#wanting someone in your life and tracing ​the shape of their absence

[vaulter]

wait (sits up) strawberry blond v–

[sorcerous-caress]

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony. 

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon. 

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes. 

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion." 

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched. 

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back." 

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?" 

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?" 

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen." 

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation." 

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

-

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment. 

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation. 

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper. 

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away. 

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?" 

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it." 

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly." 

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day." 

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?" 

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?" 

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear." 

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up. 

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?" 

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it." 

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay." 

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

-

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence. 

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive? 

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small. 

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago. 

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days. 

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

[krispdreemurr]

undertale cyan concepts (child death and such implied). this got kind of out of hand length wise sorry.

this room is vast and empty. a few scattered weeds have broken from the cracked ground and rise into the dim sunlight. far above you can see the hole you fell through, feel the distant breeze.

nearby, there's an opening in the cave walls, leading into another tunnel. it is dark. you can't see the tunnel's end.

you don't approach it.

you have been taught things for emergencies, just in case. in an emergency, the best thing is to stay and wait for someone to find you. moving may just make you more lost.

you are good at staying, and waiting.

you have a food bar in one pocket, squished a bit but still edible. you pull it out, unwrap it, eat it. it makes your throat feel dry. you don't have your water bottle.

maybe there's water deeper in the caves. you could go check.

you don't.

time passes. the thin light begins to dim. you strain your ears, trying to make out voices in the distant wind, listening for any sign of your rescue.

but there's nothing to hear.

this is your fault, of course. you strayed from the path, you went too far. you didn't wait, once, once only in your life. you wanted a moment alone to think and regather and you broke from the trail and now--

well.

someone will be there soon.

something catches your eye. movement in the periphery. a white shape in the shadows by the tunnel.

it takes a moment for you to resolve it. a frog, but larger than any frog you've seen, and with something strange to its belly.

before you can make it out, the frog gasps - gasps like a person - and turns and runs back into the tunnel.

you try to call a protest, but your throat is dry and what comes out is a croak. the frog(?) is gone.

you stand, move to follow.

you hesitate.

you look up at that distant circle.

you sit back down.

it isn't so bad to wait. you are good at being alone with your thoughts (you wanted that, space alone, time alone, time to ready yourself). you are good at sitting so still someone could miss the fact you're there at all.

you let your thoughts wander.

you keep looking up.

the circle dims to blackness. there's still faint light in the cave, somehow, though.

it takes you time to trace out the thin veins of glowing crystals on the walls, as they brighten in the absence of sunlight. it's not much, just a tracework of light, enough for you to see the walls and your hands.

it's beautiful.

you wonder if the rest of the caves are so beautiful.

you don't move.

you're thirsty. you're aching from the fall. you're tired. you want to get up and go and find something anything anything other than waiting in the dark.

but. but.

you listen. you know what you're meant to do. you can endure. any moment now you'll hear calls from above and you'll see the rope descending and all your waiting and all your patience will be rewarded and you'll be a good kid and it will have been worth it.

you let yourself imagine.

and then--

footsteps.

footsteps not from above but from the tunnel, heavy and slow, and you tense but surely surely surely this is what you've been waiting for all along.

someone's found you. you're going to go home. you've been a good kid and you get to go home.

you rise to your feet and approach the tunnel, rush into the arms of the largest man you've ever seen, and you marvel for a few moments at the gold armor and the white fur like something from a storybook, and you wonder why his face is so sad as he

[buckrogers]

Sit With Your Ghosts A While by @buckrogers

Note: So, I initially started writing this while the celebration for 10 years of TWS was going on thinking I'd submit it, but then I found myself not really feeling the cohesion in the pieces, but I do still like them/it as vignette snapshots into Steve's life before Bucky's return/the events of TWS really kick off. So since it's just sitting there rotting away in my drafts, I figured I'd post it on my blog for what it is. Rating: Maybe just barely PG if you squint. Pairing: Steve/Bucky, Steve/Peggy allusions again if you squint Words: 1122

I.

Steve's made a point not to talk with ghosts.

Not even ones in the shape of people he misses, the ache of their absence stretching out, unspooling endlessly before him.

It was a deal he made with himself after his ma had passed and everywhere around him, he could still feel her. Her presence lingering the way someone’s did when they'd just put their coat on and stepped outside.

Hey ma, he'd wanted to confide, to press comfort across that divide that had never seemed so distant, not to Steve, not after so many nights toeing the line between himself; hauled back at the precipice only by Bucky's fingers, curled around his thin wrist. His breath puffing hot against Steve’s skin, where he'd fallen asleep on watch.

You don't got to worry. You rest easy, okay.

II.

Sometimes, though, when the nights feel long enough - he lets the ghosts in.

He dreams of Bucky's bare back, the curve of it, the notch of each vertebra in his spine when he bent forward to unlace his boots that Steve had desperately wanted to reach out and trace but never dared to because it meant crossing that threshold, taking all that deep pressed longing Steve had woven into himself over the years and turning it loose, making it something tangible that they’d have had to figure out how to deal with back before either one of them had a clue.

About a lot, but especially about that.

I wanted to, he tells those eyes, when he conjures their likeness in the dark, caught in some complicated expression, a twist of frustration; all that banked affection he knew Buck held inside him bleeding through.

I'm sorry I didn't - I'm sorry I couldn't –

I should’ve reached further.

The ghost at the foot of his bed stays silent, expression unreadable in the early dawn light.

III.

He wakes to silence.

The hum of appliances. The kick of the radiator turning on. The near constant thrum of traffic outside his window.

The stutter-step of his own existence that feels so out of sync with all he remembers, like a lingering sourness in his mouth. It's a chemical burn, he can feel it peeling away layers, stripping him down the more time that passes.

Steve isn't sure what would be found if they dug right to the core of him.

Something frozen, he estimates. Frozen as the arm he pictures reaching for him from the bottom of a ravine, even after all this time.

IV.

There's a nurse living across the hall from him.

She puts herself in his path just frequently enough, wearing scrubs and balancing a basket of laundry on a hip that he lingers over whether to ask if she has time for coffee. It seems a simple enough gesture, one that speaks to the soul of a nurse’s son.

Bucky would’ve known how to go about it.

He'd’ve slipped into warm smiles and bedroom eyes without missing a beat. You gotta lay it on a little sweet, Stevie, chest puffed full of that ridiculous bravado that should have been too much but somehow swam perfect in the lines of his suit, twinkled in those grey blue eyes. Just enough to make 'em want to come back around for more but not so's much they get attached.

He can see Bucky at fifteen, at eighteen, cocky and assured, throwing wide grins over his shoulder at Steve.

Trouble is, he also sees Bucky as he was after Azzano. The dark circles gouged under his eyes. The haunted quality of the smiles he'd throw out, doing his level best to pretend everything was the way it used to be. Just fine pal, just fine.

Steve remembers the intensity of his eyes on him, after Peggy had walked out of the bar that night, wrapped in victory red.

He doesn't ask, in the end.

His smiles remain painfully constrained. Caged within the safe parameters of neighborly chitchat.

V.

"Hey, Cap."

Rumlow's broad shoulders fill the doorway, members of the S.T.R.I.K.E team milling about behind him, waiting without being too obvious about it. They've changed out of their tactical uniforms, and Rumlow looks alarmingly casual without it.

"Taking the boys out for a post mission drink. Come take a load off, big guy."

Steve pauses with his hands on the locker door. He turns over the ramifications, searching for hidden pitfalls. There’s nothing. His smile almost stalls but finds a gear at the last minute. "Next time, fellas."

"Sure,” Rumlow taps the wall twice. “Next time."

He's not sure even he buys it as the truth.

VI.

"Surely you have better things to do with your evenings than spend them here."

Steve squeezes her hand gently. "What? And miss out on seeing my best girl? Not a chance."

Peggy’s eyes gleam at him, she’s having one of her good days. They’re focused. Sharp as a tack. "Hm,” she speculates openly and sets her hand over his. There’s a life lived in the lines on it, the fragile folds around her knuckles. "I have missed you so terribly."

"Well,” he musters, smiling to dampen the hurt, “I'm here now."

VII.

He finds himself pulled like an ocean tide to the museum, cap low over his head; hands tucked in jacket pockets, letting the sight of old friends looping on screen wash through him like a balm to the sleepless nights, the creeping awareness of moving with his back turned on time. It was a thought he'd had before, that he couldn't readjust himself to point in the right direction anymore; his true north was fixed.

It remained doggedly pointing behind him, like a shadow. (Like a ghost).

Tangled up in memories of Brooklyn summers and a familiar sly voice calling to him but stubbornly, firmly out of reach.

There's still enough here, wandering through a monument to his past; studying reels of old footage, that tether the hook beneath his rib; that call out to his bones.

Steve winds up staying a while.

VIII.

He dreams of monsters, swarming through a tear in the sky. Sees Tony Stark falling, endlessly plummeting toward the ground.

When he pries off the iron mask, Bucky is staring up at him, repeating his name and rank.

His lips are blue.

IX.

Fingers of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing down the sound of his footsteps.

There’s a solitude to running at this hour Steve appreciates, the world hushed at the precipice of the day, before all the ghosts are vanquished from their respective corners and put away to be dealt with later.

He doesn’t take his with him, but he knows they’ll keep.

Maybe, just maybe – he’ll sit with them a while, too.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Jealousy, Jealousy | Not Rated | 1163 words 

Harry gets jealous when James Corden hold his Louis in his lap and pets him on the Late Late Show. He shows Louis who he belongs to and takes care of him.

2) The X-Factor Judge | Explicit | 1635 words 

Harry watches the X-Factor and gets jealous about Brendan jumping on Louis. When Louis gets home Harry reminds him whom he belongs to. 

3) Didn’t Know You Had It In You | Explicit | 1807 words 

Harry sleeptalks and reveals his kinks which Louis is more than happy to try out.

4) Mine | Explicit | 1979 words 

"So you been single for a while now?" Louis gulped as the vibrator slowed down sending a thankful look to Harry before glancing back at the interview who was looking at him with great interest,

"Uhhh yeah," he replied keeping his answer short and brief. He straightened his back shuffling slightly on his chair as the vibrator shifted inside of him hitting his prostate causing him to let out a small gasp as grimaced at the interviewer who just grinned back. She must be an excellent actress or just stupidly oblivious.

5) In The Moment | Explicit | 2611 words 

Note: This is part 2 of this series.

Where it's their first time and Harry is being all fluffy and encouraging Louis to say his name and other dirty stuff?

6) Salvation Under My Breath | Not Rated | 2858 words 

Louis is pregnant...

...and Horny

7) The Sight of You Brings Forth a Peace In Me | Mature | 3254 words

Louis loses inspiration and goes on a nature walk to find some. The inspiration takes shape in the form of Harry. 

8) Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips | Explicit | 3435 words 

Note: Part one of this fic is #23 on this list. 

Adjusting to one another’s life came as naturally as the sun rising in the morning and brightening the sky, chasing away the darkness that had dared to lurk in its absence. They did not side step each other, did not second guess their instincts once they were finally together. It was the crash of roaring waves - reckless in their paths - but upon meeting had unified into calm waters in the vast sea.

Living with Harry was like a breath of fresh air. In all his years, Louis had never felt alive. He supposed there was some credit to be given to how devoted Harry was to him. The man would rather step in a raging fire than let him suffer even a trace amount of agony.

9) Fuck U (Even) Betta | Explicit | 3568 words 

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Harry had sensed Louis was getting antsy all day, prodding and poking at Harry’s psyche like a game of mental whack-a-mole, trying to find that one thing that would flip the switch and push Harry over the edge. Even after all these years Louis still thinks he can get a rise, that he can in any way control the scenario. He couldn’t be more wrong.

10) We Act Like Nothing Is Wrong To Avoid What’s In Front of Us | Mature | 4179 words 

Louis sends nudes meant for Harry to the wrong person on accident. Harry finds out. Rough sex ensues.

11) Love's First Bite | Explicit | 6135 words 

Note: The pairing in this fic is Louis/Zayn.

For Zayn, love was never a part of life’s equation, not when you’re considered a lowly vampire while working in the Vampire’s royalty club, Love’s First Bite. He’s bitter and resentful and sees no point in looking into his past or future. But when Zayn saves a human named Louis, it all changes. He finds something special in him and, more importantly, someone worth giving up everything he holds dear.

12) Your Blueberry Eyes | Mature | 6154 words 

Louis tattoos and Harry falls for blues.

13) Blow Me Away | Explicit | 6471 words 

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

14) Thank You For This Prom Night | Not Rated | 6554 words 

Note: This is part 3 of this series.

It's Prom Night. Stuff happens.

15) Can We Make It Anymore Obvious? | Explicit | 6628 words 

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

16) It's The Way You Love (I Gotta Give It Back To You) | Explicit | 8153 words 

Stretching, Louis finally pulled the duvet aside and let his feet fall onto the plush rug at his feet. Louis lived for soft, comfortable, plush things. From the fairy lights and fake plants to his plush robe and thick socks, everything in Louis’ little one bedroom apartment was carefully catered to his whimsical and soft aesthetic.

17) My Eyes Want You More Than A Melody | Explicit | 8315 words 

Harry’s brain is short-circuiting at an absolutely awful time, the more expressive side of him is falling to pieces for some reason. The only responses he can give are venerated vibrations and nods, the feeling of Louis’ sweaty skin sliping him further into nothingness. Lightly dewy thighs, so muscular and plush— his lips feel just the same, so dangerously soft, a devious intention lying behind it all. “You’d do anything for me,” Louis mumbles, teeth tugging on Harry’s bottom lip, eyes dragging from his sinfully pink mouth when he lets it go to his hooded green eyes. “Isn't that right, daddy?” Harry whimpers— something that’s so foreign to him— but nods, trailing his hands up his shaved thighs, fingertips passing the hem of the dress.

18) Running Is Different Than Going | Explicit | 9018 words 

Note: The pairing is Louis/OMC.

On the run, the last thing Michael expects from a stranger is help. Louis offers him everything he needs so he can keep running, but makes it harder than ever to continue doing so.

19) Quarantine, Baby! | Teen & Up | 9615 words 

Note: There is no smut, but it contains mpreg Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

When Harry and Louis get a little too bored in quarantine, they turn to each other for some x-rated entertainment. Then, what starts as a COVID-scare, turns out to be something completely different.

20) Effervescent Horizons | Not Rated | 10676 words 

Note: This is part 6 of this series. There is also no smut, but it contains mentions of bottom Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup. 

They go to college together!

21) Moments | Explicit | 10726 words 

Looking back, Louis should’ve known that the universe likes to fuck with idiots like him who think they’ve got it all sorted.

Looking back, he should’ve known that the minute he relaxed and let his guard down, when he thought things were going smoothly, that’s when it would hit him.

Looking back, he should’ve known to be on the lookout for a curveball.

He just hadn’t accounted for that curveball to have long legs, green eyes, and dimples; a curveball named Harry Styles.

22) The Blood Is Rare (And Sweet As Cherry Wine) | Explicit | 14270 words 

Note: The sequel to this fic is #8 on this list. 

"Officer, I see you're giving away my secrets already," Harry said as he entered the room.

"It's hardly a secret," Louis accepted the delicate glass, cutting a glance at the man when the underlying scent hit him, "A little early to indulge in such things, isn't it?"

"You've had a long morning, I'm sure. Merely looking after your health, Officer," Harry smiled.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Someone has to."

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76174 words 

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Truth Behind Golden Eyes | Explicit | 228727 words 

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[the7thcrow]

indulgence | part two

~

pairing: felix x (fem) vampire!reader

summary: an indulgence grows to become dangerous, as the society of hampden college takes note of y/n’s new blood bag.

series masterlist.

word count: 5.8 k

genre: forbidden love. angst, extreme fluff, suggestive.

warnings: blood, suggestive content (sex is discussed but not described), strong language, alcohol and vampires ofc.

rating: 16+

a/n: hi everyone! thank you to anyone who read part one, and liked it enough to continue with part two hehe. the plot really picks up here, and i’m quite excited about it. once again, i love hearing feedback, so don’t be shy in leaving me an ask or message :)

previous chapter.

...

..

.

You were careful. In the beginning, at least. For the first few weeks of carrying your secret, you only met Felix after hours, and only at your home. You’d leave at different times, and you both never spoke a word of what you were doing to anyone.

It was a safe play. A smart one. But as time went on you became sloppy. It started on the day Felix’s roommates would be gone for the entire weekend.

You were both lying in your bed, the rainy Sunday morning having trickled by in a lazy, melancholic fashion. These were your favourite days, the ones in which he’d arrive just before dawn and leave near dusk. 

You’d gotten used to his presence around your apartment, his absence painfully noticeable during the days you found yourself cooped up there alone. You liked when he was there, even when you weren’t talking, lounging on the couch in silence with your feet intertwined as you caught up on your required reading. Or when sometimes he’d cook for you, baking you sweets as you were stressed out over a paper that’s due date was much closer than you’d realized. Him simply being around granted you comfort, a sense of companionship, something you hadn’t felt for a long time.

You couldn’t deny that Felix Lee had nestled himself into your life, and you’d be a liar to say you weren’t enjoying it. Being with him made you love the creature you were, seeing the way your feeding affected him, the way it set the two of you on fire. Forgetting for a moment how restrictive your life truly was, how exhausting and lonely it often happened to be. 

Looking back, perhaps that was the entire problem itself. That wasn’t something you should so easily forget, no matter how tempting it may be.

“Come on,” Felix whined, tracing shapes along the bare of your back with his finger. “They won’t be there all weekend, it won’t be any different then when we’re here.”

He was trying to convince you to come spend the following weekend at his apartment, as his roommates were leaving on a ski trip and wouldn’t be back until Monday morning.

“Well, if it won’t be any different then why should we bother risking it?” You returned. In truth, you really did want to go spend time at his place. It felt like the next step in your relationship, however strange and complicated it may be. You weren’t sure if “relationship” was even the right term for whatever you two were, but you didn’t want to overthink things too much. For now, all you wanted was to enjoy this while it lasted, as deep down you knew it couldn’t be forever. 

“Because,” he mumbled, rolling you over to face him. This wasn’t going to help your willpower, you’d come to find you just couldn’t say no to those dark, curious eyes. “I feel like I’ve really gotten to know you these last few weeks. I mean, I’ve seen your life. Your room, your book and record collections, what you keep stocked in your refrigerator. I guess I just want to share my space with you too.”

You groaned, shifting downwards to bury your face in his chest. “Well that’s not fair. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

“Exactly, you can’t,” he laughed.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know. Sorry.”

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll head over Friday night then.”

“See, I knew you’d come around,” he smiled, his voice light with enthusiasm. However, you couldn’t ignore the weight of anxiousness bubbling in your chest. You looked up at Felix, and you knew that he could see it written on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, methodically running his fingers through your hair, something he’d learned would help calm you down whenever you were stressed. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

~~~~

Felix did, in fact, make it worth your time. When you arrived at his doorstep the following weekend, you were surprised to find the door unlocked. Carefully, you twisted the knob, peeking inside.

It was safe to say you were surprised.

The apartment was entirely candlelit, the smell of rose scented candles mixing with that of whatever Felix was presently cooking in the kitchen. The table was done up in a way that reminded you of a cheesy Italian restaurant, with a checkered red tablecloth, two glasses for wine, and a rose stationed in the middle.

Felix emerged from the kitchen, a wide, toothy grin on his face. He was wearing an apron, patterned with an alarming amount of cartoon kittens, over what appeared to be a rather expensive suit.

“I feel like I’m underdressed,” you stated, unable to mask the pure awe in your voice. Nobody, not even Chan, had done anything like this for you. Not to mention the fact that you and Felix weren’t even dating… 

Were you? This seemed like an awful lot of effort to put in for someone you were only hooking up with.

“Nah, you look great. Don’t worry about it,” Felix said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take your jacket Mademoiselle.”

You laughed, taking off your overcoat and handing it to him. “That’s French. I thought you were going for Italian,” you joked, attempting to hide the warmth flooding to your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he said, setting your jacket down on the couch before putting his hands on your shoulders. “Just let me have this one. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said quietly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. You felt oddly shy, surrounded by such a scene. 

“Well if you’ll take a seat, I can show you what I’ve been making in the kitchen,” he said, moving towards the table and pulling out the chair. You complied, sitting down and shifting your focus to the wonderful smell wafting in from the kitchen. 

Felix disappeared before appearing with two plates, setting one down in front of you. “Shrimp Scampi,” he clarified. You glanced up at him and you could tell he was slightly nervous. Knowing Felix, he was probably worried you wouldn’t like it.

How someone could possibly not appreciate all of this, was entirely beyond you.

You decided to reassure him. “It looks amazing, Felix. All of this,” you said, gesturing to the room around you. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you did this, it's so… unbelievably sweet.”

“Well,” he said shyly, removing the apron and setting it down on the kitchen counter. “I knew you were worried about coming over here. So, I guess I just wanted to make it the best I could. Less terrifying and more something you’d really enjoy. You know?”

If your cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly were now. It took everything in you not to lean over the table and kiss him right then and there.

He grabbed a bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet behind him, pouring the liquid into your glass. “White wine?” You questioned with a smirk. “I thought you would have gone with red.”

He chuckled, beginning to fill his own. “I thought about it, but it felt a little too cliche. Besides,” he said, corking the bottle and setting it back down on the table. “White goes better with seafood.”

You picked up your glass, taking a small sip. “Pinot grigio?”

He raised his eyebrows, smirking. “A bit of a wine connoisseur, are we?” 

You laughed. “Something like that.” 

Truth be told, you weren’t. Frankly, you’d always much preferred scotch. However, Chan was big on wine. From the two years you’d spent together, you’d managed to pick up a thing or two.

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly. The food was delicious, the wine smooth, the conversation breezy. You’d calmed down from the initial shock of it all, and had settled back into the comfortable atmosphere you and Felix had developed over the past few weeks.

After you’d both finished your meals, he rose to his feet, setting your plates down on the kitchen counter before disappearing around the corner, into the living room. You were wondering if you should follow him, when suddenly classical music started to fill your ears.

You rose to your feet, peering around the corner to see Felix stationed beside a record player. He smiled, before extending a hand out towards you. “Come on, dance with me.”

“You sure are cheesy today, huh?” You laughed, taking his hand anyway. You laid your head against his chest, the two of you swaying gently, a sorry attempt at a Waltz. 

The music from the record filled the room, the notes dancing along with the two of you, a symphony of affection. You quickly recognized the piece as The Four Seasons.

“Vivaldi is my favourite composer,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I know, you told me a while ago,” he spoke quietly.

“Ah,” you said, smiling to yourself over the fact he remembered. “I’m surprised you have a record of him, I know you aren’t the classical type.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he laughed. “It’s actually one of my roommates.” 

“I see. What are they like?” Even with all the time you’d spent together, you and Felix had never talked about the people in your personal lives. 

“Hmm,” Felix hummed. Although he didn’t say anything, you could tell he was happy that you asked. That you were slowly breaking the barrier you’d put around yourself. 

“Well, Han- that’s whose record this is- he’s... well he’s loud, but I think you’d really like him. He’s studying music theory, wants to be something of a composer himself. He’s a bit messy, but if you harp on him enough he’ll keep his shit clean.” 

“He sounds nice,” you offered kindly. “What about your other one?”

“Ah, yeah. Changbin. His name is Changbin,” Felix said, but you could tell there was something off about his tone.

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s going through a lot right now. But normally he’s the coolest. He’s also in music theory, so he and Han help eachother out a lot. He’s the type to bring you food when you’ve been working on a paper all day, because he knows you’ve forgotten to eat. Always there for you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” you said. Talking about Changbin seemed to make Felix nervous, based on the way he wouldn’t meet your eye and the apprehension in his voice. You could bet it had to do with whatever Changbin was going through at the moment, but despite your curiousness you decided to drop it. It wasn’t any of your business.

The two of you swayed in silence for a few moments. There was nothing left to say on the matter.

“You know,” you said suddenly. “You said you wanted to show me your space, but I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”

Felix smirked. “Ah, I guess you haven’t. Why, you impatient for something?”

You laughed, looking up at him. “Get your head out of the gutter, Lix. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mhm. Yeah, sure you don’t,” he returned, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway to your left. He stopped, turning to open a door that was currently covered in a rather elaborate arrangement of animal stickers. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh right, the stickers,” Felix said, smacking his forehead with his palm. “Han thought it would be funny, but now I can’t get them off.” 

You smiled. Felix was right, you and Han would probably get along. 

The inside of Felix's room was oddly exactly how you had imagined it. Books were stacked neatly on the desk in the corner, ranging from academic texts to various manga. Posters hung on the walls, representing different music artists, some you recognized and others you did not. He had a nintendo switch tossed on his night stand, and plants hanging in the window. The room, while packed, was clean and well in order. An organized sort of chaos.

You laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. You felt the mattress sink slightly as he laid beside you.

“Do you like it?” He whispered.

“I do. It’s very you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers wandered in the air for a moment, before finding themselves placed against your cheek. Gently he stroked his thumb back and forth along your jawbone. 

You smiled, leaning into his touch, placing your own hand in his hair. “I feel like dessert,” you stated.

Felix’s cheeks warmed. “I made brownies,” he mumbled, his gaze deepening. “But something tells me that’s not what you have in mind.”

~~~

It was not what you had in mind, and you’d gone far beyond merely explaining that to Felix. The two of you were tangled together beneath his sheets, his head resting on your chest. The room was dark, preventing you from seeing the details of his face, only the shadows and the curve of his jaw visible in the moonlight. 

“Felix?” You whispered, wondering if he was awake.

“Mmm?” He mumbled, clearly only half-conscious. 

“You know I can’t give you more than this, right? We’ll always have to sneak around, keep us a secret. It’ll never be easy.”

“I know.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

He reached for your hand, allowing your fingers to intertwine. “If it means I have you, I’ll manage.” 

A moment of silence passed by, as you were unsure of what to say, but something inside of you stirred. Something deep and warm, coming back to life.

“Y/N?” He asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. 

“Yeah?”

“Do I have you?”

“Of course, Lix,” you smiled, finally allowing your eyes to close, putting your mind to rest. “I’m all yours.”

    ~~~~

The following morning you awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the window, Felix still sleeping soundly against your chest. Carefully, you moved his head to the pillow, sliding out from under him and emerging into the hallway.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. You never found yourself in an unfamiliar place in the mornings, and the urge to evacuate and run back to your apartment was more tempting than you would’ve liked to admit. You wouldn’t, of course. Felix had put in the effort to make you feel comfortable, to feel at home. You would honour that, no matter how slightly terrifying it might be.

You wandered into the kitchen, noticing a container full of brownies set on the counter. You smiled, those were supposed to be eaten yesterday, before, well… 

You opened the package taking a bite of the sweet, before spitting it out in shock.

The apartment door swung open wildly, a boy with brown hair and chubby cheeks storming inside, a thick cast around his wrist. He threw his backpack onto the couch, letting the ski’s he was carrying clatter against the wall.

“Felix, you will not believe how bad the hill was. There was hardly even any snow, and the amount of rocks? It was like they wanted me to break my arm! Believe me, you made the right call opting out, it was not worth the drive-”

The boy stopped, his eyes bulging as he finally realized you were in the room. His silence made you quickly realize that you were only sporting one of Felix’s shirts, and while it covered you fine, it told an obvious tale. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hi!” He said, his mind finally catching up on the situation. 

Alright, this was it. Clearly you and Felix weren’t a secret anymore, at least not with his roommates. Now you had to decide how you were going to play this out. Your mind was buzzing. You knew this was a bad idea. You knew this was dangerous. You fucked up. It was over for you. You were screwed. 

Attempting to settle your racing mind, you decided to make an effort at being friendly for now. 

“Hi,” you smiled, moving behind the kitchen table to cover your legs. “I’m assuming you’re Han?” 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He laughed.

“Felix mentioned you were a tad… charismatic.” 

Han chuckled. “Did he now? I’ll have to pay him back for that. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name-”

Felix burst out of the hallway, his hair a disheveled mess and shirt only half buttoned. “Han! You’re back early!” 

He looked at you, and while you wanted to be furious at him, planned to make him regret getting you to come here, the look of guilt in his eyes stopped you before you could even begin. It were as if the words “I’m Sorry” were branded to his forehead, his features solemn with remorse.

“We have to get out of here,” you thought. “We have to talk about this, figure out what the hell to do.”

“Wait, what did you do to your arm?” Felix asked, just noticing the thick cast.

“Ah,” Han said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm. “I wiped out. Like I said, the hill was bad. Not enough snow and too much ice. I slid into a rock and, well… Doctor said I have to keep this on for the next 5 weeks, which blows, obviously,” he motioned to the cast, shrugging his shoulder helplessly. 

Before you could get a word in, he continued. “Oh, have you guys eaten yet? Changbin’s just grabbing-”

Felix quickly cut him off. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat.”

Han raised an eyebrow, glancing from Felix, who looked like he just stumbled out of a 2 year coma, to yourself, who was certainly in no position to walk out the door.  “You were?”

“Yeah!” You exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. “I’m just going to, uh, get changed, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” you said, rushing past them and into Felix’s bedroom.

You shut the door behind you, leaning up against the frame before taking a deep breath. Okay, you could do this. You’d make a quick exit, then you and Felix could sort out what to do next. Maybe he could tell them you were just a hookup. But would that look too suspicious? Did they notice he’d been sneaking out almost every night? If they did that would only cause more problems. 

God, this was a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have come, you shouldn't have come- 

“Y/N?” Felix called, knocking on the door. “Are you almost ready?”

“Y-yeah!” You called back, cringing at the waver in your voice. You had to get yourself together. You threw on your jeans from the following day, tucking in Felix’s button up and bounded towards the door.

“Alright, I’m ready,” you said, bouncing back into the living room. However, you were surprised to be greeted by someone new. The boy was standing beside Felix and Han, whispering in a rushed, as well as undeniably angry tone. 

More surprising yet, and perhaps unsettling as well, he was glaring at you. No, glaring wasn’t the right word. His eyes screamed bloody murder, his jaw locked, entire body was rigid with a stiffness only produced by vile distaste. It was that look of hatred, that familiar spiteful glaze, which immediately made you recognize him.

“I’ve seen you at the library before,” you stated, taking note of how his eyes widened slightly at the sound of your voice.

The boy cleared his throat. “I don’t think so,” he stated, which was an obvious lie. He’d visited the library several times during the dead of the night, always with that same angry, loathsome stare. You’d always found it unsettling, and always left soon after he arrived, even if you still had work to do.

“Yes, you-” you began, but Felix quickly cut you off. 

“Sorry, Changbin. We were just leaving, I’ll catch you guys later.” He said, taking your arm and quickly ushering you out the entry. You saw Han attempt to call out in protest, but Felix quickly shut the door behind him, blocking whatever it was he had to say.

You turned to Felix. “What the hell was that?”

“What, I figured you’d want to get out of there?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye as he walked ahead of you, making his way down the complex stairs. 

You scowled, chasing after him. “Not that, why was Changbin - or whatever his name is - staring at me like that?”

“That’s just the way Changbin has been lately,” Felix said, although you couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to it. Pulling your arm away, you pushed passed him. If Felix was going to be so frustrating, there was no way you were going to be the one trailing him like a puppy.

“Well, I know for a fact he’s seen me at the library, so why would he lie about that?” You continued, opening the main doors and storming onto the street. 

Felix jogged after you. “I don’t know?” He shot back, his voice sharp. “Maybe he just forgot?”

You scoffed, turning a corner onto the main walking path, heading off campus and towards your own apartment. You needed to sort this out, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene in the middle of a busy street.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, still keeping yourself a few steps ahead. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to my place.”

“It’s the middle of the day, I thought that was against your precious rules,” he sniped. You knew he was just angry, blowing off steam, but the jab hurt. He was fully aware that you hated the way things were, the way things had to be. It was a low blow, and it only made your annoyance spike. 

“Fine, Lix. You don’t have to come, go back home so you don’t have to be a burden to my ‘precious rules.’”

“Shit, no. Wait, Y/N!” He babbled, running to put himself in front of you. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn’t mean that. Please, let’s figure this out. I want to, seriously.”

You stared at him for a moment, before walking past him, a sigh trailing from your lips. “Fine, come on.”

He let out a relieved breath before catching up, placing himself at your side. 

“We need to determine what the hell we’re going to tell your roommates,” you start. “Because as of now, we’ve gotten ourselves into a load of shit-”

You didn’t see the man in front of you as you collided into his chest, falling to the ground, rubbing your nose from the immediate shock of pain. 

“Woah, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there,” the voice said, and your entire body froze. You knew that voice. You knew that voice well. It was a voice you hadn’t heard in months, the voice of the worst possible person you could stumble into at the moment.

“Hold on, Y/N?” Chan asked. You looked up to meet his gaze, petrified by the familiar look of pain in his eyes. The same hurt from the last time you saw him, or in better terms, left him.

“Hey, Chan,” you replied, your voice coming out more shaky than you wanted it to. Chan extended a hand, lifting you to your feet. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “It sure has.”

Then, to your complete and utter despair, his gaze shifted to Felix. It was alarming, how quickly his gaze hardened, the way any sense of past affection drifted from his eyes. “Who’s this?” He asked, his voice cold. 

“That’s Felix. He’s uh, from class, we got assigned for a partner project. We have to explain how without divine intervention, the events in The Iliad may have transpired differently,” you said. If you were going to lie, you had to at least try to make it sound believable. 

“Ah, I see,” Chan said, an edge to his voice. “Where are you guys heading?”

“Just a cafe,” you replied, keeping your voice level.

“Off campus?” He asked, his eyes narrowing, you felt your heart leap into your throat.

“Yeah,” Felix answered without missing a beat. “Figured it would be less busy, you know?”

“Hm,” Chan said, before giving the boy a smile. To Felix, it probably seemed nice, but you knew Chan. Which meant you also knew there wasn’t an ounce of genuine kindness in that expression. 

“Alright, well I’ll let you guys get to it then,” he shook Felix’s hand, his grip slightly too firm. “It was nice meeting you.”

He took a step to make his exit, and for a moment you thought you’d gotten away with it. You thought that somehow, you’d manage to evade this inevitable disaster. Foolish.

Chan stopped beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Turning to Felix, he smiled, his eyes glinting. “And hey, you might want to fix your collar.”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on his face as he adjusted the collar of his button-up. That’s when you noticed it. The bite marks just peeked out, visibly fresh from the following night.

Chan leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your body froze, heart stopping at his words.

“You’ve got his scent all over you.”

~~~~

You and Felix spent the next few hours deciding your best course of action. In a matter of a day, your entire arrangement had been flipped on its head.

The first issue revolved around Felix’s roommates, the biggest worry being what exactly he was going to tell them. After much thought, as well as a bit of arguing, you decided to have Felix say that the two of you were casually seeing each other. This way, they shouldn’t get suspicious that there was more going on, but they also wouldn’t expect to necessarily see you around their apartment either.

There was still risk in it - of course, there always was - as there was the remaining fear that one of them might mention the two of you to the wrong person, and you’d be doomed. As much as having this as a risk pained you, there wasn’t much you could do about it, at least for the moment. For now, you had to trust that if Felix told them to keep it a secret, they would.

This was difficult, as you truthfully didn’t have faith in either of them. Han seemed nice, of course. But it was clear he liked to talk, and it wouldn’t be shocking if something managed to slip from his lips. 

Changbin... Well, he seemed to hate you, for whatever reason that might be. You tried to talk to Felix about this, but he simply brushed it off, blaming it on whatever Changbin happened to be going through at the moment. Begrudgingly, you decided to drop it, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t store the worry in the back of your mind. Keep a watchful eye out.

The bigger problem was Chan. He knew. He knew everything. The feeding, the fucking. That Felix was something more than just an acquaintance. He could single-handedly unravel your relationship, all it would take was a quick chat with The Council, and you would be ruined. There would be nothing you could do to stop them. You didn’t know what The Council would do to you, but you knew at the very least they would force you to end your arrangement with Felix.

You wanted to believe that Chan wouldn’t do that. You really did, but you knew that might not be the case. If he saw telling The Council as a way of protecting you, to keep you away from humans that could be out to hurt you, or use you, there was no doubt in your mind that that’s exactly what he would do.

For now, all you could do was wait, and keep as low of a profile as you possibly could at the moment. It was for this purpose that you said the following words:

“I think we need to distance ourselves from each other, for at least a little while,” you said to Felix. He currently was sitting on your couch, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands.

Slowly, he glanced up at you. He looked tired. “Do we have to?” He asked, his voice flooded with defeat. The last few hours hadn't been easy. There were sacrifices to make, ones that neither of you wanted to adhere to. But this was not as simple as what you did and didn’t want.

“Yeah,” you sighed, dropping down on the couch beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “We have to. I think we could have dealt with your roommates, but Chan is a far bigger issue.”

Felix frowned, and you knew exactly how he felt.

 This sucked. 

Over the past month, you’d really come to like Felix. You genuinely enjoyed his company, his cooking, his sense of humour. The way he brightened up a room. Most of all, he made you feel less alone. Together you were a part of something. A relationship of sorts. You mattered. And while you would do what you could to make sure this farewell wasn’t forever, in the end it was still a goodbye.

And goodbye’s were always hard, no matter what lay behind them.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking your hand in his, gently brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “When should I expect to hear from you again?”

“I’ll give you a call by the end of the week. I might try talking to Chan, just to see where he’s at with all this. Try to make him understand before he decides to throw me under the bus.”

Felix hums in response, before twisting his neck so that his chin rests on top of your head. “I’m going to miss you,” he states simply. 

You smile sadly, planting a soft kiss at the nape of his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” you say, “but this will only be temporary. I’ll make sure of it.”

~~~~

You didn’t get the chance to talk to Chan, as not even a full day after Felix left your apartment, a letter slid under your door. Carefully, you arose from your spot on your couch, setting your laptop down on the coffee table. You approached the envelope slowly, as if you were to move too fast, it might combust.

You picked up the letter, turning it over to reveal the seal. Your heart sunk in your chest.

There it was. The red wax seal. The letter was from The Society. 

Fuck.

You frantically ripped off the seal, releasing the note inside with shaky hands.

Dear Ms. L/N,

We have recently been informed that you have been participating in actions that violate the terms of our Society agreement. This information has been provided to us by a source of whom wishes to remain anonymous for the time being.

However, these claims remain a serious issue. We would like to give you the chance to explain yourself, as well as clear up what may be a possible misunderstanding or simply a false accusation. If these actions happen to be true, then we will deal with matters accordingly.

You are called to attend this meeting at 1:00pm tomorrow, at the councilroom of our head district.

We appreciate your compliance. 

Our regards,

The Council.

~~~~

It’s almost funny, looking back on how hopeful you’d been. That despite everything working against you, you’d somehow thought you could best them. Somehow thought that you were more powerful than the unbeatable. More powerful than The Council.

That’s where you found yourself now, seated before the three all-powerful vampires, surrounded by endless more. You thought you’d be more terrified, more horrified of what they might choose to do to you. 

But you aren’t. You’re tired of this. Tired of it all. So let them do whatever they wanted, you would take it. You didn’t regret any of what you did.

Not a damn thing. 

“Ms. L/N,” the head councilmen repeats, voice dead of emotion. “Do you know why you’re here today?”

Of course you do. He knows damn well that you know exactly why you’re here, you can see it in the smirk playing at the corner of his lips.The question is mockery. 

So you say nothing. 

“Cooperation will make this much easier, Ms. L/N,” another member of The Council speaks from beside him. She looks far younger than he is, although they are probably around the same age. Which is to say, hundreds of years old.

As your silence continues, the head councilman sighs, rubbing the space between his eyes in frustration. “Fine. Let me explain, shall I? We have reason to suspect you’ve been… coercing with a human boy. Felix Lee.”

Your heart jumps slightly. They know his name? You weren’t expecting that, but then again this was The Council. Digging up identities was the least they were capable of.

“Is this true, Ms. L/N?”

You stare at the councilman. There’s no point in lying. He knows. This meeting was not to defend your innocence, but to determine your punishment. You can see it in his eyes. Those hollow, sunken eyes, that seem farther from humanity than you could’ve dreamed possible.

“Yes,” you state. Your eyes drift to the corner of the room, landing on Chan, who’s gaze remains firm. You want to slap him. Or yell at him. Maybe both. 

“Hm, well at least you’re honest,” the councilman murmurs, a light buzz of laughter vibrating throughout the room. This is funny to them, a joke. Irritation itches under your skin, you don’t quite see the humour here.

“Well,” the councilmen starts, a glint in his eye. “In order to reward your honesty, I suppose we won’t punish you.”

You blink. “What?” You say, your voice coming out a croak. You glance at Chan again, who looks equally confused. His eyes are wide, chest heaving as his breathing rate increases. No, he’s not confused, he’s alarmed.

Something is wrong. You glance back at the councilman, and there it is again, that glint of something awful in his eyes. Something evil.

“You heard me correctly, Ms. L/N. We will not punish you,” the last word drips from his tongue, and you come to understand the weight of his words.

“Fuck. No. No, no, no,” you can hardly hear yourself think over the ringing in your ears, your thoughts a jumbled mess of panic and pure terror.

The councilmen clears his throat, a grin spreading across his lips, fangs almost shining in the dim light of the councilroom. 

“No, Felix Lee will be the one to pay this price. Kill him, and the damage you’ve caused will be forgiven.”

~~

next chapter.

[ifmywishescametrue]

Hi!!! First of all, I am like🥺 such a fan of everything you write! And so I saw that you’re taking prompts and thought I’d try my luck. So, if you’re inspired of course, maybe you would do “I’m not leaving” or “I’m glad you’re here” (or literally any prompt from that list bc they’re all just🥺🥺) for Steve/Tony? Oh, and as a fellow Swiftie, I hope you’re ready for the Fearless re-release tomorrow !!!🤯 bc I’m looking forward to crying my way through this weekend🥲🥰🥺💖💞

hi!!! thank you so much, and I’m so sorry this took so long! but i also managed to put both prompts into it so hopefully that makes up for it lol. also the fearless re-recordings are so insanely good and the vault songs are god tier!!

Tony has a vision in his mind for the day he graduates from college. It’s been there since he was just a kid and the furthest ahead he could imagine for himself was that day. At the time it seemed like a hundred years away, and it carried an allure of freedom that was nearly unfathomable back then. 

He always thought Ana and Jarvis would be there, sitting next to his mom. Howard came and went from the vision, because sometimes Tony would dream that it would be the day he was finally proud of him and sometimes he would be out of Tony’s life completely by then. When Steve comes into his life in middle school, new to California from Brooklyn, he gets added to that vision, too. 

The reality ends up disappointing. 

It’s been a few months since Jarvis passed, a couple of years since his parents died, and even longer since Ana’s death, but it hurts a little more today. All of the empty seats make Tony’s chest ache. Steve’s absence makes it even worse, even if he understands it. It’s not the first time the army made him miss something big, and Tony knows it won’t be the last. At least he’d been apologetic on the phone. A little sad, even, which made Tony feel worse for it. 

After the ceremony ends, Rhodey slings his arm around his shoulder and Pepper walks on his other side. 

“Just once I wish they’d pick someone actually good to speak at these things,” Rhodey complains. “That was so cheesy.”

“You mean you aren’t excited for the first day of the rest of our lives?” Pepper teases. 

Tony laughs, “I thought the real low point was that joke he tried to make in the middle. Not too inspiring to imply that our degrees are essentially useless.”

“No, I love knowing that I’ve wasted the last four years.”

Rhodey hums, “Also wish he was a little more wrong about that.”

Rhodey’s family starts to call his name, waving enthusiastically from where the large group of them is huddled together. Pepper’s parents stand with them, looking so clearly like the odd ones out that it makes Tony grin. 

“I see your families are getting along just fine,” Tony says, watching Pepper’s mom bounce one of Rhodey’s cousins in her arms. 

“They’ve joined forces to nag us to death about getting married,” Pepper sighs, but there’s a fond smile on her face that betrays her. 

“Trying to get you to set a date?”

Rhodey grins, “Trying to get me to propose, actually.”

“You proposed last month,” Tony frowns and looks down at her left hand, which is surprisingly bare. “I didn’t hallucinate that, did I?”

Pepper pulls her necklace out from where it was hidden beneath her collar. The ring sits on a delicate silver chain, diamond glittering in the sunlight for just a moment before she tucks it away again. She puts her index finger to her lips to tell him to keep it quiet, and Tony laughs. 

“What did your innocent families do to deserve this?”

“There are no innocents in our families,” Rhodey says seriously. “We’re just buying ourselves some time until nagging me into proposing turns into everybody trying to plan our wedding for us.”

“My mother has terrible taste,” Pepper adds.

Waving from their families has turned into walking their way, and Tony gets sucked into the fold along with the two of them. He means to slip away after a few minutes, but no one lets that happen. Rhodey’s mom hugs him tightly and tells him he needs to eat more, followed immediately by how proud she is, and his cheeks turn pink under her attention. Somehow she wrangles him into joining them for the celebration dinner, but he can’t say that he minds much when he’s sitting with all of them. The laughter and stories take his mind off the melancholy feeling that’s been following him around lately, and it isn’t until he’s back in his quiet apartment much later in the day that he thinks about it again. 

His hand twists into the chain around his neck, dog tags clinking together. They’re the first ones Steve got, back when he was newly enlisted after high school, and the letters are worn down beneath Tony’s thumb as he traces the shape of Steve’s name. He remembers that first time Steve put them around his neck and told him to keep them safe while he was gone. It was a promise to come back, and on the worst nights they’re both a comfort and a curse. 

Leaning back against the closed door, he looks at the messy room in front of him. Finals week left him with little time for anything other than studying, and that coupled with his existing propensity for disorder, it looks a bit like a smaller tornado crossed through the apartment. Mugs stained with brown rings on the inside litter the coffee table, accompanied by pages of notes, pens, and uncapped highlighters. The blanket has fallen into a crumpled pile on the floor, and Tony is contemplating if he has the will to clean it all up when there’s a knock right behind his head. 

He assumes it’s Rhodey and Pepper, here to decompress after finally untangling themselves from their families, and he turns around to open the door with a light-hearted remark already on his lips. Whatever it was leaves his mind immediately at what he finds instead.

“Hey, baby,” Steve smiles. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Tony means to say something in return, but all that he actually manages is a choked out sob. He doesn’t fully realize he’s crying until Steve’s hands are on his cheeks to brush away the tears. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, and Tony clutches at every part of him that he can reach. He grips the rough fabric of the fatigues, clings to his arms and shoulders and back, and he can’t possibly get close enough. 

“You’re here,” Tony whispers when he eventually finds his breath again. “You’re here, you’re actually here.”

Steve’s hand strokes through his hair, and his other hand is holding on to Tony just as tight as Tony is holding on to him. “I’m here, baby.”

He isn’t sure how long they stand there like that, swaying slightly as they hang on to each other, but it must be quite a long while before he can let go again. Even then, though, he doesn’t let Steve go very far. They fall onto the couch in one tangled mess of limbs. Tony puts his chin on Steve’s chest to look at him, and Steve looks back with a soft smile that almost makes him want to cry again. There’s a small, faded scratch on Steve’s cheek that wasn’t there before, and Tony reaches out to trace it with the tip of his finger. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tony says quietly, like if he speaks any louder, the lovely little bubble they’re in will break. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier,” Steve says again. “I really tried, but -”

Tony interrupts him with a shake of his head, “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“I’ll be here for a while, I promise.”

Tony smiles, but there’s a dull, familiar ache in his chest at the thought that it will eventually come to end anyway. “How long do I have you for?”

Instead of answering, Steve shuffles a bit beneath him, hand worming its way into his pocket. He pulls out a folded paper and hands it to Tony, expression unreadable. Tony sits up a little to read it, and by the time he’s finished reading every single line to make sure it’s real, his hand is shaking. 

“You - you’re - discharged?” Tony stammers out. “You’re done?”

Steve nods, grin slowly forming as he watches Tony process it. “Was sort of hoping that might make up for missing the ceremony this morning.”

Tony laughs, light and carefree in a way that he hasn’t felt in four years. He kisses Steve with everything he has, paper crinkling between them, and between one kiss and the next, Steve reassures, “I’m not leaving, sweetheart. Never leaving again.”

[the-slasher-files]

GONE

INCLUDES BO X READER

This is taken me so long to write and not because I've been super busy but just putting my all into it and only writing this when I'm feeling in the angsty headspace... Now, this is a very broken Bo in all forms, at its almost a 2k description of you just laying on the couch with him, taking in his pain. If you read my write "Affection" it is a very similar writing style... so I hope you enjoy and feel all the painful and comforting vibes. tw suicidal dark thoughts🔪💕

MASTERLIST

“oh Bo” you sighed as the old dingy couch squeaked underneath your weight. It was scratchy and ripped on the corners, yellowed from the age and sunken where Bo would always sit at the end of the night. The house was quiet, too quiet. The man beside you was not making smartass remarks, or sexual comments, or even ranting about his day, he just sat there, staring at the piles of dusty books and the odd papers thrown along the ruff aged hardwood. Bo was lost in his own head, it was hard for him to hear you over the screams and howls of his memories and future premonitions. You didn’t know what particular thoughts had hounded him tonight but it did not matter, you just knew Bo needed a soft grasp to pull him from the swirling waves in his mind that threatened to pull him under. 

When you had woken up this morning he was already gone from the tangled cotton sheets, the hot Louisiana sun had flowed in through the lacy curtains of the home, replacing the warmth he had given you in the bed. It wasn’t strange when Bo was gone in the mornings, for the town he held so close forced him to wake early to fix the odds and ends. Sometimes you wondered what life for him would be like away from Ambrose, if he would be better off, but at the same time you could never imagine him away from it. The desolate town started to be an extension of Bo; charming, quaint, warm like his bourbon and alluring on the outside, with a little unease like his scars that were visible from his suit, but below the surface there was horrific pain, darkness and a truth that made your heartbreak and stomach swirl. 

Getting up and starting your day Bo’s absence screamed in your head, but you knew sometimes his and your affection would take a toll; He was never affectionate before you came along and it was a struggle for Bo to keep up the task some days. You understood that and would remember what Bo was taught; Love equalled pain. Most days it was better to leave him alone for the morning and let him collect the pieces of his wax mask and put on the act. You did not care if he had his mask on or not. You loved him either way. 

Craving his presence you continued your day, puttering around the house and finally leaving to the town over to pick up some groceries, and supplies for you and the 3 men. Coming home the sun was starting to set along the ridgeline and the sky was painted in reds and pinks, kissing the clouds and beckoning the darkness to chase the sun. Pulling up to the shared home, Bo’s truck was out front, and the ripped screen door banged in the breeze making a home in the cadence of the wilderness surrounding. Footfalls fell along the creaking steps and inside the home. Everything went silent once inside the crumbling walls. A shape of a man sat on the couch in the darkening home, he didn't bother with the lights because he probably didn't even realize the sun was going down.

Bo was gone. Gone in his dangerous thoughts.

It had only been a handful of times Bo allowed you to see him this way, just his shell, broken and tired. Tired of fighting, tired of his own mind. You were the only person he let see this side; Vincent had caught glimpses but then would get yelled at through a fit of triggering rage. To Bo you were the only person that could truly help him from the demons, beckoning him to the shadows, just like where they called and ultimately found home in his father; gun in hand and blood on the walls. It was the only way your nightmares -future premonitions- found Bo at the end. Dying by his own hand. Hands that could rip away just as easily as they could build and hold. Hold you.

Placing your bags down on the pool table to your right, you quickly shouldered off your jacket and carelessly kicked off your shoes among the other mess.

There you sat with him, not touching Bo, you just gave him time, hoping and praying he would just snap out of it and continue to lay on his charm, but that never came. Bo didn't even acknowledge you, not a glance, not a touch to your thighs, nothing. As still as one of the wax figures he sat, slowly breathing in and out, rubbing a thick thumb over the lip of the amber-coloured beer bottle dangling between his oil-stained fingers. The bottle was not even half-finished and it had begun to turn warm, the condensation gently letting a drop fall to the dusty floor every few minutes. Bo wasn't drunk yet, not even close, by the looks of it he had only taken one or two gulp's and let it hang there, warming in the Louisiana air some time ago. 

This is was the worst you had seen him, you could tell Bo's mind was racing with the shifting of his baby blues that seemed fixated on the old books and candle wax.

You knew that you needed to touch him but your hesitation ran deep and cold; Bo was like a beaten dog and touching him was a dangerous game, especially in this state; he could either lash out and hurt you or he would just leave from the embarrassment of you seeing him as such. Anything was worth a shot right now. You needed him back.

Gingerly you brought a small hand to his broad coverall covered shoulder, grazing the rough fabric Bo shuttered at the touch, his eyes became alive again as your other hand went to his thigh. “Bo... my love, it’s ok” 

His breath hitched and he snapped his head in your direction, you could see the fear, the torture in his features as his breath began to pick up through rosy agape lips, clutching the beer bottle like a lifeline. Bo looked scared. Scared of his thoughts. Scared of his memories. Scared by the fact that the demons had held him under the waves for so long just waiting for the bubbles to stop. Bo was almost a different person in this moment, he let his emotions twist his face openly. His pain was greater than his pride, you felt it, you could see it. Broken blood-shot baby blues were searching for something in yours, perhaps Bo was waiting for the taunting or berating or yelling his parents gave him when he was lost in emotions; but you smiled softly as a tear slowly formed along your lash line. 

This broke your heart to see him like this, but it broke him more allowing this vulnerability; He waited for you to rip out his throat like a wolf and spit back out in his face. You knew Bo had a tortured soul and a devastating past, he was held together like thin lines of glue to a broken mirror; one day the shatter was inevitable much to his dismay, but seeing it was too raw and painful yet, somehow beautiful in the torture. In this moment Bo was just a man, not the murderer of Ambrose or even the demigod he seemed to let you believe he was on the day to day, Bo was just the scared child of a broken home. 

“It’s ok baby...I’m here...” you spoke gently, grabbing the beer bottle from his right hand and placing it on the richly stained coffee table with a reassuring nod. “I’m here now” Bo didn’t speak and just watched you carefully like a wounded vulnerable animal to a predator. 

Slowly you placed your shaky hands along his angular jaw, feeling the slight stubble and running your thumb along the long jagged scar he wore with pride. Bo started to shift in the cushions, uncomfortable with the vulnerability and soft touches you placed on him. Some days it was more apparent than others that he was touch starved and didn't realize just how much he needed your fluttering fingers against his skin. Slowly you ran a small hand through his dark brown curls, cupping and now cradling the man you slowly pulled yourself to lay on your back, and brought Bo down with you, the couch springs creaking in defeat. 

His head laid upon your chest. He could hear your heartbeat. Proof that someone deeply loved him, had a beating heart that was fast and strong. You were here. You were not a figure of the town or a scared wounded woman in the chair or a ghost in his nightmares. You were here. It broke him more. He had something to lose now. Had a wound in his flesh that was you, it would never heal, and it stung every day waking up to you next to him, and tore a millimetre more with every smile.

Bo’s head rose and fell with your breaths as you slowly rubbed his skull and back, tracing the scars you couldn’t see under his shirt, just retracing from hardened memory. Bo haunted you. Hounded your thoughts every second you were together, and when you were apart it hurt, you missed him even though Bo was just down the hall. His sliver blade was lodged in your heart and it teased to make you bleed out.  

One of his large hands gripped the ripping old cushion as the other held your waist, unwavering. Bo inhaled your scent; sweetness of florals, softness of warm vanillas and the undernotes of him. A ghost of your souls intertwined in a dangerous perfume. And then a soft wail escaped Bo’s lips, --the breaking of the flood gates he held onto for so long-- with bared teeth against your shirt he pushed himself into you, almost wanting to hide away from the world in your ribcage. You gently cooed and hushed him, feeling the pain of his shattered soul. Hot tears stained your shirt as you held him tighter, as long as he needed, you were there. 

“It’s ok Bo... I’m here... you never deserved the hurt. Never.”

A broken crumpled mess you two became, melting together and running away like the wax of the candles. Holding each other until the morning sun showed its face, forcing the demons and hounds to retreat into the shadows only to surface later, but it didn’t matter, they were gone and Bo was asleep. At peace, as you counted his scars and recounted, as long as he needed you to hold him, you would. 

Broken and wretched like his parents taught him, a monster was asleep in your delicate hands, holding a beast, it ached inside your bones, and wounded you like a knife slipping in slowly and quietly between your ribcage, twisting with his every breath. You loved him and he loved you, in a broken mess. However long he needed you, you would stay.

[ashayatreldai]

His Face - Fic

Find this on AO3 or read it here.

Among Su She’s effects is found a bundle of sketches of Hanguang Jun, which inspires a lifetime of exchanges between Wei Wuxian and his husband.

***

Wei Wuxian yawned, barely remembering to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn’t as though Lan Wangji minded; he still marveled at his husband’s calm acceptance of his less than perfect behavior. And it wasn’t as if he were really tired. They’d been back in Cloud Recesses only a handful of days and most of that time Wei Wuxian had been able to rest, to wander the back hill, to play with the rabbits, to tease Sizhui and Jingyi, to play Chenqing to the birds and the rainbows the sun cast in the light mists of Gusu’s waterfalls. No, he supposed. He yawned because he was warm, well-fed, secure and safe, and in the best company a person could desire, let alone have all to himself.

Lan Wangji sat on the other side of the desk, and in spite of the hour was still working through the backlog of mail which had accumulated in his absence.

“What’s this?” A bundle of papers caught Wei Wuxian’s eye, and on impulse he reached and drew them out of the stack.

Lan Wangji looked up. “After the events at Gyanyin Temple, members of the Lan Clan disposed of the bodies, sealed the coffin in which Red Blade Master and Jin Guangyao are buried, and otherwise put the site in order. Among these activities, Su She’s body was searched and his personal effects catalogued. A quiankun pouch was found, containing an assortment of items. This bundle of papers was also in the pouch. I assume it was forwarded to me because I am the subject.”

Wei Wuxian leafed through the pages. It was a collection of sketches in a variety of media, all of Hanguang Jun’s face, mostly sketches of his eyes. They weren’t half bad: the artist had captured the micro-expressions which concealed everything but hid nothing of Hanguang Jun’s thoughts. But as he examined the pile, he experienced an increasing sensation of wrongness.

“I wonder what he was trying to capture. I mean, here’s ice, here’s anger. I think this one is arrogance or being haughty; and this one has to be indifference. And this,” he huffed out with a half smile, “has got to be ‘you are the scum beneath my shoe’.” That was a micro-expression Wei Wuxian had seen often on Lan Wangji’s face when they were young, as he kept poking and prodding until the carefully cultivated mask his friend wore finally slipped. He spread out the pictures, his eyes searching for the clues he knew he’d find. “Why would he want to draw these things and exclude others? I know a lot of people are afraid of you, Lan Zhan, because you look cold and imperturbable. But anyone who knows you and watches closely can see that there’s so much more to you than that.”

“Su She was cast out of the Lan Clan because he betrayed our secrets to Wen Xu. He was known for being desirous of imitating me – poorly. We can only speculate as to his motivations otherwise,” Lan Wangji commented quietly.

“Mmmm,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “He hated you, but he also idolized you. Who’s to say what came first? Whatever,” he said, shaking his head. “The fact he captured your eyes with these strong antagonistic expressions suggests he hated himself, and perhaps wanted to make you the one who hated him in his own mind. It’s easier to hate someone than to live with the pain of feeling rejected or not even noticed.”

“I never hated Su She.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever known you to hate anyone, Hanguang Jun.” Wei Wuxian felt a surge of protective affection for this dear man. “Not even those who deserve it. Su She unfairly judged you and didn’t know you at all. Still, when you think about what people say about me, the scary deranged Yiling Patriarch, anything’s possible in terms of what people do to themselves to justify hatred. Blargh!” He made claws with his hands and pulled a terrifying crazy Yiling Laozu face.

“Wei Ying.” There was amusement dancing in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “You do not scare me.”

Sometimes Lan Wangji could abruptly light a fuse in Wei Wuxian and leave him smoking. He laughed and crawled around to Lan Wangji’s side of the table, climbing into his lap to sit with one leg either side of Lan Wangji’s waist. His husband’s hands came up to support his lower back. He put both hands loosely around Lan Wangji’s neck.

Lan Wangi had removed his silver coronet and tendrils of hair that usually were wound up to hold the headpiece in place trailed either side of his face, making him look softer and younger and so much more vulnerable.

For some time they sat simply looking at each other. Wei Wuxian took in the flawless face, reaching one hand to trace Lan Wangi’s eyebrow, feeling the soft hairs brush beneath his fingerpads. He gently followed the line of an eyelash, delighting in the butterfly kiss as his husband blinked. Out over the swell of zygomatic bone, cupping around his perfectly shaped ear – he really was like exquisitely carved jade, warm, living, and here. He cupped Lan Wangji’s cheek, his thumb finding the hollow between nose and lip and the soft breath of life it held. And those lips, now quirked in a loving bow.

He pulled himself up to kiss the forehead ribbon, to plant gentle brushes of his lips over all the places he’d touched. When he came to Lan Wangji’s mouth, he finally let go, giving all his worship as they joined tongues, teeth, desire, losing themselves in each other.

They released the kiss, and held each other, Wei Wuxian’s head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Between them energy sizzled – it would be sated later, but it was sufficient for now to enjoy the beatitude of the moment, the closeness, words unnecessary to communicate the depth of heart each held for the other.

***

Wei Wuxian was traveling. His absence itched acutely just under Lan Wangji’s skin, a constant worry. He rued the duty which pinned him in his current dual roles: Chief Cultivator and Acting Sect Leader, keeping him grounded at Cloud Recesses instead of off night hunting with his husband.

It was necessary, he knew, for Wei Wuxian to move; the whole man was a study in movement, in ceaseless energy. He knew the staid and stable pattern of life at Cloud Recesses felt like a box to Wei Ying, and while he could endure for a season, he needed more than what life in Gusu offered, even with rabbits and a back hill to wander for hours.

But oh, he missed him. And he worried too: who would defend him when he had so little sense of self-preservation?

This journey, Wei Wuxian had set off to attempt to mend things with Jiang Cheng before making his way up to Lanling to see Jin Ling. One of the highest values for the Lan was family, and Lan Wangji understood the deep need his husband had for those connections – had encouraged it.

It was just as well Wei Wuxian had mastered the butterfly talisman (and enhanced it). Morning and night he would wait for the silvery wings to alight with Wei Wuxian’s messages of love and thought to whisper through his qi. Sometimes they were profound, poetry. Sometimes playful; sometimes just a kiss. Lan Wangji came to depend on those messages, and on being able to send some back himself: I love you, I miss you, come home soon.

He sighed. This morning had grown tedious. Today was the end of the accounting period for Clan matters, and while there was staff to manage the minutiae of bookkeeping, as Acting Clan Leader LanWangji was examining the records before tomorrow’s visit from the auditor. Not for the first time he lamented his brother’s seclusion, necessary though it was. Dealing with finances was the part of the role that least appealed to Lan Wangji; he felt a headache brewing and was contemplating taking a break when there was a knock on the door.

“Hanguang Jun, mail has arrived,” the disciple said, handing him a bundle.

“Thank you. Please ask the kitchen to send me some lunch,” he requested, taking the pile.

The disciple departed, and he began to sort the items: those about Clan matters, those for the Chief Cultivator. One letter stood out, a simple scroll tied with a red thread. Putting all the other mail aside he carefully opened the scroll and took a breath.

It was an ink painting of his eyes, creased ever so slightly in an expression of amusement. On his brow the forehead ribbon glinted silver, his hair loosely framing his cheeks. He instantly recognized the artist, tracing a finger over the brush strokes as if that touch could unite him with the hand that had made them.

“Wei Ying,” he said, infinite fondness filling him.

Throughout the rest of the day he kept the picture on his desk, glancing at it from time to time. And when it was time to turn his attention to other things, he gently placed the picture in his sleeve to take back to the jingshi.

Every couple of days another picture would arrive. This too became something Lan Wangji expected, an important and significant marker in his day, each picture a symbol that he was one day closer to seeing, holding, touching, tasting Wei Wuxian again.

***

300 years later

Clan Leader Lan Shuoxiao had come to the Forbidden Room in the Library Pavilion seeking a book she’d known had been here years earlier. Back then she’d been a mischievous girl seeking a way to prank Shufu, and she vividly remembered the green cover. Lan filing methods hadn’t changed in hundreds of years, so that wretched book had to be here somewhere.

She moved a pile of dusty scrolls, cursing under her breath when she knocked a stack of bamboo books which went tumbling over the floor. Patience, she told herself strictly. Breathe and control.

Feeling a little more composed, she bent to restore the mess to order. A red cover caught her eye on one of the lower shelves. She’d not seen that before, and she was sure she’d have recognized it if she had. It was quite distinct, a deep red, tied shut with of all things a Clan ribbon.

Intrigued, she opened the volume, carefully untying the ribbon and leafing through the pages. Page after page were pictures of a handsome man’s eyes: crinkled in delight, weeping with sorrow, dancing with affection, on and on they went. Sometimes the whole of the man’s lovely face was shown: in some he wore the elaborate silver coronet her ancestors had favored, in others his long tresses floated around his face, and the artist had clearly captured a treasured, private, and vulnerable moment.

Around half way through the volume the pictures changed: a spritely young man in black, his underrobe a vivid red (the same colour as the cover of the book, as it happened – and she wondered whether it was indeed cut from the same cloth), a red ribbon in his hair, holding a black dizi. This array of pictures had a different hand, a more understated eye which captured the young man’s energetic aura, as well as pensive moments – the youth had clearly been to hell and back, and Lan Shuoxiao could almost feel the immense love with which the person who’d drawn these pictures had made each stroke.

There were so many! Page sized varied: a compendium gathered together of odd scraps. The last page bore an inscription:

In loving memory of my parents, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, Hanguang Jun, and Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, Yiling Laozu. The true faces of both, in their own hands. Love letters sent to dearest him who was, alas, away. Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui, Chief Cultivator.

Clan Leader Lan Shuoxiao’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. Clan records declared Hanguang Jun’s partner’s name to have been Lan Ying, Lan Wuxian. How had they never made the connection before that “Lan Wuxian” was in fact the infamous Yiling Patriarch? Given that the two had Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui’s name inscribed under theirs as offspring, Lan Shuoxiao and many others had assumed Lan Wuxian to be female.

She looked closely again at one of the pictures of the young man in black and red. He didn’t look like the evil dictator of legend. He looked mischievous and full of life, an impression caught in the laughing smile, and so… youthful.

Not that demonic cultivation was these days the issue it had been for her ancestors; these days cultivation was emphasized to be about harnessing the yin of negative energy and the yang of positive energy, holding them in balance and using each appropriately. She doubted the people who had so feared and hated the Yiling Patriarch would be able to recognize as righteous the way all cultivators now practiced as a matter of course.

As for Hanguang Jun… She flicked back to a picture in which his whole upper body had been captured as he played guqin, a study of someone completely caught up and focused on the music, almost in ecstasy. Another private moment revealing something about the essence of the man. He was so beautiful, captivating. And such a contrast from all the other images she’d ever seen of him. Hanguang Jun had a reputation even now, 150 years after he had Ascended, for being cold, somewhat forbidding, distant, just, merciful and benevolent, untouchable, unrivalled in almost all fields. That was how he appeared at the Gate of Gusu, carved of jade, opposite his brother, Zewu Jun, the famous Twin Jades of Gusu Lan now its guardians, their representations inscribed and infused with talismans and ward tethers. Rumor was that no evil could come to Cloud Recesses as long as the Twin Jades stood at the gates. How was anyone to reconcile that formidable image with this? This picture of a very human, vulnerable, gentle man, who was clearly so very much loved by the artist who drew him.

Lan Shuoxiao found herself on the edge of tears. It felt like an injustice, looking at these intimate sketches, that history had forgotten Wei Wuxian as little more than a footnote. And that the righteous Hanguang Jun had been immortalized as a stiff, cold and distant deity rather than someone’s beloved whose heart beat wildly in his chest in longing, and whose blood was warm and red and thrummed with reciprocated affection. She wondered how they had found one another, wondered about the history in which they must have been caught up: how did it affect them? What trials had they passed through before they finally found their way to each other’s arms?

She reverently closed the volume, her original mission in coming here put aside. Thoughtfully, she collected up the scrolls and bamboo books and reordered them, and then closed the Forbidden Room.

***

Several months later a new scene was depicted on the climbing path around the residences of Gusu: a beautiful, crowned Lan sat cross-legged in the back hill meadow, covered in a blanket of rabbits. His loving gaze was fixed on the figure opposite him under a peach tree in full bloom, who was standing and playing a dizi. The legend beneath read: Hanguang Jun and his cultivation partner Yiling Laozu, Lan Wuxian.

 FIN

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Billy Loomis

(Not my gif)(Requested by @loodloottoot)

- You met Billy when the two of you ended up in the same class. He noticed you while looking around the room and was immediately taken with you.

- All throughout class, he kept sneaking glances at you, barely paying attention to the teacher as they talked. When the bell rung, he sat back in his seat and watched you leave, deciding that he had to have you right then and there.

- He starts out by doing the typical ‘I have a crush on you’ secret staring and learning more about you; most likely through Stu or by listening in on your conversations. He wants to make sure that you’re the one for him before he shoots his shot; he’s artful when picking people that he actually wants to date, there’s more steps involved.

- Once he’s gathered enough data on you, he’ll sit next to you in class, lean over, and introduce himself with a charming smile. You introduce yourself back; most likely a little flustered by the sudden attention, and then class will start, ending your potential conversation.

- He tries to talk with you all week but his plans are always foiled by something or someone. One of you will show up to class too late, someone will take the seat next to yours, you’ll be busy talking to a friend, someone will distract him and you’ll disappear; and so on. It frustrates him more than he cares to admit.

- Finally, he figures that he has to work a little bit harder so he strategically waits outside of the school with some of his friends. I say strategically because he made sure he had a perfect view of the doors everyone leaves out of when classes end.

- The instant he spots you, he excuses himself and jogs over, greeting you and asking what you’re planning on doing after school. The two of you strike up a bit of a conversation before you’re forced to say goodbye and board your bus. It may seem anticlimactic but to him, it’s a crucial point in your budding relationship.

- After that, he just seems to keep popping up wherever you are; in school at least. Unbeknownst to you, it’s not exactly a coincidence.

- The two of you form a bit of a friendship, and why wouldn’t you? He’s charismatic, fun to talk to, isn’t put off by anything, and pleasantly reserved so it feels like you’re special because he chooses to speak “with you of all people”. If you’re shy then congratulations, you’ve found the one person who is tactfully persistent enough to break down your walls.

- It’s probably a few months before anything of value happens, besides being integrated into his friend group and telling each other some of the things you usually don’t tell people.

- One day, while the two of you are walking to class, he asks if you like horror movies movies. When you ask him why, he tells you that he’s renting a few films and was wondering if you wanted to join him for a bit of a marathon.

- It’s sounds so casual that you’re sure he just wants to hang out as friends, but regardless, you agree.

- So you get to his house and the two of you are sat on his couch, some gorefest horror movie that he chose to watch playing on the tv. He excuses himself to go get a drink and when he comes back, he sits down beside you again although this time much closer than before.

- You try not to think any of it, even as his arm wraps around the back of the couch behind you. Well, you don’t think anything of it until you can feel his hand on your shoulder, fingers tracing shapes against the skin of your arm.

- You aren’t sure what to do, so you don’t do anything, staying perfectly still as you struggle to breathe properly, a flustered heat coursing through you. The two of you sit like that for a few long moments before he slowly pulls you into him and speaks.

“Y/n,” he says your name quietly, his voice deep. He pauses and waits for you to respond which you do so with a nervous hum. “I like you a lot. You know that, don’t you?”

“I like you too, Billy.” you respond in a near whisper, eyes focused on your lap.

“Good.” He whispers back, pressing his lips to your hot cheek as his hand finds the side of your face and he pulls you into a kiss.

- Lets hope that you’re sure about being with him because now that he has you, he certainly isn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

- Constant Pda. He likes having his hands on you at all times; it’s just a bonus that it shows everyone in the general vicinity “who you belong to”.

- Gentle forehead and cheek kisses.

- Hugs from behind where he nuzzles his face into your hair and jaw.

- Long makeout sessions. Once you start, he never wants to stop.

- Getting late night visits/sneaking out to see him. He shows up at your window pretty much whenever he feels like and has subsequently gotten very skilled at climbing up the side of your house.

- His favorite nickname for you is “sweetheart”. He just feels like it suits you and likes the little smile you get on your face when he calls you it.

- Cuddling? Billy would never admit it to anyone but he absolutely loves it. Oftentimes, he’s the big spoon, but he can’t deny that he loves it when you cradle him into your chest, especially when he’s tired or having a rough day.

- He lounges whenever he can so expect to be laid/leaned on, or to have him maneuver himself so that he’s laid back yet still has you close to or touching him.

- Long and deep conversations. The two of you experience existential crises together.

- You’re going to be around Stu a lot. The two of them are constantly hanging out so you and him are; most likely, going to be close as well.

- Sharing food with each other.

- Hanging out at the fountain.

- Horror movie dates.

- Constant movie references, quotes, and random facts.

- A Fall slut through and through. Falling leaves? Sexy. Pumpkins? Hot. Anything spooky? Orgasmic. He usually goes ape shit during holidays but during the fall, he goes ape shit for a whole season.

- He has a wonderful skill of popping up at the “right” times. You seem to constantly run into him and you aren’t sure if it’s really a coincidence or not.

- Random phone calls. Sometimes he plays around with you, other times he gets straight to the point.

- Back massages. He lets out these little moan like noises which make it really hard to think straight as you’re trying to innocently rub his back.

- Hand holding.

- Playing with each other’s hair. You’re constantly brushing his out of his eyes.

- He toys around with your things, either while he’s bored or to make you laugh, or just to fidget with something while you talk.

- He loves hearing you laugh and seeing you smile. He feels accomplished whenever it’s because of him, like he’s done something revolutionary.

- His fathers rarely home so you usually have the house to yourselves. He likes the privacy, being able to do whatever you please with no interruptions. It’s the teenage dream, isn’t it?

- Wearing his shirts, especially when you sleep over at his house.

- Surprisingly sensitive about certain things and somewhat easily offended. He takes you not wanting to touch, see, or be seen with him very personally, even if there’s a legitimate reason behind it.

- Weirdly enough though, he’s got a really high pain tolerance. He’s a trooper when he gets hurt and always amazes you with how little he reacts. He once sliced his hand open when the two of you were together and while you were wrapping something around the wound, all he did was let out a little “ow” and chuckle at you.

- He’s a bit reserved; he’s not a huge social butterfly so he prefers just hanging out with you and a few close friends. He’s friendly when he has to be, he just doesn’t really like talking to people he doesn’t know/know very well or being in huge crowds.

- He loves just watching you. He could look at your face for the rest of his life; all day, everyday, and still never get tired of seeing it.

- Intimate eye contact. There’s so much emotion behind his eyes when they meet yours. He could make you flustered with a single look.

- He never pushes you to do anything you don’t want to. He does such evil things most of the time, it’s nice to be seen as “the good guy” and to treat someone he cares about with respect.

- He’s a cunning bastard. If you need something done, he’ll find a way to do it. And if he needs something done, then he’ll find a way too and it may or may not involve you.

- Growing suspicious of him and his absences or the little odd things that just don’t add up. You swear he’s hiding something....

- He hangs back and waits for you when you want to go do something quick, like ask someone something or drop something off somewhere. It doesn’t ever annoy him; he likes being able to know what you’re doing.

- He’s definitely a bit overprotective and clingy at times. He’s got some deep rooted abandonment issues so he wants to make sure you’re not going anywhere or somehow going to get hurt and have to leave him because of it.

- He’s quick to interrupt when he can tell you’re uncomfortable and insults/scolds people when they upset you.

- He yearns for that motherly role in his life so he snaps at the chance to get it from your own mother when the two of you begin dating. It’s certainly a bit odd when you find him and her hanging out in your kitchen or how quick he is to agree to joining you on family outings/activities when you’re about to decline, but you are happy that he’s getting the very thing that he seems to need.

- Later in your relationship, he’ll open up to you more and tell you about his family life/ everything that goes on in his head. Just be patient because it’ll take him a while to completely trust you with everything.

- He’d rather cut off his own dick then cheat on you. He sees it as the ultimate sin, the worst thing you could ever do to a person ...besides abandon them.

- He has a mean streak when it comes to jealousy. He can’t stand the thought of you; his girl, with someone else or having someone else like you. He’s threatened and/or glared people down before if he’s thought they had a thing for you.

- Sensitive subjects really aren’t his strong suit. He always seems to say the wrong thing whenever he’s faced with them and it’s caused more than a few fights/arguments between the two of you.

- He gets angry when he’s angry, if that makes sense, although it really depends on what’s making him upset. He can either stay very calm or start rioting like a maniac, it’s really like flipping a coin with him. He does tend to flip out on other people rather than you though, so that’s good, right?

- He apologizes when he’s in the wrong and never expects you to if you aren’t. He also has a particular talent for worming his way back into your heart after he’s royally pissed you off.

- He doesn’t tell you he loves you constantly but he says it at the right moments so the words have a lot of meaning whenever he says them.

- Like I said, he doesn’t plan on letting you go anytime soon. You’re the one for him and he’s going to keep you with him for as long as he can.

[dovakhiindrabbles]

For the prompt 43 with Brynjolf please?

Of course! I’d be more than happy to write the prompt for you! I only hope you have an amazing day and enjoy! <3

43. “Come with me.” 

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Nocturnal was a god among mortals -- a daedric prince who oversaw the murky shadows and all who hid among them. Whispers heard throughout the world told of how she could even be found lingering in those shadows, an inky blackness clinging to her as if the very sun itself couldn’t reveal her. 

She was above the follies of mortals and yet couldn’t help herself from meddling. Especially those of her most loyal followers -- the Nightingales. 

She’d noticed from her times looming within the darkness how you and Brynjolf interacted. How hands briefly brushed and fingers just barely interlocked. How passing glances held just a second too long to be unimportant. How no matter where you went, you went together. 

Your feelings for one another were so painfully obvious an infant could see it -- so apparently the two of you had even less awareness. 

It was an opportunity Nocturnal couldn’t pass up.

Between the two of you, she first sought out Brynjolf. The man fancied himself as clever, often to such a degree that a snippy remark had slipped out in some of their conversations. 

It was during the night when she caught him, just outside the Blue Palace where he’d managed to escape from. Guards spilled out and yells could be heard from each and every corner -- even those caught in shadow. Brynjolf had slipped between two manors where the moonlight missed just so. An ornate, extravagant jewelry box clamped between his grip with more gemstones and gold decorating it than most would see in their entire life. 

From there, Nocturnal revealed herself in the darkest crevice space could offer. The darkness extended her outwards and still clung to her despite her physical form. She was a void, and the shape she created only split itself apart in the pure absence of light -- not even the brightest lantern would be able to paint her figure. 

“My Nightingale.”

Brynjolf nearly jumped into the open road in shock, smacking his back up against the wall in frustration upon realizing. “Fucking fuck are you-”

He looked up at Nocturnal’s imposing figure and thought better of himself. He spoke softly, his gaze alternating between her and the streets cluttering further and further of curious onlookers and furious guards. “My lady, what can I do for you?” 

She made a motion with her hand that brought strings of the void trailing after her fingertips. “On the contrary, I am here to offer you my assistance.” 

Brynjolf gave a cheeky grin. “Could you get me out of this mess?” 

“You are one of my most trusted followers with an agent of my own creation. There should be no situation beyond your skills.” 

“I know.” Brynjolf groaned. “Worth a shot. Meet me outside the gates, my lady?” 

She vanished without a word and Brynjolf proceeded to lift himself up onto the rim of one of the manor’s roof. He hoisted himself up and pressed his body close to the tiles, only lifting himself up to leap from home to home. In that time he truly was a shadow, beyond any light and any eyes that would make the foolish attempt to seek him out. 

Minutes later he was beyond Solitude’s walls and any outrage that still remained was drowned out by the falling and crashing of the waves below. Still hidden away safely in his coat was the jewelry box -- not so much as a scuff on it. Brynjolf impressed himself every time. 

As he began walking along the carved out path, Nocturnal reemerged. Her form freer beyond Solitude’s constant desire for warmth. She carried herself freely, and she took on a shape almost human, but not quite. There was always an unknowable aspect to Nocturnal that could never be described. Many daedra carried themselves in such a way, so that they could nearly blend in, but never be forgotten by anything lesser than a fool. 

“That was commendable.” Nocturnal hummed. Both a lightness and a deepness coexisted in her voice.

Brynjolf interlocked his fingers and stretched them out; a popping could be heard. He sighed dramatically. “All in a day’s work.” 

“I hope you are able to hide that treasure as well as you hide your feelings.” 

Brynjolf knew Daedric princes were meant to be incapable of understanding; downright incomprehensible sometimes. But this? It bewildered him. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You and the other Nightingale?” 

Brynjolf cracked a grin. “Karliah?” He tested Nocturnal’s kindness.

“The other one.” She swatted a bit of darkness at him and like a tight band flung outward, it stung him. 

“Ah, that one.” Brynjolf rubbed at his little red mark where Nocturnal smacked him like a petulant child. “What of them?” 

Nocturnal stepped in front of him, a swirling blackness keeping her from ever truly touching the ground. “You both have feelings for one another?” 

Brynjolf did what he knew best, and dodged the question. “What like hate? Friendliness? Perhaps a bit of irritation?” 

“Do not attempt to evade me, Nightingale.” Nocturnal raised her voice and the night became that much more invasive. She settled herself quickly. “You are my servant, there is nothing I do not know. The darkest, most secretive parts of yourself are the ones I know best. Fortunately for you, I only wish to help.” 

Brynjolf wrinkled his nose and cracked beneath the pressure. It was a touchy subject, apparently. “Oh yeah? And how’s that?” 

“I need only open your eyes,” Nocturnal answered. “I think you’ll find it’s clear the feelings are mutual.” 

“I don’t want to be disrespectful my lady but-” 

Nocturnal cut him off. “Then don’t be.” 

Brynjolf scoffed. “But I don’t see how that’s possible.” 

She tipped her head to the side curiously. “How is that?” 

“Because there are a million other better people knocking on their door!” Brynjolf exclaimed it like it were obvious. “I mean why would someone like that choose someone like me?”

“Someone like you? Their equal?” 

Brynjolf scowled and huffed. “Like a thief could ever be on par with the Dragonborn.” 

Nocturnal simpered. “The Dragonborn themself also is a thief. Last I recall you two work closely together.” 

“Even still-” 

“The only one creating rifts in this relationship is you, my Nightingale. What are you afraid of?” 

He hesitated and in an instant Nocturnal knew. 

“Rejection.” 

Brynjolf’s hands tightened into tight, uneasy fists at the revelation. Nocturnal raised those hands and unfurled them, tracing lines of shadow along his palm. In the most peculiar way, it was soothing, and Brynjolf supposed it was her own... unique way of comforting him. 

“If I believed there was a chance the Dragonborn wouldn’t share those feelings I would not be here, speaking to you. I only want what is best for my followers.” 

“Besides,” Nocturnal mused. “if it goes poorly, you can simply submerge yourself within the shadows for eternity.” 

Brynjolf chuckled. “I might take you up on that offer.” 

“You won’t.” Nocturnal looked up at him with an emptiness one could consider her eyes. Her ‘windows to the soul’ only unveiled further darkness, but only in the way one shrouds themself beneath the shade of a blanket to escape what frightens them -- it was a relief, protection. “Because you won’t have to.” 

A moment later, Nocturnal disappeared within the void beneath her. She sank into the night that had soaked into the very deepest layers of the earth, leaving Brynjolf to himself and her words. 

By the time he’d made it to the Nightingale Hall, he’d made up his mind. 

You were sitting in the living quarters with Karliah, seated across one another and leaned both in the old, weary chairs. You’d been laughing, and Brynjolf could tell by the edges of your lips lifted up. The moment you saw him, you lit up. 

“Bryn! There you are! Karliah was starting to think you got lost along the way!” 

He snorted. “I could’ve. What a bitch of a walk.” 

Karliah furrowed her brow, amused. “You could’ve stolen a horse like a sane person.” 

“Maybe I like the quiet. You can hardly get any of it here.” 

She rolled her eyes at the very idea. “You wouldn’t know what to do without us.” 

Brynjolf laughed. “Absolutely lass.” 

He turned to you and his heart began to thump heavy and hard against his chest. Of all the things to bring him nerves in life, it was you bringing knots and tangles in his stomach. He took a deep breath and grasped your shoulder, gesturing. “Come with me.” 

Your eyes widened like saucers, but you stood up. To say the least, your curiosity was piqued. “Alright... what is it?” 

“I just wanted to talk to you, in private.” 

You ducked your head away to hide the red that burst onto your face. You folded your lips to hide a growing smile, but you were still clearly nervous, shuffling your feet and fidgeting with your hands. “Okay.” 

He led you outside where the evening had overtaken the sky overhead in a mix of blues, pinks, and the slightest tinge of purple. It was a beautiful sight, and one of the rare gifts that came with living in Skyrim. 

Brynjolf leaned against the stone cavern of the hall and ran his fingers through his hair. This felt so much easier in his head. “I ah -- I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot.” 

“Bryn-” 

“No! I just -- I want to say this, but be patient with me, please. I’m not good with... emotions.” Brynjolf laughed. “You don’t get to be a man like me by being open.” 

You nodded and stayed, you were far too patient than he deserved. 

“I-” Brynjolf swallowed hard and took a few steps forward. A part of him wanted to reach for your hand but that’d be too much, too soon. If he -- if Nocturnal was wrong he didn’t want to dig his grave any further than necessary. 

“I love you.” 

There was a period of silence where Brynjolf considered Nocturnal’s offer to hide in the shadows forever. It was a horrible few seconds where Brynjolf’s vision was stagnant and the entire world was frozen in time. 

He only came back to reality when you took his hand. You enveloped it in your own and squeezed his palm fondly. You were warm, and your grip was steadfast. 

“I love you too.” 

Brynjolf rarely smiled from ear to ear, but he did then. He took you in his arms and spun you like one only saw in fairy tales. It was something he only just now realized he’d wanted to do for the longest time. There were so many things he wanted to do -- with you -- and now, he could. 

He would have to thank Nocturnal the next time they crossed paths. 

[andypantsx3]

war paint | 9 | thief

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

“You look far too happy this early in the morning,” Kaminari commented sourly over breakfast, spooning aimlessly around in his bowl. His hair was a mess as it was most mornings, standing up on end like he’d been struck by lightning, and there were deep shadows under his eyes. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Sero took a seat at his elbow, looking you over in bemusement. “Yeah, normally you’re asleep in your porridge, L/N. What gives?”

You hid a private smile. For the last week or so, you’d been kept thoroughly occupied by your captain and hadn’t seen much of your two friends, but the week had been something like the happiest of your life. You'd spent every day tangled up in Bakugou, training, talking, teasing. It seemed right that Sero and Kaminari would comment on your mood, since you also felt like satisfaction was spilling out of you, bursting through cracks in your skin like sunlight.

Maybe it was. Maybe they could really see it.

“Just in a good mood,” you hummed, shoveling porridge into your mouth so you didn’t have to follow up.

Kaminari eyed you suspiciously. “You do something to Nishimura? Put a cow pie in his bed?”

That wrenched a laugh out of you. “No, why would I?”

“Uh, maybe because he’s a shit to you,” Kaminari replied through a mouthful of his breakfast.

“Tit for tat,” Sero mused thoughtfully, chuckling.

You made a face. You’d quite honestly been too occupied with Bakugou over the last week to give much thought to Nishimura, though you certainly couldn’t admit as much to Kaminari and Sero. Nishimura hadn’t ceased his bad behavior, but you’d been spending so much time away from him, either on the training field for extra practice, or practicing something altogether different over the top of Bakugou’s desk. Or up against the wall. Or -- one memorable midnight -- back in the baths where the captain demonstrated very thoroughly what he’d wanted with you the night he’d caught you sneaking around.

You’d pretty much forgotten all about Nishimura.

You listened with half an ear as the conversation wandered away from your good mood, shifting to the subject of Lord Jiro’s daughter. Kaminari had tripped over her in the hall earlier this week, and he was now given to waxing poetic whenever she came up. You finished up breakfast as he practically spouted sonnets over the shapes of her earlobes, leaving him with a comment of encouragement as you set back off for the barracks to fetch your sword belt before drills.

As you turned the corner into your room, however, you collided with what felt like a boulder rolling out from within. You jerked backwards clutching your nose where you'd crunched it against the stone, winded by the impact. You looked up in surprise, finding Hasumi, Nishimura's idiot friend, instead. His tall frame filled the doorway to your quarters, broad shoulders thick with impossible muscle, and his eyes widened a little as he caught sight of you.

You looked up at him in question, but he merely grunted something offensive and sidestepped you, making sure to knock one brawny shoulder into yours as he did. He was large, even taller than the captain, and he nearly bowled you over with the force of it.

You stumbled back into the wall, biting down on a swear. That was going to leave a bruise.

Hasumi swept quickly down the hall, not waiting to hear anything you might have to say about his rough treatment. Your temper boiled, and thought about calling after him as you watched him irritably, but thought better of it. If he was here in your building, then that meant Nishimura was back in your room and you would need all the energy you possessed to deal with that. You took a steadying breath, resigning yourself to at least thirty seconds of similar unpleasantries. You wondered if Hasumi’s aggression was any indication of the kind of mood Nishimura was in.

To your surprise, however, the room was completely empty as you stepped inside. Had Hasumi been here to sneak another animal into your bed? You whipped your sheets from your mattress, but found no trace of anything inside, just the worn gray cotton of your pallet cover.

You felt your eyebrows draw together, but you remade your bed, then retrieved your sword and belt, buckling it around your waist. Maybe Nishimura had sent him in to fetch something. At times, Hasumi seemed more like Nishimura’s little peon and less like his friend. You often wondered if Nishimura was even capable of making friends without a shred of human decency in his body.

You thought on it as you walked to the training pitch for morning drills, something about the interaction with Hasumi niggling at the back of your mind. Had he seemed a little flustered when he’d seen you?

The thought was wiped clean from your mind when you arrived at the training field, however, as Bakugou appeared to have replaced your usual morning instructor. The sight of him this early, hair still a little rumpled from evening activities that you may or may not have had something to do with, filled your brain with a satisfied buzz that overrode all capacity for other thought.

Bakugou furthered your distraction with his usual merciless direction, running the battalion through a series of exercises worse than Ojiro had ever set you to. Your focus narrowed only to breathing and keeping upright as he pushed your battalion to your limits. He seemed to enjoy the sight of your suffering especially, red eyes following you around the training field, hungrily tracing the droplets of sweat down your neck where they disappeared into your collar.

By the lunch bell, you could swear you would be feeling the effects of the grain bags you’d hefted in your shoulders for weeks, would be running laps in your sleep for days afterwards. You collapsed in a pile with Sero and Kaminari as soon as drills ended.

“He’s a demon,” Kaminari whined, a tangled heap in the grass. “Why is he like this?”

Sero panted quietly, chest rising and falling in quick little huffs. “He needs to get laid or something.”

You choked. Instantly, Kaminari and Sero’s heads whipped around to stare at you.

“Uh, choked on my own spit,” you coughed out quickly, panicking. “Can’t breathe after all that.”

They seemed to buy it, relaxing back into the prickly grass. You flopped back as well, hating the way your sweat seemed to pool in the band of your chest bindings. Tonight was definitely a bath night; Bakugou would have to be left to his own devices for an evening. He deserved it after the hell he’d just put you through.

You barely roused yourself in time to make it to lunch before the mess hall closed, then swept off to patrol. You were paired with Nishimura again and the evening was expectedly unpleasant. Nishimura seemed more aggressive than usual, needling you with an abandon that was frankly alarming. Now more than ever, he was acting like he had nothing to lose, launching from disturbing comment immediately into the next with hardly any space for a breath. You wondered idly if it would be abusing your relationship with Bakugou to say anything about it -- you resolved to think on it more for the next few days before coming to any plan of action.

After patrol, you climbed into bed with the rest of your bunkmates and waited for them to drift off before stealing back out of the room to the servants’ baths where you washed off the day’s training. An anxious feeling settled over you as you bathed, and you hurried through the motions quicker than usual, not stopping to enjoy the relaxing heat of the pools as you usually did.

The anxious feeling followed you as you dried yourself and dressed, floating after you as you slipped through the dark castle grounds. As you arrived back at the barracks, it became clear why. The barracks were no longer dark, the windows glowing with the light of hundreds of candles.

A random bunk check.

You swore, tearing across the field to your building. You didn’t know the consequences of being found out of bed, but you didn’t like to think of what they would be. Ojiro usually scheduled and led the bunk checks, and while nicer than Bakugou, you’d witnessed enough of his fury to be afraid.

Only, it wasn’t just Ojiro in the doorway of your building.

You pulled up short when you noticed that all of the soldiers that housed with you were lined up in strict rows outside, one notable gap where you should have stood. Heads whipped up as you were spotted. From the far side of the field, Sero gave you an anxious look. Ojiro stood on the steps to your building, and behind him, silhouetted in the light of the doorway, was Bakugou.

Even in the dim light, you could see the line of his broad shoulders was tense, and his fists were clenched where they hung at his sides. Something white was clutched in his left hand. His expression was hard and a stone sank in your stomach. He looked angrier than you’d ever seen him and you couldn’t understand. Surely he’d have guessed you’d have gone to bathe?

“Stay where you are,” Ojiro ordered you over the sound of sliding metal. You watched in horror as he drew his sword, jerking it up to point at you. The air seemed to crackle with roiling energy and a sick feeling slid over you.

You froze, heart beating wildly, staring at Ojiro's sword. Was this protocol? Was it standard to discharge someone at sword point, or was this more? Could you have been figured out just by your absence?

“Ojiro?” you asked the officer in confusion. He frowned.

“Come quietly, thief,” he said, “Lay down your sword and no blood need be spilled.”

Apprehension shot through you like a bolt of lightning. Thief? Because you were out of bed after hours? That seemed like a leap.

“Ojiro, I’m not the thief,” you held your hands up at chest height, opening your palms in the universal gesture for peace. “I apologize for being out of bed and I accept my punishment, but I haven't stolen anything--”

“Explain this, then,” Bakugou’s rough voice bit into the dark night. His expression was stormy as he thrust out the item he’d been clutching in his hand. From this distance, you could make out what appeared to be a tidy letter scrolled on fine parchment in a dark ink. You felt your brow wrinkle in confusion as your eyes traced over the parchment. You couldn’t read it from where you stood but -- your eyes caught on a large varicolored marking at the bottom of the page and your heart leapt into your mouth. Though murky in the darkness and several paces away, it was quite likely the seal of the Todoroki prince.

“I don’t understand,” you said helplessly. Your mind swam with uncertainties. Why did he think you had anything to do with a missive from Prince Shouto?

“This was found underneath your mattress,” Ojiro said. His voice was hard. “It’s the missing treaty from the prince’s study.”

Found underneath your mattress? A feeling of horror settled over you as you flashed back to earlier that morning, where you’d almost collided with Hasumi coming from your rooms.

Hasumi.

All of sudden, things seemed to snap into place. The red flash under the thief’s cloak when you’d fought him in the master of coin’s office - it had been a soldier’s uniform. The pause the shadowy figure had given when he’d caught sight of Nishimura, the way he’d fled rather than fought the two of you. It had been Hasumi.

The thief was Hasumi and he was framing you.

“Ojiro, Captain, I didn’t--! I wouldn’t--!” you started, but an angry noise from Bakugou stopped you.

He leapt from the steps to your building, stalking across the field. He moved like a panther, padding aggressively toward cornered prey. His hand went to his sword, and you barely managed to draw yours in time to block him. The force of his strike nearly tore the sword from your hand and you only just managed to hold on to it, stumbling back from him.

“The debt,” he spat, “Your family’s debt, I should have fucking known.”

He raised his blade again, striking at you like a viper. You blocked him again, darting back out of his reach.

“Captain, I didn’t do it--” you said, but he cut you off with another overhand strike that seemed to carry every ounce of power he had in him. His blade slid along yours with a horrible grinding sound, catching on the grip and almost ripping it from your grasp.

“I thought I understood all the sneaking off,” he shouted, “Thought I had you all figured out.”

You parried another strike from him. “I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Yes you fucking would,” Bakugou shouted, thrusting again. His anger seemed to make him quicker and deadlier that you’d ever seen him before. “You thought you were tricking me this whole time, disguised as a fucking man. You had no idea I’d figured you out until I told you. You were happy to keep on fooling me, fooling everyone in this battalion. What’s one more deception when you've already been lying for months?”

You growled in anger, your temper rising. Your vision tinged red at the edges and your sword felt almost hot in your hands. “I’m not the thief, Katsuki! You're being fucking stupid!”

You aimed a blow at his shoulder but he caught it, moving with almost superhuman speed to throw you off. He whirled around and before you could blink, brought his blade down on yours with incredible strength. As your arm went wide with the force of the strike, his blade whipped up to your chin, as it had all those months ago when he’d fought you and Nishimura.

“Drop your sword,” he said, pressing the flat of his blade into the soft skin of your chin, tipping your face up to his. Your breathing shallowed and you stilled.

It was quiet a long moment, the only sound the huffs of your breath. Over Bakugou’s shoulder, you could see the lines of the other soldiers, Ojiro’s long shadow in the glow of the candles. Sero looked beside himself, twitching like he itched to move, to run. Whether to your aide or away you didn’t know.

“Drop it,” Bakugou repeated. You hesitated and his blade pressed harder into your chin. You let the grip of your blade fall through your loose fingers, heard it clank softly in the grass.

As soon as you had, Bakugou moved, grabbing your arm and twisting to wrench you in front of his chest. His sword pressed diagonally across your shoulder.

“You’re under arrest for treason against the crown,” he growled into your ear. His tone dripped with disdain and his grip tightened painfully. Then, turning to Ojiro he barked out, “Get them back in bed. Show’s over.”

You had only moments to cast one last panicked look at Sero before you were moving, a rough hand pressing you forward. Bakugou marched you forcefully toward his office, sword held steady at your neck. His fingers flexed where he gripped you, nails digging into the flesh of your arm, and the heat of his hands was overwhelming, like he was seconds away from sparking off an explosion and blowing you to pieces.

When you arrived at his office, Bakugou all but threw you away from him, gesturing with his sword to a seat at his desk.

“Captain,” you said, turning to him as soon as he let you go. “I swear it wasn’t me! It’s Hasumi, you have to listen to me. It’s Hasumi!”

Bakugou’s face darkened. “If you’ve known it was Hasumi all along why tell me now?”

“I didn’t!” you cried, taking a careful step towards him. “I just figured it out. He’s trying to set me up.”

Bakugou scoffed. “How convenient," he intoned cruelly, "Just like it was convenient that you, always you saw the thief several times but were never able to catch him. What did you give the others who went along with your story? Are you giving them a cut? How many accomplices do I have to weed out?”

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. “Please listen to me.”

“Don’t,” he grit out. “I heard you that night, outside the barracks. You were begging someone not to let me find out. What if he finds those in my sheets you said. I could have just followed you inside and solved it all then. How stupid I was to have ignored that. To have ignored every warning sign in hopes that you were something more.”

Hot tears pooled in your eyes. “Captain, please. I can explain everything. You have to listen to me.”

Bakugou turned his back to you. The line of his shoulders was hard, and his fist balled at his side. “No. I have no desire to listen to you.”

You stepped closer, your blood pounding in your ears. “Captain.”

He ignored you, stalking over to the door on the opposite wall, the one you thought must lead to his personal chambers. He wrenched it open, almost ripping it clean off its hinges.

“You have until morning,” he said, knuckles white where they gripped the door knob. “I will give you this one opportunity. Go back to your family - you’ve settled their debt. I will tell everyone you fought me and ran.”

You let out a choked noise like a sob, but he shrugged you off as he stepped through the doorway. “Go now. If you’re still here in the morning, you’ll be tried and hanged.”

The door slammed shut behind him with a finality.

You stared after him, the hot tears spilling over onto your cheeks. What felt like years passed as you watched the rough grain of the wood, willing Bakugou to come back out, to take you into his arms and tell you he believed you, that you would figure this out together.

The door did not open again.

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 3

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 3 - The Return

Words: 4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical descriptions and procedures, some sexual themes - mainly in the form of OC being thirsty AF

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

On the way back from the East village, filled with the Gossams, humans and other alien species who had similarly escaped to a simpler life, I couldn’t help but curse at myself for giving in so easily to the pleas of a good-looking stranger.

Aiding someone merely for their physical appearance? How horribly unprofessional.

The voice in the back of my mind was loud. And curiously judgemental.

It had been over a full day cycle since I’d departed the clinic, making Poe vow to remain within the confines of his bed until I had returned. I’d left him with enough food for two days of my travelling, hygiene supplies, a drip running slowly for some pain relief and range of tools for him to attempt getting BB-8 up and running, hoping he wouldn’t have any reason to struggle getting out of bed.

The thought of his still fragile femur bone breaking and splitting the artery I’d spent all my energy on mending was beyond frightening. I worried about him every minute I was awake, imagining any number of complications that would leave me a corpse to find when I arrived back.

Bleeding, clots, stroke, infection, sepsis.

It wasn’t easy to slip those thoughts from my mind in the lone starkness of the Raxus countryside. There wasn’t really anything to look at except grass and sky, nothing to distract me from the worst case scenarios.

I’d convinced some of my old patients to join my cause, promising them better medicine and equipment if I was only able to have a comm-tower to order everything I needed. It didn’t seem like lying. The comm-tower really was my only link to the rest of the galaxy, and I would have needed it fixed anyway. Only now, time seemed to be more of the essence.

After spending the night amongst the locals I had grown to be familiar with over the last few years, I’d begun the trek back with the knowledge at least one problem had been solved. Some promised spare parts, others were going to follow my path within the next day cycle to get my comm-link back online. I hadn’t divulged all the story, at least not the part about this repair job apparently being a determining factor in the fate of the galaxy.

I hadn’t pressed Poe about what that meant exactly. I was used to the Resistance and their soldiers having somewhat of a flair for the dramatic when it came to war, after healing many of their battle wounds in years past. I knew how fervently they believed in their cause - that they were the only thing standing between galaxy wide harmony and First Order dictatorship.

I understood their hope of peace in our lifetime, but I’d lost mine a long time ago. Good, bad, they were just two sides of a coin that would flip for eternity, desperately chasing power for their own reasons.

In truth, I didn’t particularly care. I just hoped to live my life somewhat free from the burden of picking a side.

*

Before unlocking the clinic door, my feet aching from hiking for 6 straight hours, I drew in a long breath with a silent prayer I wouldn’t be walking in to find a dead body. With a fluid motion I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my head popping in first around the entryway to where Poe’s hospital bed stood. He immediately heard the latch clicking and shot his head up to meet with my eyes.

“You’re back,” he smiled, as I noted how much colour had returned to his face during my absence.

He looked so much better.

For the first time, I found myself studying his face, my stare tracing from his strong angular jawline to his high cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the whiskey colour of his large cheerful eyes, his tousled deep brown hair. Then I took in his wide grin, shapely pink lips curled upwards to show perfectly set white teeth.

Stars, he’s so handsome.

In the muddle of memories I’d conceived from the night of his crash I’d not recognised, at least not during the time I was struggling to keep him alive, how attractive he was. And now with his health a far better picture than the last time I’d seen him, it was all I could notice. My heart quivered through a beat as he beamed at me, soon realising his smile was more a reflection of the prospective good news I brought with my return, making it settle back into a normal rhythm.

“Hi,” I breathed, walking closer and setting my pack down at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, “The smaller burns are almost gone, and my chest wound is closed, look!” He pulled up the grey hospital shirt I’d managed to change him into before I had to leave. This time when I saw the nakedness of his chest and abdomen I couldn’t help but stare at his softly defined muscles, all tensing during his movement. He was right, the hole below his rib now sealed, a newly-formed, pink scar in its place. The chest tube was still secured above it, now redundant.

“Gotta love bacta,” I hummed. “I can take that drain out now if you like.”

He looked at me incredulously. “You’ve just done a 30 hour round trip for me, not even sat down, and you want to dive head first into more treatment?”

“I... uh... I mean... I just wanted to help you feel better,” I stammered.

Poe shook his head, smirking. “It’s okay, I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m alright, the tube can wait. How about you rest for a second and tell me how the mission- I mean, trip, went?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two days ago you were begging me to get going so I couldn’t waste any time, now you’re telling me I can take a load off?”

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Having some time to think while you were gone... It made me realise everything you’d done and were doing for me - a stranger you had no reason to help." Poe took a long exhale before speaking again, his tone serious. "I was in a lot of pain, just woken up in a strange place. It’s still imperative to get a message back to the Resistance as soon as possible but... that’s not your burden to bear. I can't thank you enough for your help, but I'll try not to ask too much more of you.”

It seemed not only had his physical health improved, but logical thought and patience had returned.

I took my cue to sit on one of the opposite hospital beds, letting my feet dangle over the edge to kick my shoes off, feet pulsing with gratitude at their release. “There’s some villagers coming tomorrow,” I started. “They will hopefully have a new comm-tower up and running within the next couple of days. I told them about your droid too. There’s some spare parts in that bag.” I pointed my hand out to the satchel at Poe’s feet, glancing at the L shaped table beside his bed I’d set up. BB-8 was sitting on top of it, head and body still separated and now unbolted at separate points, wires haphazardly sticking out in different directions. Falling back into the mattress, I let out an exhausted sigh, relishing the feel of the squeaky mattress under my body.

“I really owe you. The Resistance owes you,” Poe praised after a few moments of silence, as I heard him begin to rummage through the satchel. I held back a frown, even when I knew he wouldn’t be able to catch sight of my face.

I didn’t do any of this for the Resistance.

It occurred to me then I wasn’t really sure why I’d done it at all. I had always been a sucker for those in poor predicaments, hence why I became a doctor in the first place. But the trek had nothing to do with treatment or medicine. It was purely at the behest of this pilot, who’s charming appearance in the dimmed orange light of the evening made my skin feel hot.

“So, how did a girl like you find herself in the middle of nowhere on the Outer Rim?” Poe questioned, fiddling with some of the parts.

I sat back up. “I’m not a girl. I’m 28. That’s a little too old to be called girl anymore.”

Poe chuckled, the sound of his laugh both warming and positively thrilling. “I apologise. How did a woman like you end up here?”

“I used to work on Coruscant, that’s where I started my medical training,” I explained, remembering the glittering planet I’d spent much of my young life on. “Then moved into the war relief efforts on medical frigates scattered throughout the galaxy. Treating wounded soldiers day in day out took its toll, having people constantly injured and almost dying for a war they didn’t start.” I glanced to Poe's expression, seeing a glow of understanding behind his eyes before I continued. “Plus, there were more than a few times I felt a little redundant. The medical droids they have kind of... made my treatment obsolete. I wanted to practice medicine in a place where adequate health care was rare or non-existent. I wanted to help those who were most desperate, who otherwise couldn’t afford it, those who would actually value the care of a live human doctor. So I picked a planet at random, and settled here."

The random part was an utter lie. No one had cared about Raxus since the Clone Wars, and the First Order wouldn’t make it their priority to conquer Outer Rim worlds for a while yet. It was a quiet, calm planet with countless refugees fleeing here to make peaceful new lives. They wouldn’t be concerned about old, rusty equipment, lower quality bacta or no medical droids. They would simply be happy at having a doctor within a day’s trek.

And no one would think of looking here for a Force user.

Poe studied me in quiet thought for a moment, taking in what I’d divulged. “Well, they're damn lucky, with how nicely you patched me up. You’d run circles around some of the doctors and medical droids at the Resistance base.” He grinned at me again, earnestly, another attempt to thank me for my work. I felt the pit of my stomach tense, and it wouldn’t retreat, the thought of his smile lingering in my mind even after he’d gone back to his tinkering.

It had to be because I’d been in isolation for so long, why I was reacting so strongly to the innocent smiles and compliments of a man I barely knew. I definitely wasn’t used to conversing with men so close in age to my own. Most of the local humans were older, married with children, and I rarely made conversation around any other topic than their illnesses.

“What... uh... Why were you flying over Raxus?” I asked awkwardly.

His eyebrows creased together as he looked back at me. “Raxus wasn’t my destination, but I... can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he urged. “It’s just, you know, highly confidential.” He seemed apologetic, like he owed me more of an explanation.

I nodded, agreeing the less I knew about the Resistance and their missions the better. “Well, you’ll be able to get back to it in a couple of days,” I insisted, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered. “Some time and a little bit more bacta and you’ll be like new again.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” he started, an uneasy expression now settling in his features. “I was wondering when you were thinking of letting me get out of this bed.”

“Depends on the reason Poe. I’d recommend starting your formal rehab tomorrow at the absolute earliest, otherwise we can get you up and walking if you need to do something… uh… specific.” There was no hiding the waver in my voice.

He laughed, louder than he had before, the sound making it difficult for me not to blush. “Aren’t you a doctor? Why are you embarrassed for me to use the bathroom?”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I was trying to save you from being embarrassed.”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m alright on that front for now. I was actually hoping to use your refresher. It’s been a few days…”

“Oh of course!” I’d cleaned him up as much as I could before I’d left, getting rid of his obliterated flight suit and helping change into the bland hospital outfit I reserved for overnighters, but even to myself the idea of a shower was enticing.

A thought flashed into my mind of steaming water hitting Poe’s sun darkened skin, trickling down his toned body as he lathered himself in soap suds.

Woah.

Okay.

That was new.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt the fire of blood rushing to the lower portion of my abdomen, insides clenching at the heat so suddenly ignited.

Poe was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I internally shook away the incriminating thoughts before they could be conveyed on my face. “How about I get that chest tube out first? Then I can help you to the ‘fresher?”

He breathed out in relief. “That would be fantastic.”

I stepped lightly off the hospital bed, walking shoe-less over to my medical trolley to drag it back to Poe’s side. And immediately, without me asking, he sat up and began a haphazard attempt to pull off his shirt, left arm bandaged and stiff, right arm enveloped in the cast I’d made and evidently still painful to move.

In a wordless reply, I helped him pull the fabric over his head, confronted with the image of a half-naked, strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised any of his raw allure when he’d been almost stripped completely bare by my own hands on the night of his crash. It seemed bizarre I wouldn’t have noted the strong, broadness of his shoulders, his armoured chest littered deliciously with dark hair, carved abdominal muscles tensed in waiting.

I swallowed hard, hoping Poe wouldn’t register my shaking hands as I prepared the tube removal kit. Snipping the sutures around the plastic, unsteady gloved fingers pulled out the tube as smoothly as I could manage, Poe flinching slightly at the sensation. He continued to look away as I injected some bacta gel into the wound, sealing it closed with a few new sutures and placing a waterproof dressing over the site.

“All done,” I settled. “Like nothing happened at all.”

Poe looked back to me and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he remained troubled by the memories of his crash, and understandably so. I’d seen the same look in many other military personnel, the attempt to put on a brave face when images of fire, blood and terror pierced their thoughts. I desperately wanted to take his mind to a brighter place. “So, ready to try walking?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way doc.”

Ugh. Eventually I would have to correct him on that.

I stepped back from the side of the bed, arms stretched in readiness for when he inevitably stumbled. “Please take it slowly. Your muscles aren’t going to be pleased with what you’re doing after over two days of bed rest.”

“Sure thing,” Poe scoffed.

Typical male.

Initially he seemed to take my direction, moving his legs slowly from under the blanket, pain now registering on his features. He swivelled himself sluggishly to let his legs fall over the side of the mattress, breathing slightly heavier to push through the discomfort.

He was leaning more on his left side, right arm hovering over his thigh. Tentatively, he slipped his left foot onto the floor and shifted his weight onto it, pushing his hand into the mattress to help himself up.

Soon he was standing in front of me for the first time since we’d met, and even amongst all the burns, bruises, dressings and bandages, he looked impossibly strong, toned muscles wrapping his form.

He noticed the timid smile form on my lips.

“Hey don’t start laughing at me. I don’t think I could handle my ego being bruised along with the rest of me.”

“Oh... I wasn’t-,” I stumbled, quietly relieved he’d misread the reason behind my smirk.

He held his hand up in protest, grinning. “I was kidding. You’re welcome to laugh at the adult sized toddler learning to walk again.”  

It was difficult not to snicker at his words. “Come on,” I encouraged. “Just think of how nice that hot water will feel.”

He sighed in agreement and moved, taking a hesitant step onto the previously fractured leg. I swiftly froze with anxiety, even when the logical side of my brain told me both the break and the artery would have stabilised exponentially by now. But the emotional side, the part that remembered the rush of blood that had exploded from the wound site, nagged incessantly at me, insisting that this was a very bad idea.

My eyes were glued to Poe’s figure as he shifted his weight deliberately, muscles tensing at the trigger of pain he was likely feeling, before he made a delicate hop to move back onto his left leg.

Even that one haggard step appeared to take a lot out of him, but he seemed determined, eyebrows already wrinkled in concentration.  He continued the process a few times over, my arms still poised in waiting for the foreseeable stumble as I walked backwards. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he limped, following me out of the clinic room into the hallway that lead to my office, the ‘fresher, and my living quarters all the way at the end.

His steps became faster, more confident, when all of a sudden, his balance wavered.

Reacting quickly, I stepped forward to catch him, arms circling under his own and around his torso, hands now gripping the muscles on his back as he crashed into me. I would have stayed there for a moment, my fingertips registering the warmth radiating off his skin, until I became fully aware where his face had fallen into.

I felt Poe’s heated exhale through the cotton of my white shirt after his face had collided into my chest, directly between my breasts. The twinge in my lower abdomen occurred again, breath hitching in my throat.

He scrambled to push himself back into a standing position, my arms releasing from around him, his hands clamping around my biceps as he fought to reclaim his steadiness again.

“I am so sorry!” he blurted, his face dangerously close to mine, only a small touch of redness visible under his caramel skinned cheeks. I knew my blushing would be much more pronounced.

“It’s okay,” I breathed. “I was waiting for that to happen.”

His eyes widened.

“Not that!” I yelped. “I meant you falling! I was waiting for you to fall!”

Poe’s face illuminated into a beaming grin. “Sure you did.”

I frowned in protest, but couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping. I shifted to face the same way as him, an arm curling around his torso, angling my body under his own. “How about I help you the rest of the way?”

His hand gripped onto my shoulder, the hardened squeeze making the tensing inside me ripple even faster.

Focus Alex.

Poe let me support him as he limped down the hallway, and I desperately tried to distance myself from the thoughts that swirled in my mind at being connected so closely.

Eventually we made it into the ‘fresher, a white and grey tiled room with the large, frameless shower enclosure taking up most of the space, the only privacy a plastic curtain that could be pulled across the entire spans of the room. I’d designed it with the idea there would be enough space to assist overnighter patient’s in washing themselves, since I didn’t have a nurse to do it for me. Yet, it still gave me the ability to provide some discretion by stepping out past the other side of the curtain, ready to swoop in if I was needed.

And that’s what I’d planned for Poe, knowing he was hardly the type of patient that was going to let me do anything for him if he could help it. Guiding him to the backless shower chair, I released him to his own devices and quickly pulled the curtain across. It was more for my own concealment at this point, needing to take a moment to settle myself down, the memory of his hold still lingering on my skin.

“I’ll be right here if you need any help okay? Everything you need will be on the shelf under the shower start button.”

“Thanks Alex,” he answered, his voice huffing out as I could hear he’d already started to shimmy down his pants.

Stop imagining it Alex. Stop thinking about him naked, a metre away, behind that thin curtain.

The sound of water rushing into the tile floor pulled me back into some impression of reality. I busied myself with organising my own hygienic supplies in the mirrored cupboard, desperately trying to think of anything other than the man hidden from my view, steam swirling around his figure, water dribbling down his bare skin. From behind the screen I heard a pleasant moan leave him, obviously enjoying the hot water battering into his aching muscles for the first time in days.

And with that sound I felt a twinge between my legs, heat swelling and rippling outwards through my body.

Stars, that was... hot.

It felt so unprofessional, to be tantalized by the thought of a man, a patient, in the middle of such a basic act of human hygiene. But I couldn’t deny he was more attractive than any patient I’d ever had in my life, and the thought of ripping open the curtain so I could join him was suddenly the most tempting thing in the galaxy.

I locked my hands onto the basin that stood in front of me, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sound of Poe lathering soap between his hands, then sliding over an unseen portion of his body.

It was then I started to pace, hoping the repetitive movement would stop me ruminating over the indecent notions my mind was conjuring. Minutes ticked by too slowly as I waited for him to finish his routine, begging for the irresistible pull of craving to be released from me.

“Hey Alex?” Poe suddenly called.

“What's wrong?” I squeaked, cursing at myself for sounding so startled.

“I actually need some help.”

Oh maker, why do you do this to me?

I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Sure. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he began, voice sounding a little forced. “It’s just... with my left arm still bandaged, and my right arm still in the cast, I can’t wash my hair. I know it’s a little strange, but could you help me out?”

My heart ricocheted inside my rib cage, frolicking at the thought of seeing him soaked in water, fingers raking through his dampened hair.

Come on Alex, try to keep at least one shred of professionalism.

“Sure,” I agreed, a more competent tone saturating my voice as I withheld my internal fluttering. “Make yourself… uh… decent, and I’ll open the curtain.”

I heard Poe’s movement as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rail nearby and wrapped it around his lower body. The flowing water soon came to a stop, the sudden silence making me feel uneasy.

“Ready.”

I placed myself in front of the curtain between us, his stature only barely visible through the clouded screen. My jaw was locked as I took a deep breath through my nose, meditating in thought, frantically clawing at a sense of calm.

Then I reached towards the plastic, clenched my hand around it, and pulled.

~

Next Chapter

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[florvinhara]

felt it ripping me apart (part 1)

summary: kira deals with the aftermath of turning

warnings for heavy angst !!!

word count: 2.2k

read on ao3 or below the cut:

Kira wakes from a nebulous, pained darkness to the memory of a familiar voice- beloved, broken- calling her name. 

At first, she wonders if she’s hungover; the lights are dimmed but too bright, and she feels sick with a hollow emptiness that tangles her stomach into knots. She sits up with a groan, and scrubs at her face with her hands until flashes of recollection start to surface from the depths of her foggy mind. They are more sensation than anything else, brief impressions of moments in time. Blood. Please. Pain. I’m sorry. Cold. Stay with me.

Blood… no, she is decidedly not hungover. She had woken up before, she recalls, feeling stiff and strange all over, and upon trying to stand up had been overcome with a tidal wave of nauseated exhaustion so strong she’d had to sit hunched on the edge of the bed holding her swimming head between her knees until she’d stopped feeling like she might pass out. Her second attempt had not been much more successful, and she had resigned herself to laying back and irritably shoving at the scratchy sheets until someone came to explain why she was once again in the Agency’s medical wing.

She had remained entirely silent while Elidor gently explained what had happened, pushing aside complicated swirls of emotion and focusing only on the concrete facts, of which there were three. In order, she’s been going through them again and again, turning them over in her mind like puzzle pieces which don’t quite fit into the rest of the picture.

One- she had been mortally wounded.

Two- they’d turned her; there had been no other option to save her life. Which means that:

Three: she is not going to die. Not now, perhaps not ever.

It’s a short list, but she repeats it religiously- one, two three, one, two three- because otherwise, her mind will start wandering. The trek from these simple isolated truths to their messier implications is a short one she can’t stand to make. Will she have to leave Wayhaven? It had been in her plans, eventually, but there’s a difference between moving and having to slowly disentangle yourself entirely from human society as an unforgivable amount of time passes you by untouched.

More pressing, how will she leave this hospital room? Because beyond this controlled environment, with its drawn shades and soundproofed walls, is a noisy, chaotic world that had already at times overwhelmed her until she couldn’t breathe.

And there is one more concern; she has pointedly not allowed her train of thought to drift in that particular direction, but the seed of fearful doubt is rapidly taking root in the back of her mind anyway, snarling around her spine and curling purposefully at her throat. After all, it is one terrifying thing to love someone knowing that your lives run on different tracks, that you must fit the vast expanses of your devotion into the span of 60 or so years. To promise your eternity to another person is another animal altogether, and she cannot ask Nate to give her that- it is a gift she doesn’t deserve, and why would he want to offer it anyway? She knows how much he misses humanity, seeks out the echoes of it wherever he can- without hers, will he recognize her, or just see the chasm where that mortal part of her used to be?

It doesn’t bear thinking about for long, the inevitable, and so she pulls her focus back to the safety of the past, the proven. She’s managed to delay whatever is going to come next so far, having asked Elidor for some time alone to rest. It had been a flimsy excuse, but he had kindly pretended to believe it and let her be, staring blankly at the wall and mentally reciting the concise points that comprised her list until sleep had claimed her.

Perhaps it had helped after all; she still feels hollowed out and numb, but the sickly dizziness is gone and the lights above her no longer leave sharp, star-like patterns in the backs of her eyes. The signs are promising enough that she decides to try standing again, shoving the blankets off and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. This time, she does manage it, though she immediately stumbles upon making contact with the ground as a strange, shaky sensation skitters up her calves, pins and needles pressing against the soles of her feet and making her wobble like a newborn foal. She grabs at the pole where an IV bag would usually be hanging for support, wincing at the bright spark of unexpected chill where her hands make contact.

Did this get shorter? she thinks distantly, and then remembers that the pole isn’t shorter, she’s just taller now, and she wonders if that means she’ll have to buy new clothes. Which is just so stupid, so ridiculously not important a detail in the grand scheme of things, the fact that her mind jumped there first makes a laugh just left of hysterical fizzle in her throat, and it is so profoundly unlike her that it makes her feel sick. She stumbles to the adjoined washroom as she feels her chest constrict painfully in feverish panic, dragging the IV pole behind her half for balance and half for comfort, and leans over the sink, gasping for breath, until her heart stops beating against her ribs like a caged animal and she can inhale without the air stabbing knife-like at her lungs.

Slowly but surely, her breathing evens out, and she glances up at her reflection in the mirror- then freezes.

The differences are slight, so much so that at first she thinks it must be a trick of the light, but the more she casts her gaze over the face reflected back at her, the more she is sure it cannot be hers. Or, more accurately, it is hers in the way that an old picture is one’s self- similar enough to recognize but changed enough to be almost another person entirely.

It looks as though she has never lived in this body, never tested its limits by climbing that one unsteady tree branch and knocking a deep, jagged scar into her forehead for her trouble. Never pierced her own ears with a needle and ice cube in a misguided attempt at rebellion. Never stayed up through the night and marked the sleepless hours by the dark circles under her eyes. She grips the sink as she searches for familiarity in the reflection before her; the porcelain crumbles like sand beneath her shaking fingers, and this too is hideously unrecognizable, the strength and the unintentional destruction it can bring, the need to exist cautiously.

The more she looks, the more untethered from herself she feels, unmade and reformed by an architect with little regard for detail, the outline and not the shape itself. And she supposes she has been, in a way- she remembers, if nothing else, the searing agony as her bones had separated and knit themselves back together. It shouldn’t be real, it shouldn’t be possible for these traces of her life, the storms she has weathered and the consequences of her recklessness, to be wiped from her body as if they had never existed. A map unmade. A history forgotten. Even the scar she’d gotten from Murphy is vanished, a feat not accomplished even by the Agency’s healing magic. And for some reason it is this, the absence of a scar she never wanted, that finally breaks her as she sinks to the floor with a dark dismay rising in her throat like bile.

---

The linoleum floor is cold against her shins, but she welcomes the bracing shock it gives her, focuses intently on the sensation of it pressing on her legs as another swell of dread threatens to drown her. Her hands find each other, twisting anxiously until she realizes she does not recognize them either; the familiar divots of old scars and callouses are gone, as are the crooked slant where she had broken her fingers. Frantically, she wrenches them apart, despising their unfamiliarity.

Enough of this, she reprimands herself sternly, one clear thought in a swirling sea-storm of panic and confusion and what-ifs. She latches onto it desperately, presses her hands, still fluttering nervously as they seek out the comfort of a repetitive motion, flat against the cold floor and thinks it over and over again- enough, enough, enough- until the word has lost its meaning and she feels somewhat calmer again.

Her mind is still spinning in anxious circles, tying itself in knots the more she thinks. There’s only one surefire solution she knows of to ease the worried maelstrom; it’s time to remove herself from the equation, consider this from a more scientific standpoint. This doesn’t have to destroy her. Or maybe it does- after all, creation is a promise of violence, in and of itself born from destruction. Cells beget new cells by ripping themselves in two; the body is constantly sloughing off parts of itself which have outlived their usefulness. And this must still be true, even though so much is different, because stasis is death to the thousands of systems constantly at work to keep someone operating. Maybe there is some comfort there, then, that even though she cannot see it, at the smallest level, the familiar processes are continuing.

She imagines she can hear them now, blood rushing from her heart to deliver oxygen to the rest of her body, cells splitting apart and bursting as they die only to be replaced instantly, even her DNA unwinding and reforming as it encodes new strands of her genetic information. How much of it changed along with her- which genes were snipped out of existence and remade in a different, ‘better’ image?

Damn. Not even two minutes later and she’s already cycled back to her horror at the transformation, visible and invisible- perhaps this won’t destroy her after all, she’ll just do it herself fixating on the sharp, shattered pieces of the dissonance between the self she recognizes and the one she sees reflected in the mirror.

A worried voice cuts through the thick miasma of dismay choking her like poison- Elidor, knocking at the door and asking if she’s alright. Is she? No, she thinks, even as she calls out, “Yeah, just a minute,” and feels so much sudden relief to hear her voice, unchanged, that she nearly blacks out. Slowly, and with much aid from the IV pole, she pulls herself to her feet and chances another glance at the mirror. Immediately, she feels an overwhelming urge to punch it, to shatter the glass until her reflection is torn apart by the spiderwebbing shards, but she shoves it down forcefully, searches for resolve in the eyes looking back at her. She finds nothing there, but knows Elidor is waiting outside and opens the door, resigned.

“I was wondering where that pole had run off to,” he says with a teasing smile that falters the moment they make eye contact. Well, that was a short-lived act. “Kira, what’s wrong?”

Nothing that can be fixed, nothing that she doesn’t just have to get over and deal with. She starts to tell him as much, but her throat is so tight that her voice grates painfully as she speaks and she gives up halfway through the sentence, ending with a dismissive wave that falls too far flat of insouciant to be convincing.

Elidor’s brow furrows in concern. “I’ll get the rest of the team, and-”

“No!” she cuts in, flinging a hand out to stop him. If there’s one thing she’s absolutely sure of, it’s that she cannot be around them right now, can’t let them see that she can’t handle this, can’t deal with their thoughts or feelings or opinions when her own are still such a confused mess. And she especially cannot see Nate, not when she knows what’s going to happen; of course, he is going to be perfectly kind, even as he tells her this can’t work, she’s too different now that she is divorced from her humanity, he had never intended for this relationship to last centuries.

His gentleness will cut deeper than the words themselves, and if she could, she would do it herself, end it for him quickly and impersonally so she can spare them both the pain. But she is too unmoored right now, too frustratingly unsure of herself, to face a reality that has fundamentally shifted. “No, please, just- can you tell them I’m not awake yet? Or- just, anything?” Some small, unchanged part of her mind rebels violently at that, hates her for the cowardice, but it is too easily drowned out by the tumult of dazed doubts and worries shadowing her to be heard.

It takes about ten minutes of pleading for Elidor to uneasily agree to give her more time; eventually, he concedes, and leaves the room with a concerned glance over his shoulder. The door closes behind him, and she lets herself sink to the ground once more, curled over like she could belatedly shield herself from the injury which necessitated all this, until she drags herself back into the bed and seeks relief in unconsciousness.

[yandere-daydreams]

Could you do something with yandere Anubis?

For such a prominent God in Ancient Egypt, there are so few myths about Anubis...  I’ll try to give him the recognition he deserves, here.

TW: Graphic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Mentions of Death and Dehuminzation.

~

He was a terribly fair man.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t, not honestly. You could complain about his temperament, his passivity, how he could never be bothered to show you anything save for stoic, unenthusiastic acknowledgment, but you couldn’t say a word about his resolve. He was professional, sterile, too ancient to be moved by a weeping soul or a woeful tale from a dead man. You supposed you were lucky, in that regard. His resolution may’ve faltered, when it came to your and your particular style of incoherent panic. Maybe it’d been the way you clung to him, the way you’d plead when his scales deemed you undeserving of an afterlife. Maybe he’d taken a liking to you, one that hadn’t been sparked by anyone else, yet.

Or, he’d just been looking for a pet, and you’d come along just in time to fill the role.

Even now, you couldn’t help but shudder, despite the leopard-skin he’d been generous enough to wrap you in. You weren’t able to feel the cold anymore, but you were sure you would’ve be freezing, if you could. The only light this far underground came from lanterns and sources you could never seem to see clearly, and heat came in radiating, humid waves, as unpleasant as its absence. Anubis himself was no better. You’d been posed in his lap like a doll, your legs left to hang over the arms of his throne and your head allowed to rest against his chest, but there was no heat underneath his skin…or, his fur, rather. It was as dead as he was, as dead as you. As if he’d given up what was left of his warmth when he took up such an apathetic role.

He seemed to notice your distress, pointed nails drumming lazily against your waist as he bowed, lowering himself just enough for those gold eyes to bore into your back. You hadn’t decided whether it was a mask or not, that lupin appearance of his, but you weren’t eager to find out. If he took to that question as well as he’d taken to any other you’d asked, his answer wouldn’t be one you wanted to hear. “Is this upsetting to you, love?” He asked, gently, always gently. His tone never seemed to stray from that indifferent tenderness, as much as you wished it would. “This isn’t the first trail you’ve seen.”

Ah, the trial. They weren’t uncommon in Osiris’ court, the ‘Watercourse of the Only God’, they called it. The man before you now was nearing the end of his allotted time, but he was as passionate as he’d been when he started, going on indignantly about his many successes and acts of charity. He might’ve been a doctor, you thought you heard him mention an operation. It didn’t really matter, after Anubis deemed him worthless. “It’s awful,” You replied, your voice barely audible. “He’s a virtuous man, a good man. He shouldn’t be condemned, not when he spent so long trying to help people.”

At that, Anubis laughed. You two were tucked into a corner of the vast stage, other deities with more sway taking the positions of importance, allowing Anubis to carry on without having to worry about the consequences of his decision. “A good man, but not a balanced one. That’s the crux you never seem to realize.” His free hand cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the trial. You tried weakly to resist, focusing instead on the stone floor, but a click of his tongue was the only command you needed to recenter your concentration. “He studied and he worked and he helped many, I’ll give you that, but what of it? He lived a life without struggle, and any conflict that might’ve caused him pain was avoided. If all you ever know is good, that the world is good. You aren’t.”

“That’s not his fault,” You countered, straightening your back slightly. It was rare for him to speak so freely, and you planned to take advantage of it. “You’re going to punish him for being cautious? For living a safe life?”

“A life without suffering is hardly a life at all.” You were squeezed, playfully, pulled against him and made to sit on his thigh, if only so he could better stare down at you. With a content sigh, his hand moved up to your jaw, brushing over your cheekbone momentarily before shifting towards your lips, idly tracing the shape of your mouth. You frowned, ready to contest his sudden display of affection, but he didn’t give you the chance, pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips, silencing you before you could speak. “His heart was heavy. He lived to please others, to help others, but only because he felt it was in his path to. Helping was all he knew, not what he chose. There’s no guilt to a life like that, no hardship to overcome.” If he could smile, he would’ve. You were glad he didn’t try to. “You should know that better than most.”

The man was crying, now, sobbing at the feet of Osiris. You tried not to listen.

You didn’t try to speak, but he didn’t seem to notice. “It’s an affliction, really. Some people just aren’t mean to make choices for themselves. They’re too weak, too breakable, they don’t have the constitution for it. And the moment you back them into a corner, where someone else can’t step in…” He trailed off, a single, sharpened talon trailing down your skin, leaving a thin, red line in its wake. He stopped somewhere just below your collarbone. Just above your heart. “They crack. They throw themselves to the wolves and pray not to be ripped apart too violently. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You tried to be firm, confident, but you were already trembling. Shaking in his arms, like a gazelle in the clutches of a jackal. “I lived well. If I’d had more time--”

“Then you would’ve spent more time away from me.” That was all the warning you got. The slightest inflection and a hint of anger before his nail drove itself into your chest, digging and burrowing, pushing through any muscle or sinew that might’ve gotten in its way. The blood was minimal, but the pain wasn’t, sparking and igniting and burning, a series of pathetic whimpers forced their way past your lips going nothing to lessen that awful prodding. He withdrew quickly, but absence was no better than occupation, and your muffled whines turned to cries as the sting became an ache, overwhelming and all-encompassing. He only watched as you furiously tried to wipe away the tears, pressing his muzzle gingerly against your forehead.

“That would’ve been a fate worse than death. No one to look after you, no one to take care of you, just more… living. More separation.” He shook his head, letting out another sigh, this one so much heavier than the last. “You mustn’t bring up such terrible things, you see that, don’t you? Such a delicate little creature… you wouldn’t be able to take it, I’m sure.”

You didn’t disagree. You only fell forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and falling into the crook of his shoulder, hiding your face and letting him do whatever he thought he had to. Whatever he deemed necessary. Arguing wouldn’t matter. Proving you weren’t reliant on him wouldn’t matter. Nothing you did would make a difference.

Anubis decided you were weak.

All you could do was be glad he’d pitied you enough to keep you around.

[harmonizingsunsets]

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Day 5 of Kate and Anthony week. Prompt: scared of my wife

Archive link here.

While being a viscountess has become easier over the years, it still gets overwhelming.

As the ball rages on the inside, Kate finds herself in the gardens. Her throat is sore from making introductions, her cheeks ache from forcing smiles on those who ask about the decor for the hundredth time, and her feet scream in pain from wearing shoes made for fashion instead of comfort.

Kate sits down on the bench, closing her eyes and taking a long breath. She knows she can’t be gone for too long. But, perhaps, a few moments of solitude could amend her spirit.

This was the first event they’ve hosted since the birth of Miles. While Kate profoundly loves her two sons, her energy hasn’t quite yet returned to normal. Kate wishes she was like Daphne, who seemed to snap back after birth quickly, radiating perfection.

Kate thinks she has never radiated perfection, but she would settle for being a dazzling or even just an adequate hostess.

But most dazzling hostesses don’t escape to the gardens, running from their own home.

“Wanted to be alone in the gardens, Miss?”

Kate doesn’t jump at the voice, as she recognizes it as well as her own.

She turns to the man approaching her. “Well, I was alone until about two seconds ago.”

Anthony nears the bench, bracing a hedge behind him and leaning towards her. “It’s scandalous to be here, under the moonlight and among such lovely roses with a man by your side.”

“I intended to be here by myself, my lord,” Kate huffs. She plays along with him, pretending they’re strangers instead of two people whose souls are intimately entwined. “You’re the one bringing scandal here, which seems fitting. You look like the sort who stirs up gossip wherever you go.”

Anthony sits next to her. “And you look like the sort who brings chaos wherever she goes.”

“What chaos am I stirring up by merely sitting on a bench?” Kate asks with amusement.

“Your daydreaming is chaotic. It was so loud that I could hear it from inside the house.”

His fingers brush against hers on the bench. Even after all these years, his touch still tugs at her heart.

“You’re right. I was daydreaming.”

Anthony’s eyes sparkle, his face ghosting close to hers. “May I ask who of?”

“Who says it was of a person?” Kate retorts, enjoying the way he appears disappointed. “People can daydream about all sorts of things.”

“They can, but I can tell you had a particular person in mind,” he insists, furling their fingers together. “Someone who knows how to handle a mallet, who is an excellent dancer, and who dearly loves his wife and children.”

Kate turns her head up to the night sky. “I bet he’s also rather righteous. He does anything he can for those he cares for and does it with joy.” While she’s not looking at him, she can see Anthony’s smile in the stars. “I also surmise that he knows how to make someone laugh and is the perfect shoulder to lean on when you find yourself in the dark.”

Anthony edges closer to her, their bodies brushing. “I also think this man knows when the one he loves is troubled. He seeks her out when she withdraws, wanting to brighten her spirits.”

Kate sighs, meeting Anthony’s affectionate but worried gaze. While she figured most people wouldn’t notice her absence, Anthony, of course, did. Even before they were married, they seemed to sense when one another was in a room. They both felt the pull—the need to be close.

Anthony also has an insight into Kate’s being. He can perceive things about her that no one, not even herself at times, notices. His ability to know her so well is maddening and alleviating all at once.

“This man we paint sounds too good to be true,” Kate says playfully, trying to shift the mood between them. “From my experience, men have more faults than virtues. So, why waste time daydreaming about a man who couldn’t possibly exist?”

“Perhaps the man is closer than you think,” Anthony whispers, his lips ghosting close to hers.

“Or perhaps, you’re the one caught up in daydreams,” Kate murmurs.

She almost kisses him but inches away at the last second. He makes a disgruntled sound, causing her to laugh.

“I do daydream quite a bit these days,” Anthony begins to say, causing her to look at him quizzically. “Getting older, I’ve learned to limit my acquaintances to those who are not fools. That means my circle is rather sparse, so I must spend the time entertaining myself with my thoughts.”

Kate smirks. “And who do these thoughts pertain to?”

“A woman, one with a wicked tongue, her words lethal but her mouth pleasingly soft,” he answers, his thumb gently tracing the line of her lips. “Her beauty is incomparable. I believe she has a rope around the sun, making everything around her radiate with light.”

She begins to roll her eyes in disagreement, but Anthony distracts her. A hand curls around her waist. He pulls them flush against one another in one fluid motion, causing her to shiver with desire.

“She illuminates the dark parts of one’s soul they thought would always remain undisturbed,” Anthony continues, kissing her jaw. “She’s also a dedicated mother, friend, and wife. She keeps her husband on her toes. But, she also manages to be the calm of every storm he encounters.”

Kate feels tears welling in her eyes at his words. But before any can fall, Anthony’s there to catch them with his fingers, brushing them away.

“She’s a woman of many multitudes,” Anthony states, kissing her cheek so tenderly that it makes her dizzy. “She gracefully wields every facet of her being.”

“She sounds like a fearsome creature,” Kate notes, clearing her throat to try to regain her senses. “What would you do if you stumbled upon such a menace?”

“I’ll have you know that I have stumbled upon such a creature.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, and I did the only thing you can do when you meet a woman who shakes you to your very core.”

“Which is?”

Anthony grins. “Marry her.”

Kate closes the distance between them in an instant, crushing their lips together. The tremendous weight she felt before lessens as they kiss. Kate finds Anthony’s embrace to be as much of a home as the one in the distance filled with guests.

When they part, Kate quirks her head. “Are you still scared of this woman?”

“I’d be a fool if I weren’t,” Anthony chuckles, his thumb painting shapes on her cheek. “But it also makes for a much more exciting and fulfilling life.”

As Anthony stands, Kate takes his hand he offers to her. When they’re halfway to the house, Kate pauses.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

She turns to him and smiles in earnest for the first time that night. “You’re better than any daydream.”

Anthony’s arm goes around her shoulders. He presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, “So are you, my dear wife.”