothing hides as much skin as possible, even with the warm temperatures outside. You spray Zoro down with cheap cologne so he smells less like roadkill and more like a teenager trying to cover up a bad case of B.O. And you slip on filtration masks in a vain attempt to avoid the ever-present smoke and dust beyond your walls.

No one's sure if the zombies came about because of the bombs, or if the bombs were secretly launched because the powers-that-be learned about the first nascent zombies and failed with their pre-emptive strike. But now much of the world is a wasteland, and bargaining for resources is bad enough without half the population lobbing accusations of cannibalism at the other half. You can't hold off this trip any longer, because you've ended up looking after a number of innocent zombies, and they need medical supplies before they fall apart any further.

You shoo Zoro away from the driver's spot on your motorbike. "Nuh uh buddy, we aren't getting lost today." You've heard a new band of hunters is coming to town, and the last thing you want is to run into them before you have a chance to secure your supplies.

"I don't get lost! They just keep changing where the market is." Zoro still reluctantly waits for you to take your place at the front before he sits behind you and firmly snakes his arms around your waist. You pretend you can feel his pulse when he holds you, even though you know the heart in his chest has long stopped beating.

Markets are supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone needs resources to survive after all, and one of the few things that bombs and zombie outbreaks couldn't kill is commerce. Stalls line the aisles of what was once a grocery store, faded advertisements promoting foods that no one's seen in years, and someone has fixed the speaker system to play the same old pop hits in a vain attempt at normalcy.

You hold tight to Zoro's hand, both to keep him from getting lost and so he stays close in case of danger. He obliges, and even holds bags for you as you pull him around. You might've called this romantic in the times before, back when your purchases would've been far more frivolous than bandages and shelf-stable rations, but you're unsure how close you and Zoro would've been without being thrown together by circumstance.

You pause by one stall, eyes wide. Zoro doesn't notice and keeps walking until he notices that you won't budge. He raises an eyebrow when he finally joins you. "What, some kinda' plastic plant?"

"Not plastic. It's real." You forgive him the mistake though, as the plant has sturdy, waxy leaves that almost look sculpted. It feels like so long since you've seen anything green (aside from Zoro's hair), much less an actual plant. But you note the name scribbled in tape on its battered plastic pot. It's nothing useful, not medicinal or edible in the slightest. Just a begonia that hasn't even bloomed yet.

The shopkeeper asks, "Gonna gawk, or you gonna' buy?"

You know you can't afford a plant, what with how rare they are. You might be able to bargain and beg if it were something more useful, but...

"We'll buy." Zoro slams something down on the table. "This'll be enough?"

You catch the glint of gold peeking from between his fingers. Jewelry isn't useful anymore, but human greed has a hard time giving up old habits. The shopkeeper smiles wide and practically shoves the begonia at you with one hand while snatching up Zoro's earring with the other. You thank him and depart the stall without another word, clutching the flower close to your chest.

"What was that about?" You hiss at Zoro.

"Looked like you wanted it," he says with a shrug. You squint up at his remaining earrings, only to realize that in his haste to remove the one he traded away, he tore the hole in his ear a little in the process. Probably didn't even notice that he'd done so, the stubborn fool...

Well, what's done is done. "Thank you. I'll make sure to take excellent care of it."

"Don't mention it." Which you know is Zoro-speak for "you're welcome". So you smile back at him without saying anything more on the subject, and continue the rest of your trek through the market.

You make the mistake of thinking this is a surprisingly nice day. But you don't realize that someone has noticed how Zoro isn't bleeding.

When Zoro pulls out one sword and tightens his grip around your midsection, you don't have to ask why. You're being followed.

You absently wonder what gave you away. Never removing your masks? A smudge in Zoro's makeup that revealed the deathly pallor underneath? It doesn't really matter, you think. Whoever is after you will chase you down until they can swing their weapons and play at being heroes, so all you can do is fight on your own terms. You avoid going home and swerve the bike toward the burned-out husk of an abandoned store that not even the most desperate zombies would hide in.

You glance at the tilted rearview mirror on your bike. The figures chasing you are hulking brutes, but nothing compared to their ringleader. He's built like a brick house with legs, and his imposing figure is thrown off by the pristine white hat topped with small bear ears. Instead of a holstered weapon, he has a bible strapped to his side. You've heard of this man. Judging by the look in Zoro's eyes, he does too. One of the most notorious zombie hunters in the country: Bartholomew Kuma.

What is he doing here, of all places?

Zoro says, "Soon as we touch down, hide. It's me they want."

"I can't just leave you. You know who that is back there?"

"Doesn't matter. I already died once. They can't do worse than that to me. But they could still hurt you plenty. 'Specially if you came back before they were done with you." In the rearview mirror, Zoro's eyes are sharp and cold as his blades.

You know how to handle a weapon in self-defense, but you're nowhere near the master that Zoro is. And he has a point. You're still human, you can bleed, you can hurt. And that might chew Zoro up worse than anything Kuma and crew could throw at him. You resign yourself to your fate and think of where in that burnt-out building you might be able to hide, preferably while still keeping an ear out for danger.

You speed on, trying to shake your pursuers, but soon the road runs out. The bones of burnt buildings jut out before you like oversized tombstones. You remember scouting here before, trying to usher out displaced zombies before the remnants of the building could collapse on them. Much of the ruins have fallen since you were last here, but there's still a concrete bunker that was once a stockroom, and it's mostly intact. You can lay low there until the fighting's over. 

You relay this plan to Zoro, and you tell him, "I'll be safe there, don't worry about me. Once the fighting's done, I'll come back down and patch you up. So don't die on me again, alright?"

Zoro nods, even though he surely knows the claim is more for your comfort than anything. He's a zombie, after all, and they don't heal the way humans do unless they devour human brains. He won't bleed, but if he looses a limb, or even his head? There's nothing you can do to fix that. And to be honest, you're not sure if that'll do him in, or if he'd continue living in pieces. You don't want to find out.

You park. And you know you should hit the ground running, but your heart is hammering in your chest. You turn to Zoro as he pulls out his blades.

You quickly put your warm hands on his cold cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. You two never attached words to what's simmered under the surface for so long, but in case of the worst...you couldn't handle him not knowing how  you truly felt. He blinks as you pull away, briefly stunned. You wonder if he'd blush if he could.

You run into the burnt-out husk of a building. The touch of your lips on Zoro's is replaced by a sword between his teeth.

In another lifetime, before people stopped dying right and the world went to hell over it, this building was a clothing store. You shopped here for outfits you haven't seen in years. Once, a friend who worked here snuck you into the back room, and you ate cheap takeout while surrounded by wall-to-ceiling racks of clothing and shoes. If you took time to wipe away the dust, you might still find graffiti left by the workers during their final shifts. You wonder if your friend left one.

You cannot look because you are huddled on a shelf and trying not to make a sound. The shelves are sturdy metal and easy to climb even without the rolling ladder. You're hidden high above the heads of anyone who might come in and pressed against a wall. No one should find you here.

For awhile, you heard sounds from outside. Speaking at first, though you couldn't make out what was being said. Then battle, swords colliding and guns firing. Screams. Then...nothing. You don't know if it's safe to come out. You'll find out soon. There are footsteps approaching.

A voice you do not recognize says your name.

"Roronoa Zoro is dead. Again. I am sorry that it had to happen." Heavy footfalls contrast a voice that is soft, almost even kind. "I understand why you might want to save him. You've built quite a reputation for that, you know. But I'm afraid it ends here. We cannot allow you to keep any more abominations alive. You understand that is what they are, don't you?"

You know he's trying to goad you into revealing yourself. It takes everything in your power to hold still and silent.

Metal crumples nearby with a shrill squeal, as if it could protest its false bones being broken.

"If you were to go on a trip...where would you like to go?"

The question throws you off guard, almost enough for sound to escape your lips.

"We do not have to kill you. All the government wants is to talk. If you cooperate, you'll be transported somewhere safe. Free of zombies, even." More metal crumples, and you wonder how Kuma is doing it. Does he have a weapon, or is he strong enough to break the storage shelves with his bare hands? "All you have to do is come willingly, and when we're done, you can go wherever you'd like, and you'll be kept safe."

But the only place you can think of is home. With Zoro. No matter what might come after you there.

The shelf under you shifts, and your body spasms as if you fell in a dream and awoke with your mind still lurching. You reach for anything to grab onto, but your fingers only touch air. (For the briefest instance, you spy graffiti drawn by a familiar hand upon the wall.)

You do not immediately recognize the feel of the arms, because they are warm and pulsing with life. You stare up at Zoro's face in disbelief. He's missing an eye and his face is smeared with blood, mouth drawn in a thin line.

"You survived," Kuma intones softly. "You ate them." And you wish you could refute him, but even before he spoke, you knew it to be true. Zoro's bloody fingers dig into your clothes to hold you tight. You hear his heartbeat for the first time, and it rarely skips a beat. Kuma says, "Let your friend down, Roronoa. You don't want to do this."

"Think I'm some mindless cannibal? Think again." Zoro sets you down and looks  you dead in the eye. "Told you I wouldn't die. And neither will you. Now, get out of here." Half a second before returning his sword to his mouth, his tongue flickers over his blood-stained lips. "Hurry!"

You do as he asks and flee to the doorway of the building. You know you should run to the motorcycle and drive out of here, but there are two problems with that. One is how you don't want to leave Zoro again. The other is that even if you admit the truth to yourself, that he finally gave in and consumed the brains of his enemies like the zombies he used to put down...you don't want to turn around and see what he did to the corpses of Kuma's followers.

The fight is swift and brutal. You've seen Zoro fight before, but while he's normally a whirlwind with his blades, now he's a demonic torrent. Much as he tries to stick to his traditional fighting forms, they slip into more instinctual slashes when Kuma pushes back, and the only thing that keeps Zoro on top is sheer ferocity. He moves so fast, you swear he's slashing three times faster than a normal man, leaving the afterimages of a three-faced demon. (You've heard rumors of zombies growing entirely new parts when they've eaten too much mortal flesh, but surely those are only rumors, survivors not understanding what they're seeing...)

Kuma is far quicker than his size would suggest. But even he begins to buckle. He blocks one blade with a bible far sturdier than it appears, and then lunges forward in a final desperate attack. Zoro braces to parry an attack, but is taken aback as no blow comes. Something metal and blinking is clasped onto his wrist.

"We will not meet again."

And Kuma is gone. You blink in surprise. You swore you didn't see him leave through the other holes in the building, didn't feel anyone pass you, and yet...

The normally composed swordsman growls as he sheathes his swords and tries to pry the blinking metal bangle (a tracking device, what else could it be?) off his arm. You want to approach him, but are unsure if you should; all you can do is watch as he uselessly paws at the bangle. Until he stops suddenly. You catch a glimpse of fresh crimson.

Zoro freezes as the reality of what he's done, what he's become, finally settles in. He's a statue slowly dripping red, most of which isn't his own. His breath shudders, and that too takes him off-guard. He sways where he stands, almost falling to his knees but somehow staying upright.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you toward him, and you reach out. Your fingers brush against his back. He growls, "Don't. I'm not..."

"It doesn't matter what you are. You're still Zoro." 

Gentle pushes at his shoulders turn him around so he faces you. His face has more color than you've ever seen, blood red and flesh pink and mottled blues and violets of bruises. His closed eyelid twitches as the eye underneath regenerates. How long will it be until all the color's gone, and electrical impulses run short to leave his heart to hang heavy and empty in his chest, and how much longer than that until he gets a taste for life again regardless of the cost?

That doesn't matter right now. The future looms taller and more frightening than Kuma, but right now, you're two scared humans in a broken warehouse. You wrap your arms around Zoro and pull him close.

For the briefest moment, you feel his mouth open, hear the click in his jaw. His teeth brush against your ear. You close your eyes and refuse to think about it.

His chin rests on your shoulder. Mouth closed. Arms wrap around you right and your hearts beat together, lungs scramble for air together, blood and worry (and tears, you think, but you're not sure whose) intermingle and crawl to a slow stop until only a numb and temporary peace remains.

"You'd be forgiven for walking away." His voice is raw and tired with the weight of living again and all that took.

"Maybe. But someone has to keep you from getting lost." You give him one final squeeze before letting him go. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned up."

When morning comes, you'll have to face what the future holds for a brain-eating swordsman and the one who looks out for him despite it all. But tonight, the both of you are miraculously alive and breathing, and there's a green new plant in the window ready to soak up all the sunlight tomorrow can offer.

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, anxiety, drugging, guilt, kidnapping, abduction, 

FATE

It was fate. That’s what he’d said. It was a rather brief encounter. She woke up, in a bed that was not her own, in a dark room devoid of windows, smelled a smell she could only be describe as dust, with a man she didn’t quite recognize. He lurked in the corner, quietly observing her in her slumber. Wanting so badly to touch her, because he knew he could. And he had, until that nagging feeling of guilt surfaced and he forced himself to retract his hand from traveling up her thigh and confined himself to the corner of the room. His fingers itching to touch her soft, warm skin. He admonished himself for using too much of the drug, perhaps she would have woken up already if he’d been more careful, but he figured it was a safety measure that had to be done, otherwise she might’ve woken up before he’d gotten her to his room. And what was worse was that when she did finally wake up he didn’t have much time to explain. He was happy she didn’t scream, but that could have been the drug. She most certainly wasn’t as docile when he came back.

That was a while ago now. Or… at least it felt that way to him. He was so itchy. Seeing her every day. And only barely being allowed to touch her didn’t help. In fact, it only made him that much more itchy. He tried his best to be kind, to be understanding. Not wanting her to grow bored in his absence. He’d even allowed her access to his console and games, however offline. But there was hope; she seemed to have accepted the situation more now. She had at least stopped screaming and struggling and using every second on trying to escape. He felt that maybe she was more inclined to be with him now, after spending so many hours alone. He wished she wouldn’t fight him. He really didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but… he was just so itchy.

She cursed her quirk. It had always been a nuisance. At the doctors she had to file for traditional check-ups because no healing quirk could surpass her immunity. It was a joke at best. Quirks couldn’t touch her. When it came to Tomura, she definitely saw it as a cruel joke. Without her quirk he had the power to kill her on the spot, however with her quirk the monster had fallen in love with her, clung to her as though she were the only person left on earth. What was worse was that she actually sympathized with him. “It must be a terribly lonely existence.” That’s what she’d said to him under their first encounter. This, however, by no means meant she was going to willingly become his little pet. She struggled throughout the entirety of her first day, screaming her lungs out, crying her eyes out, kicking until she had no more energy to give and then fallen asleep, only to have awoken with his arms slung around her, tightly gripping onto her as though his life depended on it. That day too, she’d thrashed and sneered when he tried touching her. However, there came the third day… when he snapped.

This was yesterday. She woke up with her wrist tied snuggly together above her head, more rope connecting them to the bedpost. A product of his growing impatience. She began hysterically crying once he climbed on top of her, begging him, pleading, bargaining, saying his name as though he were some type of malicious God she had to satisfy.

And although he’d gone through the lengths and extremities of threatening to kill all her acquaintances to quit her objections, he couldn’t go through with it. Again, he didn’t want her to feel abused. He didn’t want to cause her any pain nor be the reason behind her tears. He didn’t want her to fear him or hate him, he wanted the opposite. He adored her. All he wanted was some peace of mind, and she served as his only sanctuary.

He hadn’t fully realized how badly he wanted her before he held her in his arms throughout that entire night. He always enjoyed sleep, but with her lying against him it became nothing short of heaven. With her wrists still tied together, there was little she could do to stop him, his death threats still lingering in the air, when he started decaying every piece of clothing. Feeling the tremors run through her. The quaking as his hands danced up her exposed skin, playing with what they found. Feeling her recoil into him each time he would, in his amateurism, pinch too hard. He thought of her continuous quivering as similar to when a puppy wags its tail, to distract himself from what it really indicated. It was easy to forget himself when she was soft like velvet and smooth like silk and warm like life itself up against him. He didn’t do much more. Untying her before he had to go. Watching her rub her sore wrists made his stomach fold in guilt when he left this morning. He apologized, but she didn’t answer.

Stealing her was selfish, he could admit that, but he would make it up to her if she only allowed him one little taste…

She sat on the bed when he came back, wet hair dripping onto the sheets. She showered before he came, an attempt to wash the night off her, it only mildly irked him. He couldn’t stay mad though, not when she was sitting there so preciously with his black hoodie on, looking at him with such wide, glossy eyes. He kept the room dark; light irritated his skin, and he didn’t want to feel anything but comfort when he was with her. Besides, maybe the dark could make him seem just a little bit more appealing. She still flinched when he made to touch her.

Not wanting to scare her, he decided to kneel down instead. Enjoying how her feet didn’t meet the ground when she sat propped up on the bed. Taking her ankles, delicately gliding his fingers around them, and placed them on top of his thighs. Not letting go. He leaned his forehead against her knee, feeling as though her warm skin was absolution itself, a paradise of some sorts. She didn’t say anything, but the uncontrolled breaths were loud enough to indicate her fear. She was the one person he couldn’t harm, yet somehow, she seemed more afraid than anyone else. He would’ve laughed, but it wouldn’t have helped.

He dragged his fingers alongside her legs and came to a halt at her knees, wanting to part them. He hadn’t given her anything to wear, not seeing the point as they would probably be disintegrated anyway. She hadn’t taken the opportunity to put on one of his boxers either. All the clothes she came in were a pile of ash, thanks to him. In other words; his hoodie was the only thing she was wearing. How could he possibly hold himself back? It was almost as though she meant to antagonize him.

She felt the pressure he added to his fingertips, her knees slowly starting to spread. She curled her toes, a small whimper spluttering past her lips. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she stopped him. Taking his hands in hers. He didn’t seem all too provoked. Giving him a desperate look, one that was met with an even stronger, hungrier desperation. He leaned his chin on her knee, observing with a curious look as she intertwined her fingers with his. It was a weak attempt, but he seemed subdued. It was only for a brief moment.

“This is nice...” It reverberated through her legs, his Adam’s apple bobbing up against her kneecap. “But…” It came only a second later, however it sounded so much darker. It was such a heavy word, one laced with a sense of defeat, an apology. “I need more.” He’s fast, it only took a second before she was on top of him. Quickly propping her legs up around his waist and lifting, turning them around so she could sit firmly slotted in his lap. She knew not to struggle. He was still dangerous. Slender, but not without muscle. He was lanky and tall and above all else; devoted. There was no stopping him.

Her shoulders still grazed, although she tried to calm herself. For some reason she still didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Didn’t want to upset him. It didn’t take long before he disintegrated the hoodie, earning a tremor and a gasp from her. The feeling waved over him. He would have enjoyed it, but he was much too surprised to find yet another piece of clothing beneath. Surprised, only slightly disappointed. It was like unwrapping a present, he humored silently to himself.

He could tell it was best to go slow, in order not to break the shell. He didn’t want her to cry, and he was sure if he did too much too fast, she would almost certainly start bawling. Giving into simply brushing the now settled dust off her, yet quickly getting carried away. Digging his calloused fingers into the doughy flesh of her thighs, all very slowly, enjoying himself carefully. He was still getting used it, marveling at how she didn’t fall apart under his touch. Still, he wanted more, he needed more. He glid his hands up the sides of her waist and she started shaking. Trembling knees, caused trembling thighs and so on and so forth, and the feeling of her quaking against him felt nothing short of unhinging. His mouth watered and he had to swallow, trying his best to pace his breathing, failing however, it only made him sound that much more crazed.

“Tomura…” It was a small attempt at a protest, especially when he quite enjoyed the sound of his name drip so sweetly off her tongue. Anyone else with the same ambitions would probably have ignored it, but he wanted her to understand. To understand that she was more than a toy to him, that she was godsend. He didn’t want her hurt, he wanted something else. And that’s why he chose words.

“People die when I touch them.” He didn’t look into her eyes, not sure what would stare back at him. He didn’t want to see plead, or… he didn’t want to take pleasure in her pleading. “So, I’ve kept my hands to myself.” She wasn’t sure if he believed that his actions were justifiable. She wasn’t sure if it were himself or her he was trying to fool. “I haven’t touched anyone…” It sounded desperate. “Felt anyone…” It sounded broken. “For so long.” It was hard not to sympathize. It was hard to be angry at him. “I’ve stayed away.” She almost felt the urge to hug him. “Only touching people when its necessary.” If he’d given her just a few more days, then perhaps she would have. “I feel like I deserve this.” It came out hungry. It was raw and untamed and wrong.

The sympathy nearly vanished at that. It wasn’t her fault that he was like this. It wasn’t her burden, and yet here she was, like some sacrifice to a hungry god. Her hands pressured against his chest, in an obvious strive to make him release her. His hands tightened.

“Tomura, please…” Though he liked her voice, he didn’t care for her pleas. It wasn’t something he wanted to hear, because he was sure; if he tasted her begging just once, he was certain he’d find that he didn’t actually mind, that he… would rather enjoy it instead.

“It’s either this or something highly unpleasant.” His eyes met hers.

She was shocked at how fast his mood changed; like a child when you take away one of their toys or refuse to play with them. The first tear fell at that, his hand rose from its position to wipe it away, before he planted it back on her hip, rubbing the wetness onto her skin. Feeling like a pioneer of some sorts, having never done anything like it before.

“You know I’ve never bruised anyone.” His voice was different, wintry and empty. “Never made art on someone else’s skin.” It only got darker. “Not without them turning to ash…” His gaze fell back onto her hips, his fingers planting themselves more firmly into her. “I’ve never beaten anyone to a pulp.” His eyes seemed to partly stare at what purple galaxy he could make form under his nails. “They just up and disappear before I get the chance to.” On the other part he was staring into some unknown future; untapped desires, dark desires, violent desires. “I’ve never slapped anyone.” She braced herself, expected him to spank her. “Never felt anyone’s trembling skin.” She was positively trembling; she was quaking. “Never truly felt it.” He sounded desperate again. The icy tone was almost completely gone, turning yet again into something broken. “Not all of it.” It was only barely above a whisper. “Don’t you see?” His eyes were wide, full of something akin to ambition; hope? “You were made for me.” It wasn’t hope, it was resolution.

He kept burying his nails into her hips, so much it started to hurt. She got the feeling he was waiting for her to make a move, perhaps he was struggling to do so himself? And when she finally felt herself wincing at the pain, with his blood-red eyes digging into her soul, much like his fingers on her sides, she reached out and kissed him. Whimpering and leaning in closer, yet his fingers only barely relented. Her hands; limp at her sides, made to circle around his neck, softly entangling in his silvery locks. In the briefest moment she wanted to pull at it, drag him away from her, but she didn’t. She kept kissing, lightly sucking on his bottom lip. He moaned a strained groan, but his fingers only ceased their iron-grip when she pushed her chest flush against his. They then moved to her lower back, and then lower, finding their way down slowly, and squeezed at what they found down there, earning yet another whimper from her, although, when received by his mouth, much to his enjoyment, it sounded like a moan. He pulled her closer at that, grinding her against him. What she felt grind up against her, despite layers of fabric in between, scared her. His hands traveled again, this time upwards. Meeting her second shirt before there was no longer any shirt to meet, the cold air nipping at her exposed self.

As if shocked out of her state, she struggled again, but only for a moment. He was so fast. Before she even knew what was happening, she was firmly pinned beneath him, his hands locked around her wrists, tightening his hold until she gave him an apologetic look. He loosened them at that, but didn’t let go, not yet. Eyes flickering between hers and her lips, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin where her veins were stored on her wrists. He went in slowly, wanting her to half-initiate it herself, when she did without protest, without him threatening her, he lost it. Crashing into her, kissing, licking, biting as though he were starved. His hands moved with him, stroking down her arms tenderly, revering at the softness of what was found beneath his fingertips. She didn’t move her hands from above her head, didn’t know where to place them if she did.

He went exploring with his mouth. Down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. She expected his tongue to be dry like the rest of him, it wasn’t. Wet and sloppy; drooling was a better word for it. He left trails of himself down her chest. His hands, with steadily more and more added pressure, cupped one of her breasts, pinching and playing with the perky nib found there. His other hand got to work on disintegrating his pants, and then his shirt, and then nothing else was left to destroy. Except the bed, but he would break that in as well, in some other creative way. Her chest heaved more and more, frantically begging for more air; panicking. He decided to think of it as her wanting to get closer. He certainly was. Now that there was no more obstruction from his skin and hers, he struggled to not drop his entire weight onto her.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to do, but ended up not thinking about it too much, settling for doing what he felt like doing. His hands groping, messaging, rubbing each breast. His tongue fluttering at how her perky nipple tickled him when he sucked and flicked over it. Her hands sprung forward to push him off when he bit too hard, though he caught them easily, pinning them down to her sides, deciding to ignore the act and continue with his exploration.

She started crying now, trying to keep quiet as much as she could, yet he heard the sniffles and tiny hiccups. He let go of her wrists again, watching as she gripped the sheets tightly, trying to hold back. Staring at the ceiling, studying the smooth, white surface. Thinking how her life no longer belonged to her.

It was strange, he was more bothered by the fact that he didn’t care whether she cried or not. Of course, he preferred it if she enjoyed herself too, but as long as he made the itchy feeling beneath his skin go away, he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. As much as he wanted to be patient for her, he couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing himself and placing the tip of his cock at her entrance.

“Tomura-” She protested, knowing how this couldn’t possibly be pretty. She wasn’t remotely wet, and he didn’t really seem about to assist with any moisture himself. But he couldn’t care more for her begging. Catching her wrists with one hand as he continued with what he was doing.

“I already told you-” He hissed, but she cut him off before he could threaten her a second time.

“Let me help.” Her voice was a soft kind of desperate. He’d been too frenzied to realize that she wasn’t really struggling or fighting him. Her large eyes found his in a feeble attempt to break through whatever craze he was in. Letting go of her wrists gave her the answer to her request. He sat up and she followed, crawling out from beneath him. About to grab her and place her back, he halted when he saw her coming back completely on her own volition. Her hands pressed softly against his chest, asking him to lower himself onto the pillows behind him. “Lie down.” And, although they were worded like demands, they didn’t sound that way whatsoever coming from her. He did what she said nonetheless, eyeing her every move, on high alert, ready to grab her if she were to run and lock herself in the bathroom. He was truly expecting anything else than her soft, warm and wet lips sliding down his cock in an almost loving fashion. Brows furrowed abruptly, mouth apart as he let out a long, shaky, gasping moan. Fingers stretching and curling into the sheets. Only barely keeping his wits with him to raise his pinky above the others, in order not to destroy whatever heaven he was in.

She’d placed herself between his thighs. On her knees with her ass raised up into the air, her head bowed and bobbing up and down on his shaft. Her hands supporting her on his stomach. Touching him. Like worship, he thought, looking down at her working hard to please him. With that thought simmering though his mind, he found the courage to ruffle his fingers through her hair. Refraining from adding any pressure, not assisting her in any way. He simply messaged and stroked and felt her eager movements on him. Heavenly sounds of sloshing and gurgling and slobbering and struggling filled the room as she continued going down, hollowing out her cheeks, running her tongue up and down, from side to side around him almost hungrily.

Toes curling into the sheets beneath him. Head thrown back onto the comfort of the pillows. He focused on the warm walls tightening around him, the wetness that slid up and down his cock, the tip of him pushing against her throat, begging to go deeper. He hadn’t meant it… how his hips jerked in the slightest attempt to push himself further down her throat. It was far from a real thrust, but it was no less noticeable. She took the hint, choking him all the way down to the hilt, feeling him bend down her throat. Gagging on him, her knees shifted, tempted to lie down on her stomach, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, but she held back and kept sucking, with him all the way down her throat, until she finally let herself breathe.

Mesmerized by her sudden performance, his eyes glued onto her, delighted to see a string of drool connecting her lips to his cock when she tore away. It didn’t take long before she dove back in. Her one hand shifting from its place on his chest to fondle his balls, playing with them in her palm. Her tongue gliding up and down, licking the sides of him, giving each of his balls a suck and a kiss each time she went all the way down.

He was moaning and groaning fervently, his eyes nearly traveling all the way back into his skull. His toes cramping in their curled state. Being so lost in the moment. Before he even realized she had stopped, she’d placed her knees on the outside of either side of him. Her hand continuing to stroke him, with her other hand playing and messaging her own clit, preparing herself. She hovered above him. He started feeling cold upon the lack of contact, but the chill was soon replaced as he pushed inside her folds.

They moaned simultaneously this time. His was closer to a growl, whereas hers was more of a whimper. She sat there for a second, trying to get used to his length and size inside her, trying to make it all feel more comfortable, before she started riding. Slow, deep, heavy riding, letting the cock inside her hit every spot that had her nearly mewling. Bucking her hips forward, rolling onto him, with her hands once again placed on his chest. She couldn’t look at him, feeling so dirty and guilty for the building knot inside her stomach, the one that was now constantly teased by his large member inside her. She closed her eyes instead, not thinking of the circumstances, focusing on how insanely good it felt to be stretched out and filled to the very brink, despite not really wanting to think about it at all.

He, however, was staring at her as though it was the first time he ever truly saw anyone. He was so caught up in the moment, he’d forgotten about the deadly touch lingering in his fingers all together. So very spellbound by how her small, soft, delicate hands touched him, how her hair fell down her shoulders and tickled the skin on her breasts, how her brows had equally furrowed together as his own, how her lashes fluttered and lips parted even more with each beautiful moan that escaped them. He barely even registered how her hands picked his hands up and placed them on her hips for him so that he could rock her at his own tempo.

His grip didn’t tighten as she had suspected them to, they didn’t grope or poke as they did earlier. They hung loosely on top of her thighs, his thumbs stroking over her hips in encouragement of everything she was doing.

Placing her hands back on his stomach, she stroked up his chest and throat to lock her fingers in his silver hair. Her chest brushing up against his as she started kissing and sucking at his neck. Bracing herself by propping her feet up under her legs. Rocking her hips faster, no longer just rolling, but jumping up and down on her knees, all still rather graciously, done with somewhat expertise. He groaned at the sudden increase in tempo, his hands traveling on their own over her hips to grip at the plump flesh of her behind.

He knew he was much less experienced than her, but at least he knew what he wanted as well. Slowly getting over the surprise that had currently knocked him into shock and awe, he decided to gain more control. Especially now that he felt himself slip away and near his end. He pushed his thighs up, making her shift further up on him. She only moaned in response to him strapping his hands around her torso and lifting them both up into a sitting position, with her nuzzling perfectly in his lap. He ran his hands down her back and cupped her thighs, raising her up to tangle her legs around him. Now, sitting on his knees, he made to thrust into her and slap her back on his cock without her having any control over the new current of the motion.

He moaned savagely, feeling complete bliss befall him like a wave. She clung to him, actually clung to him for dear life, and it felt so fucking heavenly to feel her continue to nibble and suck and lick and kiss at the scars he’d created on his neck. With her arms wrapped around his back as though she couldn’t bear to let go. It was too much. She was too much. He couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t last any longer. He dropped her down onto the bed again, his cock slipping out and into his grip as he pumped the last few pumps it took before he came. Ropes of milky liquid sprouted from his cock and fell over her stomach, before he collapsed back onto her. His cheek pressed against her chest. Hot and heavy breaths brushed across her stomach. Drool slipping down from his mouth and onto her breast.

She didn’t dare move, despite feeling the wanton urge to touch herself until she as well peaked her orgasm. She remained still, or at least tried to, but it was hard when the fire within her stomach demanded attention. She tried to keep the quaking under wraps, but it was impossible. He hummed against her chest upon the feeling, it almost turned into a chuckle. He had clearly gained his confidence, acting all smug and cocky when he motioned his hand to rub at her clit. She jolted upon the touch, moaning and arching her back up against him. He kissed a quick trail down her stomach, everything sprawled out for him to see and touch as he so pleased. She was nearly begging when his eyes met hers. “Let me help you.” It was mockingly sweet, but she found she quite liked the sound of it. His thumb rubbing circles upon the sensitive spot, as he lowered his mouth to lick between the folds. She moaned brazenly, her fingers again tousling into his hair. He propped her one leg up over his shoulder, gaining more access.

She felt the pulsating, roaring, drooling sensation build and build until it nearly hurt, her hips lolling into him between her legs. His tongue running and delving into her, his teeth lightly and teasingly nipping at the tender flesh. Sucking until she let out that last earthshattering moan, her body convulsing in spasms and violent quakes. He gave a couple more licks to her clit and felt her panic beneath him, much to his enjoyment. He didn’t torture her oversensitivity for too long, before he climbed back up and nuzzled into her neck. Happy when he felt her fingers stroking his head again; affectionately.

No more words were exchanged. The presence of night laid thickly inside the room. The both of them unable to keep their lids open, not really fighting of the sleep that soon overwhelmed them either. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat. They fell asleep soundly. And when Tomura woke up the next day, their limbs tangled together in one comfortable knot, he felt as though it might have been the very first time he actually felt rested.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

You had mentionned that Mary parallels Liam, I found it so accurate, so many characters in this series does it. Like Bill and Billy also parallels him. Have you noticed more of this kind of characters?

This kind of character is called a mirror or a parallel character. Basically, a character who has such strong similarities to another that it impacts the narrative and both characters to be read that way. It's sort of the inverse of a foil character, which the two character's difference stand out, except that they have heavy overlap and are often the same thing. It's an old, deep trope that runs as old as the concept of a foil character does, so is probably old as storytelling itself.

Typically, they will be more important characters than Mary is, except that in long-running episodic works like YuuMori, they often have one-off mirrors of characters that impact their character development or otherwise deepen part of the narrative before shuffling that plot line off.

This is one of my favorite things in fiction.

William has a fuck ton. YuuMori in general loves doing this not only with characters but with groups, drawing similarities between everything.

Sherlock, of course, is his strongest mirror (and his strongest foil). The man who can match his mind not only in intelligence and insight, but in the way it works, in the competitiveness they both live for. The way they are both strongly protective men who have want to change the world to a more just one, a more equal one, and whose ideas of justice doesn't quite align with the law and who are willing to dirty their own hands for others. The man whose feelings are identical to William's, who declares they deserve the same fate for the same actions. That they have been the same since the beginning so they should be the same at the end.

And then there is Louis, William's baby brother who looks so much like him people mistake them for twins. Who is also willing to do anything for his ideals, who is willing to fight for their beautiful equal world and do so in the shadows. Who grew up on the streets protecting people who had less abilities than them to fight. Who is brilliant and devious and ruthless, and who Mycroft and Moneypenny and Sherlock even look at in awe and wonder at their similarities to each other.

And Bill, the young, poor brilliant mathematician who William could have been in another world had he not met Albert. Who has prodigious talent even without formal education and can and will teach himself and research and bury himself in a library all for math. Who, frankly, kind of looks like William when William dresses down to wander around in Whitechapel. Who has the same damn name as William.

Adam Whiteley, the good-hearted politician who wants nothing more than to improve society and fight the nobles and has no interest in doing things diplomatically or slowly, who has a beloved, disabled blond baby brother who worships the ground he walks on and who he would kill and die for. Who cares nothing for his own reputation and only wants to improve the country. Who is brilliantly intuitive of other people and can read them like a book. Who felt he had to die for his cause and cover up the true story of his actions to protect the country and his cause.

I've spoken about Mary, the quiet, polite, blond teacher who wants nothing more than to quietly live happily with the man she loves but can't be Milverton interfered with her life and gave her a devil's bargain she can't complete. Who got herself in trouble following the Paris Commune and French Socialism, defying laws and being prevented from happiness because the government wouldn't forgive her for her crimes even if the man she loves will without question.

[anondudeao3]

Fic Recs!

Since I'm on hiatus, I've finally had time to do some reading, and I thought I'd give some fic recommendations, since I won't be posting for quite a while. These are my absolute favourites!

(I'm splitting this into two posts — one for JayDick and one for JayTim — because now that I'm finished with the first half it's quite long)

JayDick

A Love Triangle With The Same Person

By: Chrystie, kate882

Word Count: 10,031

Summary: Dick might have a bit of a thing for Jason, one of Red Hood's criminal underlings. But he's also already a little in love with Red Hood.

→ Identity porn! Who doesn't love identity porn? Very cute and sweet.

Everything I Know

By: epistemology

Word Count: 12,360

Summary: Red Hood is a little bit in love with his partner, Nightwing, who has a huge crush on Jason Todd, the hot bookstore owner, who is actually the Red Hood, who is too busy being in love to notice Dick Grayson, who's actually Nightwing.

Jason and Dick fall in love with the wrong versions of each other, and things become complicated fast.

→ More identity porn, but this one is a lot more sort of missed connections, plus it has bookshop owner Jay who was never taken in by Bruce! It really has you begging SOMETHING to happen to somehow make them see that THEY ARE EACH OTHER, THEY ARE THE ONES THEY LIKE. AHHHH IT'S THE SAME PERSON. And when it finally does happen, it's so sweet and satisfying. (I recommend checking out their other fics too! Lots of sweetness.)

Lie To Me, Darling

By: Chrystie, kate882

Word Count: 19,214

Summary: Officer Dick Grayson is undercover in the infamous Red Hood's gang trying to track down the man behind the helmet. With his former partner killed for being found out, there's a new guy in the gang to take his place. Jason doesn't seem like the average new gang recruit, and Dick may be getting more than he bargained for trying to get close to him.

→ Okay, ngl I JUST now noticed that this one is by the same people as the first one, and I specifically didn't want to put multiple fics by the same people (just say I recommend checking out their other stuff, but not rec separately), but it's too late now and I don't have a 7th JayDick fic to recc that isn't also an author repeat, and I don't want it to be uneven.

But ANYWAY. This one will fuck you up, I can't lie. Unhappy ending, but if you can brave that, ohhh it's so good. It's so damn sweet whilst the good times last, even though you know it's only temporary and it's all going to go to hell at some point... man. It hurts. But it hurts so good. It's beautiful, and I personally think it's worth the pain.

Two Birds on a Wire

By: empires, pentapus

Word Count: 20,565

Summary: Dick asks Jason for help on a case. Jason should have never agreed.

→ It's probably laughable that I'm reccing this, since pentapus is one of the authors and their art is like huge in the JayDick fandom, and the fic has more than 22.5k views, which seems to be quite a lot as far as JayDick fics go. But in the event that you haven't read it yet... This is actually the very first JayDick fic I EVER read, it introduced me to the ship, and I just reread it and it's still just as amazing, what a winner to start out with!

The dynamic between Jay and Dick, the way Dick gets so into his undercover role, Jay's emotional turmoil, the action — it's all just absolute chef's kiss! It's so hard to write action well, and these two made this fic so engaging!

All Soulmates Final, No Refunds

By: empires, salvadore

Word Count: 38,900

Summary: Mystic Waters Grande Hotel sells itself as a luxury soulmate retreat with all manner of couple’s activities. The cost is high, and all is not as it appears on the hotel’s grounds. Dick and Jason go undercover as newlywed soulmates to find out what’s behind the rash of missing persons. And dig up old feelings in the process.

→ (Since empires was collaborating with two different people of the different fics, I don't count that as a repeat).

Well firstly, this is a rare Batman!Dick JayDick! And secondly, yes, one of the ubiquitous soulmate AUs. But with some very interesting twists! Also, like TBOAW above, the action in this is amazing, and absolutely had me on the edge of my seat. Similarly, their undercover personas were lots of fun, and it was very fun to see them push each other further and further with them.

Secrets of the Sea

By: ParzivalHallows

Word Count: 42,711

Summary: Being a merperson was dangerous enough, but being a merperson captured by pirates? That's got to be one of the worst fates for a merman. Merman Dick Grayson is captured by a slave ship, where he meets Jason Todd, who's a slave on that ship. Together, the two plan an escape. However, they need to put aside their odds first, which is very difficult for the two stubborn men.

→ I have to give you fair warning first, this one is incomplete and hasn't been updated since 2017, so I don't think it's ever going to be finished (but it can't hurt to leave a nice comment!) BUT WAIT, DON'T SCROLL YET, hear me out. It's really good, okay. You do need to mind the warning tags because there is major character death (not Jay or Dick though, and since it's not complete I'm kind of choosing to believe that they're not really dead and later in the story it actually turns out that they managed to survive).

There are a lot of grim things in this story, it's really about survival, but the worldbuilding is fucking phenomenal, and the author drew me right in. The descriptions and the action and emotion, the unexpected magic that they have to figure out? It's all so cool and well done.

Steady On Forward

By: JayseHasNoGrace

Word Count: 96,287

Summary: Dick Grayson's life has never been easy, but he'd like to think it's been going better lately. He's been operating mainly out of Gotham again for almost a year, and has been in a steady relationship for just over. He knows where he stands with crime-fighting, and the family is all on pretty good terms, considering.

Things are really going pretty well.

Unfortunately, the balance doesn't last long, and old horrors from Dick's past end up dredged up alongside new ones.

This is a story about love and family, but equally so about trauma and healing from it. Please heed the warnings in the preface.

→ Alright, the final JayDick rec, the longest, and the darkest. But wait, again, don't scroll! It's also by far the most hopeful AND FLUFFY. Now, the author is NOT fucking around about heeding those warnings, there's a shitload of them and it's really heavy, hard shit. Do not get me wrong, this fic is going to HURT you. But by the end, it's going to have felt so cathartic, and you're going so feel soft and hopeful and whole. I don't know how they did it, but it's SUCH an emotional rollercoaster. Another commenter on AO3 (mach5plus1) said it better than I could:

I gave this fic my whole heart, it took it, smiled and said “awwww, I’ll take care of it!“

Then started putting pressure on it and I told it “ouch, that hurts”

The fic kept smiling and put more pressure until a piece broke off (last chapter)

and then another (this chapter)

The fic keeps doing it until my heart is shattered into pieces and it’s standing over each shard with a frown saying “oops” (the upcoming chapters)

Then, after finding each piece again and picking them up, the fic will slowly push each piece back into place.

By the end it’ll give my heart back a little different, but somehow better than it was when I gave it away.

It will crush your heart, but it will lovingly patch it back together by the end, I promise. If you can read it without getting triggered, I thought everything was well handled, and it's so worth it. (I recommend checking out their other JayDick fic too, they only have one, but it's a fluffy romcom, so if you need a break after this one, that's there!)

[queenmuzz]

Sins of the Father...

Based off an ask a Nonnie sent me.  Not sure of where, or if I want to go with it.

Vergil wasn’t worried.  After all, Nero was only second to Dante when it came to tardiness.  He had never made it on time to any meeting or gathering since Vergil had first met him, when the young man had been late to dinner two years ago.  Sure, Nero was almost never more than a half hour late without a hurried apologetic call explaining his latest excuse reason. But Nero had many responsibilities, three children, a mobile business, a snarky mechanic, so it was obvious that it would take some time to make it to the office.  Vergil wasn’t worried at all.

So, why was he tapping his fingers on the varnished desk?  Boredom, most likely.  Why was he staring at the front door like he was trying to drill a hole in it?  Agitation at being made to wait yet again.  Why did he have a cold pit in the base of his stomach?  Probably being forced to eat the last of the edible food in Dante’s fridge this morning.  And why did, when the phone rang, did he lunge for it like a hellhound on a bone? 

“Devil May Cry.”  He hadn’t quite gotten his brother’s aptitude at answering the phone, he saw no need for faking pleasantness, especially when most people calling were in no mood for faux joviality.  Besides, he was ready to upbraid his son about making him worry about being late.

“Ah, I was hoping I would reach you first.” an unknown voice of a woman, her voice slightly raspy with age, or from smoking, he couldn’t quite tell.  “Makes things a bit simpler, a little less messy.  I don’t wish to involve more people than I have to.”

That ice cold pit grew, beginning to climb up his spine.  “Who are you?.” “That’s not really important right now,” the woman sidestepped his question.  “It’s who YOU are that’s the key, Urizen.”

Vergil instinctively gripped the desk, so hard that the wood began to protest.  “I no longer go by that name-”

“What would you prefer to go by?  ‘The Monster of Redgrave’?  ‘Executioner of Innocents?’ or maybe something more simple?  Murderer?”  The voice was serene, almost otherworldly so.

Vergil’s mouth went dry.  He hadn’t tried to hide his actions, never made any excuses for it, but neither had he tried to make it well known what he had done.  It was far too difficult to explain to people who were friends of Dante.  (Arkham’s daughter always had a hand on the grip of one of her pistols when he was near her.)  Let alone the general public.  

“What are you getting at?” Vergil barked with far more emotion than he had expected.  Why should he care about what a random person thought about him?  Why should this accusation trigger a wave of guilt?

The voice on the other end deepened to a hateful hiss. “You, who took countless lives, who stole EVERYTHING I ever cherished and loved, yet...you get the love and adoration of those closest to you, even after all that you’ve done.”

In any other situation, Vergil would have strongly argued against the idea of being ‘adored’ by Dante and Nero, but he couldn’t say anything.

The voice regained its emotional control. “So, I decided that if the Fates, Karma, or the Cosmic Scales of Justice won’t make you pay… I will.  You won’t feel a millionth of the pain I have, won’t shed a fraction of the tears I have spilled, but at least you will know a pale echo of my grief.” He heard the sound of footsteps echoing in a vast space, like a warehouse, and then heard what sounded like a person kicking a bag of potatoes. “Wake up,” the voice ordered, directed not to him, but someone with her.

And then a sluggish groan, a pained moan that caused his mind to grind to a halt.  There was no mistaking whose voice that was, not to Vergil.

Nero.

Instinct took over.  “Touch him again,” he growled, and he could feel the scales of chitin begin forming down his arms, his tail materializing and swishing around in agitation, “And you will never feel the sun on your face ever again.”

A soft chuckle knocked him back to reality.  “Trust me, you’re not in a position to bargain, Vergil, Son of Sparda.  Besides, my goal isn’t to kill him...yet.”

Vergil couldn’t help himself, not when Nero’s life was in the balance.  While Yamato could get him anywhere in an instant, he had no clue of where his son was being held, no idea of how to rescue him.  And so he broke down...and began to bargain.

“What do you want?”

“What I want….” the voice drawled, obviously savouring this moment, “Is to have you watch your son die before your very eyes, unable to do anything to save him.  To be powerless. But…” there was a pause, “if you decide that you’re not up to the job, or send someone else to retrieve him, I’ll settle for killing him outright and sending you his body.  Not as satisfying, but it still sends the message.  Make your way to the ruins of the Phantomisa Theatre in Redgrave, I’ve set instructions and coordinates in the phone booth at the front doors.  Follow those instructions to the letter, and come alone or else....” another thud, another pained moan, the threat was made clear.  “Unlike you, I’m not the monster, I don’t want to make him suffer anymore than I have to.  You have three hours.”

“Let me speak to-”  Vergil practically yelled into the receiver, but all he got was the soft click of a hang up and a dial tone.  How he managed to place the phone back on its cradle without smashing it to pieces was a miracle in itself.  Three hours.  That’s all he had.  Perhaps it was bad luck, but this was the worst time for this to happen  Dante was far off, clearing out a demonic filled cave, completely unreachable, and both Lady and Trish were somewhere across the continent, probably on yet another shopping spree.  If this wasn’t just bad luck, whoever this person was had done their research...which was not reassuring at all.

Vergil stood up, and forced his demonic features back down.  Right now, he needed a clear head, that was Nero’s only saving grace.  He grabbed his coat, and unsheathed Yamato and after a few fumbled attempts, he managed to make a portal to the approximate location.  He WOULD save his son...even if it cost him everything else.  

He left behind a desk with a large chunk, gouged out, it’s splinters still embedded in his fingers.

[cuppajj]

Heya! So What would happen if Scotta got killed or kidnapped by Overlord? What would be Drill reaction?

HOHO. OH MY.

Are you asking for some ANGST? Because my friend, you are asking me to go into some deep levels of angst hardly ever before seen here and you know what? I will HAPPILY oblige. I LOVE writing angst. You got me writing a whole novella about this,, I literally can’t not write a novella if you’re asking for this much angst. If it’s angsty I’m gonna break out my literary fingers. ENJOY THE JUICINESS

It starts with a comm call from an anonymous source. Normally, Drillburst isn’t the one to answer the phone if he didn’t know the number, but he‘s on high alert since Scotta had been missing for a good twelve hours. Anything could be calling him; and what if he missed something crucial to finding her? He’ll hesitantly pick up the call, and will be met with a familiar voice making a familiar proposition: his life, or the organic’s. Then would sound an anguished scream that nearly ruptures through the speaker. On the other end of the line would be the Phase Sixer, impatient for so long yet calm and calculated in the moment, the Nebulan writhing in his tightening grip.

The thing about Drillburst is that he’d been subject to the extreme paranoia plaguing him ever since he was recovered from Elba. When brought back into Cybertronian society, he was extremely antisocial at first for a reason. He knew he was still possibly—possibly being hunted postwar, knowing how the other contender didn’t appreciate leaving fair matches unfinished. If he made friends with anyone, he feared, it would spell death for not just him, but them as well. And he didn’t wish that upon anyone. He still has that fear, but it had been slowly burying itself over time. Until the call. He knew that Overlord knew his paranoia and fostered it; it was a psychological game in the absence of a physical game.

Hours before, Overlord would have blown a hole through Pimpernel’s spark. Through one way or another he learned of how close the Cybertronian was to the prisoner, making them all the more intricately carved into the greater mind game. The body of one of his dearest friends would most definitely terrify him, dragging him further away from everyone else in fear and pulling him closer to himself and his fate. To the realization that no one could help him or save him from his own wrong decisions. It was perfect, wasn’t it? Then imagine the surprise as the head of the Cybertronian detaches itself from the torso like a form of self-decapitation, transforming into a helpless organic, clutching her chest and squealing in agony. Uncalled for.

But perfect nonetheless. An easily disposable Cybertronian who could put up a fight is one thing, but an organic no bigger than his own palm, so easy to maim and bruise, is another.

Say Overlord doesn’t squish the organic right there and then, killing her instantly, and he instead realizes the potential of what someone as small as her could bring. If Drillburst knew of Scotta’s whereabouts, and who she was with, he’d be more desperate and at mercy to his whims than if he had taken one of his own race and scale. All of those fears and more would come back to the prisoner in droves. And then, he’d not only have one, but two wrapped neatly around his digit.

I think in that moment it would be similar to how it goes in ROTW, with Overlord snatching Scotta up like he did with Verity and taking her somewhere to draw Drillburst in. Then, with her in his palm, he would contact the number he had acquired. “Hello, 803.”

Drillburst and Overlord rendezvous in an area secluded from the rest of the world, where no one would be able to find the former’s body if they searched hard and long. As he’d made him promise, and as the other had so obliged, the Nebulan would be relatively unscathed, aside from the severe dehydration and weariness present on her form. It’s the first time the two look each other in the optic since G9, yet the atmosphere brings them right back to that place. A coy grin greets an apprehensive glare, guns glinting dangerously in both of their free servos.

And so, they make the exchange. Overlord sets Scotta down, and she staggers over to Drillburst; Drillburst gives her his comm and tells her to keep running without looking back.

And upholding his end of the bargain, Drillburst presents himself, ready as he’ll ever be for the score that should have been settled all those years ago on that solitary moon. As Scotta runs for her life, away from the two giants, the dust and air shroud her from seeing what comes next.

Ofc, all of this is non canonical, but you brought up an interesting thing that I had been thinking of for a long time actually! I won’t get into a bunch of detail now but I do have this whole narrative thing with my ocs, and Drillburst (+Blitz and Scotta) does canonically meet Overlord again. I like to think of this as a mini au to that headcanon of mine. It was fun to write! Thank you anon for that lovely ask ❤️

(And sorry if you don’t like novels)

[rithalie-sideblog]

The daughters of Dracula

When Vlad Dracula first hears the prophecy he laughs and bellows with a voice that shakes his castle to the bone. 

Him? Falling in love with a mortal woman? Inconceivable, unheard of, simply a figment of an old man's scribbling imagination.

But then Vlad Dracula starts to think. And wonder. Because for all of his wealth and goods he managed to accumulate he was born a beggar and a thinker, as such happens when one learns life on the streets.

Prophecies have power.

So Vlad Dracula devises a plan. To make sure, he won't fall for the novelty that is a mortal woman, much less give her a son to fulfil the damned prophecy.

The first step he takes, he scours the village for his prey.

Mortal women, of all height and weight, from the plump daughter of the baker to the muscled heiress of the mercenary group. He kidnaps them from ungrateful families and bargains for them and soon his castle is filled with women's voices, their whimpers and terrified sobs. 

He avoids the young ones, as pretty as they might appear because Vlad Dracula might be a monster, but even he had rules by which to live his immortal life.

He never harms the women, despite their hostility and suspicion towards him. He leaves them be for the longest of times and watches as they slowly make the castle their home.

The women clean the spider webs, dust the old forgotten rooms and chambers. 

As they slowly grow more bold, they begin to take down the most horrid paintings from the walls, wash their clothes in the well in the middle of the cursed garden, stringing lines of laundry between the sculptures of demons and gargoyles.

Vlad watches it all happen from his tower, curiosity taking over him as he waits. Observes. Studies.

Finally, one woman seeks him out.

A pretty one, with her hair the color of honey, tangled way past her knees with her unable to cut it without any sharp object.

She demands a knife with a trembling voice and desperation laced with fear.

"Give it back soon." Says Dracula in his velvet voice as he gives her a dagger.

The woman never takes her eyes off of him as she backs away from the room, weapon held tightly in her hand.

By the end of the next week, most women have their hair cut, or braided into something new.

The honey-colored woman comes back with the dagger, placing it delicately in Vlad's outstretched hand. 

And she stays to talk.

A few years pass before most of the women warm up to Dracula, even if for him, it hadn't been much more than a blink.

They smile at him when he passes the corridors of his once gloomy castle, some wave to him, kneeled over the freshly planted potatoes in the gardens that once hosted the most exquisite of Louvre's hedges.

They come to him for his judgement, they trust him with their pleas and for his part, Dracula does his best to judge fairly. Years after Dracula's decision, the first woman wishes for more. He does not chase her away, even if his dark heart remains unchanged, curiosity driving him dangerously close to the edge of destiny's sword.

Vlad wonders if he should kill the woman before she can give birth to his descendant. If she were to bear a boy, the prophecy would come true and everything Dracula had done would have been for naught.

"It's a girl." announces one of the women as she comes out of the birth chamber, hands covered in blood up to her elbows. Vlad tries to not stare at them much as the relief washes over him.

A daughter, no son to slay him, no vengeance to come forth from his mother's mistreatment.

His plan is saved.

There are two more births that follow, and with each child being born a female Vlad grows more confident. Convinced he managed to beat the prophecy, he once again disappears into his tower.

He meets his daughters sometimes.

Pretty creatures, not a flaw to be seen on them. With hair the color of honey, mahogany and obsidian, they look at him with eyes of crimson and sunlight and moonlight, their sharpened ears uncovered proudly in the safety of his home, his vast galleries and libraries.

Dracula goes down deep into the guts of his castle and brings up the jewelry, old dress materials and sewing kits for them to use. He does not care what they do with the gift, but something like pride flashes in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of them covered in gold and silk.

As they grow, they get more and more bold, coming to his tower and asking questions about the world and life outside their castle.

Their Inquiries rarely go unanswered.

Dracula begins to let the mortal women go, the youngest of them past the age of her prime now. Some of them leave, but some of them stay, unwilling to uproot their lives again and comfortable with what they learned. Dracula begins to travel, living his years free of the burden of the prophecy, confident that his fate has finally been changed.

So when an angry woman shows up at the door of the castle, a three-year-old with crimson eyes' hand, gripped in hers, it comes as quite a surprise.

Dracula kills the woman, for she was not one of his, one of them, despite the claim she made upon Dracula's paternal role in the child's life. 

The daughters that greeted her warmly once she arrived had not known such violence before. They lick their lips and wrangle their hands at the sight of blood before them, and when Dracula sees that he gives them the woman's body to feast upon.

The boy is spared, if only for the foolishness of one of the women who rushes him outside when the carnage begins. 

He runs and when Vlad finds out about it, he flies after him in hot pursuit, but the boy is nowhere to be found. The prophecy protects him and fate is on his side and no matter where Dracula looks he cannot find him.

No harm befalls the woman who helped him, but upon hearing about the prophecy she weeps, for she did not know what calamity she brought upon her host. She leaves the castle in shame.

Three daughters of the Dracula grow hungry for blood, their beauty shining in its ethereal light brighter than before. Vlad feeds them and begins to teach them. Slowly but steadily he allows them entrance upon his dark and shrunken heart. They become his confidants as Dracula admits his defeat against the prophecy, preparing for the final act of the play. 

If his daughters showed promise even unattended, they shine with brilliance under his attention. Soon the castle is alive with the sound of magic, verbal disputes and turned pages.

When the child, now a man fully grown, comes back, bearing the Alucard title, Dracula steps forward to battle his destiny. He makes his daughters swear not to join him, and stay far away from the fight, for he had made arrangements for his knowledge to live on in them were he to fail.

Alucard is strong, but not as strong as his father.

He is quick, but not as quick as Dracula.

He is vengeful and drunk on the prophecy's promises, but not quite as desperate as Vlad is.

And yet, what finally brings The almighty Dracula to his knees is the fact that Alucard isn't quite as honorable as him.

When the edge of Alucard's blade rests against the honey-haired daughter of the Dracula he stops fighting.

After many years of undead existence, his daughters became his legacy, and he refuses to lose even a slight part of it.

Dracula's pause gives Alucard a chance to defeat him, and as he does that, all three daughters cry out in anguish.

Dracula's body caves in itself and turns to ash, and as Alucard lifts his fist in triumph, ready to claim the castle and all of its wealth as he was promised, he is met not with the radiant smiles of the saved woman but with weeping and sneers. The woman may have hardly loved the monster who kidnapped them, but his presence meant safety. It meant freedom to pursue what they desired, no mortal husband or any kin present to dictate their lives.

Three daughters of the Dracula weep the loudest, and through their tears they growl and hiss, blind in their rage. They chase Alucard out of the castle, the man unable to defend himself against their fury.

The brown and dark-haired ones stay on the stairs of the castle, but the honey-colored one chases Alucard to the edge of the woods, red droplets of blood flying from the spot where he threatened her. She almost gets him, her claws marking the tree, behind which he ducked with three deep lines.

And when the dust finally settles and the castle stops trembling with the sobs of the grieving women, they all come together to plan.

The rumors grow, ones of an imposing castle deep in the woods, that one day disappeared from all maps. 

Some say it's still there, just concealed with the magic of a really powerful witch, no matter what the church claims about having burned them all.

Others think it crumbled to the ground, unable to stand any more without its master there to keep it together. 

The Vatican claims to have destroyed it in the name of God, the village men grow bold enough to boast about the treasure they supposedly stole from there.

Alucard's tale grows, even as the man shrinks into itself, once his prophecy has been fulfilled and his sole reason to exist finally slayed. 

Very few remember Vlad Dracula's daughters, but there are traces of them left in the history.

Hushed female voices telling each other stories over the fire. Tales of the place where husbands' heavy hand won't ever reach. 

Rumors of libraries and workshops where all the knowledge is at your fingertips, your fate finally yours to choose.

Whispered clues to find the farthest tree on the south of the main road, its bark marked with three fine lines in the shape of the hand, and to march three hundred steps north of it.

And finally, three names to call forth when you reach the clearing, given to their daughters by the desperate mothers who wish for a better life to happen upon them.

Do you know the names? 

Did you ever have to call for them, deep in the night, three hundred steps away from the tree where a daughter almost avenged her father's death?

Don't you know the heart of greed and entitled desires? Have you ever heard of self-fulfilled prophecies? Didn't you see the hate in the eyes of the people?

Don't let them know.

Whisper the daughters names in the night, gain their strength. 

And don't let the world know where we are.

[samdeancass]

Going Solo

Requested by: ol1veralltheway on Wattpad.

Pairing: Sam x daughter!reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff, slight Angst

Characters: Sam, Y/N, Jess, Dean, Cas

Description: Y/N is out on her first solo hunt and she has found a spirit in California. However, when she arrives to gank the spirit, she gets more than she bargained for.

“DAD! I’m going now!”

You were putting the final things in your duffel bag ready for your first solo hunt. You were feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness but you knew that you were more than ready to head out by yourself, especially when you’ve been trained by Sam and Dean Winchester, the two best hunters in the world.

You zipped up your duffel, slung it over your shoulder and headed out of your door towards the war room. Sounds of multiple footsteps started to head towards you and you braced yourself for an emotional goodbye. You placed the duffel on the table and turned around to face the three men who stood behind you.

Your uncle and Cas were standing on either side of Sam, proud but saddened smiles on their faces. Your dad, on the other hand, was taking it a little harder. Tears were already forming in the corners of his eyes as he took in your whole appearance: flannel shirt, jeans and a pair of sturdy boots, complete with the amulet that Dean wore all those years ago.

Sam gave a watery smile before walking towards you, engulfing you into a hug. He kissed the top of your head and looked you dead in the eyes, as if he was taking in your facial features for his lasting memory. 

“Promise me, baby, you’ll be careful. I really can’t lose anybody else to this life.” You nodded slowly and gave your father one last hug before grabbing your duffel off the table and heading towards Dean and Cas. “Take care of him, please. He’s going to need you to lean on while I’m gone. And don’t let him worry too much. After all, I’ve had the two best hunters train me and I’ll always have an angel by my side.” You gave Cas a little wink which caused his cheeks to blush a little. 

Walking back past your father, you gave him one last hug before entering the garage and heading towards your car, slinging the duffel into the backseat. You got into the car and placed both hands on the steering wheel, letting out a deep breath to calm your nerves. You knew that you’d be nervous about your first hunt, but you couldn’t let that get in the way of the job. You turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine before driving out of the garage and towards California, where your first case was situated.

You rolled into the motels parking lot and exited the car, unbuttoning the top button of your shirt. You had just questioned a witness who swore blind that they seen a blonde haired ghost in a university dorm room, but you just couldn’t see it. You needed advice and who better to turn to than your dad and uncle. You entered your hotel room and threw your belongings on the bed before sitting at the table and dialling your dads number.

Sams phone vibrated on the table and your name flashed on the screen. Immediately, Sam leaped forward and answered the call, placing you on loudspeaker. “Hello? Y/N, are you ok?” Dean leaned forward on the table, defensiveness taking over his posture. “I’m fine, I just need some advice.” Sam and Dean both fell back against their chairs with relief and let out breaths they hadn’t realised they were holding. “Ok, what have you got?”

Once you had explained the basics of the case to the brothers, Sam made sure to put your mind at rest. “It sounds like a simple salt and burn to me, Y/N. Where did you say your case was?” “In Cali, Stanford University to be exact. Isn’t that where you went for a while, dad?” 

Sam and Deans heads both shot up to look at each other as realisation washed over their faces. “Yes, sweetheart. But listen...” “Ok, Dad. I’ve gotta go, I’m burning daylight.” Before Sam could respond, the line went dead. Sam looked up at Dean with a stern look on his face. “We have to go. NOW.” 

After doing a little more research, you felt confident about the case you were on. You drove into the parking lot of the University before surveying your surroundings. There weren’t many students around which made it easier for you to slip in and out unnoticed. You got out of the car and headed into the building, anxiety starting to creep into your body. As you walked up the winding staircase, you could slowly feel the air getting colder which was a tell tale sign of a ghostly presence. Grabbing your iron knife in your palm, you slowly crept up the rest of the staircase towards the haunted dorm room.

Your hand wavered above the doorknob, your heart beating wildly in your chest. You let out a deep breath and opened the door, revealing an empty bedroom surrounded in darkness. You reached around the wall and switched on the light but your breath was took away by something in the corner of the room.

“Step on it, Dean! We’re gonna be too late if you keep driving like an old man!” 

Dean shot Sam an angry look before pressing harder on the accelerator, pushing the car to go faster and faster down the winding highway with rain splashing against the windshield.

“Sam, do you really think it could be her? It’s been nearly 20 years. Surely it can’t be.”

Sam sighed and looked out of the window. “I don’t know, Dean. But every inch of my body is telling me that something isn’t right.”

Your mouth hung open in shock as the figure turned around to reveal somebody that you had only seen in photos with your dad. “Jessica? Jessica Moore?” The blonde hair gently cradled her features, even as she walked slowly towards you. Your hand gripped the knife tighter and your heart was hammering against your ribcage as Jess edged closer and closer towards you.

She was stood toe to toe with you as she narrowed her eyes at you, taking in every inch of your features. She lifted a hand to your cheek and rubbed her thumb across it, causing a sharp shiver to run down your spine. She smiled gently before stepping back slightly.

“You remind me of someone. Somebody I loved a long time ago. Sam Winchester. He was the best man I had ever known, but he didn’t tell me what was really going on in the world, in his life, which is what got me killed right in this room.” Jess looked up at the ceiling and grimaced slightly as the memories of that fateful night haunted her. “I was killed, by a demon that was out to get Sam. I was just in the way, so he just murdered me with the flick of his finger.” 

She walked across the room and sat on the corner of the bed, her head hung low. Your face saddened as you seen her broken form slouched over. You slowly edged away from the wall and walked over to Jess, sitting right beside her.

“I know what happened to you, my father told me all about it. He told me about you. You were the most important person to him, he still thinks about you all the time.” Jess turned to look at you, confusion littering her features. “He regrets not telling you about his life because if he did, he knows that you would still be alive now.” Realisation slowly revealed itself on Jess’s face as you kept talking. “Jess, Sam Winchester is my father.”

Rage took over the confusion as Jess slammed you against the wall, knocking the blade out of your hand. You could feel your throat slowly closing up as Jess walked towards you, her hands magically squeezing. “Why did he get to live his life whilst I was stuck here, not able to do anything?! I’M DEAD BECAUSE OF HIM SO NOW I’M GOING TO MAKE HIM PAY! I’M GOING TO KILL THE ONE PERSON HE HOLDS DEAR!” 

Your throat tightened some more as Jess squeezed tighter. You were struggling to breathe, your vision turning blurry. You were nearly dead when two large figures burst through the door and shots were fired.

Sam looked around the room and found you slumped on the floor, gasping for breath. He ran over and knelt down beside your shaking frame, placing his hand on your back. 

“Hey, I’m here now. You’re ok.” You slowly sat up and engulfed your dad in a hug, crying into his chest. He kissed the top of your head and ran his fingers through your hair in an effort to calm you down. 

“Guys, we really need to go before she comes back. We need to salt and burn her bones.” Sam nodded and slowly helped you to your feet, you leaning on him for support. As you were both walking towards the doorway, the air began to get colder and you knew that your dad had noticed the change to. He stiffened slightly and pushed you the rest of the distance towards the door.

“Go with Dean, Y/N. I’ll be fine.” You looked at him, wide-eyed and frightened as Dean gathered you in his arms. “You guys salt and burn her bones, I’ll keep her busy. It’s me that she wants.” 

Dean hesitated slightly before nodding, running down the staircase with you in his arms. Sam let out a deep breath and turned around ready to face the one person he never wanted to see in this way.

Sam flinched as the door slammed shut behind him and the ghostly figure appeared before him. He let out a soft cry as he seen her walking towards him, her blonde hair flowing behind her. He was absolutely speechless, he never expected to see her again, let alone like this. 

She walked towards him, smiling softly. Tears began to fall down Sams cheeks which she quickly wiped away. “My Sammy, I never thought I’d see you again.” She placed her hand against his cheek which he leaned in to, even though it was icy cold.

He placed his hand on top of hers and rubbed his thumb over the skin. “I wish it was under better circumstances. I never thought I’d be the one to kill you a second time.” 

Jess’s soft expression soon turned to anger as Sam finished his sentence. She grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the wall, taking the breath out of him. She flew up to his crumpled form and forced him to look at her. “I was killed the first time because of you, and your lies. If you had told me what was really going on, I would still be alive. We could have had a life together, Sammy, just me and you. But you picked your brother over me and left me here alone to die.”

Sam shook his head as cries wracked his body. She was telling him everything that he already knew, the thoughts that had been plaguing him for years. “I’m sorry, Jess. I just wanted to protect you from that life, I wanted to live normally with the girl that I loved. You are the love of my life, Jess, and you always will be.”

He looked up at her through watery eyelashes and he seen her posture deflate a little. However, this didn’t last long as she began to attack again, the rage taking over her body. Pain soared through every inch of Sams body as Jess attacked him.

His vision was beginning to blacken when screams filled the room. Sam hesitantly looked up to find Jess’s spirit burning in flames, indicating that you and Dean had burned her bones. Sam let out a sigh of relief and got to his feet, limping out of the room.

The rumble of the Impala engine abruptly stopped when you and Dean both arrived back at the University. You immediately spotted your dads figure in the entrance of the building and flew out of the car towards him. 

Your body collided with his, causing him to grunt in pain. You looked up at him with worry in your eyes but his small smile told you he was Ok. Dean ran up beside you and flung Sams arm over his shoulder.

“Boy, I never thought you would get beaten up by a girl.” You shot Dean a dirty look before whacking him upside the head. Sam and you both chuckled as Dean whispered something under his breath. You and your dad slid into the backseat as Dean sat in the front.

“So, you wanna tell us what happened in there?” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, letting out shaky breaths. “No. There are some things that she said that have really messed me up. I need to think about them before I can tell either of you.” 

Both you and Dean nodded in understanding. Music blasted out of the speakers as Dean turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot. 

You never thought that your first solo hunt would end up with you meeting the ghost of your dads ex-girlfriend who was killed by the demon who hunted him down. You were thankful that your dad had called you when he did, otherwise you didn’t know what would have happened to you. 

[amwritingmeta]

15x18: The Most Loving

I’ve indulged. All day, I’ve indulged in this episode. In all of it. But, yes, mostly this scene. I’ve made gifs. And watched this scene. Obsessively. What’s life? THIS is life right now. This is the air in my lungs and the joy in my chest and, oh, my loveliest lovelies, I know you’re right there with me. Gods!

Too bad Dean doesn’t love Cas back, huh?

KIDDING. 

Just kidding. He does. I believe it more strongly than ever. *fingers crossed and sprinklings of salt* But let’s have a look at why I believe it more strongly than ever, shall we? Yes we shall! (let’s see if I get through this without crying) (highly doubtful) (update: I didn’t)

Let’s start with Dean. He’s a very good place to start.

Look at how what Cas is about to say to Dean, all those beautiful soul-affirming things he’s about to share, is set up right there, in this moment, with Dean losing hope by the second, moving softly from anger into a despair that makes him see his anger clearly, just not the root of it.

The shining brightly detail here is that the frustration and the fear don’t make him defensive, which, to me, is important because the immediate naming of the anger, without hesitation, the awareness of it, the quiet acceptance of how he got them here, leading into that gentle “I’m sorry” is like his character progression this season just balled up into one glorious half-minute of character insight: his, and ours.

With the good -- that immediate apology -- comes the bad, though -- the thinking of himself as an arrow of killer instinct, lacking control of this thing inside him when it takes over and not knowing what to do about it or how to fight it.

This thing being?

His anger.

And what is it symptomatic of?

Well, I would say his Shadow. His unconscious. His repressed emotions. His inability to be honest with himself. Which leads to frustration with himself. A feeling of perpetual alarm. He can never just be himself, because he never feels as though he’s enough. 

And feelings are weaknesses that will get you killed.

And his mother died when he was so young and shook him out of any sense of stability, and he’s longed for home, love, family ever since, but every time he’s dared dream or dared believe or even hope, something has happened to take good things away, because good things don’t last.

Not in Dean’s experience.

So the happiness of home, love, family has always been equated with pain. With hurt. With loss. So it was easier not to think an actual future was in the cards for him. Easier to push it down and begin to believe that he can’t possibly be loved for who he is, because what he is, is a killer.

What he is, deep down, is a monster.

His true identity has been covered up by toxic masculinity armour and he’s lost all sense of his true self, out of fear of rejection he has continuously rejected himself and out of fear of failure, failing to Protect Sammy -- a purpose so tightly bound to Dean’s sense of identity that anything threatening it has instantly been perceived as a threat to Dean’s entire understanding of himself -- Dean has bought into the lie that feelings are weaknesses and that, to survive, he had to walk in his father’s exact footsteps.

And of course it hasn’t helped that John’s revenge trip stemmed entirely from losing the love of his life. Luckily, Dean has seen his parents reunited. Luckily, Dean knows they’re now together, happily so, in their shared Heaven. If he can internalise this knowledge and accept it as a good thing, then there’s a basis for healing right there.

Leaving that behind because now here we are, with Dean verbalising his view of himself (hopefully for the last time) which has kept him perpetually in a pattern of behaviour that has been, at its root, self-destructive because of his lack of ability to love himself and see himself worthy of being loved.

Cas doesn’t go all “Dean” on Dean for no reason. 

He goes all Dean on Dean because he knows better than to agree when Dean claims all he knows how to do is hunt and kill and be guided by fury and the vengeance mode that his father’s image has left like an imprint all over Dean’s personality. 

And Cas is about to tell us how much better that better truly is.

*i’m cry*

The beginning of the better is linked to Dean’s instant apology, his instant admittance that he was wrong, brought by him recognising his mistake, realising he let his anger lead him once again. 

(just like he did when he shut Cas out and made Cas feel he had no choice but to leave the bunker and strike out on his own) (because Dean refused to apologise for behaving like a stubborn dickhead yeah?)

And this instant apology is... well. It’s Jensen Ackles style beautiful. Because->

->the apology starts here, with this absolutely devastated look at Cas, as though Dean thinks Cas doesn’t want to be here, with him -- he wants to be with Sam and with Jack -- and Dean is keeping him from seeing out their final hours with his entire family. And so->

But the apology, sincere and selfless and wishing there was some way out of this situation because Dean would save Cas from this fate in an instant if he could, triggers Cas’ realisation that there’s something he can do to save Dean.

Because?

Well, I would hope it’s because the narrative is rewarding Dean for learning the lesson of having so much self-awareness that it doesn’t take him ten and some episodes to land in an apology. It takes him less than five minutes into this scenario to admit that his choices were the wrong ones. To Cas, but more importantly to himself.

So then, reward time, and Cas’ brain starts working overtime as he remembers who Death is afraid of, what might be powerful enough to conquer Death itself.

It would be... everything if this moment is actually about how the defeat of Death has nothing to do with showcasing the power of the Shadow, but of what Cas’ honesty and open heart leads to: his moment of integration. 

Finding internal balance, as he’s no longer suppressing or repressing anything inside of him, but can face all of his emotions head on. No more self-deception and no more confusion. Only clarity.

And if this moment, in the broader sense, is about what brought that moment of integration on: Cas’ love for Dean.

Meaning the one thing powerful enough to conquer Death itself, really, is love.

Wouldn’t that be something? Isn’t that what has conquered Death over and over again in this narrative? Yes. It truly is. To have it stated unequivocally would be spectacular.

Now, I would look at both of them in this post, only, it’s already a long post, so let’s focus on Dean, because though I could talk for eons about what this means for Cas’ arc and it culminating in such a glorious act of self-actualisation, I believe what it means for Dean may play an even bigger role moving forward. *fingers crossed*

Cas reaches the realisation of how he can use the Empty for the purpose of defeating Death, yeah, and Cas reveals this realisation to Dean by finally laying all the cards on the table.

Cas: When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him. Dean: You what? Cas: The price was my life.

And at Cas telling Dean that this deal, that Cas has kept from him, means Cas has bargained away his life, Dean’s face does this-->

Look... at how... his eyes... widen... with the sheer... shock and terror of that statement and then... there’s that soft... or so I see it... understanding that Cas once again has done that thing he does: he’s put himself on the chopping block. As if he doesn’t matter. (remind us of someone?)

So the first bit of information is that Cas has given his life for Jack’s and that he is, basically, a dead man (angel) walking.

Right. Shock and terror.

Then Cas delivers this gut-punch:

Cas: When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me, forever.

And Dean’s face does this->

It’s like his brain is start-stuttering... true happiness?... the Empty?... summoned?... taken forever??... And then he’s like, wait what? What does this have to do with anything?

And he challenges this strange pick of a moment to share all these things by asking:

How exactly is this relevant in this moment in time, Cas? I don’t understand.

Because he really doesn’t. He does not have a clue for the entirety of this exchange, even with Cas stating that the one thing Death fears, the one thing strong enough to defeat her is the Empty, and they know the Empty can only come when summoned. They’ve talked about it, not that long ago, and still, Dean’s brain is not putting two and two together.

Because he would never, not for one second, ever equate Cas’ true happiness as having anything to do with him. Not ever.

All he can think is... well, wouldn’t all he can think be that he was about to get them both killed, and now Cas is telling him this other way he’ll die, so even if they did make it out of there alive, Cas is... what? As good as dead? No matter what? There’s this premeditated way that Cas has set up for him to die that Cas hasn’t told him about. Cas dead in all the scenarios presented to him right now is all Dean can focus on.

And so Cas begins to explain himself.

Cas: I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what my true happiness could even look like. 

And Dean looks like this. 

To me, because Dean’s deepest fear is happiness.

And because his brain is trying to make sense of what is happening, but it looks like there’s white noise going on, like all he can think is What Is This What Are You Trying To Tell Me I Do Not Understand Cas Something About Happiness Why Are You Talking To Me About Happiness I Can’t Help You!

And then Cas takes it a step further, and tells Dean this:

Cas: I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.

And Dean is like... what is it??

And of course, Cas obliges, because there’s no turning back. Oh, Cas. 

Cas: But I think I know… I think I know now, happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it. 

And Dean is getting softly defensive, worried at this point that this is headed somewhere wholly new and unexplored and the expression on Cas’ face is starting to get to him, those eyes already shining with tears and the earnestness all over him, and Dean doesn’t want to not listen to him, but he also doesn’t like the not understanding what the hell is going on, so->

And Cas isn’t about to slow down.

Cas: I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you...

And this is barking exactly the way Dean was afraid of: honesty. So much honesty. And Dean is taking it in like he’s still wondering what exactly this is. Is this Cas’ idea of a deathbed confession, because Dean’s not sure he wants to hear this... but...

Cas: ...you’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken—you’re daddy’s blunt instrument. 

At the mention of John, Dean starts to reign himself in. He’s starting to shed the confusion for the understanding that Cas is about to speak a whole lot of truth and he’s just gonna have to hear it. So he begins steeling himself. Hence the first hard swallow.

Cas: And you think that hate and anger, that’s… that’s what drives you, that’s who you are… It’s not.

I like to read this as the words “It’s not” being the last thing Dean ever expected to hear. He looks so completely taken aback. He was, because it’s his modus operandi, most likely expecting judgement at this moment (because he fucked up and brought them here) and rejection, because he always expects it and always thinks he deserves it.

And instead, he gets what he needs most. He gets told to see himself through Cas’ eyes. Because (hopefully) it’s the only way Dean can finally recognise his true identity and stop hiding from it as if it’s an abomination.

Cas: And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done—the good and the bad—you have done for love. 

And Dean reacts the same way he reacted when Cas told him that the price to save Jack had been Cas’ life: look at the slight widening of the eyes, look at the furrowed brow -> shock and terror.

Because love?

Cas: You raised your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. 

And Dean lets the words sink in somewhat, but still... this is not how he sees himself, this is not his understanding of himself, of who he is. It’s so far from it, but this is Cas saying these things and wait...

...this is how Cas sees him?

Cas isn’t done, of course.

Cas: You’re the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. 

And Dean is about to start crying too, but he keeps the emotion back. Look at those clenched jaws, the hard swallow, the set expression. Determined not to just lose it. 

But he’s close. Nostrils flaring, lips trembling, he’s fighting back the tears like, no, I will not bawl my eyes out.

Cas: You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. 

And Dean just...

This very nearly breaks the dam. He’s just swallowing down those tears like there’s no tomorrow. He refuses to cry, even now, even when his body is like Give Me An Outlet For All These Feelings. 

But naw.

Stoic stoic stoic.

Cas: Because you cared—I cared. I cared about you… I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack… but I cared about the whole world because of you.

And Dean begins to have this ice-cold feeling run through him... that Cas is saying all these things for a reason...

And all Dean can do is listen...

Cas: You changed me, Dean.

And he looks so defeated. Because he can’t even imagine having to say goodbye. And there was that other moment of dickheadery, not that long ago, when Cas left him that still smarts. 

One where Cas said some truths before walking out the door of the bunker, and Dean thought he’d fixed it with that prayer, but this feels reminiscent. It feels like Cas is gearing up to push even harder than he already has, and like Cas thinks Dean’s response will warrant him leaving.

And Cas confirms this is not the beginning, but the end.

Cas: Because it is. 

Oh. Oh no. No, you don’t. 

But Cas does. He really does.

Don’t put me in this corner.

But that’s not even close to what’s actually happening, is it?

Dean has completely forgotten how this conversation started. He’s forgotten about Death at their door, he’s forgotten about the mention of the Empty, because all he can think about is how Cas sees him as a selfless, loving human being, who has changed him for the better. 

And he comes across as though all he can think is that this is too much.

And Cas mirrors his head shake...

...because all I can see here is how Cas wants Dean to take it in now. The truth of it. He wants Dean to hear him. To know that he’s loved and deserving of it, not deny it or refuse it.

And Dean, for just the breath of a second, thinks don’t, Cas. Don’t make me question my entire self-view. Because I will.

Because though he cannot deal, he can’t lose Cas again either, as this episode has gone to great lengths to tell us. (like how he stepped between Cas and Billie plus all the loss of one half of couples that’s threaded through the ep)

And then all thoughts are interrupted. The Empty arrives. Moment of true happiness style. It has been said, and Cas is... well.

And the door opens as Billie breaks through.

And Dean turns to Cas and his face is wearing this expression->

As he says “Cas?” because he still don’t understand why this is goodbye. He doesn’t get that it’s goodbye because it has to be. Because Cas is about to sacrifice himself to save him...

And then we get this expression as Dean responds with that stunned 

“What?”->

Because he wouldn’t have pushed Cas away for saying I love you. Sure he was internally having a mild fit, and he’d need a moment or two to gather his thoughts, and perhaps he’d have to say no, you don’t a few times, and have Cas say yes, I do, back in order to really convince him, but that goodbye... 

That was supposed to happen only if Dean didn’t get his shit together.

And Dean would have gotten his shit together. He just needed a bit more time.

So for Cas to go ahead with the goodbye, even as Dean sees the Empty entering through that wall, is nonsensical. Hence the “What?”. 

What do you mean I love you goodbye? 

And then...

Oh that handprint.

Please let it be a symbol for putting the past to rest and moving forward into a healthy now, with hope for the future. Oh, Cas, please come back. And Dean, please instigate the return. You are loved because you deserve it. And you deserve good things and to be happy. Both of them do. Gods, I hope they get to be happy together.

*please please please please*