#the resident so long dawn long press release

[mooishbeam]

Early mornings ran most peaceful for you. The distant chirp of rising birds, the lone Starskiff’s bumbling motor as it soars across the sky, a comforting breeze wafting through your hair. The pinkish rosy sky sent the midnight clouds to sleep, pouring the Xianzhou’s roofs in shimmering dawn light. 

It was one of the perks of being General Jing Yuan’s unofficial assistant. You committed to the activities you enjoyed all while working in the General’s own residence. His home hung above the rest, suspended in the throes of the galaxy, marking its existence in time and space. 

It’s so much more than you could ask for, and way more than you thought you’d ever receive. Truthfully, you believed your “house-sitting” business to be reaching a standstill. You hardly imagined it’d be the General requesting your expertise with a confident candor and dopey grin. 

The Dozing General conducted himself with pride and dignity, sacrificing his own life over the will of his cloud knights. You saw within him power only kings bore, possessing the ability to command a crowd. 

You saw more than just that, though. Dark bags, the few moments where his eyes flitted for half of a second, the armor weighing heavy on his back, silent mornings taught with tension and dread. The overworked, exhausting nature of never-ending paperwork and battle scars would naturally leave little room for housekeeping. Therefore, you did your best to make the bitter evenings pleasant. 

Your favorites were the lazy days, where you got to spend extra time with Mimi. Or wave-treading snow lion, as he liked to call her. The General isn’t good with names. 

The second mimi sees you, she’d roll on her stomach with the cutest doe-eyes you’ve ever seen from lion. Enticing you, you can't resist petting her. It’s like she knows the impact her cuteness has on you. Loafing in the courtyard, ripe with overgrown vines that wrap around the pillars and crimson pagoda roofs. You lazed the mornings away, digging in her fur as she purred and purred. The vibrations traveled through your hands often. Ivory fur filling the space between your fingers, puffing fits of lion hair on your cleaning clothes. A brighter white than the General’s hair, though rougher. You hoped his was softer. 

The General showed his face on occasion, when the sun’s radiance demanded attention. Never beyond mannerly greetings. Never beyond simple small-talk wrapped in a dainty bow of professionalism. Sometimes he’d appear with tea in hand, discussing the lengthy schedule in store. Other times, you existed in the quiet together. You wanted to ask about his preferred tea, how he met Mimi, why he didn’t sleep in on days off. 

Why he didn’t ask for help. 

Yet, you couldn’t manage to break the carefully built barriers separating you from the nonchalant facade. It was usually the ladder. 

Today was one of those days, using Mimi as a lower back rest as you corded your hands through her fur. She knows her strength, big, fluffy paws pressing gingerly on your knee as she attempts to make biscuits, careful to retract her claws. Her purring travels like an engine, and you use the other hand to provide the chin scratches she deserves. She curls around you, lovingly flicking her tufted tail on your thigh, and you laugh at her ability to behave like a kitten in the body of a 300-pound animal. 

The opposite door slides open, releasing a draft along the bonsai. 

Jing Yuan leans against the side wall. It’s apparent he’s exhausted, or he wouldn’t have approached you in this harrowing state. The long embroidered robe he wears to bed is in disarray, one side slumped from his shoulder to expose the hearty physique befitting of a General of his caliber. Satin pants hang dangerously low on his hips, one leg caught on the heel of his foot. 

He doesn’t seem to realize, however, as his hair nearly obscures his eyes, serving as a makeshift sleeping mask for the dreams he rarely has. Snow white curls spill down his back, hints of a red satin tie holding on between the strands. 

You wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t seem to realize you’re there in the first place. He’s already nodding off, wind passing through his bangs to expose his lidded eyes. 

“Good morning, General.” His head snaps up, and he tries to be discreet about peering through his hair to no avail. 

Jing Yuan tangles his fingers to pull the hair back from his face. Blearily blinking the sleep from his eyes, he adjusts to the morning glow. 

“Mhm, a fine morning, indeed.” He doesn’t mean it. It sounds rehearsed, noncommittal within the chain of grunts and deep whirrs of fatigue. The creases in his smile are shallow today. 

“Would you like me to prepare some tea?” 

“No need” he utters, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off the inevitable. “I’ll be leaving shortly.” 

“Any business you must tend to today?” 

“Not necessarily, but it would do me best to return to the Seat of Divine Foresight just in case.” You’re unaware of the frown forming on your face. Even on days off he worries about the state of the loufu in his absence. It’s hard to imagine the amount of responsibility. 

“If you must” you respond, cagey words laced with worry. It’s better not to pry for your sake. 

“I see you’re having fun with wave-treader” he drawls. 

“Shes been good all morning.” You pet her head and she leans into your palm. 

“I’m glad.” 

“She loves just laying here like this, such a well-behaved kitty.” Mimi stands, stretching on her hind legs with a sturdy yawn. 

You fight back the smile peeking at the corners of your lips when the General yawns right after her. He rubs the back of his head, “She’ll start to think she’s a kitty if you coo at her this often.” 

“I can’t help it, you should see the way she gets me. She’s doing it on purpose!” 

He releases a breathy laugh caught in the chambers of his restless body. “You’re easily swindled.” 

“I guess so.” You open and close your hand, bearing the feeling of losing your hand in her mountains of fur, “petting her calms me down.” 

“That’s why you pet her?” he asks, and you’re knotted in thought at the question. You remember the first time you saw her; how friendly she was as she immediately coiled over your frame and nudged her immense skull into you. 

“Mm, part of the reason. Her hair’s beautiful too, it shines like tassel silk in the sun.” You barely recognize you’re rambling on. 

“It reminds me of yours, General.” 

You pause. Stuck for what feels like an eternity. The embarrassment within you blooms in a sudden, almost paralyzing moment. You’ve shared an inside thought, and you can't bring yourself to look up at him. You suck in your lips, lost for words from your sudden mishap. 

Slowly dragging your eyes up his disheveled state, he’s already staring at you. Crescent moons—mirth plays at the creases on his eyes. 

“My apologies, General, that was unmannerly.” 

His half-baked gaze is fixed on you, gentle eyes spurred by golden sunrise, flecks of nutmeg and honey. A gaze so encompassing and sweet your ears burn like the summer heatwaves on Amphoreus. Even Amphoreus can’t compete with the heat collecting in your stuttering breaths. 

“I-“ 

“Would you like to try?” 

“…I’m sorry?” 

“I said, would you like to touch my hair? Perhaps you’ll receive the same calming energy.” 

You’ve imagined it pacing back in forth in your room, conversing with yourself on the logistics of asking your employer for a potential head pat. It’s been a reoccurring thought since you’ve met him. Soft, almost feathery in appearance as they curled around his chiseled jawline and kind laugh lines. 

You’ve weighed the pros and cons of even asking such a question, If you could reach beyond the rigid professionalism. And now it’s being handed to you with no consequence. It’s practically a trap. Though, you wouldn’t mind going down for the reward. 

You’re tumbling over your sentence, “Y-yes. I mean, yes please.” 

With confirmation he sways to you, stiff and unrefined, unknown qualities of your general. His bare feet slap the stone pathway, robe tie gone to the wind. 

The closer he gets, the more anxious you become. Jing Yuan coming to you for a head massage is like a dream you would’ve repeated in the dead of night, kicking your feet in the air. Now that he’s stopped in front of you, you can’t contain your excitement, buzzing in your kneeling position. He kneels down with you, satin bunching on the floor, leaving little to the imagination. He brings his arms to his sides, waiting. You gladly hold your palms out and he drops his head. 

As if he were in a trance, his forehead meets your shoulder and remains there. A flurry drapes onto your torso and you flinch, face submerged by the thick, untamed mane. No longer Mimi, but the General himself. 

You’re extra timid. You steadily brush your knuckles against his locks. The way you imagined, downy and dense like low lying clouds in a deadened fog. Only luxury products could produce his healthy texture. Hibiscus? Mint? You can’t tell, but it sure smells like it. A fresh, slightly floral scent envelops your nose. You nudge a bit closer, far from tactful. Fluorescent hibiscus haunted by a rainstorm. You inhale deeply, savoring the aroma, when you hear his husky snicker buried underneath. 

“I appreciate the compliment.” 

“Sorry.” 

You move towards the top. Thick from root to tip, curls forming in every which angle. You test the waters and gently scratch his scalp. When he doesn’t react, you continue to trace your nails along it, light pressure, similar to the movements provided for the lion's care. You slowly move from the beginning of his hairline to the end of his scalp, guided by the curve of your fingertips. 

A deep, guttural hum escapes his lips, rumbling in his chest. It travels against your skin. You’re beginning to see more parallels between him and Mimi than you’d like to admit. His arms relax, lowered like cinder blocks at his sides, and you slowly begin to feel the full pressure of this heavy man resting on your shoulder. 

The weight of his burdens is released by your touch, and you feel it dissipating within the pleased sighs and breathy murmurs, eyes shut in pure surrender. Even his lashes curl beautifully, kissing the highs of his cheekbones, blessed by the gift of basking amber. You knead and press at the wispy strands on his temples with scrunches of snow. 

“Mm. That’s good” he says, whisper-light. 

You massage his scalp between your fingers. Taking breaks to smooth the entwined curls. Mimi rests her head on the garden stones, with the rest of the space being furnished with comfortable, safe silence. Picking at the red ribbon until it pulls loose, more hair spills like a blizzard against his fair back. 

“General?” 

He doesn’t reply. The heaving rise and fall of his chest challenges your balance, but no response. “General, are you awake?” You say it quieter this time. If he were to drift asleep, let it be the fate of Lan. 

“Hmm?” he mumbles. 

“Would you like me to tie your hair for you?” 

“That would be nice. Thank you.” 

Your greed gets the better of you, pretending to reach a strand intended for the ponytail just to immerse your fingers in the soft bearings of his nape. An indistinct hum in response is enough for you to keep going. The hairs gentle here, and you’re unhurried sweeping your hands over it. You grab a small bundle of hair at the back of his head and collect it in the neatest ponytail you can manage in this spot. You fold the ribbon around it and pull tight in an acceptable bow. 

Absent-minded touches tuck the stragglers behind his ears. His face warmed, you’d check his temperature if you weren’t also burning up. With his hair tied properly, you can see the hair on his muscles, leading further to the tufts peeping over the waistband. You quickly avert your gaze. 

“I am done.” 

It takes a minute for him to register. “Thank you” he sighs. He’s finding the strength to pull himself out of sleep, raising his head when your hands suddenly ghost behind his back. Not pressuring, but reassuring. There’s a red patch spread across is forehead. 

“However, if you are still tired, I would be honored to stay here while you rest.” He regards you, mischievous grin tugging on his mouth. A laugh puffs from his nose, and he turns his cheek to lay on your shoulder again. He relaxes into your embrace, to which he closes his eyes. 

“Then 5 more minutes wouldn’t hurt.” 

© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)

[buckgasms]

Once upon a time - Kinktober

Hello!!!

Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll! The winner by far was 'Beauty and the Beast' so I will be starting with that one!

I will be writing some of the other popular ones too so don't despair if this wasn't your favourite!

I'm doing this in two parts because it's just too huge otherwise, so please enjoy and I hope to see you for the next part!

The village of Swanford had once been a prosperous village, lead by the Barnes family, who had not only made their fortune there, but had also been generous benefactors of the town.

But after the wars of Europe and the death of their patriarch, the family and the village had descended into disrepair.

The Barnes residence, once a shining display of wealth and fashionable architecture now stood, imposing and delapidated on the edge of town. It's owner, the reclusive James Barnes, was never seen in the village. Rumours swirled of a beastly nature about him.

Cruel and unkind, a monster returned from war, more metal than man.

You had little interest in the life of James Barnes and his sad house. Your life, and it's problems were far more pressing.

You lived with your father in the poorer part of the village, his health would ebb and flow, keeping him out of secure work, and much of the financial responsibility falling onto your shoulders at a young age.

Since you were able to, you took jobs wherever you could, sewing, serving and occasionally teaching at the local community school. That had been your favourite, but was naturally short lived.

One September afternoon you had been informed by the headmaster that you would no longer be able to work. They hadn't received their usual funding and could only afford two teachers.

You were devastated but swallowed your pain and smiled. Perhaps another year?

🥀

You had just finished a day of sewing that left your fingers red and throbbing, when your father burst in the front door.

"Darling, I've had an idea..."

You strained a smile. These were never the start of a good conversation with your father. As he approached you could smell the scent of liquor on his breath.

"The Barnes mansion... It must be abandoned now. No one's seen sight of the miserable lad for years..."

You shrug and raise your eyebrows. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

He chuckles and pinches your cheek.

"Tonight... I'm going up there. There must be something I can sell. Then you can forget these silly embroideries and I'll buy you a lovely dress!"

Your stomach churns. Both at his idea and his painful misunderstanding of you and the situation you are both in.

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

But he's already flopped down on the bed, unconscious to your protests, a victorious smile on his sweaty, boyish face.

🥀

You woke in a start, not sure what made you so terrified in your dreams but feeling uneasy as you panted in bed.

It took you a moment to realise the usual sound of your father snoring was absent and that the front door was left ajar.

You groaned and scrambled out of bed, pulling on a shawl and a pair of worn out shoes. Perhaps you could catch him before he made it to the mansion.

In a few minutes you were out the door, surprised to find the early dawn light breaking. How long had he been gone? Your stomach churned again. A familiar feeling when dealing with your father's escapades.

You were panting and out of breath when you arrived at the gates of the Barnes' home. You shivered at the prospect of walking through the overgrown garden but a shout from inside the normally silent house pushed you on.

Ignoring the clawing branches and weeds that tried to trip you until you were at the big wooden doors. Before you could knock the door swung open and you were met with a huge man, hair and beard giving the appearance of something like a wolf and piercing blue eyes burning into you.

"Come for more stolen goods?" He growled as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into he house.

You cried out in protest until he released you, yanking you into a large parlour. There you found your father standing, looking terrified and sober. Beads of sweat were pouring down his face, and behind him a pile of shattered glass and porcelain.

"What did you do?" You strained as you walked to him, taking his hands in yours.

"He's a thief" a harsh voice spoke and you turned to face the owner of this dark, terrible home. James Barnes.

"His foolishness and avarice has cost me several hundred dollars in damages. Priceless family heirlooms, lost forever..."

You squeezed the eyes shut, hoping just briefly you might still be asleep, but you opened them again, finding yourself still in this nightmare.

"Sir, please forgive us. My father, he...he doesn't always make good decisions, but he means well. He was just trying to support us. It was a mistake..."

"So like everyone else in this village, it is someone else's problem to fix. Forget doing something useful, just hold out your hand and someone else will provide?"

You flinched at the venom in his voice. You had never once complained about your lot in life, it felt awful to be at the brunt of his fury. Despite your fear you step towards him, placing yourself between the two men.

"How dare you... As if you know what it's like to live in discomfort or poverty..."

At your words he holds up his other arm, heavy silver metal and scoffs. "I know something of living in pain....I just refuse to make it into anyone else's problem."

You blink. Shocked at both the appendage and his confession. The silence hangs heavily in the air for a moment.

"I will not let this go unpunished. This is my home and he has caused damage. I will have to report this to the police..."

You whimpered, knowing that this was probably your father's final strike. If he was arrested again, he would be sent away for hard labour. A sentence that would probably kill him.

Your father gripped your elbow and squeezed. "It's ok my love, it's what I deserve..."

You shook your head and approached James, dropping to your knees grabbing at his hands, both to his surprise.

"Please? If they arrest my father.. I'll never see him again. And.... He's all I have left. Please? There must be something else..."

Tears fell from your eyes, but you refused to break your eye contact, gripping his hands as hard as you dared. His face was unreadable, but you hoped there was a good man there somewhere.

"Very well. He can go home."

You heaved out a sigh, moving to release his hands, but instead he gripped you tighter.

"But you have to stay."

Ah perhaps not a good man at all....

You gasped and tried to escape his grip but he held fast.

"You will work off your father's debt to me. You will stay here so I know you aren't gossiping about me in town, or stealing from me. Once the debt is paid, you can leave."

He releases your hands and you scramble to your feet. You turn to your father, standing uselessly in the mess he has created. Your shoulders drop and you turn back to James.

"Ok."

🥀

Spending time in the Barnes household wasn't as torturous as you had envisioned. Bucky, as he preferred to be called, spent most of the day alone leaving you to your various tasks.

The house was a mess, so you were busy dusting, cleaning and tidying. You spent your first week in the kitchen, disgusted by the dirt and mouldy food you found there.

Each morning ready made meals were delivered and you would store and serve when appropriate. Around midweek you were handed three bowls of mushy oats, you recognised as gruel. It looked odd amid the rich soups, stews, bread and cheeses that were stacked next to it.

"Well this looks almost good a new"

His deep grumble of a voice made you jump as you were scrubbing dishes and made it slip from your hand, smashing in the sink.

"Hmm that must be another week's work at least" he chuckled, walking over to you, brushing past you to grab a drink of water.

You scowled and began collecting the shards to put in the bin. He leaned against the counter as he watched you work.

"There was some gruel delivered today. What's that for?" You asked briskly as he slipped slowly.

"Ah yes. That's your's"

You looked up at him and stared. The twinkle of amusement in his eyes was enraging.

"I have a proposal. If you would like to dine with me in the evenings, then we can share a meal. If you continue to eat alone, then it only seems right you should eat just enough to sustain you."

"Why would I wish you eat with you?" You tried to dial down the venom in your words, but he seemed unbothered. A simple shrug and a flash of a grin before he turned to leave.

"I'll leave it with you to ponder, Beauty..."

That was another thing. Despite the fact you had told him your name several times, he insisted on refering to you as Beauty. Perhaps it was some sick reference to a fairytale?

You were beautiful, despite your often disheveled appearance, but it felt more of an insult when he said it.

Either way, you were never going to share a table with such a brute. You were made of tougher stuff that just a bit of gruel.

🥀

By the weekend you were starting to break. The gruel was exactly as he said, just enough to sustain you, but not enough to make you feel good in any way.

Saturday morning came and he had a huge roast delivered, with all the trimmings. You groaned as you set it in the oven to roast for a few hours. It looked so good.

In the afternoon you had some time to yourself and decided to read, finding some of his books left lying around too hard to resist. You didn't care what you read, you just loved it. Losing yourself in a fantastic world, or learning about real life places that you would probably never see.

As you were learning about the rainforests of the Amazon, Bucky appeared, and you did your best not to react as he sat on the couch where you had curled yourself up.

"Dinner already smells divine Beauty. Are you sure you won't join me tonight?"

You closed the book slowly. "Why are you so persistant about me joining you? Servents don't normally dine with their masters..."

"I don't consider you a servant. You are working off a debt, yes, but I still consider you a guest of sorts. If we are to share a home, we could at least share a meal..."

You narrowed your eyes but your treacherous stomach betrayed you, growling loudly.

He chuckled. "That settles it. You must join me. Oh! I have another delivery coming this afternoon. It's for you..."

And with that he left with your rainforests.

🥀

A dress.

It was a dress.

No in fact it wasn't a dress. It was an entire wardrobe of clothes, fit for a woman of a far higher status than you. Annoyingly they were all to your taste and fit like a glove.

You were mortified to find he had also purchased undergarments and threw the parcel of lacy items into the drawer to ignore them for the time being.

You decided on a pale green dress for dinner, throwing it on and brushing your hair through before rushing down to the kitchen to dish up.

He was in his usual simple black trousers and loose white shirt that he always wore, making you feel a bit of a spectacle in your shiny new dress, but he complimented you in a way that felt genuine so you smiled and allowed him to serve dinner.

He was quite handsome, but he was hidden behind a thick scraggy beard and long lank hair. The beard covered scars that you noticed drifted down towards his chest, more on his left side.

His metal arm, made of some mysterious metal called vibranium was surprisingly nimble. Occasionally he would knock something with it but it was hardly the terrifying limb the rest of the village made it out to be.

His eyes were the most wonderful though. Glittering blue that seemed to change with his emotions. Sparkling with joy, or turning grey with his anger.

You wondered what he must have been like before the war. There was definitely a sense of humour there, gentleness and generosity. But like so many men of his time, the things he had seen and done had buried those attributes beneath a surface of blood, mud and pain.

You ate mostly in silence because you were enjoying every single mouthful of delicious food. It was heaven, and even as the cook, you had to admit that this was the best roast you'd ever had. He seemed similarly impressed, mmh-ing at each new bite. It was almost sweet.

Once the plates were clearing he poured you a wine and started probing you. He wanted to know about your life, everything....

You answered briefly and without inspiration until he asked you about books.

"Oh yes I love to read. My mother insisted I learn and I'm so glad I did! I'll read anything I can get my hands on!" You laughed and he smiled, cogs turning in his head.

"I used to teach actually, I loved it. But they had to let me go..."

"Why? That seems crazy?"

"The money. There wasn't enough. I don't understand how people could take funding away from a school. It's so selfish..."

He stopped smiling.

"Maybe these places should learn to save better, and spend more wisely..."

You eyed him. "Well how can they with nothing? Don't be so naive, just because you have enough. Life is miserable enough without more selfish people in the world."

He threw his knife on the table and stood up.

"I knew it. You are just the same as the rest of them... Just waiting for a handout."

You also rose, fire burning in your chest

"I have never in my life asked for anything. I have worked all my life, harder that I imagine you ever have! I think its about kindness. It costs nothing to be kind James. And I'll stick to gruel if this is what dinner with you looks like."

You tore from the room before he could throw another barbed word your way, slamming the door and running to your bedroom. You refused to shed a tear until the door was firmly locked, collapsing on the bed, wishing this would all just end.

You heard a door slam in the distance before more tears fell until you finally drifted off to sleep.

🥀🥀🥀

[hmtaxidermy]

My cat brought me a sparrow today, I'd love to be able to keep the wings intact. But im not sure how to do that. Do you have any tips for how to go about that?

Hope I'm not being annoying!

Hello!

Unfortunately, the answer depends on where you live and what kind of sparrow it is.

(TW: Long post. Descriptive taxidermy process)

If you’re a resident of the US, it is illegal to possess, kill, or collect any parts or taxidermy of non-game native birds, regardless of if it was done by your cat.

You can only preserve this bird if you are not a US resident, OR it’s a common house sparrow.

(Not yelling at you anon, just trying to emphasize.)

Common house sparrows (pictured below) are invasive to America and therefore CAN be taxidermied!

These cuties <3

If you are a US resident and it is not a house sparrow, you legally must dispose of the bird, including any and all feathers.

Now, if it is a house sparrow, regardless of your residence, this is what you’d need to do:

Cut into the breast of the bird, making a vertical incision down to the cloaca. Be VERY delicate with the skin, as it’s paper thin and will rip.

The breast of the bird is kinda in a cartoon heart shape. Make a diagonal (slanted towards the neck) cut into each “lobe” of this cartoon heart to reach the shoulder.

Carefully cut at the joint to release the wing. Cut away excess muscle and meat from the bone. Be VERY careful, as there is skin all around this area that can be cut with the slightest pressure.

Now released, freely cut off as much extra skin you’d like to take with you.

CAREFULLY skin down to the first joint.

Now the hard part. Take your wing and place it so it stands on the ‘wrist’ joint. Using this for leverage, take a pin (I use a tapestry pin) press down on the wing until you get all the way to the ‘wrist.’ You are breaking the flight feathers away from the bone by doing this, which is what you want.

With the flight feathers released, you may now take the bones in your hand and CAREFULLY pull on them to flip the wing inside out. I must stress how LITTLE pressure you will need for this.

Congrats!! Now do this on the other wing. Clean out all meat from the bones as best you can.

With both wings turned and cleaned, mix up some warm water and a little Dawn dish soap. Let soak for a couple minutes.

Rinse and towel to remove some moisture.

Liberally apply borax to the skin and bones.

(Optional) if you’d like to pose your wings, get gauge 18 wire and sharpen one end. Carefully insert the sharp end under the skin of the ‘wrist’ and down until you hit the end of the bone. For a little sparrow, this’ll be like half an inch or so. During this time, you may poke your wire through the wing. Don’t panic. Back your wire out and try again. The feathers will hide any mistakes. Now take the rest of the wire and bend it along the ‘upper’ and ‘forearm,’ securing it with a little floral wire wrapped around it.

CAREFULLY re-invert wing. Pose if necessary.

Dry the wing with a hair dryer. Make sure to get the downy layer as well. It is important now to groom and pose the feathers, as they’ll retain their position after drying.

Set aside to dry for AT LEAST 2 weeks.

If you’ve done it right, then you should have two perfectly preserved wings!

I’m trusting you to use this information on house sparrows only. I do not condone the illegal preservation or possession of birds within the US that are protected under the Migratory Bird Act.

[unseeliethot]

For @bella-daonna 💕🎉

It's the best, and longest, sleep he's had the entire month. Perhaps, even, that entire half of the year.

Soft dawn filters through small gaps in the curtains, made by a soft breeze that had picked up as he'd slept.

As they'd slept.

There is a warmth that resides not just inside his chest, glowing through what has felt for so long like a dark fog, but pressed against it as well. Skin to skin. Back to chest. His mind, not quite fully awake or able to go back to sleep, focuses on the pleasing feel of his fingers caressing the silky smooth curve of a hip under his hand. Gentle as they splay across a stomach, glide over the join of rib to hip to thigh.

Warm, so very warm.

His lips, gentle and light so as to not disturb, press fleeting kisses along the back of a shoulder. Ghosting along the path he'd laid previous to their slumber, echoing soft bitemarks and hot kisses he'd given them.

It is a dream to have them here, in his bed with them. A dream to have them asleep a little longer so he can admire them.

His Callan, his life's blood and the pulse that sends it storming through his veins. What a liveliness to his existence they've brought him, what a wonderful and enrapturing freedom from monotony and bore of the courtiers and nobles he'd had occupying his life before.

Now there was release, now he had them and had something he could never realise he was missing before.

There were many ways to say it, from echoing the words of long gone poets to songs that could make the trees themselves weep and thrash that he had what they did not. Even words that sprung from his own heart, prose and poetry.

Sometimes even the simplest of phrasing filled him to the brim.

He loved them.

He loved them.

And how frightening a thing like love could be, yet so easy to traverse, now, with them. He understood how it brought great warriors to their knees and broke the minds of scholars. A powerful and awe inspiring force.

All from his Callan. He should not be surprised, the things they were capable of, the labyrinth trials and tribulations they'd made their way through with nary a guide.

The way they set his heart ablaze and took the warmth from summer and spring when they parted from his side.

He had all the time in the world to admire them, and admire them he did. Pressed and clutched to his chest, healthy and hale these days.

Keagan's face pressed to the join where their neck met their shoulder and his arms tightened further around them.

Such small moments were made even more joyful by them. He would savour each one he could.

They shifted in his arms, pushing themself further from some cold spot on the bed and harder into his chest. Turning and grumbling until they could bury their face into him. Their hair spilling on silken pillow cases beneath their head.

He pressed his lips to their temple and closed his eyes. Whatever appointments he had could be rearranged, with the everdawn peering through those small gaps, he could allow himself at least until they woke.

[xluciifer]

❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

From this prompt! / Always Accepting!

Did she have to bring attention to it?!

His walls had crumbled like the leaves of autumn, engulfed in the sway of the music that moves their steps in sync. The company and compassion Beelzebub brought to the table shone sunlight through his cloudy days, a genuine smile dawned on his features at the wake of her rising sun. Parties weren't much of his style, but when she offered a little party just for two ... how could he turn the offer away?

Lucifer's heart was a beating drum during an orchestra performance, the nervousness of treating a woman to the degree she deserves as bodies meshed during the dance of tango creating sensuality between them. A form of freedom he'd long forgotten about in the sway of her steps that mirrored his own. Be that as it may, it was hard for his face to not reflect the sound creating from his chest - and once she brought notice to it, he hoped to all Heaven and Hell that he HADN'T gone red.

He needed his leverage back; so in the midst of a quick sashay, his blackened hand scooped a flower that adorned a desktop not far from where they swung to and fro before allowing his missing puzzle piece to fit back into the picture that was her body. With his charm, the flower resided in-between his teeth, allowing an eyebrow to perk in his allure.

She seemed impressed and that's all he was aiming for - now, he wanted to land the dance number on a big surprise that maybe she wouldn't see coming from a man as quietly fragile as he was. The music started to shimmer down to it's final beat, the lights spotted on them seemed to dim as the conclusion of the song met its peak and in the moment, Lucifer flowed in time to the vibrancy.

A few lovely spins were given to the Sin of Gluttony as laughter erupted from her throat before taking her by surprise by dipping her down. Height and stature were no roadblocks for a man with determination and pride, and even now, his heart wouldn't stop riveting through his chest. His ruby eyes met her cotton candy gaze, eyes had narrowed to admire her beauty under the lights before allowing his hand not supporting her weight to release the flower from his teeth. That hand caressed her face before landing just behind the ear to allow the flower to rest. At this moment, it appeared Bee wanted to say something but his sights had shifted down to her lips; he didn't want to hear a word. His face moved before his heart knew it and lonesome lips finally met at the melody's fade out.

The King of Hell adding backing to his efforts, caressing her face as his lips seem to press eagerly further into hers. Time didn't matter, the world felt like it stopped to allow two souls who longed for love to find it in the shelter of one another.

[jollytalkerollywalker]

Laughter bubbled from Olly’s lips as he stared down at his phone, cheeks sore from the cheesy grin that seemed to have permanently taken residence on his face. His eyes shone with glee as he pinched the screen, zooming in on the photo that Teddy had just sent him. It was an adorable selfie of his friend – were they friends? Was that really a suitable word to describe what they had? He wasn’t sure Teddy was ready to put a label on things, so he supposed it would do quite well for now! – stretched out on his sofa, his arm braced behind his head, the gorgeously plump ginger tomcat that he’d adopted plonked firmly on his tummy. It also hadn’t gone unnoticed to Olly that his positioning was also causing his shirt to ride up in the aforementioned selfie, giving him a glimpse of Teddy’s rather delicious midriff. His cheeks burned with the blush the blood that was rushing to them, his tummy suddenly doing somersaults. 

Remembering where he was – currently leaning against the rough bark of a tree, halfway along a hiking trail that he’d dragged Jude on at the crack of dawn – Olly's head jolted up, the bright smile on his face managing the near-impossible task of stretching even wider the minute his gaze landed on his best friend. Just a short distance away, Jude found himself firmly seated against what Olly imagined was the driest patch of grass he could find, leaves scattered around him, a veritable autumnal rainbow littered across the bank. Jude had insisted on the two of them taking a break, and Olly had delighted in the prospect of getting to soak in the sunrise with his best guy. Coming to a halt at the edge of a lake, he’d watched happily as June had planted his bottom down onto the grassy bank and kicked his shoes off, dipping his toes into the water below. That’s when Teddy’s text has come through, explaining that the stray cat he’d come to adopt had been pawing at his door at some ungodly hour, begging to be let in. 

Shoving the device back into his pocket after shooting off a few Heart Eye Emojis and insisting that they were both the most handsome boys in the world, Olly bounded towards his friend, dropping down into the grass next to him with absolutely no tact or sense of self care. With an ungraceful oof sound, he followed Jude’s lead and removed his hiking boots, placing them next to him before sinking his feet into the tepid water. They’d been lucky to avoid a frosty morning, the last remnants of summer clinging on for dear life. 

Content, he reached out and let his hand drop absently against Jude’s thigh, palm up and fingers wiggling cutely as they awaited the other man’s own. Dipping his head, he pressed his cheek to Jude’s shoulder and released another, softer giggle. 

“Don’t you think this is kind of romantic?” Olly teased, biting his lip as he stared out across the water, taking in the sights. 

It was all in jest, obviously. Olly had been harboring a crush on Jude for as long as he’d known he and Marianne, but it had never truly amounted to anything. Their friendship was a little unconventional, and they certainly got a lot of stares here and there, but Jude had always been comfortable in his own sexuality and hadn’t ever had any qualms about welcoming Olly’s affection, despite how open he’d been about being attracted to him. In fact, Jude seemed to embrace the fact, and that only made Olly adore him all the more for it. He was more than content to be loved unconditionally by Jude, even if it was only in the platonic sense. Besides; Now he had Teddy to daydream about. 

“Maybe we don’t tell Laney about this,” he joked, shifting slightly to look at the other man. His nose brushed Jude’s jaw and Olly allowed himself the freedom to press a kiss to his cheek in the process. “Or Teddy – I definitely don’t want him getting the wrong idea about us!” 

[genshinarchives]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇. 𝟐

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐 : 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : Aether brings you to Dawn Winery and asks Diluc to do him a favour by letting you stay in his home until his Serenitea Pot is fully furnished.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 : Aether, Albedo, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Dainsleif, Diluc, Kaeya, Kazuha, Osial, Razor, Venti, Xiao, Xingqiu, Zhongli

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : Romance, hurt/comfort, reverse harem

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : N/A

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : N/A

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏

The world that graced her eyes was very different than what she was used to. Lush green plains with flourishing trees and wildflowers, and fluffy white clouds adorning a clear blue sky... She remembered them as the last few sights she saw before Morax petrified her in Guyun Stone Forest.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her face against Aether's nape. She wanted to hate Morax for taking away her freedom, but there was something, like a separate entity living in her subconscious begging her to not hate him and to not live for revenge. Aether felt (y/n) tighten her arms around him and mistook it as her becoming restless.

"We're almost there so hang on for a bit, okay?" Aether asked, smiling at her over his shoulder.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she quietly replied, "Yes, Aether."

As they neared Dawn Winery, the Traveler spotted Diluc having a conversation with Connor by the vineyard. Before Aether could call for Diluc, Paimon beat him to it, popping into existence and yelling, "Hi Master Diluc! Long time no see!"

The redhead immediately shifted his attention to the travelling pair, and that was when he noticed Aether carrying an unfamiliar woman on his back. He narrowed his eyes slightly and dismissed Connor with a wave of his hand, before folding his arms over his chest.

"Hello Aether. You didn't tell me you were returning to Mondstadt; had you informed me of your visit ahead of time, I would have made the necessary preparations to give you a proper welcome," he uttered. Although Diluc was speaking to Aether, the latter wasn't oblivious to his gaze that was on (y/n). It was as if Diluc was judging whether or not she would pose as a threat to Mondstadt.

"There's no need to trouble yourself," he said, letting out an airy laugh, "Also, could you please do me a favour? I really need your help."

Diluc arched an eyebrow at Aether's urgent tone. "Of course. How may I be of assistance?"

With a nervous smile, Aether nodded back at (y/n). "Until I'm able to provide a home for both of us, could she stay at your residence? It will only be temporary, and I promise that I'll cover any of her expenses."

The (h/c)-haired female was surprised that Aether was willing to take full responsibility of her, despite knowing little to nothing about her past. In a way, he reminded her of Dainsleif. The kindness he had shown her so far dampened the bitterness she felt towards the Archons, who stripped her of every sense of freedom she had.

Diluc stared at Aether for a good while. He then released a muted sigh and nodded. "Since it is you who asked... Very well." His vermilion eyes flickered over to (y/n). "I'm Diluc Ragnvindr of Mondstadt. May I ask what your name is?"

Upon hearing his question, she immediately got off Aether's back and bowed with her hand on her chest, surprising everyone. "My name is (y/n)."

"No surname?" the redhead asked.

"I was never given one. However, I do remember being called by another name: Gungnir," she answered, straightening her back again.

Gungnir... It sounded like an important name so he decided to make a mental note of it.

"I see. Come inside, (y/n)," he said, motioning towards the entrance of his manor, "I'll lend you a spare maid uniform for the time being. I don't think what you're wearing right now is adequate enough."

(Y/n) gave no reaction to his comment while Aether blushed in her stead.

As he turned towards the road leading to Mondstadt, he stammered, "I-I'll go buy her some clothes now! See you later!"

"I'll come with you," (y/n) said, moving to follow him. Paimon squeaked and quickly pulled her to Diluc's side by tugging the back of her makeshift dress.

"You can't go into the city while wearing that!" she exclaimed, stamping her hands on her hips with a frown, "At least make yourself look decent first!"

"Oh... I'm sorry."

Diluc pursed his lips to stifle a chuckle before leading (y/n) inside his home - Aether and Paimon opting to wait for her outside. He called Adelinde over, instructing her to bring a spare maid uniform for (y/n) to use until she's able get herself some proper clothes, and then ordered his other servants to prepare a guest room. As (y/n) stood behind the red-haired gentleman, she noticed him whispering into Adelinde's ear but decided to stay silent about it.

Facing the (h/c)-haired female, he nodded in the head housemaid's direction and told her, "Follow Adelinde to the bathroom. She will help you change into the uniform."

"This way please," Adelinde said. (Y/n) followed her to the bathroom, where she was swiftly changed into the dress and given a pair of shoes to wear. After dressing herself in an attire that's more appropriate, she followed Aether to the city of Mondstadt. Diluc watched them leave together, eyes glued on (y/n)'s receding figure.

"Did you notice anything strange about her?" he asked Adelinde once they had disappeared from his line of sight.

"Yes, Master Diluc. I saw an odd tattoo on her back; if you'd like to investigate it, I can draw it on paper for you," she answered.

He hummed, spinning on his heels to retreat inside his abode. "Please do."

❀

When (y/n) stepped past the gates protecting Mondstadt, it felt as if she had entered a completely different world. It was a city blessed with gentle winds and sunlight, a stark contrast to Khaenri'ah that was built underground. (Y/n) looked around. Despite the lack of advanced technology, its people were smiling, laughing and living their lives as freely as they could. Is this what life is like above the ground? So while she was fighting to protect what was left of her kingdom on that fateful day, they were...

"(Y/n)!"

(Y/n) was jerked out of her thoughts when Aether called her name. She blinked, realising that he was standing right in front of her whilst squeezing her hands.

"Are you alright? You seem agitated just now," he said, and that was when she noticed the gentle green glow emitting from his palms; he was using his anemo powers to subdue the crimson sparks around her hands. (Y/n) quickly regained control of her powers, hoping that nobody witnessed her little slip.

"I'm fine," she told him, pulling her hands away from his, "I just wasn't feeling well." 

This pain that she's feeling in her chest... What is it? Anger? Regret?

"Let's grab a bite at Good Hunter then! You haven't eaten at all today, so you must be veeery hungry!" Paimon suggested, wiggling excitedly at the thought of food. A sweatdrop formulated on Aether's brow.

"You're just looking for an excuse to eat, Paimon..."

"Not true! Paimon is worried about (y/n) going hungry during our shopping trip!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." Turning to face (y/n), he cocked his head slightly to one side. "Wanna have a quick stop for food? We can't have you walking on an empty stomach after all."

She nodded. She was feeling a little hungry and missed the taste of Mondstadt's local food. On their way to Good Hunter, Aether pointed out the most notable places in the city for her future reference: the blacksmith's, Flora's flower shop, the Adventurer's Guild, With Wind Comes Glory, Mondstadt General Goods and the alchemy workshop.

"Well, that's all for now. I'll give you a proper tour of the city tomorrow," he said, smiling at her warmly, "Go ahead and find a seat, I'll order something for us."

Before she could say anything, the blond left her to her own devices. She let out a muted sigh, feeling guilty about having Aether take care of her instead of it being the other way around. She was created to do the bidding of humans, so it felt weird to be taken care of for once. Deciding to do as she was told, (y/n) picked a random seat nearby and waited for him to return with their food.

"Oh, a new face?"

She suddenly felt an unfamiliar presence beside her and craned her neck to see who it was. There stood a tall man with a tanned complexion and long, navy blue hair secured in a low side ponytail that draped over his left shoulder. He wore a black eyepatch over his right eye, and his visible eye was periwinkle and had a diamond-shaped pupil.

Why did he look familiar?

One of his eyebrows quirked up at the look of recognition that flashed in her expression.

"You seem to recognise me, yet I don't know who you are," he mused, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. With an elbow resting atop the table, he propped his chin on the palm of his hand. "I'm Kaeya, the Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius. May I have the honour of knowing this beautiful lady's name?"

(Y/n) stared at him unintentionally. He was rather handsome. "I'm (y/n)."

"(Y/n), eh? What a suitable name for someone like you," he said with a grin, "Tell me, where do you come from? I've taken quite an interest in you."

She averted her gaze, reluctant to reveal anything about herself besides her name.

"I'm not comfortable enough to tell you," she replied.

He could see that his normal approach in gathering intel was not successful. When he first saw (y/n) with Aether by the main gate, he didn't think much of her, believing her to be a maid sent by Diluc to accompany the Traveler; however, after witnessing her little slip up earlier, his thoughts on her changed. The crimson sparks reminded him of the person he was tasked to retrieve, and it was very fortunate that the one who found her for him was none other than Mondstadt's hero.

Kaeya suddenly grabbed her chin and leaned uncomfortably close to her. His gesture did not faze the woman at all, despite their lips being inches apart.

"Such beautiful eyes," he remarked, "They remind me of the twilight sky." Her entire body tensed at his comment, and when she didn't respond, he took it as his cue to continue; "When I was a child, I heard a story about a woman. Her red lightning can burn through the flesh of her enemies. Her powers alone could almost rival the gods of this world." The corners of his lips twitched upwards. "You remind me of her so much that I'm inclined to believe you're the same person."

(Y/n) immediately pulled herself away from him but before she could run to Aether, the Cavalry Captain grabbed her hand and yanked her down, forcing her to lean over the table. He casually placed a hand on the small of her back, as if to silently tell her that he won't let her go until he's feeling satisfied.

"But that would be too much of a coincidence now, wouldn't it?" he asked, chuckling. Before he could properly register what was happening, (y/n) was holding him in a thumb lock with a cold look in her eyes. His upper body immediately went slack on the table and he clenched his fist on her back.

"Ugh-!" He winced. It was painful. "H-hey now, are you seriously attacking a captain of the Favonius Knights?"

"So what?" she asked, "Try something like this again and it won't just end here."

"HEY!" A white flash smashed into Kaeya's head abruptly, and (y/n) quickly released him before taking a step back.

"(Y/n), are you alright?" Aether questioned, approaching her from behind. His concerned gaze swept over her figure for anything out of place.

"I'm fine," she replied, acting as if she didn't almost crush the first joint of Kaeya's thumb.

"What do you think you're doing, harassing a girl like that? Have you no shame, Captain Kaeya?" Paimon crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. 

Kaeya released an awkward chuckle as he rubbed the joints of his poor thumb. "I wasn't harassing her. I was trying to get acquainted with her and she suddenly hurt me."

"Excuses! Don't touch her inappropriately when Paimon's around!"

The blond wasn't sure what exactly transpired while he was ordering food, but he didn't want to ruin (y/n)'s day any further and decided to bring her back to Dawn Winery. He'll just have to go clothes shopping for her by himself tomorrow morning.

"I got you a Fisherman's Toast and some Chicken-Mushroom Skewers. You can eat them on the way back to Dawn Winery," he uttered, carefully leading her away from the Cavalry Captain by the hand. Switching his attention to Kaeya briefly, he nodded at him in acknowledgement. "Have a good day, Kaeya."

As the blue-haired male watched them leave the city, he recalled a well-known story from his childhood.

.

.

.

"You can always hear the sound of Ruin Guards in the ruins of Teyvat. Patrolling for intruders, restoring the ruined city, other tasks they used to do when our ancient kingdom stood proud. The Ruin Guards bustle about under the moonlight that shines upon the ruins… A figure with eyes that remind you of the twilight sky stands alone."

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑

[fandom-collective-writers]

Flames of Jealousy (Diluc Ragnvindr x MC)

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Diluc Ragnvindr x MC(F)

Warnings: NSFW, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Penetration, Orgasm Denial

Written by: @voltage-vixen Prompt: Jealous Sex​

Notes: The MC featured in this story is a former traveler that is of age.

“Diluc, is everything alright? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Ignoring MC’s expressed concern, Diluc snaked his fingers tighter around her own, and proceeded to storm through the village at an increasing pace as he dragged her along for the ride. 

They had attended (unwilling on Diluc’s behalf) a gathering hosted by none other than the Knights of Favonius. Often one to avoid these types of shindigs where civilities were long forgone as the liquor poured throughout the eve, Diluc had exhausted all options of excuses for not attending when the former traveler he was presently dragging away had insisted upon making an appearance. The woman who had chosen to remain in Mondstadt in the stead of pursuing the journey her brother ventured on with after reuniting with one another; she had chosen to reside stationary in the great nation of freedom to remain by his side.  The least he could offer up was to stand by her side as the proud partner of the honorary knight.

That was until that bastard entered the scene. More specifically, that cryo bastard. Kaeya naturally was the object of the affection of many suitors; in which made Diluc question why the Captain of the Calvary had chosen to stand so closely next to his suitor. The two were exchanging what seemed to be innocent enough pleasantries-but it wasn’t until Kaeya flashed that panty dropping smirk in MC’s direction did Diluc find himself storming across the foyer.  

“Pardon. Allow me to extend my deepest apologies, but I’m afraid we must be taking our leave now. An urgent matter has come up at the guild,” Diluc explained to the nearby guests loitering in the grand hall. Latching onto her wrist, Diluc yanked MC towards the large doors to make an exit without allowing any sort of refutes. MC blinked in confusion at Kaeya’s perceptive wink, and waved a swift goodbye to Lisa and Amber before being dragged fully out of the castle. 

Damn, him. Damn, him all to hell! Who the hell does he think he is putting his hands on my woman?!

Furious thoughts of jealousy raged throughout Diluc’s mind, swirling around like the fury of a violent storm. Wanting to wipe Kaeya from his mind, the animosity shifted onto MC instead. Why in the name of the archons was she allowing other men (least of all one that drove him loony) to position themselves in such a close vicinity to her? Gods, did he love this woman more than his own life itself, but she was due for a lesson. He was going to instill a sweet punishment upon MC that she would never forget. Turning the corner, they soon reached the front of Angel’s Share. Throwing the door open to the closed pub, Diluc slammed it shut behind them before his hands were drawn to her body.

The wielder of pyro’s hands descended the trace of MC’s hips until they cupped the curve of her rear end. She breathed a wistful sigh as he fondled the sensitive mound of flesh. Flames of passion scorched through her veins, igniting her body in a burning desire so fierce, her knees trembled in duress at the grazing heat of the tycoon’s caresses. MC swayed into the embrace of Diluc’s chest, crashing into him as she fervently grasped onto his shirt to brace herself.

“Please,” a breathy whisper slipped from the purse of her lips. “Please, Diluc. I can’t wait any longer. Make me burn for you even more.”

Chuckling, Diluc drank in the sounds of MC’s moans amid lifting her up and settling her onto the counter of the bar. Yearning for more, MC’s hands were drawn to the back of his head. Tugging him closer, their lips collided with such a fierceness, her breath lingered, and a pleasurable tingling consumed the greedy inclination between her legs. 

Diluc longed to satisfy his dear MC. Gazing down at the woman in question, she was a sheer exquisite mess of beauty. Her dress was hitched above her hips, sweat trickling down her thighs. The pupils of MC’s eyes were coated in a desirous lust, and her tongue traced the crease of lips in anticipation of what she was aching for. Oh, great archons did he want to worship MC. Both in body and soul, the nobleman wanted to take her here and now, drowning her in all the whims his affections had to offer. 

Alas, his ravishing of MC would have to take pause. For flashbacks of Kaeya’s smug stupid face as he purposely taunted the owner of Dawn Winery danced into his mind. The way MC unsuspectingly smiled at the flirting ministrations the captain tossed her way infuriated Diluc. Never did he question her loyalty to him, but still….a tiny reminder of who MC belonged to wouldn’t harm anyone. In fact, it could even prove to be an enjoyable experience for the two of them. Slipping underneath the disheveled fabric of dress, Diluc caressed her thighs affectionately as he ascended higher until-

“Already, my ember? The real fun hasn’t even begun yet,” Diluc crooned, pressing two of his fingers against the wet fabric of the thin undergarment serving as a bothersome barrier for the woman writhing beneath him.  

Diluc’s grasp around her waist tightened while he nonchalantly guided his fingers up against her lingerie, rubbing circles of friction against the wetness of her slit. MC’s nails clawed into his chest as the digits on his hands pressed proactively onto her core, occasionally flicking the bud of her womanhood. Diluc nudged his forehead against hers and leaned in to lick the bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face.

“Your eyes are practically begging me to indulge you even more,” Diluc huffed. 

Making haste with his own trousers, his pants fell to the floor of the deserted pub. The pads of his fingers gripped firmly onto the trace of her silhouette. His clasp on MC was so tense, he could already make sight of the light bruises forging vividly, staining the surface of her skin. Concerned his jealousy consumed him with an out of line rashness, Diluc was about to withdraw until MC threw her arms around the base of his neck. Refusing to let her man pull away, she cradled him closer to dimiss the distance between them.

“Hold me tighter,” MC solicited, alluring to his carnal desire by batting her long lashes. “Remind me who I belong to.” 

 “Take care you heed not forget those words. Remember, you are mine, and mine alone,” his honeyed response melodiously rang into her ears as Diluc’s hips snapped forward to enjoin the pair as one.

Sensuous whimpers echoed yonder into the abyss of the tavern whilst MC entrusted herself to Diluc’s spoils. Reaching out to clutch the mound of her ass to brace her from the force of his thrusts, Diluc grunted in between the slaps of her breasts heaving down against her chest from the vigorous momentum of each gratifying movement. Diluc entwined his fingers in between MC’s, as her hitched breathing increased in volume. This response of hers was a telltale sign that approaching the final destination was within sight. He leaned in to pepper her fine skin in kisses, occasionally licking away at the beads of perspiration coating her. 

“Diluc,” she breathed, desperate to catch the breaths he stole, yet unable to deny the pining fueling her tantalizing lust.

“I know,” he murmured, lifting her leg to enfold it around the cut of his toned waist to allow him a more accessible angle of entry. 

“MC, everything about you is captivating,” he whispered. “Your very essence exhilarates the fibers of my very being. Never forget that.”

“Ah, stop torturing me, Diluc,” she moaned during the course of each of his lavish pecks that were assaulting the nape of MC’s neck.

“I shall cease the vexing of this punishment if you surrender and concede yourself over to me,” Diluc demanded, his tone raspy as he pined to bear witness to the scene of MC immersing herself while he drove her to climax. “Say my name-no, scratch that. Scream my name. Scream my name until that lovely voice of yours goes hoarse. Shout high and loud to the mighty archons that I’m the only one that will ever be able to please you.”

Halting the snapping motions of his hips, Diluc held firm and reached out to cradle MC’s chin. Tilting her gaze to lock into his own, he etched the part of her lower lip with his thumb. Tauntingly slow, Diluc slightly shifted the angle of his lower body, further inflicting torment on his squirming companion. Instead of bestowing the release MC was anticipating, the vision holder held her desire hostage by denying any additional penetration.

“Pledge yourself in a vow that your flames shall only ever be ignited by I. Do it. Do it now, and I will set you free from this heat.”

“Diluc, I-DILUC!!!!!”

An extravagant wanton scream escaped from MC, since despite Diluc’s request, he simply couldn’t bear to waste another moment and plunged deeper back into her core. The lewd sounds of her wetness resounded in the air as he pounded into MC, bucking madly, eager to remind her that it was him and him alone that would always be there to fulfill each and every one of her fantasies. It would be him, and him alone, that would allow MC to use him emotionally and physically as she sought fit to indulge in her heart’s content. 

Wrapped around each other, the lines of where he began and she ended were lost in the swirl of pleasure trickling down to the curl of their toes. The heat consuming them was greater than it had ever been prior to this rough lovemaking session, and Diluc chewed on his lip to will himself to hold on for just a while longer.

Come on, hang in there.. Not until MC is satisfied. I can feel her tightening around me, so surely she should be finishing any moment.

Diluc’s prayers were answered, because he felt the familiar tightening of her encompassing around him. A wistful sigh accompanied MC’s relieved one as her body quivered from the aftermath of her coils fluttering from reaching her ograsm. Her body heaved and her back arched down onto the counter of the bar. Heavy and dropping from the aftermath of pleasure, MC was ready for a post-sex slumber and cuddles with Diluc. Placing her hands on the wood counter, MC was about to drop down onto the floor when the grip of her man encircled her suddenly.

“Bold of you to assume we were finished with your punishment,” Diluc coaxed, ignoring the squeal when he flipped MC over. Her bountiful chest was pressed flat up against the hard finished wood of the counter. “You were quite the naughty little vixen today, my ember. Perhaps another round should help you more clearly understand the error of your ways.”

Flinching out of reaction, the tension faded away and MC relaxed onto the counter while Diluc sprinkled kisses on her bare back. She whimpered when his arousal pressed once again at her opening, but then groaned when he pulled back. 

“Fear not, my darling,” Diluc crooned, running his hand to tenderly stroke her back. “I plan on pleasuring you in all of our favorite positions until I’m satisfied that the fact that you are mine is engraved in your heart.” 

His fingers twined through her hair, and Diluc gave a slight tug to bring MC closer to him. She wiggled her bum in the air impatiently, and groaned when his lips touched the responsive spot.

“Diluc,” MC swooned, her words as wet as the happy tears trickling down the side of her face. “I’m yours, my hero. Only yours, for now until forever separates us.”

“Until forever…..,” Diluc mimicked her promise, and willed his body for another round. Those were the final words uttered as they were eventually replaced with incoherent babblings, moans, and whimpers from the delight of losing themselves in each other. 

The fates would ensure that Diluc and MC would live a prosperous future together. That much Diluc was sure of. Despite his perceptions, Diluc abided into a vow that for the rest of their days together, he would spend any amount of time reminding MC of just that fact.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.  

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.  

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.    

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?  

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 11 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 11

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (cunniligus, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, creampie)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter 11

You and Heisenberg sat side by side against the headboard as he told you everything.  The bed sheet was pulled up to his waist while you pulled it higher, covering your nakedness.  He reached for a cigar and lighter on his nightstand, puffing and exhaling in between the story.  You kept your eyes focused forward: on your legs under the sheets, on your hands in your lap, anywhere but turning your head to look at him.

It took him almost an hour to relay everything to you.  His story started over 100 years ago when the woman you now knew as Mother Miranda lost her daughter Eva.  You listened as he told you how she discovered an unknown organism under the village known as the Megamycete.  Heisenberg stopped periodically, puffed his cigar, and asked if you wanted a break or if you had any questions.  All you could do is shake your head and bid him to keep talking.

Your heart broke hearing him talk about how Mother Miranda kidnapped him from his family and infected him with Cadou.  The name of the organism sounded familiar, then you remembered that it was the thing in the jar that Moreau had in his laboratory.  Heisenberg explained that the Cadou drastically changed an individual...either physically, mentally, metaphysically, and sometimes in every way imaginable.  He told you that the Cadou is what gave him the ability to move metal objects with his mind.  He also shared the fact that he was able to manipulate electric fields and communicate through electronics like radios, televisions, and the overhead PA system that was installed in the factory.  

He shared that the Cadou was why Moreau was trapped in the prison that is his mutated body.

Tears slid down your cheeks at the thought of Moreau being in constant pain and turmoil because this “mother,” as he lovingly called her the last time you were with him, turned him into a monster.  But your heart also ached at the thought of Karl being taken as a child, experimented on, and left alone with a family that was not his family.  You could only imagine how scared and alone he must have felt, how much he must have missed his family, and how his real family must have searched for him for years until they all eventually died off one by one.

Heisenberg came to the end of his story, stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray, and slowly turned his head to look at you.  A part of him was scared, scared that you wouldn’t believe him, or worse, that you would run as far away from him as possible.  It was a thought that tied his stomach into knots.  He had wanted you from the moment he set eyes on you and had just gotten you into his arms and into his bed...he didn’t want to lose you now.

You shifted next to him and he waited for you to rise from the bed, put your clothes back on, and demand to be taken somewhere where you could call for rescue.  He was surprised when instead you looped your arm under his and held his bicep, resting your head on his shoulder.  He sighed in relief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he lifted his hand and placed it on your outer leg, pulling your legs closer to him.

“So what do you think?” Heisenberg asked, pressing his lips into your hair.

“It’s unbelievable,” you murmured, “but then again, I’ve seen enough of this village to know that unbelievable things happen and reside here.  I should have known when I saw that thing that looked like a tree reach up and rip off the wing of the plane..”

Heisenberg furrowed his brow at your words.  A tree?  Then it dawned on him that you were referring to the mold.  He came to the conclusion that you must have looked out of the plane window and saw it strike.  He could only imagine how terrifying it was to be on a plane and experience it not only crashing, but also being the only survivor.

“The mold...the thing you saw is called the mold.  I saw it retreating back into the village after your plane crashed.  I knew if there were any survivors that Mother Miranda would find them and infect them in hopes that one would bring her daughter back into this life.  When I saw you...you looked so frightened, so fragile...and you were so beautiful.  You never know what the Cadou will do to a host, Moreau and the lycans being the disastrous part of the spectrum.  So I grabbed you, told Moreau I would kill him if he told anyone, and here you are.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked up at him.  His penetrating gaze, the scars that peppered his face, his long hair that fell to his chin, and his beard...Heisenberg was incredibly handsome.  His physical body was not adversely affected by Mother Miranda’s experimentation.  And even though he didn’t tell you why he brought you here at first, you were grateful that he finally confided in you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling at him, “I understand now why you brought me here and why you were so secretive.  I would never have believed you at first and automatically would have written you off as crazy.  And the bodies in the factory...you need an army to stop Miranda.  The bodies from the cemetery, the bodies from the plane crash...you need all the help you can get.  It’s...it’s tough to think of Bruce and the others being turned into mindless soldiers, but I understand why you need them…”

Heisenberg’s eyes searched yours.  His hand squeezed your leg reassuringly.  “I’m so sorry you had to see your friend like that.  I didn’t know you had gotten to know him on the plane.  To me, they were always just tools to aid me in my battle with Miranda...but they were once people.  They had families, friends...I promise you when this is over, I will put their bodies to rest.”

You nodded.  “I’ll help you...help you bury them, say a few words...convince their ghosts not to come back and haunt you for all eternity…”

He chuckled and leaned in, kissing your lips softly.  You lifted your hand and caressed his cheek, feeling the scruffiness of his beard.  A surprised groan formed in his throat as you pushed your tongue out to lick his lips.  Both of his hands lifted, cupped your face, and deepened the kiss.

The two of you sat there, kissing and making out like a pair of horny teenagers.  You released the sheet that covered your breasts and it pooled in your lap.  One of Heisenberg’s hands went around to your back, pulling you closer, as his other hand stayed pressed to your cheek.

He pulled away from the kiss, which made you whimper.  He laughed before growling playfully and moving to his knees.  Pulling the sheets off of your body, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your body forward, making you lie back on your pillow.  “Karl!” you squealed as he made quick work of spreading your legs and lying on his stomach between them.

“I’ve only briefly tasted you...now I want to devour you…” he growled.  Both of his arms wrapped under and around your legs as his lips kissed the soft skin of your inner thighs.  You sat up on your elbows, your mouth going dry and your heart beating wildly.  As you watched him kiss up and down one thigh before moving to the other, you felt your arousal accelerate.  You had been intimate before, but you had never had a man go down on you.  It had been a fantasy for a long time.  You fantasized about it over and over as you pleasured yourself.  And now, here is this mysterious, strong man between your legs, moving achingly slow towards your pussy.

“Karl…” you whispered, your thighs trembling on either side of his face.  His lips spread in a grin as he hovered over your pussy, blowing softly on your clit.  Your lips parted and you moaned loudly, arching your hips up to his mouth.  Heisenberg laughed and kissed along the flesh of your labia, his teeth gently nibbling on it.  Desire and arousal churned in your stomach and you could feel your wetness pooling out of you.

“Do you like that, doll face?” he asked, kissing around your clit, “does it feel good?”

All you could do was nod your head and move your hips.  He was mercilessly teasing you, tormenting you with his skilled mouth and never truly giving you what you wanted.

“Mmmm...you smell so good…” Heisenberg murmured, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit and nuzzling it softly.

“Karl, for fuck’s sake...please...please…” you begged, grabbing the sheets in your fists.  His gaze fixed on yours and he smiled, slowly extended his tongue, and circled around your clit.

You tossed your head back and cried out, your lower back arching off the bed.  You panted and moaned his name as his tongue curled and flicked over the swollen nub.  The pleasure that coursed through your body was unlike anything you had ever felt before.  The feel of his hands spreading your thighs wider and his fingers sinking into your skin almost drove you insane.

“Karl...Karl...oh fuck...yes...yes...don’t stop…” you whimpered.  Heisenberg chuckled softly, closing his lips around your clit and sucking.  One hand released the sheets and shot up to the headboard, grabbing onto one of the railings for dear life.  Your body undulated and gyrated on his bed as his mouth gave you pleasure beyond anything you had ever felt before.

Heisenberg became drunk with power as he looked up at you.  The way you moved and the sounds that slid past your lips made him unbelievably hard.  He found himself grinding his solid cock into the bed, desperate for friction.  Your reaction to his mouth was better than any pornographic image he had seen in his long life.  His eyes darkened as ideas flowed through his mind.  He made mental notes of all of the things he wanted to do to you right here in his bed...and all of the ways he would make you scream his name and shout your ecstasy.

He moved his right hand from your thigh to your dripping pussy.  He pulled away his mouth momentarily in order to softly caress your opening with the pads of his fingers.  You continued to moan and pant.

“I’m going to make you cum on my tongue over and over again…” Heisenberg promised, “and I’m going to shove my fingers inside of you...fingering you and tasting every part of your delicious cunt…”

Both of your hands were on the headboard railings, your body twisting amongst the sheets.  Your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face as he pushed his index and middle fingers inside of you.  His mouth went back to your clit, flicking it thoroughly as he rubbed your G-spot back and forth.

“Karl...you’re gonna make me cum...I wanna cum on your fingers...on your face...let me cum on your fucking face!!” you shouted, all manners and discretion completely thrown out of the window.  Heisenberg growled and gave you what you wanted.  His fingers pushed in and out of your wet opening noisily, the squelching sounds of your wetness audible to the both of you.  His tongue flicked your clit hard and fast and within seconds your lower back was arched completely off the bed and your orgasm shook your entire body.  You screamed his name over and over until his mouth slowly brought you back down to reality.

Aftershocks shook you as Heisenberg crawled up your body, chuckling against the skin of your stomach.  You released the railings and brought your hands to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

His lips met yours and you kissed him hard.  You felt his skin pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your body and held you tight.  The sensation of your retreating orgasm followed by his strong arms made your heart surge in your chest.  You felt wanted, desired, and protected.  He had given you more pleasure than you had ever been given by any other guy or even yourself for that matter.  The connection you were feeling with him was growing...you hoped that Heisenberg felt it as well.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he rolled his hips against your wet cunt.  His hard cock rubbed back and forth between your pussy lips, making your desire accelerate all over again.

Heisenberg’s tongue explored your mouth, sliding and nudging yours into submission.  His hands slid up your back and to your shoulders, hugging you close.  Arousal and the growing need of his body increased.  His lips kissed down your neck and to your chest, licking the thin sheen of sweat that settled on your flesh.

“Karl…” you whispered, moving one hand down along his shoulder blades as your other hand stayed tangled in his hair.  

“I love hearing your beautiful voice say my name…” he moaned, kissing down between your breasts.  You arched your hips and spread your thighs wider, aching to feel him inside of you.  Heisenberg pushed himself up on one hand while his other reached down to grab his cock.  He rubbed the tip up and down along your pussy, teasing you mercilessly.

“Karl...please fuck me again...fuck me…” you said, arching your hips higher.  You were desperate to feel him, to feel his cock stretch you out and to feel his hips hammering down against yours.

He pushed inside of you and the both of you moaned loudly.  His left hand moved up to the headboard, holding it tight as the other hand wrapped around your leg, hiking it higher up on his hip.

The feel of his hips hammering you into the bed was enough to drive you mad.  His cock pushed deeper, faster, and harder.  It was like he could no longer help himself...now that you were under him, he was possessed.

Your hands reached around to his lower back, moving up and down in time with his thrusts.  Your pussy walls clenched around his cock every time he pushed inside of you and his grunts became louder because of it.  You gripped him like a vice and he had to hold himself off from cumming too soon.  He wanted you to cum again, but this...he wanted to feel it, experience it, memorize every fucking part of your cunt.

“Y/N...oh god pussycat, you’re killing me...your fucking cunt...it’s so damn tight and wet...god dammit!!” he yelled, tossing his head back.  Looking up at him losing control and fucking you harder and desperately...you wanted to give him as much pleasure as he was giving you.

His hand released your leg and went to the back of your head, making you look down at his cock thrusting in and out of you.  His other hand pressed to the bed, gripping the sheets.  “Look at how your cunt is taking my cock...taking my cock like a good little girl…”

Your orgasm was close as you watched his hips crashing down on yours, his cock moving quickly in and out of you.  You gripped his hips and screamed his name again and again.  Heisenberg moved forcefully, the bed banging against the wall.

“Fuck, Y/N!  Fuck!!!  Oh fuck, your amazing pussy is gonna kill me!” Heisenberg shouted.  You looked up into his face, his features twisted into pleasure so primal and hedonistic.  His hair fell in his face, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes were fused to yours.

“Cum inside of me, Karl,” you begged, squeezing his cock tightly inside of you.

“OH FUCK ME!!!” he shouted, tossing his head back.  You felt him cum, his cock twitching inside of you and in seconds you came as well, your body bucking wildly, holding tight to his hips.  Heisenberg continued to curse and grunt as he pumped every drop of cum inside of you.  You trembled under him, moving your hands up his sides, down his chest and stomach, and up his back.  He released a shaky breath as he slowly lowered himself onto his elbows, burying his face into your neck.

His body rocked on top of you, still thrusting slowly.  You kissed along his shoulder and nuzzled his skin with your nose.  The feel of his hot breath on your neck and his sweat-slicked skin against yours was incredible.  You never wanted him to let you go.

Heisenberg rolled to his side, pulling you with him, his cock still inside of you.  You lifted your leg and rested it atop his hip.  His fingers slid up and down your spine, making you shudder.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” Heisenberg whispered, his lips pressed to your forehead, “so, so amazing…”

You closed your eyes, a smile spreading across your face, as you fell asleep in his arms.

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 18

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

——-

CHAPTER 18: AFFETUOSO

 Music glossary:

 Affetuoso: to perform with passion and emotion

**Chapter illustration by @corgi-likes-chat​ **

----

(Mood Music: “Christofori’s Dream” - David Lanz)

Adrien’s eyelids fluttered open, a sleepy smile still present on his face. He breathed out a long, contented sigh, stretching his limbs out wide enough that they poked out of the bedcovers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.

Last night, after Marinette awoke him from his most harrowing night terror to date, he’d fallen back asleep and something remarkable happened: for the second time in years, he’d actually had a pleasant dream. The only other time he hadn’t suffered from his usual nightmares ever since becoming Chat Noir was on the first night that he’d arrived at the Dupain-Cheng residence.

He tried to think back, wondering what might have caused this, not just last night, but back on that first day Marinette had brought him home. What did these two occurrences have in common?

His mouth quirked to the side and his brow furrowed, deep in thought, trying to remember. He wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind when he’d arrived a couple of months back, given all that had happened when he ran away from his father; so it was no surprise that his memory of that night was hazy at best. Nevertheless, he hoped to find a correlation; if there was one, maybe he could figure out how to repeat it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand sliding across his midsection. Disturbed by his movements, a smaller body rolled toward him, settling comfortably on his chest and breathing out a drowsy sigh.

He looked down and there she was: sweet, lovely Marinette; one of the dearest and most important people in his life. The raven-haired girl stirred, letting out a small whine; Adrien stilled, subconsciously holding his breath, not wanting to wake her and accidentally reveal his identity.

This became much harder when she reached around him, her fingers lightly skimming across his rib cage. His muscles tensed and he bit back a laugh; why did he have to be so darn ticklish?!

He readjusted himself, trying to shuffle out from underneath her; but she clinged to him like an overgrown barnacle, even in her unconscious state. I guess she’s a cuddler, he thought, and he couldn’t help but smile about how well that suited her.

It was still pretty dark in the room, as the sun hadn’t risen yet. He glanced over at the wall clock; he still had about an hour and a half before he had to report to work at the bakery, so he didn’t have to rush to get ready. Relieved, he sagged back down onto his pillow. He could relax for a little longer, he supposed.

Deciding to check his notifications while Marinette slept, he gingerly reached towards his nightstand to grab his phone, careful not to disturb her. He’d deactivated all his social media accounts since running away from home, so there weren’t very many notifications; there was a school-related email and a couple of late night funny memes from Nino.

Adrien checked the Ladyblog next. No news about any akumas this morning, thankfully. However, there were a few blurry snapshots of the previous night’s attack. He scrolled down for a bit, then stopped, his eyes popping open as he focused his attention on a particular photo.

He couldn’t suppress the lovestruck sigh that escaped his lips when he stared at a picture of Ladybug. His Lady was breathtaking, her eyes so ethereal, her smile utterly resplendent. She was indescribably beautiful, both inside and out and there was absolutely nothing he would change about her. He was hopelessly smitten, no doubt about it.

A few months ago, he would have berated himself for feeling this way about his mortal enemy. But his entire life had been turned upside down since then, and he wholeheartedly embraced this unexpected development.

The next photo was taken after the akuma was purified and the Miraculous Cure had set everything back to where it should be. Ladybug had seen that Alya was about to snap a photo, so she grabbed Chat and turned him around to face the camera, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. She grinned widely, and did a peace sign with her free hand. So cute.

He glanced over to his own face and instinctively grimaced. He was winking at the camera with a goofy, cheerful salute, not bothering to channel the suave, sophisticated mannerisms of a proper model that he’d incurred over the years. God, I’m so cringy, he thought.

Nevertheless, he saved the picture onto his phone. It was the first photo of them together like this, as opposed to impersonal ones taken by the media from afar, or during press releases and interviews.

It had only been posted a few hours ago, but already it had thousands of likes and comments. He didn’t dare look through those, however. Not since he first discovered the kinds of things people wrote about Chat Noir, both before and after his change in alliances. It was better to avoid those, lest he ruin his day reading about how much some people still hated him.

But he remembered Marinette’s words from the night before. She was right; he had to have hope, and believe that things would slowly get better. Attitude was everything.

Speaking of Marinette…

He looked down at his roommate once again. By this point, she’d slinked and climbed almost entirely on top of him, utilizing him like a mattress. His eyebrows scrunched together, and he wondered how in the world he’d be able to slip out of bed undetected.

All the stealth-based videogames I’ve ever played have prepared me for this moment. I got this!! he thought, hyping himself up.

Taking a deep breath in, he rolled over to his side, managing to slide Marinette’s ragdoll-like form back onto the mattress. She made a small noise and he froze, electricity crawling up the back of his neck. A few tense moments passed, and her stirring subsided, her breathing becoming slow and even once again. He exhaled, just now realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Freedom!! Adrien celebrated as he stood, stretching his arms high over his head, taking care not to hit the ceiling lights. His skin felt grimy with dried sweat from the night before; a shower was exactly what he needed right now. He tiptoed over to get a change of clothes from the dresser, giving the occasional glance towards the bed to make sure Marinette was still asleep.

As he made his way to the bathroom, he stopped by her side, a warm smile spreading across his face. He bent over and gave the top of her head a small kiss. Where would he be without her and her family? She and Sabine especially went out of their way to help him feel at home, to make him feel like he belonged, instead of treating him like a nuisance, or like some freeloader just taking up space. He loved them all so much; he vowed to himself to make it up to them someday.

He pulled the bedcovers up to Marinette’s shoulders so she wouldn’t miss the extra warmth too much, then made his way to the bathroom to start the day.

--

Marinette stirred, enveloped in softness and a familiar scent of spice and fresh rain. Eyes still closed, she extended her arm, reaching for the oversized cat pillow on her bed that she always liked to cuddle.

Her searching hand found something soft. Aha! She brought it closer, snuggling it tight, then began to get comfortable again. But then, her pillow started poking her cheek, over and over and over. The pillow’s poking only intensified when she tried squeezing it even harder. How rude!

Wait... what?

A single eyelid groggily slid open, meeting a small pair of eyes of a distinctive shade of green. A rather frazzled-looking Plagg stared back, his expression unamused from being squished between her and the pillow she was hugging.

“Sorry, Plagg,” she slurred sleepily as she pulled away to give him some space. “What are you doing here?”

He crossed his little arms, raising a brow. “I live here, remember?”

“But why are you in my room–– oh, wait…” she stopped, the memory of last night starting to rush back to her. This wasn’t her room; it was Chat’s. She’d slept in his room last night. And the bed she was lying in was his bed. These were his blankets and pillows, and they carried his scent. Heat rose to her face and a multitude of imaginary butterflies swarmed in her stomach as she realized that she’d actually spent the night with him, albeit under less than ideal circumstances.

And then a second realization dawned on her: Chat Noir was gone.

She sat up with a start, her head whipping back and forth to search for him. As she was about to panic, she heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom, punctuated by some cheerful humming. With a heavy, relieved sigh, she laid back down, careful not to squish the tiny cat god next to her.

“By the way, Little Bug,” Plagg murmured, meekly rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks for helping my kid last night.”

“Oh, of course, Plagg!” she replied. “I’m always happy to help however I can.”

He gave her a melancholy smile. “I just wish there was more I could’ve done. I tried waking him up myself, but he couldn’t hear me at all, no matter how hard I tried.” He sighed, twisting his mouth into a pained frown. “He doesn’t deserve this. He's already gone through so much.”

“Plagg, no, it’s okay! You did your best, and I’m sure Chat knows that too. I’m just glad I was able to get through to him. It was lucky that I happened to be downstairs at that time. Chat couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”

Plagg grinned widely at her. “I always knew I liked you,” he remarked, scooting closer and nuzzling into her.

Marinette smiled back, returning the hug and kissing the top of his head, followed by providing him with some gentle scratches behind the ears. He let out a small, contented purr as he leaned into her hand.

After a few moments of hesitation, Plagg spoke again, “Little Bug, there’s... something else you need to know.”

They pulled apart, and Marinette eyed him with trepidation. “What is it?”

“It was too dark, so you didn’t see it, but–” he said with a grim tone in his voice, “–I need to let you know what really happened last night.”

“Huh?” Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “What do you mean? I know he said his night terrors aren’t usually this bad, but was there something else?”

A dark look flickered on Plagg’s face. “Hawkmoth tried to akumatize him last night.”

Marinette felt like she’d been dropped into a vat of ice water. “W- WHAT?!” she sputtered. “B-but how is that possible?! Akumatized?? He was asleep! Hawkmoth can’t akumatize people who are unconscious!!” She paused, pondering the possibility. “Right…?”

“It’s tricky, but not impossible,” Plagg replied. “Hawkmoth knows about Chat Noir’s nightmares, so he must’ve sensed his opportunity and finally taken it last night.”

Marinette brought a hand to her temple in disbelief.

Plagg continued, “I don’t know why he decided to try it now, instead of when he first ran away. And what if–” he gulped, and his voice quavered slightly as he continued, unable to conceal his fear, “What if he tries it again? What if he tries it every night?”

“No… he wouldn’t… he can’t!!” Marinette cried, staring at the bathroom door, her mind racing a million miles a minute. She clenched her fists as she tried not to give into the feelings of dismay and anxiety that were clawing away at her. “Plagg… What do we do?! Hawkmoth’s patterns seem to be getting more erratic and desperate recently. Is he under some kind of deadline? Why is he doing this??”

“I can think of a couple of reasons,” Tikki answered from across the room.

Marinette practically leaped off the bed in surprise due to Tikki’s abrupt entrance. “Tikki!” she exclaimed.

The brightly colored kwami hovered towards them and elaborated, “Firstly, as Chat grows older, his powers will continue to get stronger, as will yours, so you’ll be more difficult for Hawkmoth to defeat as time goes on. Secondly, I think the effects of misusing the butterfly miraculous must be catching up to him as well. His desperation suggests that maybe he thinks he’s running out of time.”

“Out of time? What do you mean?” Marinette asked, confused.

Plagg sighed. “It’s his health,” he answered. "He wasn’t doing very well even before we left. Slowly but steadily, it’s been getting worse for a while.” He turned to face Tikki. “You think Hawkmoth believes that he’s gonna… you know... soon?”

Tikki shrugged in response, her expression blank.

“Oh… I see,” Marinette said, her voice almost a whisper.

Her mind raced, a torrent of emotions crashing into her simultaneously, like a rowboat in a tempest, slamming into a cliffside without respite.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about this new information. Her chest felt tight, like it did when she wanted to cry. Should she feel happy or sad that her mortal enemy was getting sicker and sicker, to the point where his life was potentially in danger? Was it okay to feel–dare she say it– relieved?

What was she supposed to think? As a hero, was it more important to be merciful, or was it more important to be just? Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two completely opposite directions. Despite hating the man with every fiber of her being, part of her thought that maybe dying was too extreme a punishment. And yet, at the same time, the hurt, embittered part of herself thought that maybe dying would be too easy, like he was getting let off the hook instead of being forced to acknowledge his wrongs and feel remorse for the horrible things he’d done.

For years, she’d dreamed about the day when Hawkmoth would be defeated and his miraculous confiscated. It was supposed to be a happy time, full of rejoicing and excitement. But she’d never considered the possibility that Hawkmoth would be defeated by an entirely different force, one that she had no say in how or when it happened. It didn’t feel fair. She hated feeling this powerless.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a brief tug at her sleeve. She looked down at Tikki, who motioned towards the bathroom with a small nod. It was then that she noticed the noise–or rather– the absence of it, which could only mean one thing: Chat Noir had finished his shower, and he’d be coming out of the bathroom any minute now.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Tikki whispered.

Marinette nodded. She turned to Plagg and whispered, “We’ll talk more later. I’ll call Master Fu later today and see if he has any advice.”

“M’kay. See ya,” he replied with a small wave. “Bye, Sugarcube.”

Tikki looked back and gave him a reassuring smile, then followed Marinette out the door.

Plagg hovered towards the windowsill while he waited for his charge, plopping down with a heavy sigh. He leaned against the window, taking in the many colors of the dawn sky, which looked almost too bright and vibrant for his liking. How dare the heavens look so beautiful while he felt so miserable inside? The day hadn’t even really started, and yet the only thing he wanted to do was to just crawl back into bed. He dearly hoped that the heavy, uneasy feeling in his gut would go away soon.

(A short while later)

Work at the bakery had been lively and hectic today; so much so that Chat Noir had to be reminded when his shift was over and that he needed to head to school. He gave Sabine a parting hug, the latter thanking him for his hard work and giving him some encouraging words as she helped dust the flour off his suit and hair.

Chat retrieved his cloak from a coat hanger by the door and stepped into the stairwell that led to the living quarters, so that he could retrieve his school supplies and exit through Marinette’s balcony trap door as he normally did. That was definitely one of the plus sides of working in the kitchen while transformed; he could wear his school outfit underneath and not require a change of clothes or a shower when he was through. He could merely detransform and be good as new.

As he ascended up the stairs, he heard a familiar deep voice call out to him from below. Chat froze, then turned around, trying to keep his nerves under control.

“Could I speak with you for a minute?” Tom asked.

Uh-oh.

“O-of course, Mr. Dupain,” Chat replied, trying to keep his voice even despite his nerves.

Tom’s face was mostly neutral, but his body was rigid and there was a hint of gloom in his eyes. Chat did his best not to cringe as he stood in front of the much taller man who, despite not being a superhero, looked like he could toss him clear to the Eiffel Tower if he felt like it. To prevent himself from fidgeting, Chat finally opted to stick his hands inside his pockets.

“What is it, sir? D-did I do something wrong?” he asked. “I was running a bit late, so I apologize if I didn’t put something back in the right spot. O-or did I mess up an order?? I’m sorry, I can go back and fix… whatever it is!”

“No, everything’s fine; it’s something else,” he answered, and Chat felt the stiffness in his shoulders ease a tiny bit.

However, it came back full force when Tom didn’t say anything else. Chat’s heartbeat sped up as they stood face to face in silence, unsure of the route this conversation was about to take.

What else could he be in trouble for? Did he find out Marinette had fallen asleep in his bedroom yesterday? Oh no… Did Tom think he and Marinette had… done something unseemly together last night?! Was he getting kicked out of the house?? His mind raced and his chest thumped, and he prepared himself to beg on his knees for forgiveness if need be.

A few agonizingly long and awkward seconds later, Tom spoke again, “Chat Noir… I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Oh, I see. Wait… WHAT?!?” Chat felt like someone had yanked the carpet out from underneath him. “Apologize?? What for?”

Tom lifted his arm to rub the back of his head, his entire posture taut as a bowstring. “We didn’t really get off on the right foot, you and I. You’ve been nothing but cordial and polite, and all I’ve done since you arrived is give you the cold shoulder, and for that I’m truly sorry. I wanted to clear the air and start over, if that’s okay with you.”

“Mr. Dupain! N-no, please, it’s okay!” Chat sputtered, his hands waving frantically. “I totally understand why you would have reservations about me living here, o-or even interacting with you guys at all! They’re totally justified concerns! I mean, up until a few months ago, I was still working with Hawkmoth; so the fact that you even allowed me into your home at all is incredibly kind of you! I’ve never felt any ill will towards you, I swear! You were just doing what any good father would––” he trailed off, trying to keep the melancholy out of his voice, “–would do.”

Tom winced and sighed heavily, crossing his arms. “That’s exactly my point, though. It may have been justified at first, but that was back then . I tolerated you for the sake of my wife and daughter, but I was always suspicious. I should’ve given you a chance instead of just judging you for no reason, especially after all this time. So I wanted to try to make it up to you.”

It was then that Tom brought something shiny out of his shirt pocket. It was an adorable little keychain shaped like a croissant. But wait… no, it wasn’t just a keychain, Chat realized. There was a key dangling on the end. A house key. Tom handed it over, doing his best to try to conceal a timid smile.

Chat gaped at him, reeling from what was happening. “I… I don’t know what to say. That is so generous of you! Thank you, Mr. Dupain,” he replied meekly, staring into his hands at the key. HIS key.

He felt the man’s large hand pat him on the shoulder and Chat looked up, meeting his soft, forest green eyes. “Please, call me Tom.”

Chat had to consciously fight the urge to let his jaw drop. If he wasn’t dreaming last night with Ladybug’s revelation, he was surely dreaming now. “Y-yes, sir! Uhh, Mr. Tom, sir. Uhh, I mean…” he stammered, still not recovered from having been gobsmacked out of nowhere.

The older man gave out a hearty laugh. “Just Tom. And please, if there’s anything you need, just say the word. Even if it’s just someone to lend an ear. You’ve got a good heart despite the bad hand that’s been dealt to you, and you have so much potential. We’re happy to have you in our family, even if you’re only here temporarily. Just know you’ll always have a home here with us.”

Chat’s heart swelled with affection, so full that it felt like it might burst, and his eyesight became blurry with unshed tears. He threw his arms around the giant man in front of him, someone who he never thought would fully accept him, squeezing hard.

“Thank you, Tom! Thank you so much, I’m just–” he let out a shuddering sigh then continued, voice cracking, “–thank you.”

Tom squeezed back firmly, giving him an affectionate pat. Failing to hide a sniffle, he then added, “I should let you get going, I don’t wanna make you late for school.” The pair pulled apart, and Tom ruffled Chat’s hair. “Be safe out there, kiddo.”

After saying their goodbyes, Chat bounded up the stairs, practically floating with glee. He’d missed this feeling; the feeling of being part of a family. As he emerged onto the rooftop balcony, he took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, his heart full of excitement and hope.

He arrived at the school in high spirits and a huge grin on his face. He detransformed in a discreet location and practically skipped to the school’s entrance; then he entered the campus, carefree, joyful, and blissfully unaware of the dark eyes that followed him inside.

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter One: A Storm of Stars

Genshin Impact x F!reader

In the first chapter, you may find the mystery archon described in a way that doesn’t fit you. That’s okay, it will change to each individual’s own tastes with time. The archon is described a certain way for reasons regarding the story line!

WARNINGS: lots of genshin spoilers, mentions of blood/violence, & mentions of injury.

tag list! @pebblegwn @krexpe @rockinaflock @creation-magician @noythe @weightlessrose @kclremin @vievi @simpinforkirari @red-riots-crocs

Our story began when Mona, the esteemed astrologist made a bold declaration. The stars foretold the return of a mysterious eighth archon. With this information, the most influential people of Mondstat and Liyue set a plan into action. The beloved traveler and his sidekick were quickly dragged into the preparations for the Celestial Archon. Aether and Paimon were looking forward to resting after weeks of hard work but unfortunately were interrupted by a star falling from the heavens. And so, we continue onward with our adventure.

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Aether’s legs were sore, his knees began to buckle as he finally made it to the entrance of dawn winery. He yelped, falling forwards and closed his eyes preparing for the impact. It never came as two sets of hands grasped the boy and steadied him. Diluc, the esteemed owner of Dawn Winery sighed as his brother gently removed the mysterious young woman from Aether’s back. The red headed man scowled as the traveler’s knees buckled once more, catching the now unconscious boy.

The knights of favonious stood outside the winery, watching the two men carry the weakened traveler and mystery lady. With the stars still falling in the distance it was quite a sight to behold. Mona gasped as Kaeya approached, the woman in his arms still still sleeping. Her hair was long and wild, strange silvery tattoos danced on her skin, and her body was frail. Kaeya tried to be gentle with her, holding her bridal style but he could feel her losing strength and the warm blood from a wound staining his shirt.

Noelle rushed forward to remove Aether from Diluc, “My apologies Master Diluc, but this young lady needs a free room immediately.”

Diluc nodded, grimacing at the sight of the wounded woman in his brother’s arms. He pushed the doors to Dawn Winery open, making his way to the nearest guest room. Kaeya followed him and Jean yanked her younger sister along. The room was simple with a bed, night stand, and single chair. Kaeya set the woman down on the bed carefully, and rolled her over to see the back of her top soaked.

“Kaeya, go wash up.” Jean ordered, unsheathing her sword.

Diluc steered his brother out of the room while Jean got to work. With speed and precision, Jean’s sword cut the cloth away from the injury. Her eyes widened and she stepped back as the wound as freed. Barbara peeked around her sister and felt nausea building up. Noelle entered the room to see the two sisters in shock. Jean’s eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

“Did she have wings?” Barbara whispered, eyes never leaving the back of the woman.

“No, this isn’t a tear. Somebody or something did this to her,” Jean gritted her teeth, “they carved it into her.”

Noelle glanced over them to see something incredibly awful. There were two deep and wide gashes starting at her shoulder blades and meeting at her tailbone to make an upside down v symbol. Her breathing was shallow as the air hit the open wound. Barbara made her way to the bedside to infuse the wound with hydro energy and try to help the pain.

“Noelle!” Jean barked, “Find the Alchemists and tell Albedo to set up a direct teleport point here. Bring Sucrose here, we will need all the help we can get.”

Noelle nodded and dashed out the door, nearly colliding with the knight’s librarian. Lisa frowned but ignored the rushed girl and stepped into the room.

“Lisa,” Jean sighed as the woman walked in.

Lisa’s hand found its way to the dandelion knight’s shoulder, “Yes, acting grandmaster?”

“Please send word to Liyue Harbor that we need the aid of their best herbalist right now. This is urgent. You may also inform the adepti and Zhongli of the archon’s arrival but we need aid now.” Jean’s tone was serious, it struck a chord of anxiety in Lisa.

Without a word, Lisa strode out of the room and began to do as she was asked. Barbara continued to ease the pain of the sky goddess but grew more worried each second. The wound was infected. Sucrose burst in soon after, tears forming at the sight before her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Liyue Harbor’s esteemed top herbalist arrived with a small zombie girl. Together, the best healers from both countries began to work hard. They poured all their energy into their work and successfully removed the infection. By the time the sun began to come up, the wound was rapid healed but scarred terribly.

Though morning approached, the temporary residents of Dawn Winery found themselves crawling into bed to get some rest. Jean didn’t want to leave the eight archon’s side but was convinced to by her loving sister. The healers slept all day and all night long, missing the arrival of Liyue’s highest regarded people and adepti. Not a single soul dared to peak at the mysterious goddess as she slept, in fear of interrupting her much needed peace.

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24 Hours had passed since the arrival of the eighth archon. The herbalists and knights began to wake finally as morning approached. Unfortunately, when they went to check on the strange woman and her injuries, the room was empty. Dread set over Dawn Winery with the goddess of the stars missing once more.

Noon soon came to pass but there was no sign of the Celestial Archon. Everyone had split up to search for her but had no luck. Aether was frustrated and panicked as he fell onto the grass. Suddenly a large gust of wind blew him over, Paimon clutched to his hair as a winged blue beast shot across their line of vision.

“Dvalin?” Venti stood abruptly, “Could it be..”

Realization hit Aether, “Let’s go! We need to follow him!”

Aether, Venti, Kaeya, and Lisa trailed behind the dragon. Paimon screamed at them to slow down but they were too focused to care. Finally, out of breath, they stopped. Dvalin had landed on the edge of a cliff, his head leaned down to press his snout against the cheek of a beautiful woman. Her hair was still long and wild but not unkempt. Her eyes shone bright like stars and her skin seemed to glow under the sunlight. Aether was awestruck. Was that really the same person he rescued only a day before?

The wind carried her laughter as the majestic beast snuggled up to her. Her hands came up to stroke his scales as her feet left the ground. She truly was floating. Starstruck, Aether and the knights of favonious could only stare. Venti, however, burst forward with a gleeful giggle. The celestial archon turned as the bard crashed into her. Dvalin rested his head atop of hers as her arms wrapped around the childlike god.

“Don’t worry, Barbatos,” She reassured, “I missed you, too.”

“You scared me, you stupid supernova!” Venti nuzzled his face into her chest.

Aether shivered as a growl tore through the air. The noise startled him enough, he fell right on his ass. Xiao shot forwards, ripping the anemo archon off of the celestial archon.

“You bastard drunk,” Xiao’s face was dark, “Don’t touch her as you please.”

“Ehe,” Venti giggled as the adeptus held him by the collar.

Aether stood and sighed, gazing at the shocked woman. He turned, hearing footsteps behind him. Zhongli had found them and the remaining adepti trailed behind him. The eighth archon’s mouth was agape. She flung herself at Xiao, tackling him. Venti escaped the yaksha as the goddess fell ontop of him.

“Oi,” She grinned clutching onto him, “I think I even missed your shitty attitude, pretty boy.”

Xiao’s face was red as he grumbled, “Just shut up, space case.”

Zhongli clicked his tongue, impatient. He pulled the goddess off of the yaksha and embraced her. His sudden affection made her cheeks flush but she returned the hug. Zhongli’s arms tightened around her, fearful that he would wake up from a dream. After a few moments he released her only for the poor bright eyed goddess to be swarmed by the adepti.

She giggled as they each took turns showing her how much she was missed. Even as Cloud Retainer scolded her, the smile never left her face.

“What exactly happened to you anyways?” The female crane adepti grilled the goddess.

A nervous laugh escaped the young woman, “Well, I kept thinking about how my heart was restless. So I guess I kept walking. Eventually this strange darkness consumed me and I couldn’t go anywhere. It was as if all the evil gods I struck down were exacting their revenge. Some time ago, the void I was stuck in opened up a bit and I escaped but was forced into something even worse. There were terrible monsters and powerful beings who sought my abilities I guess. They mistook me as a new goddess and attacked me.”

Aether’s ears perked up. She was talking about the Abyss, he was sure of it. His heart hurt at the way she tried to mask the pain of the endeavor. She reminded him of Lumine a bit.

“So anyways,” She continued, “I ran again and got caught in this space. It wasn’t bad, but nothing happened. I mean nothing, I was actually stuck for real that time and the space seemed to shift around me even though I couldn’t move. Time didn’t pass and my thoughts came to a stop, too. Then I was forced out and I think I was falling? That blonde kid picked me up but I was weakened. Sorry I don’t remember much but that.”

“Forced out, hm..” Cloud Retainer seemed stuck in her thoughts.

“That’s not quite right,” The goddess sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “It’s more like it shattered? I think I fell with the pieces of it.”

“How strange,” Kaeya started, “It almost sounds like a domain.”

Zhongli nodded, “It does. Let’s not discuss this any further for now, it seems to be a painful topic.”

The celestial archon smiled gently at the geo archon, embracing him again. Zhongli stiffened but wrapped his arms around her again. Aether felt Xiao shift next to him, he glanced at the adeptus and had to restrain his laughter. He didn’t think the rough adeptus could ever pour, but there he was pouting.

After exchanging greetings and parting with Dvalin, the group headed back to Dawn Winery. Paimon had already taken a liking to the goddess of stars. Aether couldn’t blame the chubby fairy, the archon seemed oddly mortal to him. The other Archons carried themselves with grace and authority. The Celestial Archon was strangely human. Her appearance was godly and she did have a sort of divine aura to her but she was far more down to earth then even Venti.

“So why did you leave so suddenly?” Aether’s curious eyes met hers as they hiked back to the winery.

“I, uh, well the sun was calling to me.” A bashful smile formed on her lips.

Aether raised his eyebrows, “Calling to you?”

“Yeah,” her eyes were a bit distant, “It’s as if it was reminding me that the sun is a star, too. It willed me to bask in it I suppose.”

Paimon giggled at the archon’s clumsy wording. Aether pondered over what she said, thinking it was unique. Dawn Winery came into view and the traveler noticed that everybody else had returned. Chaos ensued at their arrival.

“Ahem,” Venti cleared his throat, “This is the eighth archon. The Celestial Archon, Seraphim. I call her supernova though cause she’s beautiful and destructive.”

“Hello! Let’s skip formalities, feel free to call me by my chosen name!” She introduced herself cheerfully.

Everybody chose to ignore Venti’s comment on the goddess being destructive. She was far too kind and gracious to be anything of that sort. Aether was the only one among them who noticed Venti’s words. They filled him with curiosity.

“I’m so hungry,” Paimon groaned.

“Oh, I missed food!” The bubbly goddess yelled, “Let’s eat! Can we eat?”

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The dining room was filled with chatter as they celebrated the arrival of the long lost archon. Paimon was stuffing her face as Venti chugged another bottle of dandelion wine, hiccuping. Diluc sighed as Kaeya poured another glass for himself with rosy cheeks. The scarlet haired man found himself looking for the celestial archon again. No matter how heard he tried to distract himself, his thoughts and eyes always found their way to her.

She was levitating above her seat, giggling as people brought her food to try. Xiao was uncharacteristically calm and looked happy even, as he fed her bits of almond tofu. Zhongli was smiling at her as she took sips of tea. The goddess picked up the small zombie girl and sat her in her lap, letting the child introduce “coco goat” milk to her. Things were going well overall.

Diluc watched as the kind hearted goddess set the child down and excused herself. She glided towards the terrace with a lingering sadness in her eyes. The esteemed Ragnvindr swiped the unopened bottle of dandelion his brother was reaching for and uncorked it. For a moment, the man was hesitant but his legs carried him to the open terrace anyways.

“Hello, Mister Diluc,” The goddess greeted him without turning to look at him.

“Pardon me,” He stopped at her side, “I don’t mean to intrude. This is a gift for you, Dawn Winery’s special.”

She glanced at him through her peripheral vision and held out her hand. He sighed and placed the bottle in her slender hand, watching her take a sip. She returned to staring at the stars above, sipping on the wine. The tycoon couldn’t help but stay by her side, seeing the look of longing she had. He felt that if he left her, she might just disappear again.

“It’s good,” She murmured, closing her eyes.

“Thank you,” Diluc tried to hold back the smile growing on his face, “I appreciate that you’re savoring it and not gulping it down like certain alcoholics.”

A snort escaped from the girl, “Barbatos the esteemed anemo archon and local alcoholic.”

Diluc snickered at her comment. She was so surreal. Everything about her felt dreamy, it was truly enchanting.

“I can leave you alone with your thoughts, I am deeply sorry if I disturbed you.” The man sighed and turned, but was stopped by her fingertips grazing his wrist.

“Diluc Ragnvindr, you are not a bother,” She sighed, “I am just a fool who would rather look for answers in constellations than face the reality before me. For me, not much time has passed since the Archon War. So you’ll have to forgive me if I seem cold, I simply am frustrated and depressed by the changes in Teyvat. I missed thousands of years and it will haunt me for a long while.”

Diluc’s jaw nearly hit the floor at the bluntness of the woman in front of him. He was empathetic to her situation, after distancing himself from everyone around him he had moments of sadness as well. He was also fascinated by her adoration for the stars.

“Do the stars give you answers?” He asked quietly.

She laughed, “Not always, but i’m able to read the constellations of an individual, even you Darknight Hero.”

“Oh, fucks sake that’s mortifying!” He groaned and then leaned in, “Wait. I have a constellation? How much do you know?”

“Your constellation is Noctua, and it’s fairly easy to read. I know that you pretend like everybody is bothering you at all times, because you don’t want to be disappointed again as your brother disappointed you after the loss of your father. You feel the need to be strong and never seen as weak, somewhere between inferiority complex and social anxiety.” Her words made his heart pound.

“But,” She continued smiling, “I understand. I also have daddy issues of sorts. And it often feels easier to put up those walls.”

Diluc was speechless. Their conversation was interrupted by clapping, as Kaeya made his way out of the shadows. Any vulnerability left Diluc at his brother’s entrance. He quickly exited the balcony seeing Kaeya’s smug expression.

“You are interesting,” his voice was almost sultry, “Tell me, what do you see from my constellation.”

The goddess gave him a sour look. She was quiet for a minute, eyes narrowed at the man. He waited, expectantly.

“Pavo Ocellus,” She sighed, “A complicated constellation. You do carry a heavy burden savior of Khaenri'ah. So much of you is shrouded in mystery, although that’s fitting isn’t it? I don’t know enough to see you as a threat, however your dishonest habits and constant tests you put people through seems irritating.”

“Oh, you’re bold,” He grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Bold, beautiful, and busty. Just my type.”

“And you say things like that so casually,” She pushed his hand away, making her way back to the dining hall.

“Sir Kaeya, you should be careful saying such things. If you aren’t, somebody might fall for you. It’s like a honey trap. Give the wrong person the wrong idea and you’ll find yourself in a pinch.”

With that, she left the calvary captain alone with his thoughts. He was pulled in by her, but knew she was dangerous. His mind shifted back to Venti’s word earlier and he clicked his tongue. The bard may have been onto something.

When Kaeya returned to the banquet, the Celestial Archon was back to eating and being doted on. Xiao’s glare was locked in and targeted as Kaeya sat a short distance from the goddess. Kaeya merely winked at him, sticking his tongue out slightly. The yaksha’s hand flew to the spear by his side as he snarled at the cryo wielder. The goddess noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere and moved to the adepti’s lap. He blushed and scowled, but set his head on her shoulder.

The young woman’s affection towards Xiao didn’t go unnoticed and soon Zhongli was offering her tea while Venti offered her booze. Even Jean was attempting to seek some attention from the goddess. For once, Diluc and Kaeya had the same thought. That woman is troublesome.

[akaashisupremacy]

A Little in Love

Summary: Having broken off your engagement for an arranged marriage with him, your relationship is in shreds. As you and Gojo begin as friends again, he wonders if he ever fell out of love for you. Has he?

Notes: Gojo Satoru is good-looking, all powerful and beyond good at his job. I’ve always wanted to explore something he struggles with

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: ANGST AND PINING, exes to friends to ??, commitment issues lol (wc: 1.3k) tw: mention of blood, infedelity-ish

“Are you sure you’re not in love with them?”

That question wipes the smile off Gojo Satorou’s face.

Tonight’s dinner was unexpected. You ran into Shoko Ieri, Jujutsu Kaisen’s resident doctor and Gojo Satoru just as your work day ended. One thing led to another and the three of you ended up in a soba place not too far from Jujutsu Tech. When you excused yourself to use the washroom Ieri-san grabs the chance to ask the burning question on her mind.

“So what’s the answer? You’re awfully quiet.”

“We’re not engaged anymore. That ship has sailed.” he waves his hand dismissively.

Ieri rolls her eyes. All throughout dinner, Gojo was teasing you, offering you food, playing light pranks at you just like he was when you were teenagers. The way he looked at you was enough to tick any off about how he feels.

She retorts, “You can try again now that you’re adults. You’re allowed to make a go at a love match.”

Gojo’s relationship with you is…complicated. You two were arranged to be married when you were children, but had broken up as teenagers.

Gojo looks contemplative, his hands clasped together.

“I’ve thought about it.” he sighs, “And I think about it every time we meet, but—I don’t think I’m the type to commit and they need a commitment type. It’s not a match.” Ieri scowls on your behalf. 

During your time at Jujutsu Tech, he simultaneously wanted to give your relationship a shot but hated the restrictions set on him. In the end, it was all too much. Both of you begged your families to break off the engagement.

Your teenage years with him were confusing. Were you really in love or those feelings fabricated by the arranged marriage? If the marriage wasn’t a love match anyway, why did it hurt to see Gojo flirt with someone else?

Gojo remembered one of your early confrontations when you were 16 and he was 17. 

“It’s difficult to be engaged to you.” you expressed, exasperated. 

When you started school at Jujutsu Tech however, something changed. Gojo didn’t want to be seen around you. He was always flirting with others behind your back. You can’t even have a proper conversation with him alone. 

During your second year, you finally stood up to him. 

“No, it’s not.” he rolled his eyes, “You don’t even have to pretend that you like me.”

It worried you that he definitely couldn’t be faithful and it hurt you that he couldn’t even spare time to properly talk with you. 

You sighed and looked left and right. It’s had been ten minutes. You were still standing outside his dorm room and he has not intention of letting you in. 

“It’s not about that!” you exclaimed, annoyed, “I know you don’t like being engaged to me, which is fine—“

“It doesn’t sound fine,” he snorts, crossing his arms. He tries to drown the sound of your voice from the surrounding cicadas. 

“—if you weren’t such an asshole,” you continued, “But can you at least treat me with more respect. Everybody knows we’re engaged. Neither of us want to be in arranged marriage so all I’m begging you to do is to —“ 

He shrugs, “No promises.” 

He could see anger light beneath your eyes. Out of the darkness of the night, a silver flicker brushes by his side. You were seething, despite being barely illuminated by the light of the corridor bulbs. 

You had drawn out a dagger at him. You! His kind, patient fiancee. It happened so fast he almost didn’t dodge. 

“I missed on purpose. Don’t you get complacent.” you muttered, turning away. 

Gojo was surprised to see tears running down your face. You’ve never looked so upset. It catches him off guard. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he had to utter. He wasn’t even sure you heard him because you had already begun walking away. You had drawn the blade, but in reality it was you that was hurting and he the trespasser. 

He shakes his head at Ieri and continues, “I don’t want to hurt them again. It was bad enough when our engagement fell apart.”

He didn’t mean to hurt you then of course. It was harsh to expect commitment out of a teenager who wasn’t ready, but you were still in pain.

Ieri sizes him up in the dim lighting of the diner. Gojo likes to be in control. He likes to be the one to set traps. It’s interesting to see him be the captive for once.

“You haven’t answered my question.” she presses.

Gojo’s fingers tense up.he gives in just a bit, “I’ll always be a little in love with them. Maybe because I was obligated to for so long.”

“And that’s not enough though, because they deserve more” he quickly adds.

“Can’t you change? Sounds like you’re afraid to try.” she sighs.

Gojo is quiet once again.

“Don’t wait for them to be in love with someone else before you realize that you want to be with them. I’d hate for you to be too late.” she warns, glancing towards you as you walk back to the table.

He looks away from Ieri. You sit back down in front of him.

He feels his heart swell and hurt at the same time. You’ve always represented a jumble of contradictions for him: someone to love and someone who represents traditions he hates.

“Did I miss something?” you ask, sensing the tension.

“No, nothing.” he denies, his voice purposely lightening to cover his mood.

“Well, why does everyone look so serious?” you perkily ask.

Gojo briefly glances at you. His shoulders relax and he sits back into his seat. After all these years, it’s still so easy to be swayed by your bright eyes.

“I was just about to call for another drink.” Ieri clears her throat.

“Me, too.” he adds.

You look at him carefully, a tinge of worry in your eyes. You don’t say anything though. Not now. This is between you and him. It’s a matter outside of your friendship with Ieri.  

“You can have my drink.” you offer to him, eyes locked onto his. 

Sensing your stare, he turns back at you, glad that his bandages cover his vulnerability. He’s not sure he can take it if you saw how deeply conflicted he was about his feelings. As he continues to look, recognition dawns on him.

In another universe, you could be married right now. You’d be having dinner, just the two of you, sitting across each other like this. In another world, maybe you wouldn’t have known each other at all. This moment feels like purgatory. He’s somewhat in love, just a little and you’re not his in a way that feels real.

You push your drink into his hands. Ieri looks away to give you a semblance of privacy. Gojo finally takes the drink. 

It feels strange for the man who has everything, to know he only has a little bit of you.

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

General taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan@kaizumi@holaaaf@glxar@francxsca

Series Taglist: @kageyamakock​ @gucci-froggy @cherryonigiri

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check it here. This is 2/4 so let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the rest of the releases! 😊

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

[gryffindors-weasley]

Yours

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Mornings with Sirius are far different when you find you’re in love.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: none—fluff, kissing

August 1979

The warmth of the sun trickled through sheer cream colored curtains, the living room of the Potter residence slowly illuminating as traces of dawn start to roll around. The clocks ticked softly, chiming more than a few minutes ago to signal it’d been at least six o’clock in the morning, entirely too loud for your liking. At the moment you were far too tired to go more than a few seconds without letting your eyes fall closed once more.

What you were very much aware of without the need to see it was the weight on your chest, of the strands of black hair that brushed against your skin with each blow of the breeze through the open window. The one overtop of the couch you had slept on. You smiled at the thought—of the night before when the two of you had bickered back and forth on who’d take the couch and who’d sleep on the floor. You were both stubbornly determined to make it known that there was absolutely no way that you’d share it, yet at some point between here and there you managed to end up tangled up together. Sirius barely fit, his feet hanging over the edge and his arm dangling over the side.

But even as drowsy as you were, you still couldn’t find it in you to resist the urge to open your eyes just to see him once more.

You smiled softly as you looked at him, the golden sunshine dancing across his skin in the early hours. Dark lashes curled over the tops of his cheeks, ones that had been flushed by the very same sunshine as it illuminated the contours of his face. You sighed quietly as you slipped your hand from his in favor of running your fingers through his hair, tangled and splaying every which way it so pleased, partly from an evening with James and Remus that surely entailed karaoke. You could tell by the way he’d come home with his tie fastened haphazardly around his head and the red heart glasses of yours he’d taken to wear. If it weren’t for you having taken them off, you were certain he’d wear them to bed.

The thought alone made you shake your head, furthermore at the idea that you were in love with your best friend and he was in love with you. The one you spend every day bickering with over this, that, and the next thing. The one who goes out of his way to rile you up with quips and playful smiles, with nicknames you swear that you hate but you know you’d miss if they weren’t used. The one who you dreadfully knew you wouldn’t want to spend a single day without seeing but you’d never tell him of such—he’d be far too arrogant with that kind of information and you knew that for a fact.

You weren’t quite sure how it happened, not really. The two of you had been quite annoyed at the prospect of fighting over who gets which end of the couch and how much space the other will take up. Who gets the entirety of it and who gets the floor with a spare pillow and blanket. Though you knew deep down he’d never let you sleep on the floor, not in a million years. Could tell by the way that lighthearted argument shifted from who gets it to not allowing you to settle for anything but comfort. It was something he so quickly disguised when he’d pulled you down to sit with him for a while, those heart glasses still residing on the top of his head to keep the hair out of his face.

Perhaps it was when you sat against the back of the couch with him that night before that it’d happened. What had started as banter over who could cover Queen and ABBA the very best, what had started as scoffs and laughter loud enough to have James complaining down the stairs to be quiet had changed to something different.

At first, of course, the two of you had laughed in spiteful response to your best friend’s grumbling. But soon that laughter had died down to lingering smiles, and sometime between now and then you’d found yourselves sharing a dance in the small living room. You remember he’d considered using Mr. Potter’s record player but decided against all the noise. Turns out you hadn’t needed music to dance, hadn’t needed another distraction when the two of you had so obviously been far too distracted with each other to notice most anything else. And sometime between now and then had your dancing slowed, had he kissed you. In the middle of his best friend’s living room at an hour entirely too late had he dipped down and kissed you ever so lightly.

It was a moment you wouldn’t forget, not for a long while; you were in love with your best friend.

It wasn’t until you felt a hand around your wrist, calloused and warm, that you’d realized you’d spent far too long recalling the previous night for what wouldn’t be the first time since that moment. His hand slipped loosely into your own then, a chunk of his hair falling across his face momentarily before he’d blown it away once more with a puff from the corner of his mouth. The smile on his face had been telling of a quip sure to come.

“Are you thinking of me?” He asks quietly, his smile widening as his thumb traces over your knuckles lightly.

There it is.

It’s your scoff that focuses his attention back to you, your eyes rolling. “No, actually, I’m not.”

You redirect your gaze elsewhere, anywhere but him and you could feel the heat begin to rise in your cheeks as he laughs softly at your answer.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know,” he states with a yawn, lifting your clasped hands. They illuminated in the warm summer sun peeking just over the couch cushions, fingers intertwined before falling back just as quickly as they were raised. “You bite your cheek when you are.”

You quickly released it but he’d already seen it, a smile on your lips. “That is entirely untrue.”

“Sure it is,” he says, rolling his eyes as a laugh falls past his lips at the statement. A laugh that soon fans over your skin as he props himself up on one elbow, noses bumping at the closeness as his smile nearly presses against your own. “You’re quite predictable. More than you think you are.”

“I don’t suppose you think you’re any different?”

He quiets your very logical words with a kiss, soft and tender as his laughter sounds against you. The tips of his hair brush lightly against your cheeks and send a shiver down your spine, and soon enough he’s moved from your lips to kiss your cheek.

“Certainly I am, Y/n. It would be rather dreadful if I wasn’t,” he jests against your skin and you turn your head with a scoff, pushing his face away from yours lightly as you fight to stifle your laugh.

“Have you always been this insufferable? Or have you forgotten you told me you loved me?” You tease, sitting up a bit more in your corner of the couch. He turns to you then, running a hand through his hair and you swear you could see a pale scarlet beginning to stain his cheeks in that moment. You’re sure he notices that you’ve picked up on it, could tell by the way he looks away with a smile and fumbles with a button on his shirt.

“How could I ever forget that?” When he turns to look at you his smile is softer, if only for a short moment. “Let’s not forget you said it back.”

You laugh once more, making no attempt to hide your grin, not when he looks at you the way he currently had been. Over the years you’d found it rather impossible to conceal a smile in the presence of Sirius Black; you were quite sure your group of friends would agree with that statement. But you knew they’d also agree that they knew it’d been different between you two no matter how stubbornly you’d tried to say otherwise. He was no longer just your best friend that had always made it his mission to get on your nerves and you the same, it’d been different for a long while and you knew that.

Instead you let your smiles linger as he moves closer once more, resting his chin in his palm as his fingers curl to press against his cheek. He lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, still rather tired as he collects his thoughts and soon the corner of his mouth quirks up again.

“Our friends are getting married today,” he says softly after a little while, peeking an eye open at you. “And Remus claimed my old bedroom for the weekend.”

“How awfully unbelievable both of those things are, don’t you think?” You ask teasingly, brushing your fingertips along his cheek before the pad of your thumb falls to swipe over the dimple in his chin.

He hums in response, and you find it hard to miss the way he’d leaned into your touch, your heart fluttering within you.

It was quiet for a little while after that, the birds chirping just outside the window having been enough to fill the otherwise quiet living room as you lay tucked against one another. He’d busied himself with playing with your fingers somewhat absentmindedly, the tips of his own having repetitively tracing along your arm and traveling to the very back of your hand in a featherlight touch. One that had raised a bout of shivers on your skin before he’d started the wordless cycle again.

It had been hard to focus on anything other than that, on anything other than the way he’d occasionally furrowed his brows in thoughts you hadn’t been privy to. How the crease between them would remain there with traces of a frown he hadn’t even been aware of on his lips. But it’d quickly dissolved just as fast as it’d appeared once he’d walked his fingers back up your arm in a loop.

There was the occasional deep sigh or quiet laugh when either of you had unknowingly thought of the other, and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall to remind you of the hour you weren’t even certain which it was. The technicalities hadn’t mattered to you in that very moment. It seemed that most anything else was distant compared to him.

“When should we tell them?” He murmurs then, picking at a loose string on your shirt. You sigh softly, tucking a tangled chunk of hair behind his ear.

“We can do it tomorrow,” you whisper contently, “it’s their day today.”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing you again with the softest brush of his lips over yours. “We’ll tell them tomorrow.”

It was then that he began to grin once more, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looked away. You hadn’t missed the laughter that fell from his lips either.

“What is it?” You ask, watching him sit back against the back of the couch, his hair splaying everywhere.

He laughs a second more as he turns his head to look at you, something akin to admiration dancing within his gray eyes as he takes a moment to look at you the way he’s been trying not to for the past few years. A time frame too long to count. Now he’s got an excuse to be so brazen in his staring. “We’ll never hear the end of this, you know that? They’ll go crazy when they know.”

You laugh quietly as you rest your head back against the cushion, your eyes falling closed as you think of just what it is they might say. You knew for a fact they’d placed a bet amongst each other, it would be unusual if they hadn’t.

It was then that you felt the couch jostle beneath you, your attention pulled to him when you opened your eyes and your brow rising in curiosity as you watched him stand to his feet and run his hand through his hair a second time. He’d held the same look he’d had this whole span of time he’d been awake, the same smile that always seemed to be reserved for you even though you hadn’t known of it. He took note of your expression, the corner of his mouth quirking up all the more.

“I suppose I’ll need to go bug Moony before anyone catches onto us. Don’t you think so, love?” He asks, head tilted and there’s an edge to the nickname noticeable enough for you to sit up and your seat and scoff soft.

His smile widens fully then, the softness of his laughter in the quiet morning sounding once more as he steps over to you again. And soon his hand settles on your cheek, fingers splayed across your skin before he dips down to kiss you. It’s tender and given with a certain bit of amusement that had you grinning against his lips, a breeze blowing through the open window again that eased the flush burning under your skin.

In a matter of moments he parted from you with all the reluctance in the world, the tips of his fingers still lingering on your cheek a moment more before he walked to the doorway at the far corner of the room. He paused in his tracks to turn on his heel and look at you, smile bright as he leans his hand on the doorframe.

“I love you,” he whispers, too quiet for listening ears and loud enough for yours.

“And I love you.”

He stays for a second longer to look at you before turning back, disappearing up the small staircase two by two and leaving you to simmer in the lovestruck haze he’d left you in.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @anchoeritic @gxtitobxby @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[wistfulcynic]

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment. 

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge. 

Or, at least, he was. 

-

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic​ Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends. 

Huge thanks to @shireness-says​​ for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite​​ for Just Being Her. 

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this 

on AO3

-

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan): 

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school. 

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity. 

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century. 

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school. 

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it. 

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there. 

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue. 

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone. 

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire. 

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn. 

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed. 

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest. 

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest. 

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.” 

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath. 

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.” 

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

“And the skirt.” 

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles. 

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.” 

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder. 

“Shake your head.” 

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face. 

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.” 

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.” 

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much. 

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin. 

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?” 

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him. 

-

“Gold is dead.” 

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself. 

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way. 

“He is?” she gasped. 

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.” 

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.” 

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.” 

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?” 

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.” 

“Will you go back to England?” 

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.” 

“Argentina?” 

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. 

“I could eat.” 

“Stew?” 

“Perfect.” 

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove. 

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—” 

“Emma.” 

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.” 

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last. 

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed. 

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled. 

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly. 

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.” 

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.” 

“Because you love her.” 

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.” 

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated. 

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…” 

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.” 

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.” 

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying. 

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.” 

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.  

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.” 

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.” 

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion. 

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.” 

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.” 

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate. 

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?” 

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?” 

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.” 

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.” 

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance. 

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts. 

-

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement. 

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.  

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend. 

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness. 

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires. 

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan. 

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved. 

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling. 

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired. 

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.” 

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?” 

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.” 

“That’s good news indeed.” 

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.” 

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.” 

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.” 

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?” 

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.” 

-

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right? 

And thus the inspiration for this story. 

-

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @killianjones-twopointoh​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ 

[resusheart]

After surgery (part two)

I raced to cubicle number three once again, her lips and fingernails had a bluish color, I watched her move her chest desperately, using all accessory muscles to breath, but she just couldn’t, the team had already lowered her bed to be totally flat, had taken the pillow from under her head and after tilting her head back, placed the ambu bag over her mouth and nose. She was still awake and I could not sedate her enough because of her weakened state. We had to aspirate her first. After pressing the ambu bag five times, I asked for the suction tube and slid it deep into her lungs, she was shaking as I did this, slowly losing consciousness. Her heartrate was shooting straight up, something I definitely didn’t want to happen to her recently sutured heart. Her blood pressure tanked while I was suctioning. Shit!  I gave the order to start chest compressions. This was going to be a mess. Every time her chest sunk from the pressure, her belly popped out. One could even hear the sound of both sides of the sternum rubbing against each other, and I am sure I heard a rib pop during the maneuvers.

The resident was trying to intubate her and failed, once, then twice, blood was coming out of her mouth so the nurse suctioned her again. Her eyes, open, staring into nothing, pupils sluggish, but I had to do something, this was not over yet. I asked for a pause to feel pulses, but even with chest compressions they were mostly absent. I had to crack her chest and at the same time, get her airway taken care of. So we started doing both things at the same time. While team B was performing an emergency cricothyrotomy to get a breathing tube in, we (team A) were spraying her chest with betadine to open her up. I knew something was wrong inside the cavity because her blood pressure couldn’t hold. The clock was ticking and I had to find out what it was and do it fast.

Her chest was sterile, I couldn’t open her up through her sternum because I had wired it shut just a few days earlier and it would take too long to go in that way, so I placed the scalpel on the fifth intercostal space and made a long incision. I quickly placed the rib spreader and was immediately splattered with blood that had accumulated inside the chest. Blood products were already being warmed and placed in the rapid infuser. I used suction and surgical gauze to try to clear the space so I would be able to see the bleeding site.

It was crazy and things happened quickly. The patient now had a breathing tube sticking out of her neck, two new lines had already been placed and we had asked the OR to be ready for us. The team started the pumps with blood units and I put my whole hand inside her chest. With my fingers, I reached to feel her barely beating heart to position my hand correctly and began compressing it firmly. While doing so, I felt the leak that was causing all these problems. Every time I pumped the heart, blood poured out of one of the veins that fed it directly. I asked for a clamp and immediately closed the hole. I kept massaging the heart internally, sterile drapes wrapped around my arm as the team tried to cover the wound (with my arm still in it) getting ready for transport to the OR. They released the brakes of the bed and we started rolling. I was walking, but my only focus was compressing the heart and getting enough blood flow to avoid any brain damage, if possible, while we got to surgery and I could fix her heart once more. When we got to the operating room, a junior surgeon took over the internal massage while I went to wash all over again and change my clothes. I was practically drenched in blood, so I was looking forward to getting on some clean, warm surgical scrubs. In the meantime, the junior surgeons were placing the patient in a proper position to continue the surgery and placed the lines to bypass the heart and divert the blood flow to the heart-lung machine. I quickly positioned myself in a comfortable position to start the surgery, with the machine now humming. I injected the extremely cold paralyzing agent straight into the heart muscle and began the surgery. Her poor mangled heart has gone through a lot. I was very careful, fixed the tear in the vein and checked that the heart valves had not been dislodged in all the resus efforts.

So now, all patched up, it was time to get that heart beating again. Because blood flow to the brain had been reduced for a long time we were going to do things differently this time. We were going to keep her body colder than average. We didn’t start the process of heating up her body, the fluids that we were introducing were not warmed up. If she was to have a chance at a normal life, I would have to keep her in induced hypothermia for at least 48 hours.

But first, I had to get her heart beating again. With sutures placed in the artery and vein and the removal of the clamps, blood began flowing back into her heart. It didn’t move at all. It had sustained injuries during CPR and was not looking great. It was not swollen yet and that is what I would try to avoid by cooling her down. I massaged it once more, as I had done hours before, but this time, it was colder and not surrounded by a pool of blood. I was hoping to get a small hear beat. I was begging in my head: “Come on, give me something to work with!” But the heart muscle stood still. I injected epi followed by amiodarone and massaged it once more for a while. It began moving a bit. I injected more epinephrine and hoped her heart would pick up the beat. Finally, it began quivering, I waited for it to find a rhythm on its own, but it didn’t, so I asked for the internal paddles, I placed them carefully around the heart and asked for 20 joules. The shock made the heart jump and the rest of her body contract gently but after a pause, her heart kept beating erratically, I asked for 30 joules and another dose of epi. The shock was more visible this time, her whole body shook in a single movement and then stood still. I couldn’t get a regular rhythm though. I decided to max out the epi and another dose of amiodarone before giving it another shock with the maximum dose acceptable for internal paddles, 40 joules. I held my breath and shocked her again. This time her body visibly jumped a bit with the shock. I sighed with relief when her heart began beating softly at a regular rhythm. She was OK…. for now. The junior surgeon proceeded to close the chest and I watched the EKG closely, her heart was beating at a steady pace but the blood output was small. If she didn’t improve we would have to consider using ECMO, but right now my main concern was keeping her at 30° Celsius (86°F) to prevent as much inflammation as possible in her heart and brain. I was trying to give her the best chance to live, but I knew, that right now, her chances of survival without serious brain injury were around 1%. We just had to wait and hope. I thanked everyone and left the room. After I had finished my notes I went into her ICU cubicle. She had a cold air blanket covering her whole naked, mangled body. New electrodes had been attached to her chest, running a permanent EKG, her brain function was also monitored through electrodes placed in her forehead under the cold water helmet the ICU team had placed on her head. Her core temperature was being monitored intravenously. She was heavily sedated. I was just hoping she would make it through the next 12 hours. Then I glanced at the window and realized it was dawn already. I thanked the teams that had worked the code hours before and left the hospital to get some sleep back home. While in the car, I kept remembering her pale skin, cold to the touch, her bluish lips and all the equipment surrounding her that always reminded me of old sci-fi movies. She was now my sleeping beauty, resting in her chilly sleep. And we had to wait and find out, first if she would survive, then, if she would have neurological deficits and what they would be. But, for now, we both needed to rest. I took the coastal highway to my apartment taking in the beautiful views, got home, changed into my most comfortable sweatpants and rested for a few hours, then went to the gym and took a dip in the pool. I had not heard anything from the hospital. No news is good news. I would go back in the evening to check on her again. I trusted the ICU team completely, so I ate a snack, relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon