#when he sings ‘never look in the eyes a predator of my size’ and does that fuckin johnnny bravo pose?? why does it work so well???

[howlerbat]

it’s embarrassing how quickly I went from “oh this max jagerman dude straight up sucks” to having a shit eating grin on my face every time he appears in the musical. I was not immune to his vocals in Literal Monster. I was NOT immune to his choreography in DIRTY GIRL

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 6)

Summary: Sam and Max's plan to get their siblings invited to a party may have worked but Sebastian Monroe is a dangerous man and they may have just put not only their lives but their families at risk too...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 5,400ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: Uh oh...

_________

Two Weeks Later

Reader POV

“Damn,” said Dean, shaking out his arm after you’d tossed him a football in the backyard. “I’m going to need your arm workout and no, I am not joking.”

“Oh my god, did I tell you the dance choreographer wanted me to learn to do a handstand so I could sing, upside down? I shut that shit down so fast,” you said, Dean gently tossing the ball back to you. 

“I’m sure you could do it. But I don’t blame you for not wanting to,” he said, catching the ball one handed. “Do you get a lot of say in that stuff? Dance moves?”

“That would require me to be able to dance,” you laughed, clasping both arms around the ball when he threw it back.

“She’s right. God awful dancer when it’s not choreographed. Miracle she can fake it as well as she does,” said Eric from the patio table, glancing up from his phone. “It’s four by the way.”

“Ugh. Why’d we say yes to this stupid party?” you asked. Dean shrugged.

“This guy donates a bunch of money to the Wolves charity every year. Plus Emma said it’s not a bad idea to go to a charity event together. Apparently it helps the public not think of me as such a scoundrel.” You tossed him the ball one last time, clasping your hands behind your back.

“I mean you are the big bad playboy corrupting the virtue of the sweet princess of pop,” you said, batting your eyes, twirling your hips. You grinned when he frowned, his eyes like a predator sizing up his prey. “I think the media is right about you. Such a bad influence.”

“Oh keep it up, princess, and I’ll tell them you ain’t innocent in the slightest.”

“Someone put me out of my misery,” groaned Eric, rising to his feet. “I’m getting dressed and going over protocols with the team. We’ll head out at seven.”

“Ain’t it kind of early to get ready?” asked Dean as you tossed him the ball one last time. Eric only laughed and headed inside, Dean cocking his head at you. “I know girls take a long time to get ready but three hours?”

“Shower. Shave. Makeup. Hair. Plus I told Sloane I’d help do her hair and pick out a dress,” you said, Dean humming. “I’m sure there’s a college game on you could watch for awhile.”

“I got some game film I can review,” he said, a heavy sigh in his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him, Dean ditching the ball to return it. “It just never ends.”

“You love football, though,” you said, Dean nodding. 

“I do. But every year it’s getting to be more and more. I know you understand the pressure of it all. I just…I’m tired. I want to have more of a life outside my job,” he said, sliding his hands down your arms, taking your hands in his. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, Dean sharing the same sad smile you wore. “Me, I can have less tour dates and not put out an album every single year. I can make more wiggle room for myself. But I know you can’t. And sometimes I worry when I watch you play, pushing your body so hard.”

“I’m incredibly lucky I’m the least sacked QB in the league. I’ve had only one surgery and that was cause I broke my toe like an idiot on a coffee table. I don’t want to be like these guys that stay in too long and wind up with so much pain at forty. Or worse.” 

“I guess the thing to ask yourself is, do you want to keep going? Or could you walk away and be satisfied?” you asked. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. 

“All I know is I used to put my head down, bury myself in the game. All I looked forward to was getting to the season, the start of a game, feeling that rush. This year…I’m looking forward to being done with work and games way too much. It’s like I’d rather be somewhere else…with someone else,” he murmured.

You nodded, squeezing his hands. “Nothing to decide today.”

“I know. Go get ready. I can occupy myself for a few hours.”

“Damn,” you said when it was nearly seven. Sloane looked down at herself alarmed, glancing back worried. “Sloane, you’re fucking hot.”

“I’m forty two,” she scoffed, smoothing out the floor length gown. “I’m not hot.”

“Hell yeah you are,” you said, Sloane tucking a strand of freshly curled hair behind her ear. “Eric’s going to fucking drool.”

“He better not,” she mumbled, taking a breath as she put her leg up on a chair and hiked the skirt portion up. She opened up her clutch sat on the end of the bed and slapped a very small thigh holster on her right leg, a smaller than usual gun inside. 

“Right. Cause really hot women packing heat are total turn offs for him,” you said, adjusting the strap that ran across your shoulder. She pouted and you handed her the clutch. “You said you could work with him tonight. We’re only bringing two of you inside and we wanted our best.”

“I can. He’s good about not speaking about anything but strictly work lately,” she said, sitting on the bed. “Does he seem…different to you?”

You knew why she was asking. Eric had told you he needed a few hours a week off for therapy a few weeks back. You practically jumped for joy that he was going to get some help to work through some things. Then it all shattered when he said it was related to his dad and needing to address some stuff he did to him as a kid. He didn’t share more but you had a feeling that had as much impact on him as his days in the military, probably more.

“It’s hard to tell with him,” you said, trying to respect his privacy. Plus, it actually was difficult to see a difference. Eric held everything close to the chest. Sometimes too much.

“Yeah. There’ll be no issues working together this evening,” she said, forcing a smile. You wanted to offer some reassurance that he was trying and maybe someday things between them could change. But honestly, you had no clue if they would work things out.

“Good. Well, let’s go see the boys.” A moment later you were coming down the stairs, Dean and Eric wandering out from the front hall in their tuxedos. Eric had always looked handsome when he dressed up but Dean?

He was walking sin in the tailored outfit, showing off his large shoulders and trim waist. You could feel the heat in your cheeks when he stared like he wanted to devour you then and there.

“Wow,” said Dean, a growing smile on his face, eyeing you up and down. It was a fairly simple dress. Black. One shoulder and a thin strap on the other. Form fitting up top before it became loose at the hips. It probably didn’t match black tie standard one hundred percent but it’d been sitting in your closet for two years and you finally had an excuse to wear it.

“Wow yourself,” you said, tugging on the lapel of his jacket. “Put you in one of these and you’d never imagine you spend literally every single day in flannels, henleys, and black tees.”

“Strange considering I’ve seen you wearing those clothing items a lot more yourself lately,” he teased, grinning down like a cat staring at the mouse it’d cornered.

“Oh, just a coincidence,” you said, Eric clearing his throat. You rolled your eyes, getting a roll in return. “You look nice too, Eric. I know you need the compliment on your appearance or your ego will bust.”

“Why did I take this job,” he mumbled to himself, staring at Sloane as she walked ahead for the front door. “You look beautiful.”

Sloane stopped dead in her tracks, looking over her shoulder at him, his gaze shooting to you. 

“I know you’ve wanted to wear that dress for awhile,” he said to you, Sloane rolling her eyes and walking outside. Eric closed his eyes when she was gone, Dean slapping his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I’m sure my hyper observant protection agent didn’t catch the way you said that straight to her face and then pretended to say it to your boss.” Eric shrugged him off and grumbled on his way outside, harshly pulling the door behind him. “Damn. I was hoping they’d have some kind of fairytale moment or shit. He looked like he wanted to fuck her over the kitchen table.”

“I don’t know. We’ll just…wait and see what happens,” you said, holding out your hand. “Ready to go?”

“One sec,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. He slipped something elastic over your wrist, beaming when you stared down at it to find it was a friendship bracelet, like the kind from when you were kids. This one was black, gray and white, the LA Wolves colors. You turned it over when you felt a few square beads, expecting to see DEAN.

Your heart skipped when you saw MAX with a few beads separating it from SAM. You glanced up Dean, his green eyes flittering down to where he’d removed his jacket, right sleeve pushed up. 

Dean had always had Sam’s initials tattooed on his forearm. You remember that happened at some point in college, not too long after Sam went missing. The initials right below it were new though, his skin tinged a light pink from where the tattoo was still fresh.

“Is that-”

“Max’s initials? Yeah, looks like it,” he said, a coy smile crossing his face. You held out a finger, Dean humming it was alright to touch. A thick swallow was audible as you traced over the delicate skin, black ink soaked into the creamy canvas of his body.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, Dean’s face falling.

“Sweetheart, I’m-” he said as he wiped at your eyes, mascara coming away on the back of your hand. You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“Look what you did you sweet man,” you laughed, a few tears falling free. “Dean, you didn’t have to put his name on your body.”

“Brothers go on the arm. It’s kind of my thing,” he said, your bottom lip wobbling as a swell of emotion hit you. “Are you mad?”

“No,” you croaked out, squeezing your bracelet. “I wish they were with us.”

“Me too,” he said softly, wiping his thumb under your eye, stopping a tear from falling. “Y/N.”

You met his green eyes, thumb stroking your cheek with a barely there touch.

“You understand you’re my girl, right?” You nodded, Dean’s head tilting slightly, eyes scanning down to your lips slowly and back up just as lazily. “So. Am I yours?”

You held a finger to his lips and turned towards the front door, pulling it open, Eric and Sloane both leaned against an SUV.

“We’ll leave in thirty,” you said, pulling the door shut again, finding Dean with a raised eyebrow. “I need ten to fix my makeup. The other twenty is to show you exactly how much you’re mine.”

Dean POV

I stepped outside while Y/N used the bathroom, the brisk air doing wonders for cooling me down after what I could only describe as the most intimate handjob I’d ever received. It was the one thing that stuck out to me about sex with Y/N. Every other partner I’d had, it was about release, pleasure. With Y/N though, it felt different. A good different. Yeah, it was about the pleasure there too but it was…comforting in a way, joined together. 

Once Y/N had let go of her fear of it, intimacy turned out to be one of her favorite things in the world. And it was becoming one of mine too. She just made me feel safe. Whole again.

“Told you she’d cry about the tattoo,” mumbled Eric in my ear, hands clasped behind his back. “Surprised you didn’t get down on one knee yet.”

“We understand what we are to each other,” I said, adjusting the sleeve of my jacket. “The time for that’ll come eventually but I don’t think either one of us is in a rush to get there.”

“Ready!” exclaimed Y/N, rushing outside barefoot, the skirt of her dress bunched up in one hand, heels in the other. “How late are we?”

“Oh, only forty five minutes,” said Eric, Y/N jumping in the backseat when he opened the door. “Clutch?”

“I’m the purse tonight,” I chuckled, patting my pocket where her phone, a lipstick and extra hair tie resided. 

“Good. I usually get stuck with it,” said Eric, patting my bottom. “Let’s move it kiddos.”

“Hopefully this party doesn’t suck,” said Y/N beside me as we drove up a long driveway thirty minutes later, lips pursed.

“You hate parties,” Eric chuckled from the passenger seat.

“I hate parties where people ask me to sing at their kid’s sweet sixteen which is like, almost all the time,” she said, my hand reaching over and interlacing our hands together. “Sorry. That sounded bitchy.”

“It sounded like that’s really annoying to have happen all the time,” I said, the car slowing down behind another luxury SUV. “We won’t stay long, just a few hours. I know we have to do this for me.”

“Hey,” she said, voice firm. My eyes flickered to hers in the dark space. “We both have more money than we know what to do with. I’m perfectly happy to waste an evening if it means sending some of that money to a good cause. You getting some good press out of it is a bonus.”

“I ever tell you how wonderful you are?” I asked, heart swelling up as she blushed. “Want to go show off your reformed bad boy, sweetheart?”

“You were never bad,” she said, pecking a kiss on my lips. She grinned goofily and wiped them off with her thumb. “Lipstick.”

“You can take it off if you promise to put it back later,” I said, Y/N’s eyes flirting down to my groin, a wicked smirk on her face. “Down girl.”

“I’ll play with you later,” I said as we stopped. Eric slid out of the passenger seat as I opened the back door. I exited and held out a hand, helping Y/N down in her obnoxious skinny little heels. They looked like a death trap to me but she danced around on stage for three hours in them so if anyone knew how to work them, it was her.

Damn she was sexy in that dress. Almost as sexy as those red flannel pajama pants she wore last night. And that cozy blue sweater on Thursday. Or that-

“Stop staring at her,” said Sloane, pushing on my back so I’d move and she could slip out of the backseat. “You’re like a puppy obsessed with her.”

“Be nice,” Y/N chided, taking a step forward, letting me follow her lead. Eric and Sloane fell in place behind us, the driver staying with the car and driving off towards where the cars were being parked. 

A man in a nice suit opened the front door for us, revealing a grand hall that made Y/N’s house look like a starter home. 

“This guy is loaded,” I whispered in Y/N’s ear as we found ourselves quickly surrounded by people when they caught sight of her. There must have been three hundred people at this thing.

“Here we go,” she mumbled before putting on a big smile, immediately getting asked to be in a selfie with a woman in her twenties.

For the next thirty minutes it felt like we were bombarded, stuck not ten feet past the door in a never ending line of people wanting to talk to Y/N. Yes, some people were football fans but a vast majority were there for Y/N, some nervous, some practically jumping out of their skins.

“Damn dude, you’re beyond lucky,” said some guy to me as his wife took a picture with Y/N. 

“I know I am,” I responded, Y/N giving me a flash of a smile.

“She needs a break,” whispered Eric in my ear. I stepped forward and cut off the next gaggle of women that wanted to approach. 

“Excuse me, I need to steal Y/N for a minute,” I said, taking her arm and leading her down the large open hall.

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing a glass of champagne off a servers tray. She knocked it back and I started to scan the room in search of water for her.

“Hi,” said a teenage girl in a light blue dress, approaching slowly. She seemed out of place at the event filled with adults in designer clothes. “I’m Cecilia Monroe, Sebastian Monroe’s daughter.”

Ah she was this guys kid. That made sense. “Nice to meet you. We haven’t met your father yet. We’d like to thank him for his numerous donations to the Wolves charity over the years.”

“You have a lovely home,” said Y/N, the girl blushing, clasping her hand over her wrist in a failed attempt to hide her friendship bracelet. Y/N caught it and smiled. “Did you go to the tour this year?”

“Uh yeah. My dad got VIP tickets,” she said shyly, suddenly straightening her back. “I’ll be on the veranda. Please come find me when you’re through with my dad. It’s very important.”

She scuttled away, Y/N raising an eyebrow.

“I think you have a superfan,” I chuckled, Y/N biting her lip. “You think she’s a problem?”

“No. She’s a fan clearly but I don’t know,” she said, waving for Eric and Sloane to join us from where they stood together by a table of appetizers. 

“You two good?” asked Sloane, their eyes finding the young girl and watching her leave.

“Keep an eye on that girl,” Y/N said, nodding as Cecilia went through open back doors outside. They both readied themselves but Y/N shook her head. “Just watch her. This might be a Denver situation.”

“Denver?” I asked, Eric frowning. 

“Fan in Denver was being abused by her parents. Subtly asked Y/N for help at an event. Smart kid actually,” said Eric. “Sloane and I can try a soft approach with the girl, get a feel for if something is up, relay we can keep her safe .”

“This guy does have a lot of private security,” said Sloane. “If something’s happening, she may feel safer knowing we can protect her in the interim.”

“Let’s go talk to the girl,” said Y/N just as a man in a very nice suit came striding down the hall towards us. “I think that’s our host.”

“Eric, Sloane, go see what’s up. We can fend for ourselves for awhile,” I said. They scuttled away as the man greeted us, holding out a hand and shaking mine firmly.

“Sebastian Monroe,” he said with a pleasant enough smile. “And you two are the power couple my teenage daughter will not stop talking about.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot. We said hello to her earlier,” said Y//N with a fake smile, staying close to my side when the men looked like he was going to reach for her hand. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Dean Winchester,” I said, taking my hand back, the other wrapped around Y/N’s waist. The man only smiled though, like we didn’t need to introduce ourselves. “I’ve heard you’re a Wolves fan.”

“Oh not anymore than anyone else,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Although a signed jersey by you would certainly go for big bucks at our next charity auction.”

“We’ll have to make that happen for sure,” I said, not enjoying the way his gaze traveled down Y/N’s body. I’d seen it plenty of times tonight but his seemed the most sleazy of all. 

“Speaking of the auction, where are the tables? I’d love to donate,” said Y/N.

“Right side of the veranda, sweetie.” Y/N hummed, giving me a look to join her as soon as I could. “Boy, if I was ten years younger.”

I couldn’t hide my annoyance, Sebastian flashing me a smile. “Oh no. Please go ahead and tell me what you’d do if you were ten years younger.”

“Easy kid. Half the population would bone her if they could,” he said, sipping from the glass in his hand. He took his turn to eye me, a curious look on his face. “You know, I could be inclined to offer another sizeable donation to the Wolves charity for those kids if I could get one of those signed jerseys myself.”

I bit my tongue, both of us aware of the clear message. Refuse and good ol’ Sebastian stops donating a million dollars each year to kids in poverty.

“I’m sure you got one around here somewhere we could fix up,” I said. Sebastian threw an arm over my shoulder and I hide my cringe. 

“Good man. Come on. I got one right in my game room.”

Reader POV

There wasn’t really anything you wanted from the silent auction but you had found a general donation slip at the end of the table and jotted down your agent’s information. You’d looked around for Eric and Sloane or the girl when you finished but hadn’t found any of them which probably wasn’t a good sign. You frowned and walked over the railings edge, looking around the dim yard for any sign of them.

“Bruschetta?” asked one of the servers. 

“No thank you,” you said without looking.

“I must insist,” he said. You rolled your eyes, ready to give it to this guy but something seemed familiar about him. He handed you one on a small napkin as you kept staring. “Take a bite and smile, pretend it’s really good.”

You’d had more than a handful of dangerous fan interactions over the years but this felt…different.

You did as he asked, faking wide eyes at the average at best food. “Who are you?”

“Do not make a scene,” he said as you finished off the food. “I need to get to your bodyguards.”

“Are you trying to protect that girl? Cecilia?” you asked as you played along and took another piece off the tray.

“What? No. I don’t have time for this,” he said, stepping in front of you, your gaze narrowing. “Do not ask questions. Just get me and Max the fuck out of here.”

“Max?” Your heart skipped a beat, the food falling from your hand as you understand where you’d seen him before. “Y-You’re Sam.”

“We’re watched. Get your guards to get us out. Don’t get caught or we’re dead,” he said, turning away and offering a couple nearby food from his tray. You swallowed, instantly putting on your performer’s smile. The one you wore that time you had food poisoning during a concert and were throwing up between songs back in the summer. The crowd had no fucking clue you felt like shit while you gave them the show of their lives.

Time to act your fucking ass off. 

You walked past Sam without a second glance, wishing you could ask him all the questions swirling around in your head. Tell him he was going to be okay. Give him a damn hug and tell him he was safe now.

But you wore that damn smile, all while your blood was boiling. You’d had a lot of dark fantasies about what you’d do to the person that took Max. In recent weeks that’d turned to include Sam too. 

It turned out the monster was a hundred feet away from you inside some fucking mansion.

“Y/N,” said Sloane, appearing through a set of open doors in the house, catching your arm a little roughly. “Stay in public.”

“I need to talk-” She shot daggers at you, shutting you up. 

“Stay in public for the love of god or Eric will kill me,” she said, loosening her grip. “In forty five seconds I need you to be the biggest distraction in the world. Do not go in any rooms with anyone. Your fame will keep you safe but only if there are people around to witness it. Eric has eyes on him. Do not ask questions. Understand?”

“Sam’s on the veranda,” you whispered, Sloane nodding. Cecilia must have told her and Eric about your brothers.

“Go give us a shot to get them out of here.” You nodded and slipped inside, heart thumping away in your throat. Max was with with Eric. Wherever he was, he was with Eric. He was safe. And Sam should have been with Sloane by then. They were both safe.

As long as they got them out of this house and into the damn car before anyone could notice. Before all those private security guards seemingly on the edge of every room could stop them. Your driver was fast though. They just had to get the boys in the car and they’d be alright.

So you needed to be a distraction. A big fucking distraction and buy them time. You froze in the middle of the hallway, watching Sebastian leave a room with Dean by his side, horribly annoyed from the looks of it. An idea sparked in your mind, one you hoped Dean forgave you for someday. 

Yeah, you knew how to cause a big fucking distraction alright.

Dean POV

“You son of a bitch!” screamed Y/N. Normal people could scream loud. A goddamn professional singer that could belt out ballads while running? The whole house went silent at her ear piercing shriek. Even the string orchestra stopped playing. I stared at her as she climbed on top of a table in the center hall, my eyes going wide. “You fucking cheater! You’re a fucking cheater Dean Winchester!”

“Excuse me?” I said, a hundred already with their phones out with even more people piling into the house from the veranda. “Sweetheart-”

“Don’t sweetheart me!” she screamed again. What the fuck was happening? “You’re a cheating bastard! You swore you were different!”

“Y/N, get off the table,” I said gently, very aware of the many phones that were facing us, even some from the freaking staff and private event security. Y/N only backed away when I reached for her, fury in her eyes so visceral it felt like it burned. “Y/N what-”

“I know what you did with her! By the fucking cherry blossoms? Our cherry blossoms? You think you can sleep around on me? I’m the motherfucking Princess of Pop! The world fucking loves me!” 

Something was wrong. Besides the fact I hadn’t cheated, Y/N wasn’t one to scream at people from tabletops. She wasn’t drunk and she wasn’t on drugs. And we had no fucking cherry blossoms. Except for the fact it was the code to get in her house. 

Trust. She was asking me to fucking trust her right now in front of three hundred people while she tore down my reputation.

If my girl was losing her shit, well damn I was going to play right along.

“Oh get off your high fucking horse!” I shouted, Y/N flinching for a brief moment like it’d stung. “I never made you promises. We aren’t even fucking exclusive!”

“What?!” she shouted back as Sebastian came over, clearing his throat.

“Perhaps if you two could-”

“This bitch is a moron for thinking I’d ever want someone like her. Of course I’m dicking around with you! You really think I want some goodie two shoes like you?”

“Man whore!” she shouted.

“Fucking prude!” I screamed back, praying to god Y/N knew that every word out of my mouth was a lie. “No wonder no one wants to date you. Getting in your pants wasn’t even worth it!”

“Funny since getting in yours just takes a smile. I’m surprised you haven’t contracted every disease known to man you pig!”

“At least I get some! You’re wound up so tight surprised anything can fucking fit up there!” Fuck, I was really going to hate myself in the morning.

Y/N was halfway through screaming back at me when I felt both my phone and Y/N’s go off in my pocket.

YOUR BROTHERS ARE SAFE. HOST SECURITY KNOWS WE GOT THEM OUT. OUR SECURITY & FEDS ON THE WAY. ETA TEN MINUTES. DON’T TRUST LOCAL COPS. CORRUPTED. HOST IS BAD GUY. STAY AWAY FROM HIM AND GUARDS. DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO TO STAY IN PUBLIC. 

“What the fuck does brothers safe mean?” I asked, tossing my phone to her. Y/N caught it one handed, her whole body relaxing momentarily before tensing again, her rage suddenly on it’s true target.

Sebastian Monroe.

“Our brothers were here,” she grit out. She ripped off her heels and hopped down onto the floor, stalking over to Sebastian slowly like he was her prey. Her face darkened and I swore she looked ready to tear someone’s throat out. “Our baby brothers were in this fucking house! As your servers! Not of their free will! No. No, they were being watched. Forced. Last I checked, our baby brothers were kidnapped and they didn’t get un-fucking kidnapped.”

She gripped her heel tight in her left hand, right clenched so hard I saw the bone against the skin of her knuckles.

“I don’t care if you weren’t the one that took them. But you kept them and I’m going to fucking destroy you for it,” she growled, approaching him as my brain tried to catch up. 

“Y/N what are-”

“I saw Sam! And he was scared and said they’d kill him if he got caught talking to me. They’re safe now but Sam and Max were forced to live here. By him.” Her head turned towards Sebastian, his own head glancing at his security team. “What the fuck did you do to our brothers?”

It clicked for me what she’d been saying, what the text meant, why Y/N had acted so out of character. So full of hatred. But I barely had a chance to feel that same hatred. 

Because in the blink of an eye, one of Sebastian’s guards grabbed at Y/N and her fist shot out, connecting with the man’s jaw. He seemed alarmed at her strength and fell back, another guard trying to get their hands on her.

“Get off!” she shouted, kneeing another guy before flipping him on his back. But there were too many of them and I rushed forward, yanking her behind me just as Sebastian got in my face.

He eyed me up and down, smirking at me. “Oh you two just made a big mistake.”

He clasped his hands together loudly as his guards surrounded us, turning his attention to the rest of the party.

“Let’s give the love birds some privacy to sort out their issues,” he chuckled. “And maybe keep an eye on the open bar, hm?”

He spun back around and leaned in close, the stench of cigars and alcohol on his breath. 

“Get your brothers back here or I’ll fuck her up so badly there won’t be anything left to bury.” He gripped my shoulder, too forcefully. “And then I’ll bury you alive in the woods all the while the world will think you got in a drunken accident on the way home. After all you had a very loud and public argument tonight. With the friends I have in certain positions of authority…I can make even you two disappear like nothing.”

Y/N gripped the back of my suit jacket tight, a slight tremble in her hand as she listened to him speak.

“Get those boys back and get those guards back in the next ten minutes or I start cutting off pieces of the damn princess of pop.”

________

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

[lis-likes-fics]

Finite

Pairings: Desire of the Endless x vampire!Reader Word Count: 10.5k word Warnings: NSFW, smut, death of unimportant character, blood sucking, oral (f!receiving), fingering, praise, p in v sex, multilple orgasms, slight dacryphilia, desire being fucking sexy... A/N: I think this got deleted somehow so I'm reposting it. This was my first Desire fic so I hope you still like it, lol.

This night reminds you of that one song. That song that goes on and on and on and on.

You have the whole setup. The singer in a smokey room sings her song on a tiny stage for a crowd of people who really aren't paying attention to her. The smell in the air isn't necessarily wine, but there is plenty of beer and whiskey and perfume, all of which are the cheap brands no one cares for but also don't care enough to be picky about. The smell is thick in the air. The murkiness aggravates you and clings uncomfortably to your skin, but you've dealt with worse enough not to care.

You have hunted better crowds, but you aren't really looking for hundreds of bodies at a festival too preoccupied to notice one or two missing people, nor are you looking for a frivolous venue where people are too rich for others to miss. It's not a great bar, but it's nice enough and big enough that people don't mind coming for a drink or two. There are tons of people tonight. Everything is half-off, and they'd rather pay less for more of the cheap, crappy booze than more for the expensive stuff.

It's late. There's a get-together occupying a couple of booths at one end of the room, a few people lining the seats of the bar, and more clusters occupying any empty spaces left. As the singer starts a new, more energized song, a small mass of people flock to the open space to dance. Most of it is drunk dancing, the kind with swaying hips and lidded eyes and waving hands.

You've been here for a few hours, tucked away in your booth with a drink in front of you that you haven't really touched. One of the bartenders, Carlos, knows you and always gives you half-off drinks because you come often and hardly order. He knows you like to pick up hot dates, sometimes you take them home and other times you sit and talk until one of you leaves—and on the occasion that you take someone home and he never sees them again, he’s smart enough not to question anything and be happy that there’s one less asshole for him to serve. He glances at you across the bar, giving a thumbs up to ask if you're okay. You nod back, smiling gently before turning your attention away again toward a couple sitting across the bar.

She's tucked under his arm, smiling wide as she cradles her drink in both hands. He smiles back at her, his hand on her arm rubbing circles. He's cheating on her. Just ten minutes before, after he'd told her he needed to use the restroom, you saw him down the hall with some other girl against the wall. She was also smiling and giggling, his arm above her and closing her in. He gave her his number before he left to his original girl.

You shake your head and turn away.

There's a woman sitting at the bar. She has been sitting there for a while, her phone in her hands as she types away at what you're assuming is a heated conversation. Her brows are furrowed, full of tension. She's slouched over her phone, her elbows on the counter and her knuckles clenched.

Your eyes flicker over when movement catches your attention. You glance over at a man approaching her, a smile on his face as he grows nearer.

"Hey," he says, leaning on his elbow next to her and eyeing her up and down, sizing her up like a predator does its prey. She looks up, bringing her glass closer to her and discreetly setting her palm over it.

“Yes?” she responds, shifting away from him.

“I saw you across the room,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. She shifts uncomfortably at his closeness, moving away from him as much as she could without standing. “You look lonely.”

She glances briefly around her. “I’m actually waiting for someone,” she lies, looking around again as if to solidify her words.

He shrugs again, easing a step closer. “Yeah? Why don’t I keep you company while you wait, huh?” You’ve already moved to your feet, walking over toward the pair, the short heel of your shoes clicking dully on the wooden floor and becoming a rhythm in the back of your brain that echoes there like a silent warning.

“I’m okay,” she says, ready to stand and leave now.

“I insist.”

You come up to the bar, leaning over it and looking for Carlos with a smile. “Hey, can I get a refill, please?” Carlos spots you and nods, his own smile on his lips as he grabs a bottle and heads toward you.

The man looks at you, his attention shifting as he eyes your little black dress. His smirk widens and he looks at the girl. “S’cuse me, sweetheart.” As he makes his way over to you, fixing his hair as he does, you look away and pretend not to notice.

Your eyes scan the bar briefly, looking for no one in particular as they do. As you’re bringing your focus back around, you suddenly stop as a vision of white catches your eyes. There, tucked away in a dark corner of the room but somehow glowing like an enchanted treasure, is a person you had yet to notice.

White hair is combed and styled away from a pale face, whose blood red lips hide white teeth. Golden eyes watch you, staring into your soul as they glow and flicker with mischief and temptation. You’re stuck, gazing at such a charming creature as those red painted lips curl in an alluring grin.

“Why don’t I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is swiftly taken again as you look back at the real reason you had come over here. “Oh,” you mumble, glancing back over your shoulder at the figure who had disappeared, as though they had never existed to begin with. You look back at the man, shaking your head gently and letting a smile take your lips again as you refocus. “Uh, yeah. I’d love that.”

The woman glances at you, her eyes both relieved for herself and worried about you. As your eyes meet, your smile softens and you give her a wink. You watch her lips shift, a tiny smile making its way to her own lips as she takes your response with gratitude. She flags down Carlos and pays for her drink before she gathers her things and leaves before the guy notices her again. She mouths a “thank you” to you as she does.

You almost tense as his hand lands on the small of your back, his thumb stroking you there as he leans in some more. You look up at him over your shoulder, offering him a reflection of the smirk on his face as you turn your body to face him. You lean in closer, your hand on his chest as you take him in. As you size him up. The apex predator to prey higher up the food chain. “We can skip the drink if you want…” You lower your voice to a smooth seduction, tapping your fingers against his chest and looking at him through your lashes. You nearly whisper, “I think we can have a little more fun if we get out of here. How does that sound?”

He chuckles darkly. “Like music to my ears.”

You move out of his grip as you wave to Carlos and saunter toward the door. He follows after you, holding a hand out as he sets it on your hip. You glance over your shoulder as you walk, continuing to beckon him as you both step out into the slight chill of the night, surrounding you in a darkness that’s only dangerous for one of you.

~

You listen to the slowing of a dying heart, rapid thumps reduced to faint rattles against a weak chest. The blood coursing through his veins slowly diminishes, coming in smaller gulps than before as you take your fill, quenching your thirst for as long as his bittersweet taste will hold you.

The fight left a long time ago—and you let him fight. He wasn't very strong.

You pull away from his throat with a long sigh, your head lolling back as the sharp canines in your gums retract to an unassuming point. You hum, looking down at his lifeless face before dropping him carelessly to the dirty stone ground.

You shudder, wiping the blood from the corner of your mouth with a drunken grin.

"Psst."

You tilt your chin toward your shoulder, stilling completely to listen to the unmoving air around you. You wait, slowly shifting your chin to the other side as your eyes scan the space you can see without turning around.

“Hello, dear…”

That voice. It melts on your skin like caramel, warm and smooth and rich. It’s got a rasp to it that rolls in your chest, echoes off your bones like footsteps on a marble floor.

You hum gently, turning around as you look around for the disembodied voice. You raise a brow, “Hello.” Cracking a small grin, you place your hands in your pockets and sigh. “Come on out. Don’t be shy,” you beckon. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Your tone is akin to comforting a frightened animal to your arms, the added taunt a whisper in your words.

But it seems they’ve got some taunts of their own.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

You chuckle lightly, doing one more small circle around yourself to ensure whoever is watching knows just how amused you are by the theatrics. “Then why are you still whispering from the shadows?” you wonder aloud.

A chuckle rolls out of them, a deep, throaty sound that sinks into your flesh. The sound of footsteps reverberates along the dark walls of the buildings surrounding the two of you. The echoed laugh which once bounced off the space around you now focused on one spot as shadows became a silhouette of a person. As a silhouette became a person, you cast your eyes upon an enchanting being as you looked them up and down appreciatively.

They are wearing black, similarly to you—it just makes things easier on nights like these—and a deep red that pops against porcelain skin. A lacey red bustier is worn tight around their body, intricately designed like the expensive fabric of royals. Their slacks and floor length blazer are dark as night, accented with gold jewelry and heels—like the thick golden chain around their neck holding a heavy heart over their chest.

You tilt your head to the side. “You were at the bar.”

The face from the bar that had briefly distracted you from tonight’s prey smiled. “I was.”

You look them up and down again. “Who are you?” They tilt their head, inquiring more. You shrug, “You’re not human. You aren’t like me.” You straighten your back a little, your brows furrowing as a new solemnity sinks in, “Who are you?”

They smile wide, another chuckle slipping from them as they shake their head at you. Asking the wrong questions, it seems. “Who I am doesn’t really matter, dear,” they say in a voice warm and smokey, like the embers of a fire.

“Oh?” you hum. “Then what really matters, pray tell?”

“You.” Your breath stilled in your chest, though you said nothing. “The reason I'm here. I looked at you and I saw…” They make a face, one full of curiosity as they try to find a word that accurately describes what they mean to say, looking away as if the walls had the answer and waving a hand.

“What?” you encourage.

They breathe in deep, turning their gaze back upon you. Their smile widens again, full of mischief and…something else. “Longing,” they rasp. “So much longing.” They sigh, their hands finding their pockets once more and their head shaking slowly. A click of their heels marks another step toward you. “What is that I saw in you?”

A gentle shrug of your shoulders brushes off the question. “I’ve lived centuries,” you say. “There is plenty to ‘see in me’.”

They watch you like they’re unconvinced, looking you up and down with a skeptical gaze. “And yet…”

You sigh, shifting from one foot to the other as you regard them with a little more impatience than before. “What does it matter that I tell you?”

They laugh again, a little louder this time with that same bravado as before. “All this talk about what matters…” They wave a hand dismissively, rolling their eyes as they go before finding your gaze again and taking another step forward, “It doesn’t. The only difference between telling me or telling the wind is that the wind has no power.”

You raise a brow, “And you do?”

The pride that shines in their face as they smile, tilting their chin up just to look down on you. “Let’s just say…” they lean forward just enough to make the point, “I can give you what you want.”

Your eyes flicker away for a split of a second. “How?”

“Well, that depends.” They shrug a shoulder, still taking a couple more steps toward you, stalking like a predator as they slowly move closer and closer. Who the apex is in this situation, you're unsure now. “Tell me, dear… What is it you desire?” Their voice washes over you and warms you chest in a way that makes you shudder.

A war goes on between the very fibers of your being. The better half of you that doesn’t believe in these tricks is ready to feed on the luscious scent of their blood and be done with it, but that other part nagging you about what is and what can be is telling you to heed their words, if only with caution. You stand there, contemplating with yourself for what felt like hours but was only a few seconds.

If you entertain them a little while longer, it could end up changing your life forever or simply be another hour of your immortal soul ticked away into the past. There’s no real harm in it.

So you look them in the eye and play along, your answer as blunt as you can make it to get through this interaction as quickly as possible.

“Freedom.”

They tilt their head. “From what?”

“This. This life.” Something in you had you speaking before your brain could come up with a more logical, stoic answer. It’s as though the truth was being pulled from you, word by tantalizing word. Your hands leave your pockets and you’re the one stepping closer this time as you speak. “I want to be human again, feel human again,” you confess with only a little bit of the desperation you feel. You lick your lips, your tongue wandering to the fang hiding behind them. “I’ve been living like this for too long.”

They regard you, taking you in with a tilted chin and a calculating gaze. They hum, smiling gently. “Perhaps…” The smile falls and their head tilts back down, “but no.”

You shake your head, confusion seeping into your face. “No?”

“I can see your heart. I feel its warmth, its want, its need.” They step forward again, but this time their feet carry them in a path around you as they circle and speak, evaluating your body as if looking right through you. You don’t move, sighing and rolling your eyes as you stand there. Their scent swirls around you like the sweetest perfume, and you’re already starving again at the smell of it. “You want to feel human, but being human isn’t the same.”

They shake their head, biting their lower lip as they sigh. “No, you don’t want mortality. You want something so much harder to obtain. Something humans and gods alike can go entire lifetimes without having.”

You raise a brow, already tired of this conversation. “Which is?”

They stop in front of you, their smile almost a sneer by the way it condescends you, mocking you as though you could not rip them apart. “Love.”

You straighten your back a little more, not appreciating being read like this, having desires shown to you that you had locked away a long time ago. They are wrong. You don’t want that anymore, you’ve seen it too many times, felt it too many times. It’s always too good to last.

But they continued. “You want to love and to be loved. The most basic want of all life,” they shrug, glancing away like the prospect is so trivial, “and yet the most foolish.” They chuckle at that, the thought absurd.

You chuckle as well, though yours is filled with a little more irritation than amusement as you shake your head. You lick your bottom lip and direct a sneer of your own toward them. “Only a fool would hold out hope for love with what I’ve learned.”

They raise their brows, perking up in a cat-like fashion. “And what is that?”

You take your time answering. “Love is fleeting.” Silence fills the space between the two of you in the moments where you aren’t speaking. They watch intently, clinging to every word with a kind of delight and fascination that makes you huff. “It can be as cold as ice and as raging as fire. It can die out just as quick or," your lips almost curve in a fond smile, "live for decades.” You hesitate, looking away for a moment as you frown again.

“But it always ends. One way or another, everything ends.” There’s a kind of heartbreak in your voice that they have not heard in a very long time. It makes the delight in their chest dwindle to something a little more sober. Their eyes land on a necklace hanging over your chest, listening to you as they stare at the trinket. You shake your head from solemn thoughts. “I learned not to love a long time ago. Saves a lot of heartache.”

They look back up to your eyes where your gazes linger in the other’s. There’s a sort of understanding now, a moment where the both of you are no longer just non-human entities meeting and toying with the other, a moment where you’re finally on the same page.

They breathe in, breaking the silence with the most care. “And yet…” a pause to sigh, “your heart aches.”

You look away, clenching your jaw. Shaking your head, you turn back to them, your willingness to go along with this joke dwindling by the second. “Enough of this,” you say. “You cannot get me what I want, I have no use of you. But your blood…” You smile with teeth, allowing your fangs to protrude once more. “Well, your blood smells delicious.”

They almost look offended as they look at you, but not in the least bit afraid. They stand up straighter, chest puffing out a little more. “Who says I can't get you what you want?” They tilt their head to the side, raising a hand to their chest where their fingers brush the thick golden heart. “Do you know who I am?”

You shrug dismissively. “Someone’s wasting my time.” You breathe a humorless laugh. “Which is strange, as mine is so infinite at the moment.”

They shake their head, turning and walking away slowly, their head tilted toward their shoulder to speak to you. “Nothing is infinite. Nothing is endless.” They pause, looking at you fully with a taunting grin. “Except for me, of course.”

You freeze. The annoyance washes into fascination. Your eyes go wide and your lips part, but it’s a full-bodied reaction as you stare in wonder. “Endless…” you mutter, the silent suspicion you’d turned down as soon as it appeared coming back to the surface at the word, the revelation. “So you are. You’re an Endless.”

The delight has returned, pride and regality accompanying it. “You know me?”

“Of course, I do,” you reply. “You’re Desire.”

Their smile is the widest you’ve seen it, shining with a type of superiority that finally suits them with the new information pinned to their character. The stories are definitely true—they are the most alluring being you have ever laid eyes on. But not only that, the mischief and taunting surrounding their name through time also seem to have plenty of truth to it.

“Clever girl.” Their voice is deep with that smoky rasp. You nearly shudder again.

A new seriousness washed over you at another realization. “So you can give me what I want.”

“With a price, yes.” Their arms crossed over their chest in a delicate way, their head inclined upward as they regarded you. “Would you like to hear it?”

You take a moment to decide, scanning the face of this powerful entity. “They warn about making deals with Desire of the Endless.”

They raise a brow, a curious look glittering in their eyes. “Who?”

You scoff, “Anyone who’s ever heard of Desire of the Endless.”

Desire shrugs a shoulder, seemingly proud of the reputation they’ve built. “Well, ‘anyone’ would be correct.” They narrow their golden eyes, smirking, “But I have a feeling you don’t necessarily have much care for such things, do you?”

“Not necessarily,” you admit. You stare into their eyes, unwavering as you thought, trying to make a solid decision but still heeding the warnings and caution you’ve heard in reference to beings like these. “What do you want?” you asked.

They breathe in deep, looking you up and down as a mischievous grin widens red lips. Their lips part, beginning to find shape around their reply as they watch. “You.”

You hold your breath but do nothing else to give away the anticipation. You figured as much but you hadn’t cared enough to actually put belief into it as you spoke. The idea has your pulse jumping and your breath thinning. You hum, shrugging it off. “That’s all?”

They shrug as well. “What else is there for me to want?”

You raise a brow. “No agent of desire to bring you back wanting and wayward souls?”

They wave that off. “Oh, I have plenty of those.” Taking a step forward, their height becomes a little more apparent as your head tilts back slightly to hold eye contact. Their index finger comes to rest over their lips, curling back down to their chin.

Desire’s gaze was hot on your face, dragging over your body and filling you with more heat than even a fresh kill could provide. They evaluated you, your body, your face, the very essence of your soul, and you hate that you shudder under their scrutinization as they do. They shake their head, amused. “No, your body will do just fine.”

You swallow thickly. “And, if I do it. If I say yes…” your heart jumps at the idea, “you’ll make me human?”

They tilt their head. “No.” They walk past you, waving a hand as they begin a slow circle once more, still taking in every inch of your body with a warming appreciation. “Unfortunately, I do not have that power. But,” they smile again, breathing in as they stand in front of you once more, “I can give you what you crave more.”

You roll your eyes, beginning to turn away from them. “I don’t want–”

“I can give you someone to love.” You pause, your back turned as you become completely still. You feel as though your body is shaking as you stand there, refusing to face them as you cling to every saccharine word falling from their lips. “Someone whose life won’t be so fleeting and needlessly fragile. You’ll have love for them for as long as your soul has the potential to have it.”

You blink, looking down at the ground as you contemplate, letting the silence stretch between you. Your lips tingle as you part them to speak, though it takes a moment for the sounds to even breach your lips. “And…”

“And?”

You sigh silently. “Will…” You lick your lips, slowly turning on your heel to face them, taking a moment too long to meet their gaze. “Will they love me back?” Your voice is so quiet, so desperate for something that feels so unobtainable. You hate it but you ignore it for the sake of hope, of possibility.

A shoulder rises and sinks slowly. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” It’s a possibility, at least.

They step forward, beginning to shorten the distance again. “I can promise you this… you will be happy.” The look in their eyes, for the first time all night, seemed to hold a dash of empathy as they watched you.

You swallow the smallest lump in your throat, glancing away. “But none of it would be real.”

“Who says?” Their brow furrows at your words. Desire shakes their head, “This love will not be made artificial, otherwise it would fail. I will simply…ignite what is already there, amplify it to outweigh doubt and petty apprehensions. This love will be as real as you or me, as real as the sun’s fire or the stars burning thousands of lightyears away.”

Their poetry clings to your bones, making you believe for a moment that Desire isn’t just a creature of lust but one of true love and affection. You watch, your breath shallow in your lungs, your throat tight, and your heart stuttering against your ribcage. As Desire stepped forward and into your space, your symptoms worsened. Their eyes never left yours.

“This love will be genuine, and it will last in its full intensity for as long as there is the smallest ember of need or want for it.” They raise a hand, a slender finger hooking under your chin and their thumb tenderly stroking the skin there. They tilt your head up, tugging gently on your bottom lip. “It is entirely up to your heart to decide.”

Your eyes glue to their own lips as yours tingled with a desire for more than these teasing touches. It takes a moment to find your voice again.

“Who is it?”

They smile wide. “Well, that spoils the fun, doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, still not daring to move in case they break away from you. “Do I know them, at least?”

They shrug. “In a manner of speaking.”

You sigh. “Do you ever give straight answers?”

Your worst fears come true when Desire breaks away from you, stepping away with a sigh and a raised brow. “Do you ever stop asking questions for me to give unclear answers to?”

You roll your eyes, catching your breath again. You need the oxygen to think, and you only just realized you were holding your breath. Desire waits patiently for you to decide.

You bite your bottom lip, feeling your heart thump. You peek up at them through your lashes, the look you give too vulnerable for your liking. “I will be happy?”

“The happiest.”

“Then…” you take in a deep, steadying breath and nod gently. “I accept.”

A smile splits their face in two as they look at you, pride and entertainment and something else filling their face to the brim as their tongue slips between their teeth to lick a sharp canine. They walk forward in strides, taking an arm around your waist and pulling you in as your breath hitches.

“Then let us begin.”

~

Lips and teeth and tongue clash together in some mad, lustful dance. Fingers tangle in hair and hands grasp at shirts and skin, desperate for the touch of intimacy—soft or rough, it did not matter. What matters is the skin on skin contact that had not yet been breached as Desire pushes you against the glossy, red walls of the Threshold.

Your hands have found their hair so many times, it's a disheveled mess. One of their hands travel up your side, cradling the side of your neck before rounding to the front to cup it, squeezing gently and making your lips part as you gasp. A chuckle borders on a growl as their teeth nip your bottom lip, trailing down to your jaw.

"Look at you," their voice is a deeper rasp in your ear, warming your body to an impossible temperature. "You're so hungry for my touch, aren't you?"

Your hands begin pulling off the long black coat until it pools on the ground, already gone from your mind. Their bare arms are revealed to you, smooth like the porcelain they reflect. You were reaching for their crimson belt before their hand grabs at you, a firm but gentle tug on your jaw as their fingers dig into your skin.

A sort of growl erupts from their throat as they smile down at you, “Answer me, my pet.”

You breathe a shallow breath as you nod, forced to look them in the eye and melt at the sight. “Yes,” you reply.

They devour you once more, lips to lips, chest to chest. Your hand wraps around their back, tangling in their hair once more. You tug back just enough to expose their neck, pressing your lips there as you kiss and nip and suck. It takes a lot not to sink your teeth into the awaiting flesh—or at least, not completely. You did bite down, unable to help yourself, but not enough to draw blood. A rough moan grumbles out of them at the sensation, bending down to pick you up and wrap your legs around them.

“Naughty girl,” they breathe in the middle of a heated kiss.

You bite their lip, smiling wide at their shuddered breaths. Without letting go, you grin deeply as you whisper, “I can be worse.”

“Oh,” they chuckle, the word almost a moan. “Promise?”

In the next moment, you’re falling backwards. Before you can try to catch yourself, your back lands on a plush mattress covered in silk and a multitude of pillows, red and black like just about everything else in this place. The bed was huge and round, you could fit ten people on it and still have room for more.

As you're looking around yourself, Desire’s lips find your neck again and you melt against them. You curse under your breath, drunk on the feeling as you gasp. Their hand slips underneath your shirt, going up, up, up until their palm cups your breast over your bra. You are shaken to your core when their hands claw around the bra and rip it from your body, tearing it off of you and tossing it away like trash.

They grope you underneath your dress, which is somehow hotter than if they had stripped you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you moan, but their voice next to your ear has you shivering at a command. “Open your eyes and look at me, sweetling.” You make yourself do as you’re told, breathing heavily as you do.

They hum deeply, watching you with an admiration and lust filled gaze that would have made you clench your thighs, had their body not been between them. “Beautiful,” they sigh.

They entwine their fingers with your own, pulling them above your head and pinning them there as they continue to watch you. It isn’t until you feel something fuzzy around your wrists and hear the faint but telling click of metal when you realize just what they had been up to.

You look up at the furry white cuffs around your wrists, chaining you to the bed and leaving you vulnerable. Their hands stroke your sides, smiling wide as they kiss your neck, knowing how much you love it, how much you melt and moan at the feeling of your throat being caressed and touched and bitten.

Their lips ghost over your jaw as they speak in a deep whisper. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to slow down, and I will. Tell me to keep going…” their smile widens, mischievous, dangerous, “and I just might.”

You watch them, your lungs hardly being utilized at this point. They raise a brow, “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“I can’t hear you,” they say in a sing-songy voice.

“Yes, sire,” you say, louder this time as you feel your skin tingling.

“Good girl.”

This time it is a growl and your skin is no longer tingling, it’s on fire. You watch them travel down the column of your throat, reaching your clothed chest and taking the fabric between their teeth. Their hands find the neckline of your dress, grasping and ripping it down the middle with no regard for it. They smile in appreciation of your skin revealed to them.

“I liked that dress,” you mumble.

“Well, I like it more like this.” They dangle the fabric and drop it on the floor with a dashing smile. You roll your eyes, interrupted as lips press to the bare skin of your belly, leaving red lipstick behind. You think they did it on purpose, because only the single print of a pair of lips is tattooed on your belly, but no other marks are left after that one. Their tongue pokes out every now and then licking your skin, usually after their teeth have nipped you.

All of this teasing will be the end of you. Desire of the Endless knows how to pleasure, to bring you to the edge of lust with a few words, a few touches, a few kisses. They’ve given you all three, and you’re going to blow.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming underneath them.

Their face lights up at the sounds as they look at you, still caressing your skin as they do. “What was that?”

You sigh, “Please, Desire.” You bend your knees, spreading your legs wide to invite them in. You'll beg if it means an end to the taunting. “Please touch me.”

Their hands find purchase along your thighs. “You’re so needy, my pet.” They kiss low on your belly again, palms smoothing over your legs. Taking the fabric of your panties in their hands, they rip them from your body and throw them away. You roll your eyes, but your sass is interrupted when a warm, wet tongue licks wide along your pussy.

The heightened sensations course through your veins like fire and a low moan simmers from your throat. You curse under your breath when their lips wrap around you, tongue plunging between your folds and filling you with pleasure.

You tug on the chains, moving to break them with your sheer strength, but they don't budge. You feel their lips spread wider in an almost malicious smirk. They curl their tongue inside of you, suckling on your clit before pulling away and licking their lips, the red still intact.

"You're not getting out of those," they purr. "Trust me."

You almost scoff at that. "Trust me". Yeah, right.

But, at the same time, you're the one chained to the bed with your legs spread open for (the equivalent of) the god of desire. Your thoughts are immediately disassembled once more when lips find the hot junction of your thighs.

Your knees bend and you squirm at the feeling, your eyes closing as you toss your head back. Their fingers curl tighter around your thighs as they feed off your pleasure, straying from your cunt to lick along damp thighs, teeth finding the plush skin just to sink into it.

Your back arches then, a deeper moan clawing at your throat as that ecstacy spreads. Fuck, you hadn't realized just how much you enjoyed having someone else sink their teeth into your flesh for once, to have someone else feed off of you just for the pleasure of it.

"Desire," you moan, unable to hold back this time from your audible arousal. You didn't want to give so much satisfaction to a being already so smug. But they did deserve it—a sort of giving credit where it's due.

You pull at your restraints again, whimpering when nails like claws dig into your skin and scratch down the length of them to give rise to angry red lines. You bite down on your lip. You draw blood.

You don't seem like the only one who can smell it when their mischievous face peers up at you with that curling grin, traveling back up the length of you to kiss hungrily at awaiting lips. What you share shouldn't be described as a kiss, not with the way you both bite and tear, devouring one another in a rough but empowering passion.

The taste of your blood is sweet in nature as they lick it from your lip. You wrap your legs around their waist, and they smile as they move one hand to support one. "Oh, baby," they groan. "You are divine."

You bite their lip in return, hard enough just to manage the slightest taste of the aroma that had been so attractive before. Though it's hardly a sample, the taste is like nothing you have ever had before. Human blood was great, especially coming from someone whose blood was pure, but this… You would kill for this. You would maim and massacre for this.

Another moan draws from you, fangs returning at the intoxicating taste. Before you can think to control yourself, you lunge forward in an attempt to take a bite out of them, just a nibble, just a taste. But Desire could not have been quicker as a pale hand wraps around your neck and stops you, pinning you down against the bed with a malicious smirk and a cruel laugh.

You come back to yourself almost immediately as the mist clears, reminding you who you are and what you’ve just done. For half a second, shame and panic fills you before you return to an unapologetic stoicism.

"Now, now, my little sapling," they tut, leaning in with no care for safety to whisper in your ear. "You'll get a taste of me soon enough."

The promise of such a treat fills the pit of your stomach with warmth that spreads throughout your body and tingles in all the right places. If you weren't already aroused before, you were practically dripping now, salivating at the prospect. Their lips find your neck, tongue darting out to lick over a vein before biting down into the skin there and lighting a fire within you.

Your arms flex against the cuffs and a restlessness fills your bones. You need more.

A slender finger pokes at the slick folds of your cunt, tracing the seam with an annoying amount of expertise before slipping inside. It fills you, inch by inch until it's buried to the hilt. In and out, their finger dips and curls and coaxes gentle whimpers from you. Adding another finger, and then another still, your whimpers become louder as pace builds.

"You're so wet, my darling," they dawn, the words dissolving in a moan as they speak. "Could it be that you wanted this so badly? You needed it?" They shift down to take a nipple into their mouth, flicking and sucking with teeth and tongue. The shift gave a new angle as they continue to create a speed that has your hips bucking. The sounds of a palm slapping against a soaking little cunt fill the space and your moans are next to follow.

"Listen to you," they continue, voice dripping with arousal. "So needy, so wanting. And look at you," they laugh, "You're practically begging me to fuck you dumb."

You don't respond. You don't know what you'd respond with—Nuh-uh? You buck your hips up some more, losing breath over the way their tongue massages your nipple, licking into it and somehow creating the most overwhelming pleasure out of the smallest thing.

You miss it when they pull away, kissing down to your belly again before their mouth is met with your pretty pussy once more. They don't waste time as their lips and tongue create an assault on your clit.

Their fingers continue to pump inside of you, driving you mad with the aid of their skilled tongue. Your curses don't seem to matter, no matter how much you make them as you continue to let your hips seek out the pleasure. When it becomes too much and too little all at once and it all feels like teasing, your body moves before your mind to flip yourself over onto your knees, shifting to accommodate for the fact that you are still very much cuffed to the bed.

Desire is pleasantly surprised by the new angle, situated under you with your desperate hips against their face. Golden eyes flutter shut, playing along as fingers dig into the meat of your ass to guide you in your grinding. It almost sounds like muttering as they moan underneath you, the vibrations trembling along your spine.

After a particularly rough grind, they reward you with a smack to your ass, grabbing the flesh momentarily before rubbing their palms against you again. As they suckle around your clit, slowly adding more pressure to pull you closer to your release, you moan and sigh, eager for that release to fill you.

You throw your head back and gasp when you cum, thighs trembling and shaking as they refuse to let up. As the aftershocks spark, electricity in your veins, your fingers tangle in their hair as you sit up, pulling your hips away to catch your breath.

They lick their lips, tasting you on their skin with an immense amount of appreciation. "You are delectable, my sweet," they purr, undoing the furry cuffs with a chuckle and sitting up to pull you into their lap.

"You're not so bad yourself," you breathe as you wrap your arms around their shoulders. You lean forward, bumping your lips against theirs with a little bit too much intimacy before allowing yourself to soothe into the kiss, tasting yourself on their lips with a quiet hum.

Moving one hand over their chest, you slip it down slowly until you are finally able to undo the red belt wrapped around their waist. They smile against your lips as you slide your hand inside and meet slick folds. You make a short humming sound, almost a grunt.

"What?" they mumble against your lips. "Expecting something else?"

You shrug, leaning back in for a deeper kiss as you tease them, guiding your finger inside with a long stroke, adding a second in on the next one. A grumbling moan vibrated against your mouth.

With one hand tangled in their hair, you unweave your fingers in favor of finding the strings along their back, pulling at it slowly to remove the bustier hiding so much smooth skin from you. Just as you are able to loosen it, feeling it slipping off their form, they pull you back with a primal sound.

Desire pushes you off of them, to which you stare with kiss-swollen lips. You watch as they continue the process, finally stripping for you so you aren't the only one of you nude. They hover over you once again, capturing your lips in another bruising kiss as you smooth a hand down their side, sticking your fingers back into the warmth of their pussy.

Their eyes flutter at the feeling, opening to look back at you with a seductive grin as they kiss you again.

Your bodies move together as you take your time to stroke and thrust, curling your fingers against all the right places to pull delicious moans from their perfect throat. You hold the side of their neck, bringing your lips to the other as you nibble at the skin, practically salivating at the scent of what lies just on the other side of such delicate flesh.

You chuckle as a sigh passes their lips when you pull your hands from them. They cast an almost disappointed look upon you as you wrap your arms around them and sit up, pushing them onto their back. You hover over them this time, kissing their lips quickly before you shift to kiss down their body.

You hadn't intended to tease at first, but as your lips brushed over their clit, you pause, looking up with a smirk. Staring at them, you kiss it gently before moving down again to kiss along their thighs.

"Oh, don't you dare," they chuckle darkly, watching you take a thigh in your hand and smother it with lips and tongue and teeth. You ignore them, continuing to give affection to the skin there as you switch sides.

They huff your name—a name you had not yet given prior to all of this—and lean back with closed eyes. "Fuck, will you make me beg?"

Your smirk deepens as your teeth nibble at the skin just above their femoral artery. "I might," you chuckle.

They don't reply at first, holding on to the pride they'd dangled over you since they met you in the alleyway. The teasing becomes too unbearable to endure as you draw closer and closer to the place they wanted you most to be. They give in with a huffed "fine" after you'd reflected on how you could do this all night—you only have an eternity.

"Alright, please," they mumble, a hand finding your hair and grasping. "Please forget your insistent taunting and fuck me."

You'd take it.

With one last kiss to the top of their knee, you smile. "Okay." They roll their eyes but you cut them off with your lips on their slick cunt. It's not as they expected it to be as you immediately go in for the prey, your tongue plunging in and out, your lips suckling on a pulsing clit. Their hands tangle in the bedsheets before upgrading to your messy hair once more.

You spread their legs wide, adding your fingers back after another long moment of listening to pleasant moans as you thrust them inside.

"That's it," they sigh. "Just like that, my darling." More praises fall from their lips throughout the time you spend with your head buried between their legs. You enjoy every second immensely, tasting the sweet nectar of their arousal as you coax it from them, taking the grinding of their hips every time you curl your fingers or suck on their clit. You could spend forever down here.

As their walls flutter around your fingers, you only work harder to get them toward the edge. And when you send them over it with a shuddering gasp melted into a louder moan than you'd expected, you smile proudly.

"Oh, fuck!" they breathe. "Such a good g-irl."

You hadn't expected Desire to be as vocal as they are, their fingers firm in your hair as they tug and gasp with a lewd grin in place. You let your tongue explore a moment longer before pulling away, licking the arousal still seeping. You turn your head toward their thigh again, licking over that same artery again with a tentative bite before kissing it and moving back to Desire's lips.

You sigh against their lips. "Are we done?"

They laugh like it was a joke. "Babygirl, not even close."

They actually growl when they take your head in their hands and kiss you, a rough and guttural sound as they pull you into their lap with your legs wrapped around them. They bite your bottom lip enough to draw blood again, trailing their lips further down to your neck as they paint you in their affection.

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean your head back, sighing as you feel the touch of their lips at your throat. You stiffen for a moment when a warm length presses against your folds. As you look down again, you're surprised to be greeted by a cock and not a cunt against yours.

Long fingers stroke it, fingertips gliding over the bottom and up to the tip where it glistens with precum.

"Expecting something else?" they repeat with a raised brow.

You shrug, choosing not to comment and worsen an already inflated ego. You lift yourself up a little on your knees as you kiss them again, allowing your hands to find their new home in the messy locks of Desire's hair. Their hands squeeze your hips, moving down some more to cup your ass in their palms with a sudden smack.

You mewl and roll your hips forward, your folds just slightly brushing over an erect cock that had not been there a mere minute ago. Flushed red at the tip, it was a generous size. It was actually perfect as you felt it rub against you.

Desire steadied you by your hips, bringing a hand to your chin as they spoke softly, in that smooth, smokey tone that melted on your skin like honey. "Do you want to continue, heartstring?"

You try to lean forward, to kiss your confirmation. They don't let you, pulling away just out of reach as they await your response. You nod gently, smoothing your knuckles along their jaw and licking your bottom lip. "Yes, sire," you whisper back, closing the distance once more with a tentative kiss as you sink back into them.

They moan against your mouth as you kiss, mixing with yours as they position themself at your wet cunt, sliding inside with ease and splitting you on their cock. You breathe each other's air this close to the other, fingers in soft white hair and hands on beautifully carved hips. You sit in their lap, taking a moment just to feel the length buried to the hilt inside of you. A shudder runs down your spine as their fingertips trace up your sides and along the line of your back.

You ease up on your knees, feeling them dragging along your walls as they pull out before you drop your weight back down in a measured stroke. Their hands find your hips again, guiding you on the second stroke, then the third, then the fourth. It isn't long before a pace builds and the careful sets of up and down become a breath-filled repetition of eager thrusts.

You bounce up and down on top of them, their hands gripping you as you brace yourself on their shoulders. Up and down and up and down, you give into the pleasure as the moans stifle in your throat on your own accord. As their lips trail along the column, it becomes harder. This spot will always be your weakness, and they know all too well as their teeth graze the skin.

"Hmm," they rasp. "Look at you, so eager." They pull your hips down for a rough thrust and a shocked gasp falls out of you. They breathe in sudden and deep, smiling as their face forms in a lustful look reminding you of relief and peace. They almost look softer like this, kinder. You work harder to embrace that look, to watch them as you find yourself addicted to the sight of it.

"Just like that," they say, breathy and light, the words almost sounding unfinished by a tongue made lazy. "Mmm, moan for me, dear. Let me hear how good you feel."

And again, you give in, allowing yourself to succumb to the rest of the pleasure taunting you as you release the moans hounded into your throat. "Desire," you whimper, the sound of your thighs smacking against their lap, both slick now from the arousal dripping out of you. You don't know what to say, you just want to let the sound of their name pleasure your mouth as their cock pleasures your cunt.

"Do you love it?" Tongue tracing, teeth biting, lips grazing. All these sensations burn in your heart, fills you with a fondness that eats away at the apathy you thought you'd grown over the years. “Do you love how I fuck you?”

Your teeth sink into your abused bottom lip, which slips from its grip pale before flushing with blood again. "I do," you huff. "I love it."

You grind in their lap, burying your face in the crook of their neck, teasing the skin with your teeth. Desire feels your fangs scraping their flesh and shudders. "Let it go," they rasp in your ear like the whispers of fate and destiny. "Give yourself to me… All to me."

With a breath not yet released, you sunk your teeth into warm flesh, piercing the skin and feeling the hot rush of ambrosia filling your mouth. You groan roughly, moving a hand to support the other side of their neck as you pull more and more of their essence into you, forgetting yourself in the temptations of Desire.

Their lips part as shallow breaths stutter out from their lungs. Repetitive mumbles of "yes, yes, yes," from their lips as you feed from them and they feed from you. Their thumb finds your clit, and you stutter momentarily at the pleasure that suddenly fills you at their calculated circle. The pleasure kicks, like flickering flames too eager to spread and ignite.

It happens so naturally as their words—"let go"—whisper in your ear, yet creates such an explosion of ecstasy that you almost can't breathe. Their name leaves you in a moan as you grind your hips in an indulgent swivel. Your walls flutter around them, clenching as the waves of euphoria intoxicate you and you pull away from their throat.

You shudder as you cum, your body trembling with a lust still not quite satiated as you slowly, slowly come down. Desire continues to rock your hips slowly back and forth, hooded eyes watching you readjust while the wounds your fangs left behind heal.

You look into their eyes of golden magma, warmed by the passion in them as they regard you dearly. Licking lips still tainted with blood. "More," you sigh. "I want more."

They hold you closer, eager for your lips as they capture them again, shifting forward and forward still until you lay on your back and they hover over you. "Then more, you shall get."

Thrusting into you again, the sensitive aftershocks of your prior orgasm still sparked inside of you as you relished in the drag. The slow pace that had been set didn't last long as you muttered "more, more, more" under your breath. What had been measured thrusts became an impassioned fucking that had you moaning loudly with each snap of their hips.

They watch as the lust and pleasure flit across your face, guiding hair from your forehead and gliding knuckles over your jaw. "Look at you," they purr, staring at your face as they hold your leg over their waist. It's the fourth time those words have come from their mouth, each time holding more and more tenderness than the last. "My sweet girl, my lonely girl." A rough thrust has them groaning, breaking from their praise to take a hitching breath. "My beautiful girl."

"Desire," you sigh. "You're amazing."

Like the praise delights you, Desire lets out a longing sigh, nearly folding at the sound of it. They moan your name, cradling your neck in one hand and holding you close by your hips with the other as they spear you on their cock, eager to get another release out of you and coax themself toward their own. Desire watches a stray tear that had built in your eye slowly slip down your pretty cheek.

"Such a pretty girl," they purr as they stroke your cheek, careful not to wipe away the tear yet as they watch it slip down, down, down. "Look at you, crying for me like the good girl you are. Loving how I fuck you, loving how I make you feel."

They bend down, their tongue darting out to taste the tear. A tiny breath deepens within their chest as they grin. "Mmm," they sigh. "All the loss and the love and the lust. My poor, lonely, pretty girl."

"Pl-please," you stutter, legs shaking around their waist. "Needa cum so bad."

They hum, "Of course you do, my sweet."

You huff, "Please, my Desire."

They love how you speak to them, how you have such power still even as you whimper and whine beneath them. They love your praise and they love your body and they love your cute little face twisted in pleasure like no other that only they could provide you. They love how they can feel your pleasure, feel how much you crave them, feel how much you crave to please them and be pleased by them.

They can't help whispering "such a perfect girl" as they shake their head in disbelief. You moan when their thumb presses once again to your aching clit, quickly turning up the ecstasy again as you grind against their thrusts.

"Fuck," you sigh. "Yes, yes, Desire."

They keep working at your clit, expert fingers gliding over it as they watch you with a wicked grin. Their hips keep pumping as they speak, "Cum for me, baby. Cum, let it go, let it all go for me. Just for me, my precious."

Your heart swells with too much fondness for their words, translating into the physical and emotional pleasure they fuck into your body. You take in a breath too deep when you finally reach the peak of your ecstasy a third time, cumming harder than before as Desire fucks you through it. Rambles fall from your lips, each word less coherent than the last as the euphoria hunts every nerve in your body until each and every one is prey to lust. You watch through dizzy eyes and listen through fuzzy ears as Desire succumbs to the same pleasure.

A deep moan full of hunger is rough at their throat and it roars. Your name taunts their lips when they press themself inside of you, as deep as they'll go as they spill within your clenching cunt, painting your walls white and filling you with warmth and affection. This pulls a second wave out of you toward the end of your orgasm, not as powerful as the last but just as satiating as they gripped your hip and neck to steady themself.

You watch Desire as they cum inside of you, as fascinated as your hazy mind can be as you look over them. They cum like it's the first time, an all-consuming experience they gain from feeding off of your own release. They're loud, nearly shouting to announce their release and sounding almost as needy as you. They calm just enough to allow their body to relax, almost dropping their weight on top of you as your arms wrap around them.

You hadn't realized until now that you were mumbling their name, a repeated prayer on your lips as your body buzzed with the leftover shocks. As they simmer in the tips of your fingers and toes, you lay there under Desire, still wrapped up in them as you take a moment to take them in. You inhale their intoxicating scent—what was a natural perfume meant to attract and allure others with the smell of sex was now a thousand times stronger, mixing in with something that was uniquely them. You bring your arms around them down to make them lay on you, dropping the rest of their weight and sighing under it like a weighted blanket. They give in, accepting the new position for what it is as they slowly come to.

They take your chin between their fingers and smile. "You are amazing," they mutter with too much emotion. Then they kiss you, a light kiss nothing like the ones before that. You relish in it, in its sweetness, in its strange cruelty.

You let them pamper you, slowly pulling out—much to your dismay as you whine at the cold, empty feeling. Their fingers graze your skin and you sigh and lay there and breathe. They call you sweet names and you enjoy the aftercare as they give it with a warm cloth and kisses alike.

As they're finishing, you raise a hand to their cheek, cupping it and easing them back in bed with you, over you. You smooth your thumb over their cheek, biting your bottom lip as you stare. You stare at their golden eyes full of a million desires. You stare at their red lips, still painted like blood and not even a tad smeared as they should be. You stare at their white hair, messy and all the more beautiful along their head and face.

Your thumb strokes their cheek. Lost in your own thoughts, in your own mind, you begin to smile as your heart swells with that same amount of excessive fondness as before. You swallow the lump in your throat and blink away the tears you refuse to acknowledge.

"Desire," you whisper. Too soft.

They hum tentatively, fingers moving so their knuckles graze over your collarbone. You sigh gently, shaking your head even gentler.

"You're beautiful."

They want to say something funny, something quick-witted. But the words freeze on their tongue as they gaze into you and your tear-glazed eyes. They swallow thickly, unsure of why staring so long was beginning to turn fire to an ember in their blood, their tongue mush in their mouth.

"Thank you, lovely."

You both lay there, your bodies slotted together as you enjoy the other's body pressing against your own. Breaking the silence, you murmur, "Did you know it would be you?"

A pause. A slow, silent sigh. A nod. "Yes," they say just as quietly.

You consider that a moment, never tearing your eyes from their face. "Why?"

They take a moment, face as soft as a feather. They lean forward, lips lingering near yours as you stay barely an inch from the other. The tip of their nose brushes yours and your eyes flutter.

They lean a little closer still, turning their head just slightly as your foreheads press together, your eyes closing and your shallow breaths teasing sensitive skin. Their voice washes over you with a type of grief you know all too well.

"We are endless, my dear…but everyone ends."

You sigh, opening your eyes and slowly moving to sit up. Desire pulls you back into their lap in a straddle, holding you there by your backside as you wrap your legs around them. You slot your arms over their shoulders, gazing for another long, quiet moment, and leaning forward for another kiss. Too tender.

Lips brush and press and reciprocate the newfound peace and care that has grown between you in a matter of hours, ignited by a spell made of love. Your fingers gently card through their hair, fiddling with a lock of snow white, even as you pull away and look at them again.

You smile, licking your bottom lip between your teeth and sighing. "Thank you," you murmur, almost as though you were promising the world.

They smile back at you, not as scandalous as they had been before. "Thank you."

The Sandman taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @sarahbullet235 @majestyjade @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @hatterripper31 @kplatzman @kmc1989 @thegen3sisark

[vlovebug]

Valentine headcannons because I can.

turning and after (I can't find why he was turned so I'm making my own way) and general

(I'll be honest some of these don't make sense but neither do I)

(I'm taking things from other vampire movies and applying them to monster-high vampires, mainly The Little Vampire ( 2007), all Hotel Transylvania movies, and some things from redacted audios ( yes I pulled this card so what)

he was turned only because of that old vampire dude (I forgot his name but he was the bad guy that was in charge of the vampire heart thing) needed a soldier and he had a magic core, so he was chosen with his mom

he had his magic core (power core or something) before his turning.

old vampire dude taught him that stealing love was the only right way to get it.

he was forced to train in many ways. ( fighting, torture, self-defense, etc)

at first, he refused to drink any type of blood because he was disgusted with himself, so he only went off love but that soon changed as he wasn't getting enough.

he was told if he didn't do something right, he would be starved ( cruel)

he struggled with his strengths for a long while, breaking things and bending them without warning. because of this, he has to keep a very good hold on his emotions ( news flash, he can't do that very well)

his fangs would cut his lips and tongue constantly so they had to put stuff on his fangs to protect his mouth ( modern stuff includes foram and just hiding his fangs in his gums)

he has to make himself look more human when going out ( fangs back into gums, sunglasses, something longsleeved or something that covers his skin from the sun rays, he will also just make glamors( magic covers) over himself if he's feeling lazy)

he can heal himself and others if needed (I've seen vampires be able to do that so all vampires that learn it can do it)

all vampires' eyes do that thing where the pupils shrink ( predator stare), some do it on purpose and some only do it when threatened.

his eye color can go from red to pink depending on if he drank blood or went off love. his eyes are pink 80% of the time

he can make illusions but depending on the size it can only last so long.

he can fly ( more like float but it is kinda of the same thing)

all vampires have bat forms ( we know this where am I going with this?)but they can also have a pair of small bat wings and tails on their forms at all times ( kinda like a hybrid of sorts, this is only the case if they get their bat form and go through a transformation ( vampire puberty )

he makes bat sounds (I love bat sounds, they itch my brain)

he likes putting his hair in styles his mom used to wear in BC ( or was it AD?)

he has daggers hidden on his person at all times because of monster/ vampire hunters

he likes to make fun of and torture hunters

he artistic

15 languages ( both verbal and nonverbal)

he can't sing but boy can he hum

has had his core touched and he punched the shit out of the person that did the touching out of shock.

he doesn't use his arms or hands in fights often because he likes kicking people

cries blood instead of water

has a pet reptile ( haven't decided which one)

has a HUGE soft spot for animals ( less for flying monkeys but he still loves the nice ones)

absolutly hates tomaotes, apples, bellpepers, anything with a bad texture, smell, or colour ( same)

we know he has a sweet tooth but I think he wouldn't like dark chocolate (I'm just giving him more of my traits at this point)

he bites ice cream and then whines when it hurts his teeth from the cold

he accidentally locks himself in places you wouldn't expect ( expert in finding spots that get you stuck 🤝)

in the comic thing, he's not seen till he's ready. based on that I would think that He is really hard to find when he doesn't want to be seen and can hide his presence ( how does that work? We will never know)

He can't spell nor remember easy words but can somehow be completely fine with large words ( ah yes another of my problems given to my comfort character)

he has a heart on his chest ( did I say this already?)

hes flexible as fuck ( military training ?)

he teaches spelldon and others he knows stuff that they wanna learn ( if he knows how ofc)

he never lies ( after the movie ofc) because he knows the truth will only hurt more with lies.

can be protective when with people

Mom friend ( mom friend)

( if they become friends) Draculaura tottled his car once and he's banned her from driving his car ( I would too)

can braid hair like no other, you need to fix your hair? he's there with a hair tie ( only if you tell him the can ofc)

I'm done, my brain is fried and I'm losing my ability to spell.

[playgroundfadings]

i saw your post about the slashers playing just dance, and jasons got me thinking about: what if the slashers came home to you singing along pretty vulgar songs? like cupcakke- i just think it would be funny

saijfdhfdu pls this has me wheezing just thinking about their reactions. I hope you will enjoy this honey boo <333

TW: not beta read, cursing and slightly NSFW (songs lyrics).

|| Reacting to their SO singing vulgar songs || 

Featuring Michael, Thomas, Brahms, Jason and Yautja

Michael Myers

After a long day of work, you’re finally relaxing with some wine and music in the background. Anaconda by Nicki Minaj starts playing, and you’re singing along.

Normally, Michael would already be gone by this time, so you gave your all in this performance, believing you’re alone.

It just so happen that Michael makes himself known right as the lyrics ‘’this dude named Michael used to ride motorcycles’’ comes. 

And now that just catch his attention. The rest of the lyrics are vulgar at best, and he scoffs. 

You nearly jump off your skin, because you never heard him enter the living room. Lowkey ashamed he heard you sing.

Michael doesn’t care what kind of song you listen to, really. But he will tease you.

Thomas Hewitt

For the sake of this, let’s say the movie happened in recent years, because I don’t know songs from the 70s.

You’ve always appeared to be such a soft, calm person. Someone who could do no wrong.

So when Thomas comes up from the basement after hearing your voice, curious about you were doing, what he hears makes him pause.

This can't be right, you would never say things like that.

‘’My B-I-T-C-H is on my dick like this’’ and you even give a little hip thrust in the air.

That’s something he expects from Hoyt, not from you.

Then you jump and yelp when you notice Thomas, who’s staring at you with eyes the size of saucers.

Has to wrap his mind around the fact you’re not as innocent as he believed. 

Brahms Heelshire

It was an honest mistake from your part. You should have introduced Brahms to more modern music. So you don’t really blame him for his reaction when he caught you singing Need to know by Doja Cat.

‘’I heard from a friend of a friend that that dick was a ten out of ten’’ what friend??? Which dick????

Brahms will instantly believe you’re talking about Malcolm. To his knowledge, the delivery boy is the only other man around you.

‘’Are you cheating on me??’’ ‘’Huh?’’ 

Ensue a series of questions, until you realize what he’s talking about.

Making him listen to the song is quite an experience. A mix of intrigue, horror and disgust plays in Brahms’ eyes.

Let’s say he’s not a fan of crass songs, but he wouldn’t mind trying some of the stuff mentioned in the lyrics with you.

Jason Voorhees

The first time he heard you sing CPR by Cupcakke, he nearly had a heart attack.

‘’TIGHT AS A VIRGIN BOY DON’T GET NERVOUS TIIIIIGHT’’

What do you mean, you save dick by giving it CPR??? 

Will rush to the radio to either turn down the volume, or completely shut down the device. 

In his eyes, you are perfect. An angel sent from heaven. So hearing such crude words from you gives him whiplash. 

He will never stop you from doing things you enjoy, but he might ask you to not blast such songs in the cabins.

Or, at the very least, wear headphones.

Yautja (predator)

The human language is way too complicated in his opinion. 

But he does find it interesting how many words can be used to reference something.

Especially when you scream ‘’I WANT YOU TO PARK THAT BIG MACK TRUCK RIGHT IN THIS LITTLE GARAGE’’ at the top of your lungs while doing the dishes.

And how mortified you look when you realize he’s been standing right behind you all this time while you gave your best performance of WAP. 

Male Yautjas can be crude amongst themselves, so he really doesn’t blame you for the vulgarities you sing.

Though, your mate will probably poke fun at you and the song’s silly lyrics.

[teenandbeyond]

Okay so this just came into my head and now it won’t leave and so im requesting a one shot or something bc you’re amazing: imagine you somehow overpower a Yautja and are able to tie them down and it’s dark!reader. Basically you tie them down, and begin to bread with them bc you want them, want to know what it feels like, want to make them yours-your mate. Slowly the Yautja begins to enjoy it saying things like “why, why does this feel so good what are you doing to me?” something along those line idk basically like becoming obsessed with aliens, realizing there is a species called the Yautja and just going after that big monster c— Im gonna stop myself there before it becomes too much im so sorry

Yautja x Dark. Reader

I'm not in the dark fic hole, I promise xD

Want more from me? ↟Masterlist 2↟

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Unsatisfied (Predator)

Warning(s): Dark Fic, Non-con details, breeding, unprotected, rough, triggering, size difference

No human on earth seems to satisfy your body, but...who said that was your only option?

✨✨✨✨✨

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“Wha—[Name], why? I thought you were happy!” your boyfriend leaped from the couch, helplessly.

You sigh, “Look, it was fine at first…But...there’s no excitement in this relationship. Our gap in intellect is so wide, we can’t conversate properly. You don’t have a passion or even a hobby, at the very least. Any time we go on a date, it’s to the same place every time. And most of all you don’t satisfy me in bed. At all.”

“But…you’ve never told me.”

You tilt your head, “You’ve never cared to listen when I did. I hoped you’d get better, get the hint, listen to me, but well, you see how that went.”

He scoffed, “You were singing a different tune, then!”

“It’s called faking and imagining I’m with a hot celeb or something. But considering you only cared about getting off yourself, you never noticed.”

“Fine then, get out!”

You raise a brow, “Sweetheart, my name is the only one on the lease, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I pay the bills!”

“Barely. Now shoo, the stench of your bitchy attitude is killing my vibe, hun,” you fall into the couch, making sure you look extra comfy.

“Ugh!” he stormed toward the door after scrambling to get a few of his belongings.

“And be nice with the door or I’ll have you pay for damages, since you insist on paying for things,” you sip on a drink.

This wasn’t new to you, you dated a few people, it all ended the same way for you.

Unsatisfied.

In all parts of the relationship.

But especially the intimate part.

But perhaps there wasn’t a human on earth who could satisfy you.

So, after your last ex walked out the door…you gave up on ever finding that from anyone.

You blankly stare at the ceiling in thought, “…I’ll go to my special place.”

You got freshened up and dressed, before heading out to the park that led into the deep woods.

As you got deeper, you began to notice that there were distinct footprints.

Large footprints.

But no one came out this far unless they were crazy or wanted to get killed by someone crazy.

You finally made it to the clearing, your eyes widening as a creature took up your vision.

A Yautja--or Predator, if you remembered correctly from the classified files you read.

You used to have a high position, but once you got admittedly a little obsessed with the species, you were fired.

You squinted, it was injured, you realized.

You watched as it took heavy breaths, seemingly preparing to take care of the wound.

Your gaze trailed from the wound to the arms that looked as wide as a watermelon, chiseled torso, well-defined thighs…and the dreaded linen cloth that left what was under to the imagination.

This one was a lot bigger than the ones you saw in the files.

Maybe…maybe he could satisfy you…

No! What kind of thought is that?! He’s an alien for goodness sakes, you’re a human…that wouldn’t be normal, would it?

The Yautja groaned as he began to heal himself slowly.

Fuck being normal.

You wanted to try something new.

And you knew exactly what you needed to do.

You kneeled down, looking for the knife you hid under a bush a while ago…no it wasn’t your murder weapon. You’d only murdered one of your exes and that was forever ago, a one-time thing—you totally melted that knife.

But anyway, you ran out grabbing its attention, “Hey! Come and get me!”

You watched as it scanned your frame, stopping at the knife you held.

You smirked and ran as fast as you could.

Soon you heard clicking not too far away.

How cute, the prey thought it was your predator.

At the last second, you avoided a sneak attack and giggled as a rectangular prison suddenly enclosed the Yautja.

You titled your head as the trap shook, the alien trying to escape, roaring in anger at you from inside.

You casually counted down on your fingers, and then it was dead silent.

There was a ding from the box, confirming the creature’s unconsciousness.

You approached the container, figuring out how you were going to get it to your special spot.

“Oh, I forgot. It’s a weight absorbing containment device. I wouldn’t feel the weight.”

Yes, you had stolen a few things, how dare they fire you?

As soon as you entered the cave, you opened the container, the unconscious being tumbling out onto your folding bed.

You sighed in relief when it didn’t cave under the weight.

You turned him to his front with much effort.

You bind his arms behind him with a strong cuffing device after ridding him of the devices  he had there.

You grunt as you flip him back, taking a second to catch your breath.

“How fucking heavy are you?”

You place the heavy tech on the dusty couch, and turn to finish stripping him down.

You take of the armor--after deciding to leave the mask--groaning at the weight.

“Seriously, is your armor weighted?” you drop the last piece on the crowed couch.

Then your gaze falls on the loin cloth, you would wait, but…forget it.

You ease it off, swallowing once you take in what you’ve been desperate to see.

It’s like it was meant for you.

And it wasn’t even close to its full height yet.

He’s yours now.

And he’s so gorgeous, you think as you bind his ankles.

After, you trail down his body, slowly, wanting to appreciate every inch.

Then you finally got to your destination.

Taking it in best you can, your head bobs up and down.

You wonder how much he can feel it.

But after a few minutes you feel twitching and his hips buck in his unconsciousness.

“How cute…” you gasp out.

Then his body suddenly jolts, immediately his arms and legs jerk.

“Hey, you need to relax.”

All you get is a growl in response.

“You see, I want you all to myself…so…for now, you can forget about whatever mates you had before…because you’re mine now. Unless I’m not satisfied, then I’ll kill you before you kill me,” you assure.

You head lowers to him again, making his hips buck up involuntarily in response.

“I’ve already gotten you so riled up, it’d all be a waste if I stopped now after all this effort,” you rush out, before continuing.

He grunts, still trying to struggle, though you notice it’s not as intense as before.

It didn’t matter to you, he could fight all he wanted, but his body said something different.

He attempted to try and scoot up on the bed, but it didn’t deter you even a little.

His back and arms were against the wall behind him, the position not giving him much else to look at other than you.

The view wasn’t a bad one, he could admit, but it’d be dishonorable to fall to such temptation.

He groaned tossing his head back as you sank onto him.

He tried to free his arms to no avail.

He jolted inside you after the long whine that left your lips.

This human that he could crush in an instant.

He would totally crush you if he could right now, but unfortunately, you had devices that could restrain him.

He refused to be swayed.

It may have felt unbelievably good, better than he’d ever felt with any of his mates…

But he refused.

Then you started moving.

He found himself mesmerized by how you buried him in such a tiny body, the curve of your behind as it gently slapped against his hips, the sounds you made.

The more hypnotized he got, the more you took over his mind.

He couldn’t think of anything else.

Was he enjoying this?

No, he couldn’t be—he twitched after he slipped out and you turned to face him and sink back down.

His nails dug into his wrists, how in the world were you feeling so good?

He needed some control in this situation, he couldn’t be completely helpless to such a frail creature. He would rather kill himself in embarrassment.

You gasped when on his own accord he thrusted up once.

You shudder, “You—you can‘t do that! You’re mine, I have the control here—Ahm!”

He gave hard, single thrusts, which for him was simple with the body control he harbored.

Moaning and mewling with each thrust, your grip on his broad shoulders tighten.

You choked at one particular thrust that hit deeper than any others did, thighs immediately tightening around his.

He had quite literally hit the limit of how far it could go.

You found some comprehension of things after a minute and moved your hips, unable to stop.

Both your breaths quickened the closer you got.

Until you clenched the tightest around him you had all night and released.

The nice clench prompted his body to follow yours.

And when your bodies calmed, you refused to move, you wanted all of his seed there, not a single drop escaping.

You took off his mask, your hand cupping his cheek, before brushing against his mandibles.

“Mine. You’re all mine.”

[espressokiri]

Class 1a with a wolf quirk reader that has to wear a muzzle

Class 1A x GN!Reader

In which Class 1A deals with a wolf quirk classmate wearing a muzzle

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff?

a/n: An interesting concept! (Flashbacks to Bakugou being unnecessarily muzzled during the sport festival arc) 

When Aizawa Shota had introduced their late coming classmate a week into the semester they didn’t expect a mutation type quirk reader with a muzzle strapped around their mouth. From the outside they looked like an adorable being with the fluffy ears and matching tail that was swishing in anticipation. 

(Y/n) was staring the class down, eyes landing on Shoji as they noticed his mouth being covered too. They felt a little less anxious knowing that they’re not the only one who kept covered.  “This is your classmate (Y/n) (L/n).” 

Bakugou snorted, “what’s with the muzzle, wolfie?”

“That’s not very manly, Bakugou.”

A growl reverberated around the classroom, the students hair stood at the back of their neck from the intensity of the sound. The glare (Y/n) was giving Bakugou made him shiver internally. Aizawa rolled his eyes and pulled out a set of keys from his drawer and dangled it, (Y/n) turned their glare at him before they stopped and whimpered when his eyes glowed and hair became afloat, intimidated by the tired man.

“Bakugou I would restrain from causing yourself any unnecessary injuries (Y/n) may cause. They’re still learning to control their predator instinct. When threatened they may attack.” 

“These keys are to unlock the muzzle during certain times or in case of emergency, the teachers will be given a key and one will be kept in this drawer.”

»»————----------------------------------------------------------------————-««

“(Y/n) no!” 

Kirishima tackled them onto the floor as Monoma was cackling in the background. Monoma had somehow gotten his hands on a ball and interested the wolf into play time. The ball was thrown at an unsuspecting Present Mic who caught it and was about to be pounced on by (Y/n).

(Y/n) whimpered at the loss of playtime as Monoma was assigned detention for disrupting the halls. Kirishima was only glad he went out when he did to grab a drink from the vending machine during lunch time.

Their muzzle was always taken off during lunch, but under the supervision of their classmates or a teacher. In this case, class 1A, technically Denki and Sero, had taken their eyes off of (Y/n) for one second before Monoma swooped in and distracted them.

»»————----------------------------------------------------------------————-««

Sero’s tape shot out and wrapped around (Y/n)’s mouth as their growling got louder and teeth were bared at Mineta who had messed with the girls of class 1A.  

(Y/n) had thought of the girls as part of their pack and was very protective of them. If only Mineta realized he would’ve been ripped to shreds if it weren’t for Sero who had also taped (Y/n)’s hands together to prevent their claws from reaching him.

Shoji and Sato took care of Mineta for (Y/n) and the girls, while Momo was patting (Y/n) on the top of their head as a praise. Mina hugged them from behind and Jirou was pinching their cheek and scolded them gently for losing control of their temper that fast and risking the trust of Aizawa on them.

“Okay, now that you calmed down. Let’s get this tape off before Aizawa sensei comes in and kills us all.” Denki said as his hand went up to the tape on their mouth and tugged. A whimper resonated the room and everyone felt their heartstrings tug, even Bakugou. “Sero why’s it stuck so hard man!” Denki exclaimed as he tried to gently pull it off, “I panicked!” Sero exclaimed.

“Just rip it off! (Y/n) don’t be a baby.” Bakugou rolled his eyes and pushed Denki aside to rip it off. A yelp escaped (Y/n)’s mouth as it was finally ripped off and they scurried to Uraraka for comfort as their mouth was in pain. Uraraka ran her hands on their head to comfort them but she knew it wouldn’t last as their hands were still bound. 

“Bakugou, you’re heartless.” Denki claimed, a hand on his heart as his friend held a smirk at the whimpering classmate of theirs.

“I can attempt to burn off the tape on the hands, it’ll be less dangerous than it would have been if it was your face.” Todoroki offered and (Y/n) gave their bound hands to him in an instant. The tape was burnt off with only a few singes on the wrist, definitely less painful than ripping them off. 

»»————---------------------------------------------------------------————-««

Tokoyami was nervous of the wolf classmate. He never knew if he was a prey of theirs, Dark Shadow seemed to be in hiding every time the wolf would be near them. The lingering gaze they would send him would always bring shivers up his spine.

Today was worse. (Y/n) kept glancing at Tokoyami and their tail kept wagging as they eyed him. Was today going to be his last day? Perhaps he would stick with Shoji for protection in case (Y/n) does plan something.

The thought was kept at the back of his mind until he forgot he was supposed to be on guard as he lost himself into the pages of the book he was reading by a tree during lunch break. He had already indulged himself in food and decided to refresh his mind before the next classes began. 

He only glanced up for a second when a shadow covered him and was petrified as he saw (Y/n) towering above his seated position. “H-hello, (Y/n).” Tokoyami cleared his throat, eyes glancing around his environment in hopes to find a fellow classmate.

(Y/n) took his greeting and sat across him, “hello!” Their tail wagging happily and sharp teeth shown as they grinned. Tokoyami exhaled in slight relief that they hadn’t attacked, perhaps they were playing around with him?

An uncomfortable silence passed the two and (Y/n) fiddled with their thumbs before reaching into their blazer pocket. “Um, I thought we can be friends?” They presented a Rose Quarts stone in its raw farm, it was a medium sized stone that twinkled in the sunlight. “Rose Quartz for friendship! Close friendship! I think of you as part of my pack, so family!” (Y/n) stumbled over their words as Tokoyami gently took the stone from their hands.

“That is a nice gesture (Y/n). I’m honoured that you think of me as part of your pack.” Tokoyami felt relieved and the gesture touched his heart, non of his friends had presented him with a precious gift such as this. 

(Y/n) grinned and tackled him into a hug. They were happy that U.A. was not a terrible experience compared to their middle school, and they couldn’t wait to make more memories.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

His children

(How did Davarax end up with his troubled children?)

“Davarax. A word.”

Slightly surprised, Davarax glances over as Mardsk walks towards him. The guy is one of the Teachers, one who rarely spoke to the Fighting Corps. Sure, Davarax had been a Teacher once too but that was years ago and most just consider him a Fighter now.

“What can I help you with, ner vod?” Davarax asks, curious.

Mardsk comes to a halt in front of him, seems to struggle for words and gives a big sigh before he just jumps into it. “Paz Vizla.”

Davarax frowns. The heir to the Vizla clan, he's seen the young boy around and knows he will one day be a valuable member of the Fighting Corps, judging by his size and love for battle. “What about him?”

“He's a problem.” Mardsk blurts out. “The boy is a bully. He keeps picking on my Spring Class, beats them up and terrifies them.”

Davarax' frown deepens and he crosses his arms thoughtfully. “Wait. Your Spring Class? Aren't they, what, three or four years older than him?”

“Yeah, so?” Mardsk replies with a slight edge to his voice. “The boy is a bully nonetheless. He's disruptive and constantly challenging my authority, thinking he's above the rules because he's a Vizla.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Davarax does not like where this is going.

“You train him.” Mardsk plows on. “You have experience with difficult kids and you know she would approve of us keeping the Vizla clan quiet.”

Not liking Mardsk using his connection to her one bit, Davarax still doesn't reject the request right away. He's always had a weakness for the outcasts. “Let me talk to him...”

And true to his word, later that day, Davarax hunts down the kid. He finds him sitting in one of the study rooms, reading on one of the datapads there.

Paz Vizla is big, Davarax has no trouble seeing how he can take on and defeat children years older than himself, but there is nothing menacing about the young boy right now. He is devouring the information on the datapad, which a quick peek reveals to be Mandalorian history. Interesting.

“Hey.” Davarax gets his attention. “You know who I am?”

Paz looks up at him, slightly curious but completely self-assured. “Yeah. You're Davarax. You're-”

Davarax nods. “That's me. Pleased to meet you, Paz Vizla.”

Now Paz frowns and he sits up a little straighter. “What do you want?” There is a challenge in his words as well as in the insolent stare. He is his father's son, alright.

“I wanted to meet you.” Davarax sits on the desk next to him. “Because they want me to train you.”

“Figures.” Paz scoffs with obvious contempt. “Mardsk is a coward.”

Amused, Davarax tilts his head and scans the kid's body language. It's a wonderful mess of arrogance and insecurity. He's angry, but also clearly hurt by Mardsk's action. Not completely corrupted by his father, then. Good. “He just knows when he's out of his league. That's not a bad thing, ad'ika. It can save your life outside the Covert.” Davarax sees the youngster wobbling between the lingering hurt and the inferred compliment. “So, would you be okay with that? Me training you?”

Paz looks at him, scans him in return and leans back in his chair. “Why would you want to do that? You're on the Fighting Corps. You don't do teacher stuff anymore.”

Davarax shrugs. “I might make an exception for you.”

“For me? Why? Because I'm a Vizla?” Paz drawls, suspicious.

“No.” Davarax says. “Because I think you have a lot of potential and you will do great things for the Covert. I also think that maybe you need someone who understands you a little better to help that happen.”

Paz shifts uneasily on his chair, his gaze flickers and ruins his pretend arrogance. He swallows and makes himself meet Davarax' gaze. “And that's you?”

“That's me.”

“And who is to say you won't just hand me off to some other teacher?”

Davarax shakes his head. “I won't do that.” His words are calm and secure, no doubt whatsoever.

Paz considers it, then turns back to the datapad and shrugs. “Fine. Sure. Whatever.”

And just like that, Davarax had the first of what would be known as the Fearsome Four.

It takes a long time for him to gain Paz' trust and respect, but with a calm and steady approach, not responding to Paz' tantrums but rather making him use his words; the boy's energy is eventually channeled where it is meant to go.

It doesn't mean Paz stops getting into fights, not by a long shot, but now he at least goes after the ones capable of defending themselves and guilty of some kind of offense, and not just some random victim that crosses Paz' path.

Then comes the morning when Davarax hears a knock on the door to his quarters, opens it and finds another teacher standing there with a tight grip on a tiny, skinny boy's neck.

The boy stares sullenly at the floor, curly hair poking up at all angles, the neckline of his shirt pulled a little to the side and showing a prominent collarbone due to his skinniness. His tiny hands are clenched into tight fists. That is how Davarax meets Barthor.

Unlike Paz, Barthor doesn't show much emotion at being 'handed off' to a new teacher, but those eyes speak volumes. He is furious and filled with spite. Being small and skinny in a society that values strength and fighting abilities can't be easy, but he's been getting back at them in inventive and sometimes fire hazardous ways. Davarax could smell the stench of singed hair through his air filter when the teacher had appeared on his doorstep with the little culprit.

Barthor had pulled one stunt after another,a proper troublemaker, but what Davarax admires is the fact that they were never able to prove it was him. Not once. That speaks of intelligence. So he agrees to train him as well.

Where Paz uses anger and brute strength to intimidate, Barthor immediately tries to sneak his way into Davarax' brain and heart, mapping Davarax' mind to manipulate him while trying to act small and helpless to appeal to his protective instinct. Sneaky little thing. He's going to go far in life.

It turns out that once Barthor realizes that Davarax doesn't fall for his tricks, but treats him with respect and actually talks to him and not over him, the little one thaws and becomes his shadow.

It's kind of cute, really.

Paz isn't pleased at first, but decides the runt isn't a threat or a challenge so he ends up mostly ignoring Barthor, who keeps a wary distance in return. They focus on Davarax, not each other.

“Please...” A third teacher pleads some time later. He holds out his arm and pulls up the fabric and shows the painful mark there. “She bit me! I pulled her off a kid she was pummeling and she bit me. She held on for so long I considered prying her jaws open with a stick!” The man lowers his arm and shakes his head. “You gotta help me, Dav. Please!”

Now this one Davarax asks for some time to consider. He has heard a lot about Raga Saxon, have seen her in action, and she might be the one child he's not entirely sure he can help. He has no idea how to deal with that kind of volatile temper. There is fearless and then there is reckless.

Somehow Paz finds out that Raga's teacher has asked to move her to Davarax and the boy instantly starts to hassle him to say yes.

“She's awesome. She really is! You gotta see her fight.” Paz pleads, walking next to Davarax.

“I have seen that very thing. That is what worries me.” Davarax mutters. “There is no discipline to her. She's basically feral, Paz.”

“I know!” Paz' grin is the brightest Davarax has even seen on the boy. “As I said, she's awesome. You got to let her join us. I'll look after her, I promise. You won't even notice she's there. Please?”

Paz rarely asks for anything so Davarax promises him he'll think about it. And the next day, he stays hidden and watches Raga. He sees the energy crackling under her skin, the wild hair and her complete lack of fear. It's the kind of personality that can ruin a mission and get other Mandalorians killed, but then he sees her with Paz and observes, to his surprise, the other side to her. She 'is' capable of team work, she can be still and patient, and for some weird reason it seems like Paz is the one who brings that out in her.

Fine. She deserves a chance as well. She's a tough little fighter, like a Mandalorian should be. They just need to work on her mean streak.

Bringing Raga in changes the dynamics as she instantly goes after Barthor, like a predator sensing prey. Davarax hopes that Paz will put an end to it, but no such luck. The bigger boy just chews on his snacks and watches with lazy amusement. Davarax is on the verge of interfering when Barthor strikes back.

Raga's shrieks of fury echoes through the hallways, Barthor runs for his life, while Paz chews his snacks with lazy amusement, and Davarax struggles not to laugh. Yeah, Barthor is going to be fine. He doesn't need help.

It is almost a year later when he opens a hatch and finds a frightened boy staring up at him. His name is Din.

Davarax reaches out a hand, Din takes it.

When the request comes if Davarax can train Din too, there is a lack of teachers and Din is severely affected by the trauma he's been through, Davarax doesn't hesitate. He found the boy, he feels responsible for him.

And against all odds, Din is the glue that makes them all stick together.

Paz' protective instinct is triggered hard, Raga senses Paz' approval and actually behaves for long enough to realize she likes Din, and Barthor is so happy to no longer be the lone one against the other two that he reaches out a hand in friendship as well. And Din finds safety from his nightmares in their presence.

It shouldn't work. Not at all. But it does.

He even finds them, more than once, sleeping in a pile together.

And as they learn, as they grow, they keep amazing him and there's not a single day that goes by where he doesn't feel proud of them. They are difficult, yes, complicated, definitely, but they are good students and will do good things for the Covert, he knows this.

The others start referring to them as the Fearsome Four, but Davarax calls them his children and he knows in his heart that he will love them until the day he dies.

[littlefreya]

Good Girl

gif credit amancanfly

Synopsis: Henry is at the gym testing the new Glute Drive while his longing wife drops by to visit and decides to play a little wicked game of teasing. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Explicit, this is basically ALL smut. Slight SubMale / DomFem then a lot of DomMale / SubFem, dry humping, cock teasing, dangerous driving, fingering, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight size kink (I am all the kinks today), unprotected sex and bodily fluids!

A/N: Okay so this fic was born out of the UNHOLY union between this thread and the video of Henry going “good boy” at Kal. Many thanks to my darling @agniavateira​ for helping me proofread this!

Title: Good Girl

There he is, my bear of a man. His sculpted, wide body plastered to some medieval-looking torture device. Strong, large arms hang onto the handles, muscles flexing. Slick with sweet sweat, he thrusts his hips up and down while grunting with effort.

Who the hell came up with this air-fucking machine?

I walk through the deserted mirrored room, my black painted nails scratching the glass as I draw closer toward Henry. Gyms tend to be freezing, and I’m not properly dressed for a workout session with my mini plaid skirt and a dark grey t-shirt. But his arduous gasps fill the chilled space enough to make things a little warmer. 

“What are you doing here, little one?” Henry finally asks, pausing his thrusts for a moment as he spots my cattish moves toward him.

I observe silently as I inch closer. he has his waist strapped to a bench, heavy weights of 80kg are on each side of his body while he lifts upward and presses his behind back down. A sheer layer of sweat covers him entirely, his skin glistening in the fluorescent’s light. His favourite blue top is soaked.

“I came home from the studio and my hubby wasn’t there.” I pout, standing right at the edge of the bench where his feet are pressed for support.

He pouts back at me, genuine care on his face. My darling bear might have the endurance of a large predator, but his heart is all strawberry marshmallow when it comes to his lady. He hates to spend time apart. Whenever our schedules collide it’s all about Face-timing and sending nudes. 

Honestly? I care less than he does about this shit ever getting leaked. I even keep some steamy under-the-cover selfies so I’ll have something to work with when either of us is away.

But what I hate the most, is having him here yet he’s absent. The Pre-production shenanigans have him preparing for his next role, which usually means working himself at the gym to the point of collapsing, just so he could look like some demi-god. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind him having a little body fat. That’s why I bake him pizza every weekend. What his gym coach doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.  

“I’ll be done in 10 minutes, darling.” he answers and continues to slowly push down and up again, releasing a pained grunt and clenching his teeth. “Just…  two… more… sets.”

“I don’t want to wait.” I alert him, circling the machine carefully to not get in his way. I appreciate the hard work and stamina, but I am quite tired of having the downside of the deal. Every day for the last 2 weeks I received an exhausted Cavill with aching, strained muscles. The most action I got was massaging his muscles in the bathtub which might sound romantic if not for him snoring 3 minutes in.   

“Ten minutes,” he mentions again. He’s out of breath as he ascends and then lowers once more, the weights pressuring his body down while the bands create a resistance. 

No way in hell someone came up with this device and didn’t think this is a sex thing. I see my bear thrusting his hips upward like this and only one thing goes through my mind. 

Oh, how I need to be on top of this mountain of a man.

I cannot help myself, nor can I hide the malicious grin forming on my mouth. I lift my leg carefully, hovering it in the air above him. I cage him between my straddled legs whilst giving him my best dominatrix glare. Henry raises his eyes to meet mine, looking dumbfounded. 

“What are you doing, darling? You’ll hurt yourself.”

Oh, sweet summer child. 

I sway my hips in a slow dance, with the thrust of his body and his heavy breaths as the music I’m dancing to. The arousal in his eyes is evident within seconds. His lips part away slowly, his beautiful blue eyes begin to cloud, and his adam’s apple slides upward in his throat as he swallows.

“At home.”

“Here.” I ignore his request lowering myself slowly and carefully to squat over his groin. He’s not hard, yet.

Henry releases a deep loud grunt. Usually, I am weightless for him, but right now I’m adding to already 160kg of weights. Well, he is the type of guy who likes to push his limits and I am the type of girl who likes to test boundaries. 

“Don’t,” Henry protests, another grunt escaping his lips. I stretch myself, my ass pressing back, my groin rubbing against the tender muscle that begins hardening between my legs. I can feel the rush of blood, making him throb and grow vast between my legs.

“Don’t do what?” I press my teeth against the lushness of my lower lip viciously, beginning to grind against the hardness in slow circular motions. “Don’t you have two more sets?”

He clenches his teeth, his hands tightening around the handles so harshly his knuckles whiten. With great effort he lifts up, succumbing to my wickedness. His erected cock is concealed underneath his clothes, yet I press and dance onto it, making blissful moans as the friction has me singing that sweet familiar tune.

When he pulls down I dive with him, feeling the exhale of his body and the dancing twitch of muscles. I greatly anticipate the next push upward, my hands reaching to squeeze my breasts together. My panties are now soaked with moisture as I press and rub, bringing myself closer.

When he lifts again, his thrust is a wee bit faster. He’s either getting used to my weight on his groin, or the adrenaline of the beast that I’ve been teasing allows him to push higher. He angles his hips into mine, serving my need, and gives me the friction I demand. His eyes meet mine and pure darkness devours me within them. 

I am in so much fucking trouble, but it’s so worth it. 

“Oh Henry, you’re making me so wet.” 

I moan his name, rubbing myself on his cock at a demanding speed while he lifts up and down. My clit tingles, swollen against his enormous bulge as that familiar wave begins to spread. He’s so hard, so painfully swollen, and so incapable of getting any release while I ride him into a powerful orgasm.

I clutch his thighs, desperate gasps spiralling out my mouth as the pleasure continues to hit my core. My nails dig deep into the hardened flesh but I can’t be bothered.

“Oh god…” I throw my head backwards, trying to adjust my breath while my legs are shaking around his wide waist. There’s still a throbbing hardness against my burning core, the angry drumming of blood pulsating against my opening. 

I’m tempted to take my phone and capture his looks in my camera. But I’m in too much trouble as it is. Henry is drenched in sweat, upset in ways I’ve never seen in my life. He's done with his workout for today,  no doubt about that.

“Are you done?” he asks me with a frown. 

I lick my lips and lift myself up, knees nearly giving up as my legs are still numb from the intensity of pleasure. I let out a provoking giggle, putting my finger between my teeth, knowing he likes that gesture. This is my favourite battle, control. He enjoys superiority with his physical power, but every now and then I sweep the rug beneath his feet. And though he loves it when I am his good girl, sprawling and letting him take what he wants, when I am bad, the beast is willing to split my ass in half.

Guess I won this round. 

Henry unbuckles the harness from his waist as I step back. He takes the towel from the bench and wipes his face. My eyes fixate on the still hard swelling in his nether area. I could offer to take care of it for him, but I am not feeling this generous right now. Better keep his stamina for home, so I can actually get me a proper shag in a nice, clean bed with a nice, clean husband that doesn’t smell like an entire rugby team.

“Go wait in the reception.” he demands, his tone anything but sweet right now. 

“Don’t take too long.” I demand in return as I turn around, flipping back my hair and letting it slide down my ass. I can hear his frustrated groan behind me, just before I leave the room. It makes me lose myself in a burst of chuckles. 

~*~

Henry meets me downstairs, a serious expression on his face. His gaze doesn’t meet mine, letting me know that unlike myself, he is vastly unamused. He takes my wrist in his big hand and leads me outside while smiling to bid bored receptionist goodbye. 

I am forced to follow his large strides. Being a tall man, every step of his is equal to three small ones of mine. Even though it seems like his “problem” subsided, he’s not exactly interested in waiting.

He’d always be tender in his behaviour towards me, a respectful gentleman who knows how to treat women. Sure, he can rearrange a guy’s skull, but he never raised his voice at me. He’d take a walk outside the house and then return to so we can have a talk like adults. 

But this is not a fight. This is but our favourite little war. Ongoing from the day we met.

I notice that we are not going to the car. Instead, he leads me to a narrow, dark space between two buildings. I can smell the damp sidewalk, the scent of earlier rain filling my nose. This spot is anything but romantic or erotic, with street cats screeching at the back and the sounds of trash cans being hit as they bounce on top of the lids.

Finally, he towers above me. His hand lets go of mine and hold it open in front of me with a demanding look in his eyes.

“Take off your panties.” 

I let out a bemused laugh, dry and short as I am uncertain of his odd demand. But he holds out his hand at the stern request, motioning for me to do as I’m told. 

“Here?!” I ask, looking around to see if there is anyone who might be a voyeur on our little engagement. The last thing I need is our agents scolding us again for photos of us being inappropriate in public places. Gretchen swears we make these mess on purpose. We kinda do, because we can’t keep away from one another.

“You want another one of your fancy pairs turned into rubbish?” he threatens.

I comply, breathing out like a brat and leaning down to take off my underwear for him. I place it in his hand and move back against the wall, anticipating his next move. I guess “Cavill and wife caught doing cardio after the gym!” could be a funny headline, better than the one at the hotel at the Academy Awards.

Henry folds the small material in his hand, holding it in his fist as if it’s something he can actually squeeze, before shoving it into his pocket. He grabs something else in exchange. I hear the chink of his car keys, dangling between his fingers as he offers them to me.

“You drive.”

There are no explanations, nor can I make anything of his behaviour. My man is willed with the control of his emotions. To outburst is to be weak, I am keen on that, my own terrible flaw. It only pisses me off more to see him keeping himself so relaxed while I am always the one who sees fire. 

I follow his order, walking after him silently as he leads me to where he parked the car. Having no underwear beneath my short skirt is anything but convenient right now, especially when I have to enter the vehicle and crouch down. 

I try fixing my skirt to cover myself, feeling the leather of the seat beneath my ass and other regions while Henry begins messing with the music player. I can see the small smirk at the corner of his lip, it’s evident that he’s having himself a good time knowing how uncomfortable I am at this very moment.

I roll my eyes at him and try closing my knees together as much as I can while stepping my foot on the gas.

He puts on Queens of the Stone Age and takes the passenger seat back, remembering he needs more legroom than I usually require. His head turns to face me, his lips sucked into his mouth in a cunning gesture.

“Had yourself a good time?” 

His hand reaches toward my knee, grazing at the bone with featherlike movements. It tickles, I am forced to move my knee from him involuntarily, but he keeps it in place, resting his entire large hand on my kneecap.

“I’m driving…” I warn him, keeping my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.  

I can tell he is smirking wickedly, his eyes staring at the road ahead of us carefully and then back at me. His fingers make their way up my thigh, snakelike on my bare skin. His palm is large and warm, pressing onto my inner thigh while his thumb draws invisible circles on my skin.

“Henry…” I warn again, feeling cool air blowing against my lips as he forces my legs to part wider for him. “You’ll get us killed!”

“Then focus on the road.” he commands, licking his lips. His fingers meet my wetness in a touch so tender it’s almost a phantasm, yet still there, undoubtedly making me swallow a sigh and squirm slightly in my seat. It’s as if he is testing the water first, a slight brush before plunging in and damn if he doesn’t push into me with his fingers, pressing three of his large digits to massage my heat. 

“Fuck!” 

I am fighting to keep my eyes open, my hands clutching at the steering wheel while my left foot kicks at the floor. 

“Maybe we should stop.” I suggest, nearly pleading. 

“Keep driving, we’re almost home.” he answers, sounding relaxed. The amused grin has vanished from his face, replaced with the severeness of pride and triumph.

He strokes my cunt between his fingers in a tight grip, his fingers running up and down, playing with my wetness, smearing it across his hand before plunging two of his knuckles inside me as we stop at a red light. I am very much aware that other drivers might see us, so does he, but he seems to care very little if anyone spots him pleasing his wife. 

“Aww…” he mocks me, hearing the helpless cry that pushes out of my throat. “You shouldn’t have been such a bad little girl.” he teases some more, his fingers now plunging in and out with excitement. I allow myself to grind at the surface of his palm to achieve more friction at the base of my clit so maybe we can finish this quickly before the light is green.

But he’s the one in charge of my satisfaction now. He holds his hand further, so I will have none of it and keeps the stimulation only at the rim of my cunt, his fingers circling my entrance. 

“Too bad you had to tease me like that.” he murmurs in his low voice, his fingers slowly withdrawing and only his thumb grants my clit with a small tender brush.

 “Now you’ll have to wait, and be a good girl for daddy.”     

I let out another cry, arching toward the wheel and biting on my lips. It's not out of pleasure, but out of torturous frustration as he withdraws completely. I give him a quick, infuriated stare, seeing how he sucks his fingers victoriously, enjoying every single drop of his sweet win.

Feeling slick between my thighs, I press slightly harder on the gas pedal, trying to get us home faster. Henry pumps the volume of the music player higher.

Watch you come from above

I'm so needy for love, I'm desperate,

Greedy in slavery I sneak around from behind I got a one track mind We got a skin on skin thing baby I want to lick you too much I hear you comin ooh aaaah baby 

~*~

The moment we enter the house I lock the door and try to make my move but he has his hand on my throat in less than a second, squeezing not too tight, but tight enough to make a point. His blue eyes scan my face, his soft tongue slithering across the freckle of his lower lip with arousal. 

“Get on your knees, little one. You’re not off the hook yet.” 

I gasp at his fierceness, weak against his charisma and beauty. I stroke his face, still sticky with sweat from earlier, my fingers are gently smoothing against the stubbles on his high cheekbones and at the dimple of his chin. 

“Please, daddy, just fuck me already,” I bargain. 

“I’m wet and ready for you.”

“On your knees.” he repeats himself, his lips twitching to a small grin as he sees my defeat. His hand slightly releases my neck, his fingers pet my chin and jaw and finally entangle in my hair as I fall to my knees slowly, levelling myself at the height of his groin. His hand strokes my head lovingly, pressing my chin against his growing arousal as I look up to him with fake innocence.  

“Are you gonna be good now?” he asks, his fingers twirling around my long hair lovingly. 

“Yes, daddy.” I nod, waiting to have his cock in me, in any part of me. I want to touch myself so badly, my pussy throbs with desperate eagerness to be stuffed by his huge cock. . 

“I want to see you crawl on fours and wait for me in the living room, babygirl.” he growls at me while discarding his blue top on the wooden floor, exposing his thick hairy chest. 

“I want to look at your cunt as you move for me before I’ll destroy it. You’ve been such a nasty girl today.” 

I shiver at his words, a shrill of air kicks out of my lungs at once. My toughness is down to non-existing. I let him have it, I let him have it all. I crawl on my knees and palms like a cat in heat, my ass exposed for him. My cunt drips with primal desire to be conquered by this menacing alpha. I stop for a moment and then look behind me. I see him kicking off his shoes, his sweats slipping down his thick thighs along with his briefs before he continues to follow me, holding his erection in his hand, massaging the base of his cock while looking at me to open wide for him.

I reach the furry white IKEA carpet in our living room and wait for him, still on all fours. His heavy footsteps make the wood creak beneath his weight which alerts me that he’s close. The heat of his body is near. I feel the aura of his body as he falls down to his knees carefully behind me. 

His hands smooth against the curve of my ass, appreciating my shape to the point of worshipping my flesh. He takes the time to study again what he knows better than I do, trailing up to lift my skirt until it’s hiked around my belly. He then pushes my shirt, prompting me to take it off. Not an easy task to perform on all four limbs.

For one lingering moment, his hands roam across my body, massaging my muscles, pinching my nipples between his fingers. I moan beneath his large hands as he coaxes me into being his little plaything, succumbing to his will. Possessive fingers grip my shoulder and in a sudden movement, I’m pressed with my back down while Henry pushes my legs apart with his knees. 

“I just love to look at your face when I fuck you, babygirl.” he explains, his hands pulling my legs violently against his hips to position me as he desires. That way, we can both enjoy the show of his cock slipping in and out of my slit.

I squirm beneath him, my hands reaching for his chest to stroke at the thick dark hair and hardened pecs. “Please, fuck me.” I beg to the point of whining as I look at his sturdy cock, admiring every vein and ridge that decorates his impressive size. Henry takes himself and begins to tease my entrance, making teasing groaning voices while I plea so weakly. 

But that’s only to prepare me for his brutal invasion. He lets out a loud husky shout as he pushes in, penetrating me with such vulgarness, it takes the air out of my lungs. I am split in half, feeling how my body stretches immediately to bind itself to him. 

My narrow slit tries to remain resilient while Henry keeps himself nested between my lush folds, a groan of pure pleasure vibrates through his glorious chest before he takes my jaw in his great hand and makes me look at him to see the sin in his eyes.

“Good girl…”  he calls out in his deep low voice, pulling himself out slowly and then slamming back inside me in with a slippery wet slap. I gasp, my entire body shuddering in his veiny arms. 

“Good girl.” He speaks again, letting the words roll and linger on his tongue.

His rhythm is somewhere between torturous to divine. When he pulls away he does it ever so slowly, watching with perverse fascination his own cock as it slides out my narrow entrance just before he slams back in. Henry promised that he will destroy me; he never breaks a promise. I already feel how my muscles are thrown into a paradox, trying to resist him yet have him deeper and deeper with each one of his amazing thrusts.  

“Look at how you take me,” he calls in a guttural voice, urging me to look at our union. “You have such a tight succulent cunt, baby.” 

It feels almost too sinful to stare, my entire existence shivers at the sight. His big beautiful cock enters me, slick with my juices as he increases the pace. I’m petite but with him inside I’m forced to expand, my body stealing his shape, embracing him with devotion, wanting him to be like this forever.

His wide thighs are placed right beneath my legs, his right hand silks its way down my hip and grips me roughly as he pounds me in increasing speed. With one hand still on my jaw, he presses his fingers to my mouth where I suck and bite at him. He always wants me to look at him, loves it when I’m hopeless beneath him when my mouth cries for him while he stuffs me with his cock, over and over again. 

I squirm to meet his pelvis. He fucks me so raw that no actual words come out of my mouth but the mewls of a small, helpless animal instead. Being hunted for sport rather than eating. I grind my clit against his pubic bone to elicit more delightful friction, getting me closer and closer. But I’m stealing control and he’ll have none of that right now. 

He shoves us down, pinning my hands against each side of my head while his groin is holding me down to the surface in complete captivity. I am hurting for a mere moment as he shoves too forcefully. His apology is a deep passionate kiss which he is forced to break as we both gasp for air with every merciless push of his loins into mine. 

“Fuck babygirl!” He leans his forehead against mine, a feral gaze in his eyes. I lock my legs around his waist, my body losing every grip it ever had on control as the warmth begins to throb at the base of my cunt, spreading from my womb towards every nerve until I feel nothing but love flowing through my body.

I pant in awe, my voice adding to his deep growls and husky gasps which only become louder as his orgasm looms closer with the tightness of my cunt around his swelling cock. It sucks him harder, demanding his release, milking him of his offering until he shudders through me and yells out my name. 

The gush of warmth that spills inside me is my second favorite thing in the world. I moan with sweet delight as his cream coats me inside.

“I love you so much.” he whispers, holding me in his protective embrace as if to apologize for fucking me so hard.

I’d imagine that after such a long time together he’d already figure it out that I’m the one provoking it.

“What’s the name of that device again?.. the one I was…”

“Glute drive.”

“Glute drive, yeah, we’ll do that again soon…” I suggest, nibbling at his ear playfully while he remains on top of me.

~*~

Song lyrics are by Queens of the Stone Age - Skin on Skin

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Debrief

Part 7 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

…the thunder of crashing boulders…

…Hwan’s green eyes, wide with terror, framed by a Fire Nation Infantry helmet…

…the heat of the fires, bathing his face with the stench of burning hair and flesh…

…Father’s voice, sneering “suffering will be your teacher”…

The shriek of terror and remembered pain is strangled in his throat as Zuko snaps awake, drenched in cold sweat and panting like he’s been tree-running for an entire day. The Yuyan dorm is dark and quiet, everyone is still asleep, and Zuko simply lies in his bunk and breathes.

It’s been a week since Chihese and Haili Squads returned from Huzhen, two weeks since the battle (slaughter) itself, and Zuko has had nightmares every night. Every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he sees the captive earthbenders dressed in Fire Nation uniforms as they’re buried by their own countrymen, feels the fire thrown by the Third Infantry Corps as they overwhelm the tiny Earth Kingdom company… feels his face burn as Ozai caresses him with flames.

He wants to climb into Kai’s bunk, like he has every time he had a nightmare or a major panic attack in the last almost two years. But he’s turning sixteen in two months, he’s no longer a child, and hasn’t been since he was discarded in the Earth Kingdom wilderness like an unruly and unwanted house pet. He can’t go running to his best friend every time he has a bad dream anymore. They barely fit on the same bunk anymore, anyway—Kai has always been tall and lanky, but at the age of twenty has topped out at six feet and gained the shoulders to match. Zuko himself has shot up to nearly 5’6” and gotten his shoulders early, much to Kai’s chagrin. If Zuko tries to sneak into Kai’s bunk, one of them is going to end up on the floor.

No, he's not a kid anymore. He can deal.

He slips out of his bunk and silently works his way through the Stronghold to the komodo-rhino stables. The stables are quiet but for the sounds of the rhinos shifting and breathing in their sleep, and Zuko silently scales the building to perch on the roof, facing the east.He's exhausted, but he never goes back to sleep after one of these nightmares. If he's lucky, he'll only have a couple of hours before he'd wake up naturally from the sunrise, but tonight's not a lucky night––there's several hours between now and dawn. He sighs, and settles himself to meditate, feeling his inner flame race through his chi paths and chase away the chill of the mountain night.

His thoughts refuse to settle, though. They race around his skull like trapped rats:

How could Hanzou do something so horrible?

It was an excellent strategy.

It was cruel!

They were going to be executed or imprisoned anyway.

It was dishonorable!

There is no honor in war.

Then maybe the war should end.

Zuko opens his eyes with a gasp. End the war? The war was meant to bring the Fire Nation’s light to the world, to demonstrate their superiority to the other Nations.

How in the depths of Koh’s lair does murdering an entire squad of captured prisoners in cold blood make the Fire Nation in any way superior?

But that’s treason, to think like that. Zuko has given up on attempting to feel anything other than fear and contempt for Ozai, has given up believing in the power of his royal blood after being so very thoroughly disowned by his father and Fire Lord, but he is still a citizen of the Fire Nation, a loyal one.

But… how can he claim loyalty to a nation that commits crimes against other humans in the name of spreading greatness? He has no doubt that Ozai will reward Lieutenant General Hanzou handsomely for his actions at Huzhen—the Fire Lord has demonstrated repeatedly that he cares little for his own people, let alone helpless enemy prisoners of war, and will commend Hanzou for his creativity in solving two problems in such a simple action. This will encourage (has encouraged, Zuko can never forget his failure to prevent the death of the 41st) other generals to try equally ruthless tactics to earn the Fire Lord’s favor for themselves, perpetuating his bloodlust all over the world. Ozai has turned Sozin’s admittedly megalomaniacal dream of spreading Fire Nation greatness into a nightmare of fire and death for the other nations, and has turned the Fire Nation into exactly the kind of savages his people are taught to believe the other nations are.

This war has to end, and it can’t end with a Fire Nation victory. If that makes him a traitor to the Fire Nation, then so be it, but he would rather save his nation’s soul than perpetuate its cruelties. He doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but there’s got to be some way to end the fighting, end the war, without the complete destruction of one side or the other.

Uncle Iroh had come back from the Siege of Ba Sing Se with an urn containing the ashes of Cousin Lu Ten’s body and a quiet but powerful belief in the importance of balance. In oneself, in one’s life, and in the world itself. Zuko had thought the old man had gone a little nuts from the trauma of losing Lu Ten, but now… now he can kind of see what his uncle was talking about. It makes Zuko wonder if Uncle, too, saw how the Fire Nation was destroying itself as its leaders destroyed the world.

He can’t let it continue.

Terrified green eyes wide in a pallid face framed by a Fire Nation Infantry helmet…

A shoe scuffs almost silently on the roof, and Commander Toshiaki steps out of the darkness and settles himself a polite distance from Zuko.

Zuko’s nerves buzz and he has to consciously keep himself from tensing up. Damn his luck. The moment he makes the conscious decision to commit treason against the Fire Nation, and who shows up but his Agni-damned commanding officer.

The Commander softly snaps his fingers, and Zuko automatically gives him his attention.

It’s not uncommon for soldiers to have trouble sleeping after their first taste of combat, he signs, slow and easy, his expression serene.

Zuko grits his teeth. That wasn’t combat, Commander, he replies, signs sharp. That was a slaughter.

He fully expects to be reprimanded, but the Commander merely bows his head in concession.

I agree.

Zuko watches in mild shock as the Commander continues.

What happened at Huzhen was a tragedy and should never have happened, he signs. What happened to the 41st Division was a tragedy and should never have happened. The Siege of Ba Sing Se, the predations of the Southern Raiders, the attack on the Northern Water Tribe, the destruction of Taka… the genocide of the Air Nomads. All tragedies, none of which should have ever happened.

Zuko watches as his superior hesitates, just for a split second, completely invisible to a civilian's eye but as obvious and shocking as lightning.

Your farce of an Agni Kai was a tragedy, and should never have happened, Commander Toshiaki finishes, looking Zuko in the eye.

For moments that feel like years, neither of them move. Zuko barely dares to breathe. But when several minutes pass and the Commander makes no move to attempt to restrain him for arrest and return to Caldera, Zuko tentatively raises his hands.

How long have you known?

The Commander smiles wryly. I'd had no idea until Dr. Atsuko told me about two weeks after your arrival. Apparently her uncle was present.

Zuko does not want to talk about this, but his hands move without his permission. Him and the entire fucking Caldera, he snaps out, feeling the flash of heat over his eye that always accompanied even a passing thought of the spirits-damned mockery of a duel that was meant to end his life.

The Commander is still. Waiting, endlessly patient, like the hunter he's been training Zuko to be for almost two years.

Why didn't you turn me in? Zuko asks, morbidly curious. He hadn't hidden his identity, he'd just known that after six months of living by himself in the middle of nowhere, no one would believe him if he tried to insist that he was the missing Fire Prince. "Zuko" wasn't a hugely popular name, but it wasn't rare.

For a long time, the Commander doesn't answer. He just sits beside Zuko, not too close, and leans back on his hands and stares up at the stars. Zuko wants to get impatient, to snap his hands around the signs and demand answers, but he grips his knees until his knuckles and fingertips turn white and waits.

Finally, the Commander sits up, bringing his hands up to sign.

I have been a loyal soldier of the Fire Nation for seventeen years, he signs, not seeming to actually look at Zuko. I have done many things in the service of my country, but they have always been in line with my own morals. But that… that was a step too far. You are a child. You were a child then, and you are a child now. There is no action that you could take or had taken that should have been met with violence of any kind, much less on that scale. You should have been sent to bed without dessert, or made to write lines or do conditioning drills, not–

–Getting my face burned off? Zuko finishes, tilting his head and smirking lightly.

The Commander scowls at him, then a small smirk of his own breaks through and he chuckles silently.

I don’t know how to explain it any better, but after Atsuko left, I thought about you, and about how kind you are, and how much better things might be if you were Fire Lord, and suddenly I was doing everything in my power to keep you alive to become Fire Lord.

So I’m a bargaining chip. Zuko keeps his expressions and body tightly under control, burying his hurt.

NO.

He jumps at the force of the sign, at the way the Commander seems to double in size as he leaned forward with his shoulders thrown back aggressively, his hairless eyebrows furrowed low over his dark eyes, mouth turned firmly down. He may as well have been shouting.The Commander relaxes a bit as he continues to sign, but he still leans toward Zuko just a little bit in his eagerness. You are not a bargaining chip, Zuko. You are not some prize to control. You are the closest thing to a son that I am ever going to have, and I am so incredibly proud of the man you are becoming before my very eyes. I didn’t report you because what the Fire Lord did to you is wrong, it was cruel and despicable and the fact that no one else seems to have had any problem with it just goes to show how far our great Nation has fallen. You are a child, and I wanted to protect you and give you the time you needed to heal and grow and decide what it is you want to do with your life. If you decide to enlist officially in the Archers, I will be happy to help you falsify the documents you need and approve them. If you decide to move to Ba Sing Se as a refugee and live in peace, then I will do everything in my power to ensure your safe passage. He takes a deep breath, and folds himself into full kneel atop the narrow peak beam of the stable roof. It’s not a full kowtow, because he needs his hands to speak, but it shocks Zuko just the same.

If my Prince decides to take up arms against the tyrant Fire Lord, then it will be my honor and my privilege to dedicate my life and my bow to his service.

It takes Zuko a moment to realize what’s happening, but when he does he nearly falls off the roof. His spirits-damned commanding officeris swearing fealty to him, Zuko, the prince who was burned and thrown out of his homeland to die. This man saved him, risked court martial and prison and even death to keep Zuko from being discovered and executed by his father, and here he is, dedicating his life to some hypothetical and certainly suicidal bid Zuko might make for the throne. He can’t breathe.

Please… please get up… he signs shakily, and pulls on the Commander’s arm. The older man sits, but keeps his head respectfully bowed. Zuko gathers up the tattered remains of his composure. I don’t understand what you want from me. You would really just… let me go? After two years? If I said I didn’t want to continue being part of the Archers, or didn’t want to try to overthrow my father? You would just… let me go? He’s never felt like the Archers were keeping him hostage, but learning that his commanding officer knew who he was this entire time and had kept the knowledge secret is messing with his perceptions.

Commander Toshiaki looks heartbroken as he signs, Of course I would. All I want is for you to be safe and happy. If you decide to find that safety and happiness behind the walls of Ba Sing Se, then I will forge the paperwork required and escort you there myself. I would miss you terribly, and Kai may never forgive me, but I would rest well knowing that you are happy and safe.

Zuko is sorely tempted, the memories of Huzhen sending icicles up and down his spine. But his people would still be killing and dying and poisoning themselves and the rest of the world with their hate and unchecked aggression while he hid safe and contented behind Ba Sing Se’s massive walls, and he knows like he knows his own name that if he chooses that road, he would go crazy from the inaction.

He’s also tempted to hold to his and the Commander’s original deal, to enlist in the Yuyan Archers as soon as he was of age, but that would severely limit the kind of action he could take to try to end the war. He’d still be perpetuating the Fire Nation’s crimes, and he knows that eventually the dissonance of his beliefs and his actions would drive him just as crazy as he would be if he was hiding in Ba Sing Se and doing nothing.

There’s only one thing for it, then.

This war has to end, Commander, he signs finally. I want to have a hand in ending it. Do you have any ideas on how to go about that?

The look on Commander Toshiaki’s face is one Zuko has never seen before, pride so fierce and joyful that it makes Zuko’s face and ears and the back of his neck burst into flame with the heat of his blush. Only Uncle Iroh (only Mom) has ever looked at him like that.

You honor me, my Prince, the older man replies, and bows with the Flame. Zuko returns it, feeling like a few of the missing pieces of his soul have finally clicked into place.

They stay up on the roof of the komodo-rhino stables until nearly dawn, hammering out plan after plan after plan for every contingency they can think of, and a few that Zuko hopes will never come to pass because if they do, then the entire world is screwed.

In the end, they decide that Plan A is for Zuko to continue on as he has been, and enlist in the Archers the moment he turns eighteen. With his extra four years of experience, he’ll shoot up the ranks, and hopefully make Captain and have his own Squad by age twenty, which will provide him with command experience. Once Azula turns eighteen and is crowned Heir Apparent, it’ll only be a matter of time before she decides to seize power for herself, and by then Zuko will be more than ready to challenge her for the Caldera Throne.

It means another four years at least of war, of his people suffering, and that chafes at Zuko like sand in between his toes, but as he steps up his training in firebending, in swordsmanship, and in archery and stealth arts, he contents himself with the knowledge that this is the most logical path to ending the war. He cannot face Ozai. Just the thought makes his entire body shake and his mind race like a mouse in a trap. Better to wait for Azula to make her move and avoid the Fire Lord completely than to risk freezing up and getting killed for the hesitation.

A few weeks after the rooftop… thing (revelation? discussion? conspiracy? conspiracy), Kai corners him in the farthest corner of the training yards, where Zuko likes to practice with his dao.

What the fuck is up with you? He signs, sitting on Zuko’s stomach after ambushing him into a mild wrestling match. Zuko’s slippery, but Kai has height and weight on his side, and their matches tend to end in draws more often than not, but this time Kai isn't playing. Zuko's arms are trapped against his sides by Kai's knees, and the older boy is pressing down with just enough weight to ensure that Zuko can't break free of the hold, and his expression is pouty and annoyed but his eyes are concerned. Zuko relaxes into the pin, and simply raises his eyebrow.

Kai rolls his eyes, and gets up. Zuko sits up and takes a few deep breaths, but otherwise doesn't move.

Well? Kai demands, signs sharp with impatience, standing on the balls of his feet as though ready to move at a second's notice. You've been so weird since we got back from Huzhen. Honestly, I expected the nightmares, I've had them too, but you've stopped going to the stables and the hawks and you barely talk to anyone! All you do is train, you barely even eat or sleep! What the actual fuck, Zuko?

Oops. Zuko winces, scratching the side of his head. He hadn't meant to get so wrapped up.

You're right, he signs. I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind recently

.Kai frowns, and settles himself on the ground directly in front of Zuko. Talk to me. Maybe I can help, or at least be a friendly ear.

Zuko barely has to think about it for a second. Kai is his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, and he trusts him even more than he trusts the Commander at times.

He explains everything. His identity as the (former) Crown Prince, the Agni Kai, his abandonment in the wilderness. How the massacre at Huzhen had made him realize what the war was doing to their country, to their people. How the Commander had known all of this time exactly who he was, and how the man is helping him in his conspiracy to commit treason by simply being alive and planning to take back his throne when his scheming sister makes her play for it.

Through it all, Kai's eyes never leave his body, taking in everything. There are several points where it looks like the older boy (older man, Kai is twenty now, and when on earth did they all grow up?) might interrupt, but he restrains himself admirably. His face is pure rage when he learns how Zuko got his scar, and again when Zuko describes the realization that he had been left for dead in the mountains, but he doesn't move. When Zuko is finished, his hands and brain exhausted, Kai sits for a few moments, eyes closed.

You know, I always thought it was weird that an obviously full-blooded Fire Nation kid just randomly showed up here, he finally muses. Especially one so obviously noble-blooded.

So you’re not mad? Zuko didn’t think he would be, Kai loves a good prank, but it’s always helpful to know where he stands so that there aren’t any surprises.

Kai chuckles silently, and digs a knuckle into the top of Zuko’s head. Dumbass, he signs, grinning crookedly, his eyes warm with affection. You were doing what you needed to do to survive. Nothing wrong with that. I was just worried about you— there’s all sorts of horror stories about bad reactions soldiers have to their first combat experience. I wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to do anything stupid.

Thanks, Kai, Zuko signs, grinning.

I got your back, Prince Danger Noodle, Kai replies, winking at him.

With Kai in the loop, Zuko’s archery training takes off, as the older Private teaches Zuko everything he knows about hitting exactly where he aims every single time, no matter the conditions. They drill relentlessly, in any spare moment that Zuko’s not practicing his firebending or his dao.

The summer fades, and Zuko celebrates his sixteenth birthday by breaking into Shinu’s office, stealing the three massive jugs of baijiu the Colonel keeps there, and getting impressively drunk with Kai, Jiyoti, Min-Seo, and some of the other younger soldiers stationed at the Stronghold. He doesn’t remember much past the first several swallows, but he does remember it being one of the single best birthdays he’s ever had. Then the hangover hits in the morning, and he spends PT wishing that someone would shoot him and end his misery. Captain Hiroki and Commander Toshiaki are entirely unsympathetic, and Master Ryoichi gleefully pummels him in sparring, taking advantage of his infirmity to teach Zuko how to fight while impaired. It's grueling, and surprisingly vicious for the usually fair-minded Master, with any number of assailants jumping in and out at any given moment, but Zuko manages a pretty solid win, despite his spinning head and churning gut. Afterward, as Zuko sits on the side and wishes for a dark hole to crawl into, the Master announces that Zuko is a Firebending Master. Zuko responds by throwing up at the Master's feet.

Fall passes, and Zuko makes a consistent habit of breaking into the Stronghold's communications hub and reading every report he can get his hands on, with specific attention paid to the Fire Nation Army's movements in the Earth Kingdom. He learns everything he can, memorizes codes, locations, and personnel, some tiny, paranoid part of his mind urging him that no knowledge is wasted, even if it would be rendered obsolete within the next week. Despite obsolescence, no report is ever thrown away–– the hub contains scrolls dating back to Pouhai's founding as a frontier garrison in the very early days of the war, only weeks younger than the Yu Dao colony. It's here that Zuko encounters a written account of the Avatar legend, copied for posterity on the fiftieth anniversary of Sozin's attack on the Air Temples and then shoved in the back of the shelf and forgotten. Zuko skims it, reads maintains balance between the Four Nations, and finds himself wondering for a moment what life might have been like had the Avatar cycle not been broken. Then he shakes his head, replaces the scroll, and goes back to reading reports from the Southern Raiders.

On a freezing winter morning, as Zuko and his squad sit down to breakfast and tease Kai for still being half asleep, a herald reads a proclamation from the Caldera.

"The Avatar has returned, and is wanted alive for treason against the Fire Nation."

The mess hall is silent. Zuko nearly chokes on his tea. Unbidden, his eyes fly to Commander Toshiaki, who has gone white to the lips, but otherwise is composed.

The Avatar has returned.

This, Zuko thinks, as he listens to the silence break to the shattering sounds of all of his plans, changes everything.

Previous | Next

[reinepadova]

To Be Seen

[←Previous]  | Chapter 5 |  [ Next → ]

Pearls don't lie on the seashore. If you want one, you must dive for one.

...Light. So soft, and sweet. It surrounds me...

...Warmth. Radiant, and gentle. It brushes against my skin...

...Heart. Steady, and loud. It beats beneath my ear...

...Fingers. Unwavering, yet delicate. They caress through my hair...

...Voice...

...What voice?...

...Who?...

「...is closed...port...settled. Go get...」

「Who?」

「...rest...」

「Who are you?」

「...go get some rest.」

Stella reached out, slow and surreal, out to the space, both wide and close. Infinite, yet enclosed. Her thoughts echoed loudly, yet quietly, both near and far.

Where are the shadowed walls? I should not see.

Where is the cold? It should chill my flesh and soul.

Where are the jeers? They should be ringing and malicious.

「Why?」

「...」

「Why do you care?」

「...」

「Please. Who are you?」

「...」

Stella's eyes stuttered open,  gradual and confused, feeling engulfed, but not suffocating; strangely more secure. Her arms tightened instinctly, fingernails digging into strange grooves – did she fall asleep outside? Why is she hugging a tree? Didn't she make it to the village?

She felt disoriented, and not the usual kind – the kind where she would feel even more empty and tired, dependent on the stamina-boosting dishes instead of her own replenished energies. Nor is it the kind that makes her alert and paranoid, heart pounding like a frightened bird. Stupid green slime. Thing. I hope its choking in its dirt, she grumbled mutely, head burrowing more into the fuzzy moss the tree is probably covered in.

Overall, its such an unfamiliar feeling. This state of wakefulness and oblivion. She can't remember the last time she had a quiet morning like this. Or is it afternoon? Mei was pounding on something before I slept. She was giggling too. I'm glad she's smiling again. Her crying makes me uncomfortable. It's like how Selene looked before she let go.

Stella unconsciously frowned, shoulders tensing slightly, before relaxing back on her side when something nuzzled against her hair.

After a few more minutes of blank ruminating, her 'tree' moved slightly, making her blink back her lethargy, groggily raising her head. She winced, reaching up to rub carefully at the deep sleep lines on her cheek. Clearing her vision, she recognized jewel-like eyes staring back at her – a sight she's wondering would become a habit to see. The corner of her lips twitch up, feeling the weight of the guardian curl around her in a comfy cocoon, and realizing its tail served as her cushy, albeit ticklish pillow. She was about to say her thanks before she stopped, raising a brow instead. Why does it look so... grim?

She tilted her head, staring at somber eyes that studied her for a good long moment, not unlike the solemn paintings of her ancestors in her clan's compound, judging and eternal, captured in paints that lasted until her time –

Shaking her memories away, Stella began to wonder anew how old Mr. Guardian really is, how many people and places its seen, how many it helped or come across. Her thoughts cut off when it suddenly shook its own head, tapping at her nose with one of its whiskers, and teased her face with a small puff of breath. She blew back with her own at its snout, giggling when it tried to smother her with its large mane, pushing her head back in a gentle headbutt.

“Alright, okay. I'm awake, I'm awake,” Stella grumbled, scratching on the bridge of its nose with careful fingers. “You're more cuddly than I thought a serpent should be.”

It reared back its head, snorting, as if indignant, but with eyes still glittering with play. Stella rolled her eyes, sitting up straight while taming down her bed hair. Her gaze fell lazily on the creature, noting absently its suddenly stiff form, a strange new glint in its eyes. Was it's pupils always that big? I could have sworn it was like little diamonds last night. Huh. Must be a predator thing. “I don't know what you are, honestly. That's how I always thought of you before.” She covered her yawn with a dainty hand, a habit from years of etiquette training coming into play despite her non-human bedmate. “I'll ask Mei later. She looked like she knew what you are,” she appeased, dryly smiling at its suddenly thoughtful demeanor.

After a long pause where she was tempted to lie down again, it snorted in agreement, uncurling completely from her before shrinking down his size. It gently spiraled up, drifting in a large circle around the room, before nodding its head to the changing screens. Stella's eyebrow twitched, mumbling about 'pushy, dramatic lizards' before doing as directed, keeping in mind what mischief Mei had been doing while she was down for the count all morning.

I hope its nothing expensive.

Checking to see the bed made, her pack readied, and patting at her last outfit for this trip, Stella walked out, stretching out the kinks to her shoulder when she immediately swerved her wide gaze to the small plot of land that was formerly the receiving area of the hut.

“Lalaaa~ Lookie! Mei mixed the things, like you said! Can we put the Lilies in now?”

Stella stared at the debris covered, char-filled, sandy mess that is formerly a floor, a blank smile frozen on her face. “That's. Great. Mei. How. Did you manage to get...all of this?” she asked faintly, doing a vague, circular gesture of her wrist.

“Oh! The village uncles and aunt helped Mei! Uhm, one uncle has a number in his name. The other uncle says his name is a cold blade. It's strange. But they helped Mei with the soft dirt and the soft rocks. Another uncle said Mei could have his extra wood. Then the aunt that cooks helped Mei cook the wood and rice huskies. She had plenty! She told Mei to not eat the rice huskies, or the wood though, even though she makes yummy dishes,” Mei babbled brightly, her whole body vibrating with energy.

“...ah. Then... they helped you bring it here?” Stella kneeled gingerly before the small mount, not knowing where she should look at first. She couldn't check the sand if its the proper consistency because its mixed in too much with the clay. She's not sure if the clay was pliable enough for the Lilies' roots. The husks were supposed to be smoked, but she can see some badly burnt ones. And the wood... well, she'll have to cut them down to a better size.

“Mhmm~ They super nice. The auntie that cooks even gave Mei a dish so Mei could give it to her Lala!”

Stella smiled gratefully, reaching out a hand to rub Mei's head affectionately. “Thanks, Mei. But give me an hour. I'll be able to sort the materials by then.”

Mei scrunched her brows adorably, pouting. “But Lala should eat first?”

“I know, Mei. But this isn't your house. Granny Ruoxin will come in anytime. She might trip and fall. You know Gran-gran was prone to that too with her poor vision.”

“Oh.” Mei looked down, thoroughly conflicted, playing with her hands as she tried to work through her little head the dilemma of feeding her special person as soon as possible, but also wanting to work on the Lilies as soon as possible.

On the other hand, Stella's mind whirled with thoughts of how to resolve this without making Mei cry, a vibrating energy surrounded them, shaking the two out of their heads before grasping each others hands in instinct.

A large, condensed piece of clay floated, expanding and contracting, with tiny particles of sand dropping immediately from it, while the rice husks flew upwards and away. Stella quickly ducked to cover Mei's eyes, tucking her little head under her chin, face turned away until the golden, mini vortex settled and cleared. Warily opening her eyes, Stella looked around, and gasped.

A pile of softened clay shaped like a cube sat near the wall, while a neat heap of sand was placed next to it in an elegant, gilded, brown pot Stella has never seen before. The rice husks though were still in a pile in front of her, as well as the wood, but its more manageable to sort through now with broom.

Mei squealed excitedly, hopping in place, turning awestruck eyes at the forgotten guardian floating behind them. Remnants of glowing particles circled the creature in slow curves. “Thank you, thank you, Bìxià! Lala can eat now.” Mei stated, more than asked, smile turning smug. Stella retaliated by tickling her ward's sides, making her squeal and laugh, before giving the lady a heatfelt neck hug with her tiny arms.

Stella's smirk turned affectionate, giving the little girl a squeeze in return. “Looks like Mr. Guardian is starting to spoil you. Okay. Give me ten minutes to prepare everything. Divide the food  for me, please?”

Mei giggled, surreptiously glancing at the creature who's now inquisitively looking over the planks of wood, before holding up three fingers at Stella's eye level. They shared a secret smile before Stella winked in agreement. The little girl pattered off before Stella walked over to the creature's curled form, with arms akimbo.

“So! You control anything related to the earth, do you?” Mr. Guardian glanced at her in amusement before nodding. “Well aren't you smug? But, I guess its more useful than what I can do,” Stella whispered lowly as she grabbed a broom to sweep the rice husks. But at the vigorous shake of the creature's muzzle, she realized Mr. Guardian understood exactly what she meant.

-{-}-

“You heard me sing last night,” the lady stated, a sad glimmer shining suddenly in her eyes. “That's how you found me.” Gazing at her quietly, Morax waited. He neither denied nor agreed, intuitively giving her space to think. She finally sighed, her words spilling like lava upon the surface of the earth – slow, with painful fire. “Singing isn't something I do for myself, or even for a living. It's...what I have to do, especially when forced.” She gulped, seemingly forcing her next words out before she runs out of air. “I am... not quite normal. For a human. But I mean no harm to anyone, I promise. Only to myself, when I sing. I – ” She cut herself off, turning away, becoming absentminded as she swept. Morax let her be, busying himself with slicing the planks with his claws, cutting them to the size of a Ley Line Sprout – the appropriate length he thinks she might need for the Lilies.

He is saddened at her distress, after comforting her in her sleep, having to slice through the dark shadows that caged her shining, pure soul – a sight he thought he would never see again. Her answers explained one question, but added upon hundreds – his intrigue for her may yet be extinguished.

Rising after finishing his work, he was surprised she stopped him from heading towards her quarters to conceal his presence, and directed him to the dining table instead. He could only stare as she smiled bashfully, yet charmingly, with the afternoon light complimenting her healthier complexion.

Surely a song of pure joy from her will welcome more praises.

He could only blink, taken aback by the direction of his thoughts, but not shameful of them either.

Sliding the etched ruminations at the back of his mind for now, he touched down gently on a vacant chair, adjusting his size so he fit better, keeping his head at the height of the table, but keeping his arms off of it.

She has shown great consideration for myself even without the girl present. It's best I also mind my manners as a good example.

When said little girl pushed a familiar plate made out of crispy mushrooms and lotus head, with a mouthwatering seasoning of Jueyun chili and plated on shiny green cabbages, he tilted his head and looked on at the delightful surprise, wondering why he was given a second offering in less than a week. Is there something they need more from me?

The lady then startled him from his focus with a short laugh, a wider smile gracing her beautiful face as she patiently explained. “Eat up. The spice on them isn't bad. It's pretty good overall. I will have to thank Ms. Bai before we set out back to the Harbor,” she mused out loud, before catching on, no doubt, to his still befuddled form. Her demeanor seem to soften, like Ice Flowers turned Mist when exposed to a flame, a stroke of understanding painted softly on the curve of her lips. “You're hungry too, right? I know you're used to taking care of others, like how you take care of me – don't think I didn't notice! But, you're also worth taking care of. Rest. You deserve it too,” she stated, as if its a proven fact in the world, before she faced little Mei, inquiring about his form and regarding something else he could no longer hear. His thoughts had turned blank, questions and suspicions fell away, like the fan leaves of the ginkgo trees surrounding his land, from the peak of his mountain forests, to the plains down below.

As Morax took careful bites of the meal, his meal, bearing in mind the placement of his fangs, the relaxed banter of the lady and the child as they discussed their plans held his entire attention, his own musings a mystery to them.

For now.

-{-}-

“Zhongli-xiānsheng! Welcome back, sir,” Ferrylady exclaimed in a breathy gasp, gloved hands almost dropping the ashy incense burner she was supposed to clean before its next use. She hastily set it on a nearby end table, bowing formally to the well-dressed gentleman with his back to her, nevermind the ashes now covering the bottom half of her uniform. When she didn't hear a reply, she took a confused peek. Strange. He never fails to greet back, no matter how late into the night.

What is he holding? Are those the customer logs? Oh no, have I forgotten to write something down again?

“Hm? Ah, thank you. It is good to be back,” the consultant finally said, acknowledging Ferrylady with a nod after he neatly placed down the book on the reception desk, and turned to smile at her warmly. Ferrylady had to smother a cough, both from the blessed sight as well as from the dust. But maybe more so from the former, than the latter, she internally sighed.

“Have you had a good trip, sir?” she inquired quietly, busying herself with the cleanup at the designated corner before she gets caught staring too long. Again.

“Mm. I supposed it is. Ha! And what a surprising gift it is indeed.” Ferrylady had to stop herself from snapping her head back to him, giving away her surprise at his unusually good mood.

Despite his youthful appearance, Zhongli-xiānsheng always exuded a serious demeanor. Aside from playing as the good host – to establish good relations – and a generous customer – within reason –  the normal face of the most knowledgeable consultant employed by the funeral parlor is earnest formality wrapped in respectful cordiality. The kind of bearing all undertakers strive for, as their hall is now well-known far and wide because of his measured suggestions for each type of rite, great and small.

That's not to say Ferrylady was content their consultant is perpetually unsmiling. But when he does...

She held her cleaning brush a little firmer, imagining the radiant glow of the consultant's handsome visage. Her heart might not be able to take it if she has to see it in person. There are just things that have their time and place.

The trip did do him better than expected. I must apologize to the Director as soon as she's back. She is wiser than her years would allude to. I still have much to learn.

She was surprised again when the dapper gentleman spoke next. “Ferrylady, can you tell me more about the current wake you are catering to. This is the third day, is it not?” Ferrylady heard the shuffled pages of the logs again, making her pause in her work.

“That is correct, sir. An old lady, recently passed. Quietly, in her sleep. She is survived by a granddaughter named Meilin,” Ferrylady explained concisely as she silently tidied up, looking up to give the consultant her undivided, yet confused, attention.

Very strange. He wasn't as interested in any of the other ordinary ceremonies before.

“Only one relative?” Zhongli-xiānsheng posed thoughtfully in his usual stance, giving the Ferrylady more questions than answers in her head. Maybe his inquiries have a deeper meaning. Could he be already aware about the Fatui? As expected of our most knowledgeable lecturer. She stood straighter and answered more readily.

“Yes. She is only a little girl though. She does have a guardian with her but they seem unrelated. They don't look alike at all. I can't tell where the lady is from. Her clothes don't look Sumerian or Inazuman, or even those of Liyue fashion, whether traditional or in vogue. But they reflect aspects of the mentioned nations regardless. It's actually an attractive combination, with the wearer herself being a beauty.” When the Ferrylady noticed the unreadable gleam in the consultant's gaze, as well as a a twitch in the corner of his lips, she blushed daintily, realizing she thought out loud.

“Apologies, sir. I digressed. To conclude, they paid generously for the full seven days. As such, the director said to respond accordingly.”

“Generously? Is the memorial plaque included in this?” he casually inquired, turning to gaze out the window, chin still placed lightly on his fingers.

Is the lady guardian a suspected Fatui member, I wonder? Ferrylady shook her head, biting her tongue. No. I shouldn't think this way. She and the girl are still good customers. It is not my place to judge them on this life.

Although, I still do not see why Zhongli-xiānsheng seems interested in this particular ceremony.

“Without, unfortunately. When I mean generous, I meant for everything except that. The guardian said she understood the cost of a certain material little Meilin wanted for the plaque. We assured her it's alright to leave it until later when she has enough Mora saved to commission its carving.”

The consultant hummed and asked no more, staring up at the passing clouds under the moonlit night. The peaceful tick of the clock surrounded the space as the Ferrylady gathered the incense sticks, joss paper, and other materials their clients might prefer during the procession. Moving to let herself out, she understood by now that this type of silence is what the consultant needs for his solitary thinking.

As she neared the door, it's a good thing she has a good hold on her items, especially the burner. She finally gave in to the urge of whirling around to stare at their most revered lecturer with wide eyes as he surprised her yet again with a genial smile and a simple, voiced request.

“May I assist you in the final days of this rite?”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[←Previous]  | Chapter 5 |  [ Next → ]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A/N: I finally have it where I want it to be! A long weekend sure helps a lot. I had to post this before my muse flew away into the void. 

Also, for future reference: don’t flirt during funerals, people. This my disclaimer.

If any one else would like to be tagged in this story if you are having problems seeing it, just let me know~

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Follower Tag:  @meladollsims

[hawksmagnolia]

The Depths Pt 3

The Depths: Bucky x reader Mermaid AU

Part One is HERE

Part Two is HERE

Masterlist coming soon.

Part Four release is Friday 31 July!

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2,315

Author’s Note: Please reblog and leave me some love. It really does mean the world to me! This has been an absolute labor of love and I can’t wait for next Friday. -xo-

The Depths Part Three: The Incoming Storm

&

so

she did

what any

rational woman

would do—

ever so calmly,

she reached out

& she tore

the starts

apart.

-amanda lovelace

I’d never been bound to any kind of schedule beyond the changing of the seasons and the pull of the tides. Those primal things that one who lives untethered to anything other than the sea instinctively knows.

The day it changed he sat on the crude wooden planks that make up his dock as he watched me crack crabs. As I picked out the delicate meat with my fingers I gave him some of the sweet meat of the claws.

“Sometimes, watching you eat is frightening.” I looked up, confused as I chew.

“You have those tiny little hands. They’re the same size as a child’s yet your claws…” He rubbed his chest absently and I know there are four thin scars from them there. I felt a wash of guilt and he must have seen it on my face. “I know it was an accident. And I can promise you that no fairy tale mermaid has teeth like yours.”

That’s because the fairy tale mermaids aren’t carnivorous predators. And I am.

I wrinkled my nose at him and he laughs. I’ve been practicing my human skills by imitating him. He’s a far better teacher than the selkies. He’s also been helping me with my English. When I am frustrated, I resort to swearing in Russian and find myself shocked that he is fluent as well.

He doesn’t explain why other than to say he spent time there. I do not like the expression on his face when he says this so I do not press him.

I cracked the shell of the body with my teeth and flicked the bits of shell back into the water for the little fish there to nibble.

“Why don’t you ever try to come on land?”

I stared into the crab’s hollow body. “I do not have a reason to.” I shifted my weight. I’d been spending more and more time in the shallow water so I can be closer to him. I have to keep my tail submerged to prevent it from drying out and cracking painfully. I can easily breathe in the air or in the water, simply by sealing or unsealing the fragile gill slits on the sides of my neck.

Having lost my appetite, I tossed the crab into the water. “Why do you not come into the water?”

“I can’t swim very well with only one arm.” He gestures.

“It is very shallow. I will help you.” I held out my hand and after a moment of hesitation, he pulls his shirt over his head and takes it. He slides from the dock and lands in the water with an ungainly splash. I laugh as he finds his footing on the round stones and mud at the bottom. I link my fingers with his and pull him towards deeper water. He kicks, keeping his face above the water until I twist my tail to give him some lift.

Now he is the one who laughs as he sits his weight on the end, the delicate fins brushing against the bare skin of his waist.

“I will never get used to the idea of sitting on a mermaid’s tail.”

I copy one of my favorite facial expressions, raising my right eyebrow at him. He laughs again, the sound echoing across the water. I love the sound of it. He likes to say I have taught him to laugh again.

He does not know that he has taught me to laugh again as well.

It all really started when he jumped into the water one day. He had been convinced that he wouldn’t be able to swim with only one arm.

She’d proved him wrong.

The muscles in his back and shoulders began to bulk back up, the muscles in his legs became more defined. Even Steve had noticed the change in him, asked what kind of routine he was doing so that he could copy it.

Bucky wasn’t sure how Steve would have handled the idea of a mermaid as a swimming coach.

The friendship that built between them was easy. Both of them feeling like outsiders around their own kind, a type of kinship between misfits. He knew he sometimes watched her more than a friend would but he kept those feelings pushed deep down in his heart.

And so his days went on like that. He stayed on his little farm near the banks of the lake, spending his mornings doing the work he alone put upon himself and afternoons he spent on the banks, bare feet dangling in the water off the makeshift dock he built.

Spending his time teaching a mermaid how to blend in on land.

He watches her as she practices making herself look human. She’s mastered eyes, bleaching the dark sclera into white, though they have more of an opalescent sheen than blank ivory. He can’t help but notice her chosen eye color matches his own. She also mimics his skin color, not quite the brilliant bronze from her first appearance here but a more subtle tan. Her hair remains a riot of coppers and bronzes while scales that arch over her breasts, curve over her ribs to her hips and tail are dazzling in the sunlight.

He’s taught her to braid her own hair though she learned the hard way she had to put away her fingertip claws, vanishing them into her fingers. When he asked where they went, she thought about it and then shrugged, another one of the human gestures she’d learned from him. Her small fingers are more delicate and nimble than his, she often convinces him to let her braid his hair away from his face since he cannot do it himself with one hand.

He’s careful to unbraid it when they part, lest anyone see it and ask how he did it.

The feeling of her fingers in his hair is soothing and sometimes he hears her humming under her breath. It’s no song he recognizes but it has the same style melody that one would associate with a lullaby. He asks her once but she clamps her lips together and refuses to sing it.

It occurs to him later that he may have literally heard a siren song.

He’s learned she cannot blunt all her teeth. Her canines remain sharp and when he calls her a water vampire, she demands he tell her what a vampire is. When he does, she’s fascinated and he finds himself telling her the story of Dracula. The story that he finds is still locked in his memory from when he and Steve saw the movie in the 1930s.

She asks about his childhood, curious what it’s like to be a human child. She tells him about hers in return, a childhood spent torn between two worlds.

He learns she hasn’t walked on land much since she was seven. When her father died. When he asks how many times, she doesn’t need two hands.

When he helps her translate her way of telling time into his, he learns she is far older than she looks. Based on her memories of significant weather events, he guesses her birthdate to be in the fall of 1920. She is literally just a few years younger than him.

He had guessed she was mid-twenties at the most.

He’d done some discreet research with the help of the Wakandan Princess. Shuri had brought him the information he’d requested with questions in her eyes but none had passed her lips.

Sedna. Inuit Goddess of the sea and marine animals.

Was it a coincidence that his Sedna shared a name with this Goddess? She’d claimed the selkies of Dutch Harbor had named her. Maybe they’d drawn inspiration from mythology. His old self would have brushed it off but hearing Steve’s stories about the God of thunder named Thor…well, the world was a very different place in this century.

All of that changed the day she’d come to him in a panic. The waters were acting strangely, stories of unnatural tides brought to her by the birds. Something was very wrong.

That was the same day His Royal Highness and two of his guards appeared carrying a large rectangular box.

“Bucky!” My voice is higher than normal, threaded with panic. It is early morning. I usually am asleep at this time, curled up on the bottom of the lake not far from his dock. It is safest for me to sleep there.

He appears from the door of his little home. He looks disheveled, dirty. He has animals he cares for, I suspect he has been up for hours.

“Sedna?” He jogs down the path that leads to the dock. “What’s wrong?” He takes in my appearance and comes to the dock, laying flat on his belly and grabbing my shoulders.  

“Something is very wrong. The water…the water is wrong. There are fish coming out of the caverns, they say the tides are acting strangely. The birds, the land animals….everyone is running.”

His spring blue eyes search my face. “Running where?”

“Away. They all say something is coming. Something bad. Evil. Not right. They’re telling everyone to flee, to hide.” My voice shakes and Bucky puts his hand on the side of my face, his thumb tracing over my water-soaked skin.

“I will find out. Stay hidden. I will come back and tell you.”

I shook my head and felt the prick of tears in my eyes.

Apparently sirens can cry.

I hear voices coming from behind him. “I will be right back.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s not gentle. It’s a hard kiss of promise, one that fills me with a small measure of reassurance.

I’m still half-stunned when he pushes from the dock and heads towards the voices.

I hear the words that frighten me to my core.

“Where’s the fight?” He asks.

“On its way.”

Bucky stares at T’Challa. “How serious is it?”

He and Okoye exchange a glance. “Very. Captain Rogers is on his way to Wakanda now.”

“You think this Thanos will attack here?”

“We know he will.”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “Alright. Let’s get it fitted.”

Once the arm is secure and the others have left after he promises to meet them at the palace within an hour, he heads back to the water’s edge.

He finds her waiting for him. She is leaning on the dock, her arms crossed, fingers interlaced. As he approaches, her blue eyes focus on him.

“It is bad.” It’s not a question. She presses her lips together into a thin line.

“Yes.”

“I know it is bad because you have agreed to an arm again.

He lays back down on the dock, propping himself up on both elbows and he puts his hands over hers.

“You have to go.”

Her eyes narrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No, of course not. But it’s not safe. You have to promise me you’ll go to safety.”

“The world is not a safe place. I accept this. I am not running away scared. I can fight.”

Bucky closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers. “This is not your fight. This is not a fight you can win. I need you to be safe. Please.”

A sigh trickles over his cheeks. “Only if you promise to leave my Tear on.”

“I promise.”

When he pulls back from her, he’s stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.

“I will come back. I’ll come back to you. But you have to stay safe.”

She nods, and part of his heart twists when she doesn’t argue. He tilts her face up and kisses her again, this time softer. This one is full of promise, of possibilities.

“Go. I will see you soon.”

I wait until I can no longer see him before I sink beneath the surface, my fingers clutching the Tear in my hair. A small comfort is feeling the faint thump of his pulse through it.

Underwater, no one can see you cry.

I’m not sure how long I stay there. I fall asleep curled around one of the posts of his dock.

At first, I think it is an earthquake.

I awake in a panic, thrashing free of a nightmare but straight into another one.

Except this one is real.

When I break through the surface of the water, I hear sounds of war. Screaming, explosions, and horrible screeching that is not human or beast. I see black creatures with vicious claws and teeth run past, their frenzy destroying the small building.

They are headed towards the village.

The small fishing village where I have played hide and seek with the children. The ones where the mothers leave baskets of clams and crabs as offerings.

There is no one who can stop them. Bucky is away, at the palace which is the opposite direction. I hear the sounds of battle from there.

There is only screaming from the village.

There is no one who can save them.

Except me.

I push up onto the dock and sit, leaving my tail hanging down. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth against the pain, the scales begin to part as flesh emerges. Fins become feet as I will myself to the form of a land walker. I grab Bucky’s abandoned shirt and pull it over my body as I breathe through the pain. It hangs over my body.

I pray that it’s not my funeral dress.

I grab my Tear and squeeze it, hating to break my promise, but there are children there.

There is no one else who can save them.

So I stand, raise my hands to the sky and rain down hell upon my enemies.

......to be continued...

Tag List : @nano--raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore @this-kitten-is-smitten @randomfandompenguin @bucky-plums-barnes​ @bugsbucky​ @littleredstarfish​ @emilylyoness​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @daughterofsteven​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @theycallmebecca​ @nomadicpixel​ @bluebell-24​  @sevans-is-my-weakness @sebastiansloserclub @justvnash​ @worldofmarvelaficionado​ @undiscovered-misunderstood​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @jewels2876​

[monsterlovinghours]

Hey mom? Who are the 5 Mafia!Beej leaders and their bases? they sound really cool!

hoo boy i am so glad you asked i actually made an outline for each of these suave motherfuckers

Italian Don: Scarafaggio, or Gio

Fronts: Private museum owner. Deals in black market art and artifacts.

Speaks: Italian

Appearance:

-Hair slicked back, always one little errant strand lying across his forehead. Black at the roots, green at the tips.

-Wears impeccably tailored suits, pinstriped in black and white. Occasionally they’ll be a red scarf in his breast pocket or a red tie. 

-All five have a pinky ring with a beetle etched into it. 

-Gold tooth

-Wears a lot of jewelry; expensive watch, lots of rings, etc. 

-Owns a lot of leather driving gloves, even though he never drives himself anywhere.

-Usually carries a cane, prefers dark wood with silver or glass heads.

Personality:

-Rather hot-headed, shortest fuse of the three

-Goes absolutely feral on people who disrespect his s/o or his business partners. 

-Doesn’t really do displays of affection, has a hard time expressing emotions.

-His love language is gifts, he’ll absolutely shower his s/o in presents.

-Has a taste for luxury and decadence.

Attributes/Skills:

-Best at first aid/patching up and bandaging wounds. Has sewn his own gashes before. Lots of scars underneath the clothing, though none on his face. Yet.

-Sings beautifully, has this rich baritone croon. Loves to sing a duet with his s/o

-Drinks scotch, brandy, cognac. Always the top shelf stuff.

-Smokes Cuban cigars. 

-Actually a decent cook, but never does it unless s/o is doing it with him.

-Can do the Jitterbug and the Charleston. Refuses to unless his s/o is his partner. Slow dances are just swaying with your hand in his and his palm pressing to your back.

-Quite a good artist, hides his talent.

Russian Don: “Zhuk.”

Front: Luxury resort owner, general investor. Deals in illegal firearms.

Speaks: Russian

Appearance:

-Tall. Very tall. Barrel-chested, broad-shouldered. Built like a brick house.

-Longer hair, about down to the back of his neck. Not long enough to pull into a ponytail, but long enough to play with. Like Scara’s, his hair is black at the roots, but there aren’t much roots showing through. Most of his hair is green.

-Wears almost all black all the time, very monochromatic. Black turtlenecks under Armani suit jackets. Very sleek.

-Has tiny rectangular reading glasses. His eyesight is fine, it’s all just part of the appearance. Makes him look intelligent.

-Tiny streaks of silver at his temples that don’t change with his mood ring hair. 

-Aside from the pinky ring, he sometimes wears a gold chain. Has a nondescript but very expensive watch around his wrist. 

Personality:

-The most even-tempered and calm of the three. Exudes an air of dignity and refinement. 

-Slow to anger, though when angered is absolutely the most fearsome.

-Does not tolerate self degradation. 

-Definitely has the most top energy of the three.

-Despite his size, he's incredibly gentle with his s/o, both in touch and in tone. 

-Protective. Has a tendency to hover if he's worried.

-Is not shy about showing affection or telling s/o exactly how he feels

-Authoritative. Expects to be obeyed.

-Showers his lover in praise, in a mix of English and Russian. The only trouble is, the praise and the dirty talk are spoken in the same gentle tone, so his s/o doesnt know which it is until he lapses back into English.

Attributes/Skills:

-Drinks vodka almost exclusively. Kind of a snob about his liquor. 

-Smokes hand-rolled cigarettes out of a little chased-silver case he keeps tucked in his coat pocket

-Plays the piano. Can also play the harp, but he’s not as good at it.

-Has a soft spot for animals, dogs in particular. 

-Is the most partial to baths of the three, most likely has his own persona sauna and bathhouse

-Can ballroom dance; despite his size, he's quite graceful.

-Has a scar across his left eyebrow.

-Very much into the predator/prey play, though he doesnt have much a tolerance for games or teasing. If he's hunting you, you'd better come up with a strategy or it will be short.

Irish Mafia Don: “Ciarog,” or Cia

Front: Pub owner. Runs an illegal bare knuckle boxing ring

Speaks: Gaelic

Appearance:

-Long hair, little bit past his shoulders, all green

-Freckles across his cheeks, all down his arms

-Heavily tattooed, especially on the hands and arms. 

-Shortest of the five, though he’s only an inch or so smaller than Gio

-Wears earth tones, greys and greens mostly. Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, green vest, grey wool pants, and a flat newsboy cap

-Wears a rosary around his neck. Like Zhuk’s glasses, it’s just for show. 

-Has thick calluses on his knuckles, as well as lots of scars on his hands. They’re hardly noticeable with all the tattoos, but close inspection reveals them. 

-Wears more rings than Gio, though his are of slightly worse quality. They’re not for show, they’re meant to deal damage to whoever he has to pummel.

Personality:

-Laid back, very flirty. Almost doesn’t seem like a mob boss at first, always cracking jokes.

-Loves games of any kind, especially riddles and guessing games.

-Quick to anger, but quick to calm as well. 

-Likes being outside more than the other two, has an appreciation for nature

-Definitely a switch. 

-When he gets excited or angry, he'll speak in a mix of English and Gaelic. The more emotion he shows, the more Gaelic slips out.

Attributes/Skills:

-Can play the violin/fiddle. Knows just about every drinking song there is. Loves performing in his pub with his s/o

-Has an extensive knife collection. 

-Doesn't have the steps of any particular dance, but can whirl you around a room so fast your head will spin.

-Whiskey and scotch are his preferred drinks.

-At any given moment has at least three weapons hidden on his person.

-Most lenient of the three

-Can use fae magic, even though he's not exactly on friendly terms with them.

-Collects enchanted trinkets. Between his knives and his trinkets he's a bit of a pack rat

Cajun Crime Lord: “Scarabee,” or Bee

Front: Riverboat casino runner. Distributes moonshine and runs illegal gambling dens

Speaks: French Creole

Appearance:

-Same height as Gio

-Hair colored like Cia’s, all green, but cut shorter than the rest and styled into a bit of a pomp.

-Wears a suit of gold paisley, has a necklace of various species of teeth (some animal, some human) around his neck, along with silk gloves on his hands

-Carries a cane, but unlike Gio’s his is connected to his magic and glows to match his hair. 

-He’s got a bit of a crazy eye, when he grins, he can look a little unhinged. The heterochromia doesn’t help that, with one green iris and one purple

-His teeth are inexplicably a little bit sharper than the other’s.

Personality:

-Playful, teasing, not shy at all

-Biggest top after Zhuk

-Has the biggest bloodlust, likes to get his hands dirty

-The angrier he gets, the bigger he grins, and it’s a little terrifying.

-Also expects to be obeyed; he and Zhuk get into a lot of pissing contests over this.

-Definitely the type to throw elaborate, crazy parties in his manor or on his riverboat. 

-His accent gets super thick when he’s excited or angry, so much so it’s hard to tell the difference between English and Creole. 

Attributes/Skills:

-Actually a really good cook, loves sharing recipes with his s/o

-Skilled in voodoo and witchcraft, has shadow powers

-Has pet gators that live in the swamp out back of his property. Please don’t ask what he feeds them.

-Drinks pretty much anything, but is partial to moonshine

-Smokes Virginia Slims

-Definitely gets high on a regular basis

-Terrific swing dancer. 

Spanish Crime Lord: “Escarabajo,” or Bajo

Front: Owns a string of private nightclubs. Operates a drug running ring, cocaine and marijuana

Speaks: Spanish

Appearance:

-His dress is very monochromatic, sticking mostly to black and white. Sometimes you can catch a flash of red.

-Open-throated shirts and tight pants. Very Zorro-esque.

-Wears a silver medallion around his neck with the Virgin Mary on it. Like Zhuk’s glasses or Cia’s rosary, it’s all for show.

-Silver teeth. Some back teeth, but most noticeably, his top canines. 

-Slicked back hair, like Gio’s is mostly black with green just at the tips, but closer in length to Zhuk’s. Has the thickest hair of the five.

-Black leather gloves. Unlike Gio and Bee, who are always wearing theirs, he’s seen without them just as much as with them.

Personality:

-The most flirtatious. You thought Cia was bad? Bajo is on thirst hours 25/8.

-It takes a lot to make him angry, though he’s quick to cool down. Most level aside from Zhuk. 

-Tells a lot of jokes. His are only a little bit better than Cia’s.

-Likes leaving little gifts and trinkets for his s/o. More often than not, you’ll wake up to find a single rose on your pillow.

-Most charitable of the lot. They have orphanages and boarding schools set up in each of their home countries, and it was his idea to start them.

-Oddly wise. The best to go to for life advice (if you want to avoid one of Zhuk’s lectures, that is).

Attributes/Skills:

-Plays the guitar. He and Cia often duet.

-Amateur sharpshooter. He won’t be winning any contests, but he’s by far and away the best shot of the five.

-Has a green thumb. Loves to grow things; flowers, fruits, vegetables, herbs, you name it. Has land dedicated to his plants on each of their shared estates, as well as his own small farm back home.

-An absolute god at the tango. 

-A switch for sure, but is probably the most eager bottom of the five. 

-Praise kink? Praise kink.

(tagging @yankyo @realmonsterboyhours @beetlejuicebeadoll @sapphic-florals @dilfyjuice @wolfie-doggo and the other members of my discord just in case i’ve forgotten something or if they would like to add anything.)

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Beginning-Part One

Summary: Anathema of Velena is sent by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to a kingdom already decimated by a mighty beast when she happens upon another. One who saves her life…as she saves his.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, discussion of mature themes and situations, alcohol consumption, violence, and reflection on a particularly shitty childhood that could be triggering. Body image triggers. No smut for now. Also, warning that it’s stupid long and only half done! Wow! I’m super sorry! Anathema is kind of a long winded little witch.

Inspiration: Netflix’s The Witcher, that sweet, sweet Cavill bod, and the chocolatey crunch of his “Geralt voice!” (idk why, but that’s the imagery for me. Lol!) Also, Ana inspired by the badassness of Anya Chalotra as Yen, the powerful vulnerability of Anna Shaffer as Triss, and the poise and grace of MyAnna Brunning as Tissaia…I honestly can’t believe that the name Anathema is a total coincidence now. Especially considering that my name…is Hannah, a version of all of these. It just came to me as a cool name.

Author’s Note: Like most of my OFCs (and honestly, even EFCs), Anathema is loosely based on myself. She reacts how I feel I would (or sometimes hope I would) in her situation. For those of you who read “Shape of Her” you’ll know that I’m chubby. Anathema was, as well, before her transformation, and she talks about what it was like for her as a child and adolescent growing up. For me, this was a deeply personal thing to write about. I don’t usually talk about the effect my weight has always had and continues to have on my mental health. I’m very fortunate that, unlike Anathema, I have loving parents that have never treated me this way. But in an odd way, their “help” and concern for my physical health has created this sort of villainous aspect of them in my mind, and I suppose that comes out in Ana’s mother here. At any rate, I should probably go back to a counselor about it, but that’s tough during a pandemic and with my work hours. So I write about it, and I guess there ends up being a bit of validation for her/me when Geralt shows interest (and maybe takes that further in part two...no spoilers here!). Not that any of it’s completely healthy, but at least it’s kinda cathartic and fun in the moment if you don’t think too hard about it. I hope the monologue doesn’t bog you down and make you lose interest. If it does, just skip it. It won’t hurt my feelings.

Also, I’m sure my spells are total baloney compared to what’s in the books and deffo to what’s in the show. I just wanted to write something down to sort of show the power being expelled by Ana. These are probably way more Hogwarts than Aretuza! Lol!

Tag List: @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy @lareinedususpense @geekycanuck and @littlefreya (omg it let me tag you this time, Freya!) I didn’t tag some of you that I tagged before in Shape of Her, just because I didn’t know if that was something you wanted. (basically, if I didn’t get a concrete response one way or the other, or I wasn’t fairly sure you’d want a tag, I didn’t tag you. I still love all of you!) Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended! Also, this is not smutty. It’s pre-smut. lol!

Anathema of Velena was a mage of little renown. Powerful enough, but nothing compared to someone such as Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had worked so hard at Aretuza and all Rectoress Tissaia de Vries could manage to tell her most days was “You could not organize a pair of gloves, Ana. How do you expect to be able to control chaos? I’m not even convinced you have any chaos in you.” She turned away, calling the five other girls out of the lightning tower, some of whom had ampules filled with crackling white light. The rest were in various states of injury from singes to limps. Anathema…well, she had nothing. The lightning didn’t come near her. She left the tower without a prize, but filled with shame, uninjured from the typical failed attempt. She didn’t know why it was worse, but it very much was.

It took her years to finally get over that day.

Her first assignment the brotherhood sent her on was, well, it hardly mattered now, because the city, the whole kingdom was now rent by some foul beast. She’d been sent to help. But had arrived too late. She heaved one of her deeper sighs. “Fuck.” She let out audibly. She’d have to make camp. For the third night. At least. Maybe it was the fifth. She wasn’t certain. But it seemed like too long. She dismounted her chestnut mare, Clove, and started to get her supplies down for her modest tent. Modest, meaning that it appeared modest to the casual observer.

Inside, however, when she’d cast her enchantments, it was almost like home, complete with a full bed, soaking tub, fireplace, table, chairs, and a lovely lounge with a settee and chaise. One of her favorite things about Magic was being able to pack heavy while still traveling light. She was even able to bring a small book collection.

She’d just finished setting everything up and was casting the necessary protective enchantments to the perimeter of her site when she heard a rustle in the bushes about twenty yards away. She attempted to remain calm, but was terrified. She carried only a small silver dagger and a steel short sword that she rubbed with a silver infused oil which she made when she came across good silver and decent tallow. It wore off, but the silver oiled blade was a good compromise when you couldn’t carry both silver and steel. What was she, a fucking Witcher? Anyway, she drew her dagger, but conjured a revelatory wall around her so she could see who or what was out there hunting her. She prayed it wasn’t a kikimore. Anything but a kikimore, she thought. Those shits gave her the creeps. Give her an iron toothed wyvern, or the king of dragons, himself. She could conjure in battle against the best of beasts born of magic, but those insects…no.

There came a keening howl unlike anything she’d ever heard. A drowning scream that almost sounded like it was coming from under the water. Then too many pairs of glowing green eyes started appearing from said bushes. They were horrifying lizard-fish people. And they were walking toward her camp. It would be all too soon that they would walk through the invisibility shield as she hadn’t been able to cast any deflective measures yet. They’d breach her camp in minutes if she didn’t act. She prepared to cast a fire spell on them, hoping that would work, when she heard a deep male voice behind her growl an order.

“Get down! Hide!” Pardon me? She thought. This guy didn’t know who he was dealing with.

It appeared though that she didn’t, either.

The voice had come from a very tall and amply muscled horseman. He wore no armor, only a dark linen tunic tucked into leather breeks, and tall black boots. All was weathered and smelled heavily of horse, ale, and sweat. He quickly dismounted in that way that some men do in which they swing their leg over the horse’s head instead of around the rear. This was the way that, even in her terror, made her feel an unfamiliar but pleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach.

His hair, which she had presumed blonde at first, she noted now to be silvery grey, and well past his shoulders. Maybe longer than her own. He grabbed a sword from the large sheath on his saddle and stalked toward the oncoming rabble of sodden predators.  

She thought…she might have been mistaken but she was fairly sure he’d grabbed a steel sword. Steel would not be very effective on these monsters, if she had sized them up right. She looked to his saddle, seeing the hilt of another blade there. She stepped toward it and slid it out to reveal that this was precisely what had happened. He’d grabbed the wrong weapon in his haste. Well. He was dead. She grabbed the silver sword, sheathing her dagger, and marching toward the scrum around the well-meaning muscle head.

“Selectum ignitus!” She chanted as she wrought her hand in the corresponding motion. This spell burned only victims she chose, leaving others unharmed. It had only stunned these creatures, but it was enough time to allow her would-be hero to catch a small break from his blunder. His thick neck was still in the spindly clutches of one of the largest fish men, apparently less susceptible to fire than the others. Ana stepped up behind him, and with the silver sword, sliced his head clean off at the neck.

“Here.” She said as she tossed him the weapon, the steel sword somewhere on the forest floor to be found later. “They’re waking back up.”

“Mmm.” He mumbled. Right. He was welcome. All this gratitude was just making her blush.

They fought well together, surprisingly. She with her magic and dagger, and he with his signs and sword. She could feel it when he cast them. She noticed him using Aard, so she started casting more similar spells herself. The skirmish was over in minutes. All of the beasts had fallen and she looked at her newfound comrade, both of them covered in blood and muck.

“That was…fun!” She said, in earnest.

“Hmm.” He responded. As if to say, sure, whatever, freak. And began hovering over the corpses, rummaging in his satchel.

“So…these handsome fellows. I’ve never come across them.” She waited a beat, hoping he’d just answer her, knowing that’s what she meant for him to do. Oh, okay. This wasn’t the kind of guy he was. Fair. “What are they?”

“Drowners. Bigger ones are called drowned dead. They come out of the nearby bodies of water.”

How nice. Surely she wouldn’t have any nightmares about that. She'd heard of drowners, as a coastal dweller, but had been fortunate enough to never see one. Until tonight.

“And…not that it’s my business, but…you’re doing what exactly?”

He sighed. “These remains have a lot of useful potion ingredients. I never waste a kill if I can help it. Ginatz’s Acid doesn’t grow on trees, does it?”

“No tree I’ve ever seen, no.” She laughed. He didn’t. Well. This guy would just be a barrel of fun, it seemed. But he did just try to save her life. She should attempt to repay him that kindness. Even if he failed a bit at first, she didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t been there.

“Hey, I have a few more spells to do before my camp is fortified for the night, but then I was going to have some dinner in my tent. I have plenty, if you’d like to join. As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Camp?”

“Tempora Portia.” She swept her arm down to create a window in the cloaking spell so he could see her camp in the clearing.

He saw the small tent, that looked as though barely two people could lie down in it, much less sit for a meal.

He eyed her warily. “I think you’ll be lucky enough to eat in there by yourself with just a bowl and a spoon.”

“Ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?” She asked. “Trust me. I have a plump pheasant, some really delicious herbs I got on the way here from Aretuza, and some lovely wine! I’ve been saving it until I got here to share with the court, but…” she looked sheepishly at the ruined city on the hillside. “You’re clearly the only surviving citizen, Sir….”

“Geralt. Just Geralt. I’m not a citizen. I was commissioned to come here, just as you were. Only I was sent by…the neighbors…to eliminate the threat before it reached them, too.”

“Right. Geralt. I’m Anathema of Velena. Nice to meet you, and thank you for saving my life tonight.”

“Anathema, thanks for saving mine. And I guess, I’ll take you up on dinner.”

~~~~~~

She told him to finish his scavenging, and cast a charm onto him and his horse, Roach, to allow them to enter through her custom enchantments.

When she was finished securing her campsite, she went inside her tent to clean up. She conjured lots of warm fragrant water into her copper tub. It would have been more relaxing had she not been covered in the muck of battle. The drowner guts were slimy like fish entrails on her skin and in her hair. She was fairly certain that she also had blood from both her own wounds and Geralt’s spattered across what skin had been exposed during the fight.

She reached for her sponge and a bar of soap that smelled of lilac, one of her favorites, and scrubbed until all of the muck, mud, and blood was gone from her skin and hair.

She felt a telltale shudder come from the perimeter of her camp, indicating that her would-be rescuer and his steed had stepped through them. She had put up sheer modesty curtains somewhat arbitrarily, but today she was glad for them. She had just stepped out of the tub and was fully naked when Geralt entered.

“Erm.” He cleared his throat simultaneously announcing his presence and asking if he could come in. She must applaud him for his excellent communication skills.

“Come on in, I’ll be right there.”

She donned a simple, modest wrap dress that went well beyond the duty of a bath robe and looked infinitely more chic, and piled her damp, dark hair into a messy coil high on her head.

“So glad you could join me. Did you get everything you wanted from the creatures?”

“Everything they could give me. Yes.”

“Good. Well, I’ve not started dinner yet, but it won’t be very long. Why don’t you have a bath? You look like you’ve been riding for weeks with no sleep and you’re caked in the muck of a dozen battles like the one we were just in. I’ll clean and mend your clothes, too.”

“I’m fine thank you.”

“Oh, please? You’ll enjoy dinner so much more if you’re not concerned with how you smell…plus my table isn’t so big that…I couldn’t smell you too.” She giggled. “So as a courtesy to your cook and table mate?”

She looked at him with her doe eyes. Maybe that would work. She loved helping people and making them feel better. She thought he was restraining a smirk. He complied with a grunt and a nod.

“Splendid. I’ll get you some wine, too. I love wine with a bath! Don’t you!?”

“That and silence.” Point taken. She’d let him relax.

He stood in the corner of the bathing alcove as she conjured bath water for him.

“Agua fragra fieretta.” she spoke, and the tub filled with steamy water that smelled like spearmint, cedar, and a hint of lavender. Her own had smelled so different. She hadn’t realized it seemed to change depending on who you were drawing the bath for, never having done so for anyone but herself.

She dug around for a sandalwood soap and a new sponge and set them out for him on the small side table.

“Here you are. I’ll be right back with your penis! I mean, woah. Sorry.” She had turned around at the wrong moment. She knew he’d been taking off his shirt when she was rummaging. But she assumed modesty would mandate that he wait for her to leave before removing his trousers. She had been mistaken. He stood there as naked as the day the midwife pulled him from his mother, hands on his hips just like it was the most blasé thing to ever happen.

“It’s fine. I don’t really think about being shy anymore. Sorry. My clothes are on that stool if you want them. Thanks.”

“Right, great. I’ll be right back with a towel and wine. That’s what I was going to say before. And yeah, then I’ll see what I can do for those clothes.”

She left, procured the wine and a towel, and hurried back, placing the cup audibly on the table so she didn’t have to speak to him. She was so embarrassed. She grabbed his clothes and sat them on the settee for later. She was somehow both glad and disappointed that he did not acknowledge her.

Now, she needed to work on dinner. She’d gotten a lovely pheasant this afternoon with her bow. She’d been gathering fragrant herbs of all kinds along her journey and had traded some of them at market for potatoes, carrots, garlic and pearl onions. She prepped the pheasant, stuffing it with the vegetables, herbs, and some salt and pepper, and rubbed it down on the outside with some olive oil and seasoning. She placed it in her camp oven to cook in the infused oil and its own juices, basting it every so often.

She magically cleaned and mended Geralt’s clothes and tried unsuccessfully not to think about the body that they covered. His arms were as thick as the average man’s legs and his legs were not unlike tree trunks, albeit much more shapely. His chest was monolithic with two great pecs and six well-defined abs. He was also perfectly hairy. No one would confuse him with a bear, but this was definitely no boy. No boy, at all. And Mother Melitele herself would weep at the sight of the cock on this man. Long. At least halfway down his thigh. She didn’t get that good a look, but she thought it was veiny. And it was definitely thick…although she couldn’t compare it to much. To anything, really. Not even the instruments used on her the day she ascended to her current state of perfection. She'd been given powerful herbs to sedate her until the transformation was complete.

She’d arrived at Aretuza a sluggish and overweight wallflower with tiny breasts. When she went over her desires for her new form with the “miracle worker” as she liked to call him, she asked him to upgrade her in every way he could, but to keep her eyes the same shade of green they’d always been. She’d felt that the eyes were too directly attached to the soul and to change them was going too far. The rest, however, was fair game.

And this was her first assignment since her ascension, so she hadn’t been anywhere but her home, which was an unforgiving place, and Aretuza. Little opportunity for romance had presented itself. And she wasn’t even sure how romance would go for her at this point. Were mages adored for their power? Beauty? Or who they were as people independent of those attributes? Was that all she was now? A beautiful magician? She suddenly felt a small pang of regret.

Her eyes shifted involuntarily now to the bath partition. Must have been the movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Geralt was taking a drink of wine, a very long drink, and when he set the goblet back down, he leaned his head back with a contented sigh. She took the clothes back to the stool when she’d finished, smiled at the scarred, and incredibly heroic man before her, and popped away to finish dinner.

~~~~~~~

She busied herself setting the table with modest candles, and conjuring an extra setting for Geralt. She filled a pitcher with an “agua potum” spell and put her wine vessel out. As she was tabling the pheasant, her eye caught movement again in the “bath room.” Geralt had gotten out of the tub and was drying off. His back was no less impressive than his front and his ass was like a fresh, crisp apple. She’d always loved apples. In her dreamy haze, she'd come too close to the hot camp oven and burned her hand. She let out a whispered but audible “fuck” and brought her hand quickly to her mouth to cool the fire with saliva.

It helped a little, but not much. She continued to prepare as Geralt got dressed and he was out right as dinner was on, wine goblet in hand.

“Smells nice.” He complemented. She was shocked, but still in a lot of pain from the burn.

“It better be the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in ages to make it worth searing the skin off my finger here!” She put her hand to her mouth again, and brought it out, shaking it.

He sat his goblet on the table and went outside, all without a word. She was confused. Wondering how she could have offended him, but honestly, not really caring. She’d tried. She sat down. Exhausted. He came back in with the satchel he’d been wearing and packing with solutions from those corpses.

He walked around the table to kneel in front of her, held out his hand, and raised his eyebrow expectantly. She gave him her injured hand, extending her index finger to indicate the affected area.

“You know, I’ve seen men lose half their faces to fire. This isn’t so bad.” He rifled through the bag for a vial of clear oil with bits of purple floating in it.

“Did they live?” She asked, amused.

“A few.” He smirked, dabbing a small amount of the oil onto his index finger and applying it to hers.

Her relief was instant and evident on her face.

“Wow, that feels so much better. Thank you! What is that?”

“A simple infusion. Oil of lavender. Here.” He gave her the vial.

“Oh I couldn’t.”

“Take it. I make more all the time. It’s damn near free. I’ll show you how, too, so you're prepared for next time. It’s essential for a healer’s kit. Many uses.” These were more words than she’d heard him speak all together since they’d met. She decided not to remark upon it.

“Well thank you. I hope you’re hungry! I think the pheasant is ready to be torn!”

They filled their plates with juicy, savory sections of the bird and large chunks of the vegetables that had become pleasantly tender inside it. Thyme and rosemary, onion and garlic danced off the tongue, complimented by the salt and a dash of ground peppercorn for zest. For once, a meal tasted even better than it had smelled and she had forgotten the terror of the fight with the drowners, the pain of her burn, even the startling sight of the naked man in her tent, and relaxed into the pleasure of a delicious meal.

This is one of the reasons I was fat before, she told herself. And made sure she stopped eating before she'd filled herself to gluttony.

She noticed that her companion was eating…enthusiastically. She was on the verge of saying ravenously, but there was an element of refinement to it that forbade her from using the more savage descriptor. He seldom drank, and most rarely from his water cup.  He liked the wine, then. She liked this fellow. Quite a lot. He stabbed large portions onto his fork and put them easily into his wide mouth. But even though he took larger bites, he did take his time in chewing, savoring the succulent food. She appreciated this from him.

"You're going to have to finish the poor bird off. I'm stuffed." she patted her tummy, demure now, as it had never been in her recent memory.

"Hmm." he grunted in protest. This one she couldn't quite translate past general disagreement.

"What?" she prodded.

"We both know you didn't need any help taking down this bird alone. Even with the vegetables. It's all incredible, by the way. Best meal I've had in ages."

"First of all, thank you, I quite liked it too, and secondly, it's called restraint. Ever heard of it?" she sassed him back.

"I've heard of it, yes. Can't say we've ever crossed paths, though." he held her gaze as he drank deeply from his goblet. Was it suddenly warmer in the tent?

"Well, it might be a good idea to seek it out here and there." she said, hiding well the feathers he'd just ruffled. "Food and I have a volatile history. I have to show restraint or all of this is gone." she indicated her physical form. She hadn't truly intended to make him look at her, but he was. He was holding her in his gaze in a way that was utterly alien to her.

"Mmm." he grunted, as if to express his understanding.

"But enough about me. What about you? It's not every day I meet a witcher!"

His amber eyes met hers, inscrutable, but not pleased.

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. I have eyes and ears, and all kinds of senses working. And all of them caught wind of what you were the moment you dismounted your horse."

"And yet you helped me. Fought with me. Saved me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Most people don't want a witcher around. They'd prefer the monsters we kill. Even when we're summoned to communities, invited, we're a pariah until the job is done. We're seen as the…lesser evil."

"Tell me Geralt. Did you make the choice to become a witcher?"

"No."

"Do you think I made the choice to be a conduit?" This question, he didn't answer. She thought he may not know. She decided then to tell him her story. How she came to be a mage, and the hell she went through to get where she was.

"Do you know what my nickname was as a child? It wasn't anything cute, like a vegetable or fruit or a baked good, or even a cuddly little creature, no. No term of endearment would suit me. I was called 'Rat.' Because you see, as I mentioned, I have a complicated past where food is concerned, and this comes from my youth. When I would sneak into the pantries and steal food. My mother and the staff thought at first there was a large rat, or even a raccoon behind the lost inventory, for at first, I left behind traces and made a mess of things. But after a while, I got good. Covered my tracks. Then mother started blaming the staff. Beating them, then firing most of them. No one seemed to notice how fat I was getting. Me being the middle of five girls. Eldest two sisters already married off to wealthy business men from town and bringing the bratty little grandchildren around, the younger girls learning dance and music, and generally being full of charm. I was in the background. Until one night, mother found me. She was searching the pantry for a tonic for indigestion when she saw me burrowing, trying to hide between sacks of potatoes. She hauled me out and dove for a long wooden spoon on the worktop in the kitchen. She beat me bloody with that spoon. I couldn't sit and could hardly walk for days."

She took a drink from her goblet, fortifying her. She didn't tell this story often. In fact, she hadn’t told anyone but her best friend Codrick, the blacksmith's apprentice. And that had taken many years.

"She started giving me smaller portions at dinner. Insisting that I wouldn't find a husband in my current state and threatening to sell me to a brothel if I didn't marry in good time. I was nearly starving, but still not getting thin fast enough to satisfy her. She made me run around the perimeter of our grounds. If I wasn't back in time, she'd set our wild bull out after me. There were a few times I was nearly gored. But I kept sneaking into the cupboards late at night. They were locked now, but once I told Codrick what was happening, he helped me by forging me a spare key. She kept calling me 'Rat' which was interesting. As if the sneaking and stealing was the more deplorable side of me than my actual size. She never called me 'Pig.' Perhaps because at least pigs had a use. Pigs could be sold or slaughtered for food. Rats were just a nuisance. The last time she caught me, she hauled me into the kitchen and reached for her wooden spoon again. But this time, when she reared back to strike at me, the spoon had turned into a vicious raven. It squalled and flailed and she let go of it, shooing it away. But it didn't relent. It clawed and pecked at her head and face until her hair was patchy and ragged and her face was a bloody mess. One eye was completely gone, the other, likely to be lost. But she could see well enough to tell where the raven landed after it had left her alone. Right beside me, as if it was trying to calm my still quivering form."

"So that was your conduit moment?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes. Lady de Vries showed up at our door not a moment too soon. The Madame from the local brothel had just agreed to my mother's price. There was a rather tense moment where the money had already changed hands and Tissaia had to threaten both women with rather unpleasant repercussions. She was having me and there would be no arguments. Actually, though, the whole experience of being fought over gave me the confidence I needed to confess my true feelings to Codrick and kiss him before we left the town. I'd fancied him for years but never had the guts to tell him."

"I'm sure you have a point to telling me this life story of yours." Geralt said, patiently, but clearly ready for her to wrap it up.

"Right. Sorry. My point is, most of us that are born or imbued with magic have some story like this. I'm certain you're no different. I could go on with horrors at Aretuza, too, just like I'm sure you could with stories of…where was it you were trained? Kaer Morhen?"

He looked at her skeptically.

"Wolf amulet around your neck. School of the Wolf. I thought that was Kaer Morhen."

"Mmhmm." oh, a two syllable grunt. His vocabulary was proving vast.

"Why shun you over a life you didn't choose? And if I have a fucked up past too, and I'm still dealing with that trauma, what right would I have to dismiss you or consider you an unworthy brother in arms? Or dinner companion? Or maybe even travel companion? After all, we fought well together and we don't know what's out there laying waste to the countryside."

"Suppose you're right."

"About which part?" this always happened to her as someone who never shut up. She never knew whether "you're right" was a blanket statement covering an entire monologue, or just certain parts that someone wanted to subscribe to.

"The first part. I'm still not sure about traveling companions. Or mages, if I'm honest. No offense."

"None taken. If it makes you feel better, I'm still very new to being a mage. I don't have any bad mage habits. I'm not even that good of a mage. I had to hand assemble this tent before I spelled it."

"Well, you did a fine job." he chuckled. "It looked…sturdy, from the outside."

"That's what I was going for. And why don't you just…try me for this expedition. I'll sign a contract saying that it's not your fault if I die. Not that anyone would care. Plus, we'll live in luxury every night, and I can make anything taste delicious with bare minimum ingredients."

"Tempting, but won't it be a little…cozy with both of us in here?"

She looked at him, incredulous.

"Remember the part where I'm a mage?" she walked over to the sitting area and contorted her hands toward the wall. "Addendum Sanctorum."

She beckoned him through a new flap in the canvas to a modest, but still accommodating room with a large, plush bed, a few sturdy, simple chairs, a small table, and a bathing area of its own, complete with a stash of sponges, soaps, and towels.

"See? It may not be all of the comforts of home, but it's hardly roughing it compared to the alternative, am I wrong?" She turned to look at him, but he was much closer than she'd expected him to be. She looked directly up into that piercing amber gaze that was unlike any she'd seen before. And he looked so…dangerous. And yet she wasn't afraid. At least not primarily. What she was mostly feeling was desire. She wanted those strong, skilled hands to touch her. She wanted to be held. She hadn't been held since she was a child. And a very young one, at that. She could feel something mutual coursing between them. And that was the thing that terrified her. The thought that he might be hungry for her in that way. He ran his hand along the slope of her temple and cheek down to her chin.

"I don't recall saying I'd mind sharing a cozy space with you, Ana."

TBC in Part Two

[ailuronymy]

Guest Warriors-ify: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Hello there! I’ve got a Warriors-ify for you for one of my favorite games. Specifically, I’m going with the war-phase since I find that’s easiest to translate. Let’s go!

(Warning: There are some spoilers! I’ll try to avoid major ones, but still.)

WindClan (the Church of Seiros)

Leader: Lilystar (Rhea) - White she-cat with light grey spots on her head and tail. At the beginning of the war within the clans, she went missing. Her deputy has been acting in her place. She’s calm and devout in her belief in StarClan, and has led WindClan for many moons.

Deputy: Lizardstep (Seteth) - A grey-brown tabby tom with sharp green eyes. He’s been acting as WindClan’s leader since Lilystar’s disappearance, but refuses to take his nine lives because he still believes she’s alive. He’s known for being stern and strict, but much softer than he seems on the inside. He’s constantly fretting over his daughter, Minnowcloud.

Medicine Cats:

Minnowcloud (Flayn) - A light grey tabby she-cat with the same sharp green eyes as her father, Lizardstep. In the turmoil that lead up to the war, there was a conflict between WindClan and ShadowClan which started because one of their warriors attacked her while she was gathering herbs. Even in the times of war, she is bright and cheery, and does her best for her clan.

Fawnface (Manuela) - A light brown she-cat with long, silky fur. She’s a notorious flirt and a bit vain about her beauty, but a good soul deep down. She was Minnowcloud’s mentor and got severely wounded trying to protect her from ShadowClan’s attack.

Warriors:

Beetleclaw (Shamir) - A sleek black she-cat with lots of thin scars. Was a rogue before joining WindClan after owing Lilystar a debt, and stayed after bonding with the other cats - particularly Cedarpelt and Leopardclaw. She’s known as a fierce and stern warrior who runs across the moors with enviable stealth. Was Antfur’s mentor.

Leopardclaw (Catherine) - A large long-furred golden she cat with nicked ears. Lilystar herself once saved Leopardclaw’s life during her apprenticeship, and as a result holds a deep adoration for her, and has led many searches to find her. She’s good friends with Beetleclaw, and the two often patrol and fight together.

Cedarpelt (Alois) - A stocky brown tabby tom with a jovial demeanor. Was mentored by Larchfang, a well-respected senior warrior who ended up supposedly dying in a forest fire moons ago - but really, he’d run off to become a rogue. Despite what many would consider a betrayal, he still holds a lot of respect for Larchfang. He also tells a lot of awful, awful jokes.

Fogwhisker (Hanneman) - A lanky grey tabby tom and a senior warrior of WindClan. He’s inquisitive and intelligent, always trying to learn more about the world. Whenever he’s not satisfying his curiosity, he’s likely bickering with Fawnface, whom he’s never quite gotten along with - though the two do care about each other deep down… probably.

Antfur (Cyril) - A small dark brown tabby tom. He’s one of the youngest WindClan warriors, and was adopted into the clan by Lilystar after he was found abandoned as a kit. He was so grateful for the rescue that he’s devoted himself to being the best warrior he can for Lilystar’s sake. He’s determined and focused, and often takes on extra tasks around camp to lessen the workload of others.

Rowanpelt (Gilbert) - A bulky ginger tom with old battle scars. Alongside Fogwhisker, he’s one of the oldest warriors in the clan. He was actually originally a ThunderClan cat, but after feeling as though he failed Lionstar, the current leader (who was an apprentice at the time) he enforced a self-exile on himself, leaving his daughter behind. Eventually, Lilystar took him in.

ThunderClan (the Blue Lions)

Leader: Lionstar (Dimitri) - A large, ragged-furred golden tom littered with scars and missing an eye. He was once a mild-mannered and kind young tom, but trauma from his youth weighed down on his mind, until the outbreak of the war caused him to snap. He is violent and irritable, and has a cynical view of himself and the world. To make matters worse, he often suffers from vivid nightmares and even some hallucinations.

Deputy: Boulderpelt (Dedue) - A large and muscular dark tabby tom with a white underbelly and scarred pelt. He was born into a band of rogues that lead an assault on ThunderClan, and was originally going to be killed alongside them. However, seeing that he was too young to be a part of the attack, Lionstar (then Lionpaw) shielded him from harm. He is quiet and stern, and cares deeply for Lionstar, even though he’s become a shadow of his former self.

Medicine Cat: Dawnleaf (Mercedes) - A long furred cream tabby she-cat with a calm demeanor. She was originally born in ShadowClan, but after ThunderClan was left without a medicine cat, she volunteered to take over. She was nearly finished with her apprenticeship at the time, and thus was qualified to work on her own. She left behind a brother, whom she still misses dearly…

Warriors:

Greywhisker (Ashe) - A small grey spotted tabby tom. He’s kind and empathetic, and believes strongly in the values of a warrior, such as honor and loyalty. He enjoys telling stories to apprentices, as he memorized them all as a kit. He bonded closely with an elder during his apprenticeship, who became like a surrogate family member after his parents died of greencough, but that elder was killed during a battle with WindClan when he insisted on joining the battle.

Reedstorm (Ingrid) - A lithe, muscular golden tabby she-cat. She’s serious and even strict at times, but overall good-natured - and a big eater. She spent her apprenticeship with Nightclaw and Wasptail, and cares about them both deeply; even if they get on her nerves constantly. Like Greywhisker, she believes strongly in the values of a warrior, and is very disciplined in her duties. She fell in love with Nightclaw’s brother during her apprenticeship, but he was killed during the rogue attack. She still blames Boulderpelt for it, even though she knows it’s not his fault

Nightclaw (Felix) - A skinny black cat with copper eyes. Despite his thin frame, he’s deceptively strong and quick on his feet, and is a terror on the battlefield. Though he’s a capable warrior, he’s foul-natured, rude, and doesn’t get along with many other cats. Wasptail and Reedstorm are the only cats he opens up around, and even then he’s still quite cagey. He was once very close to Lionstar, and often expresses his utter revulsion at what a beast his old friend has become. He has repressed a lot of feelings about the death of his brother during his apprenticeship.

Wasptail (Sylvain) - A fiery ginger tom with long fur. He’s a bit on the lazy side, and annoyingly flirtatious with every she-cat (and even the occasional tom) that crosses his path. Despite acting like he’s incompetent, he’s actually incredibly gifted in both hunting and fighting. His brother was a traitor who went off to join a pack of rogues, who were then all killed in a later battle. He has… a lot of repressed feelings about all of that.

Daisycloud (Annette) - A little ginger she-cat with a stumpy tail. She’s bubbly and energetic, often boosting the spirits of others regardless of the dismal situation. Dawnleaf is her best friend, and she looks up to her a lot. Because of this, she’s actually picked up some basic knowledge of medicine. Her father, Rowanpelt, left ThunderClan moons ago, and she dreams of one day reuniting with him.

ShadowClan (the Black Eagles)

Leader: Eaglestar (Edelgard) - A black she-cat with fur that has been slowly patching over with white (vitiligo). She is headstrong and calculative, and was the first leader to declare war on the other clans. Her motivations for doing so are not entirely clear, but are certainly more complex than a simple grab for territory. She is often blamed for the disappearance of Lilystar, but has confessed to nothing. Despite receiving nine lives from them, she has little devotion to StarClan, and considers them to be cruel and uncaring entities.

Deputy: Raventail (Hubert) - A long-furred smoke tabby tom. He’s a sly, stealthy warrior with an eerie aura about him, and often takes care of Eaglestar’s dirty work in the shadows. He’s incredibly devoted to her, and is a feared warrior on the battlefield. Like Eaglestar, his true intentions are unknown.

Medicine Cat: Snailcloud (Linhardt) - A long-legged dark grey tabby tom. He’s devoted to his work, sure, but he’s also infamously lazy and prefers to sleep. The only thing that gets him to wake up consistently is the opportunity to learn more about the affects of medicine herbs on other cats. His kithood friend, Pebblestorm, is often his test subject.

Warriors:

Rushheart (Ferdinand) - A long-furred golden tom. He’s a bit vain and arrogant - actually, very vain and arrogant - but it doesn’t come from a place of malice. Really, he’s just overly confident as well as a bit socially awkward, and truly means well. He considers himself Eaglestar’s rival, which she doesn’t quite reciprocate.

Pebblestorm (Caspar) - A stocky blue-gray tom. Despite his small size, he’s incredibly strong, and has a fiery determination in battle. This often leads to him being hotheaded and impulsive, though. He’s close friends with Snailcloud, despite their opposing personalities, and often tags along when gathering herbs (even though he thinks it’s boring).

Rain Falling on Stones / “Rain” (Petra) - A dark red she-cat from a distant mountain tribe. She’s polite and respectful, but often lost when it comes to the customs of clan cats. Still, she’s determined to understand this new and bizarre world of cats she’d been thrust into, and she’s going to make the most of it. She’s known throughout the clans for being able to hunt large predator birds, such as hawks and eagles.

Robinface (Dorothea) - A brown tortoiseshell she-cat known for her good looks and (a skill rare among cats) having a beautiful singing voice. She’s a smooth-talker, a bit of a flirt, and can be surprisingly cynical at times. She briefly trained to be a medicine cat, in which she met and began to look up to Fawnface, the WindClan medicine cat. However, when tensions between the clans started to rise, she decided to return to the role of a warrior.

Mousestep (Bernadetta) - A small tortoiseshell tabby she-cat with white paws. She’s a bit of a recluse, and painfully shy, but this has lead to her being one of the stealthiest cats in ShadowClan (a feat in itself, considering that ShadowClan is known for stealth) and being unintentionally a very well-respected warrior. Still, those who know her personally know that she’s really a nervous wreck.

Palefang (Jeritza) - A broad-shouldered cream-colored tom with mask-like white markings on his face. He was separated from his sister, Dawnleaf, after she was called to be ThunderClan’s medicine cat. He became a cold warrior and a menace on the battlefield. Many cats think of him as cruel or dishonorable, as he lead the attack on Minnowcloud and Fawnface.

RiverClan (the Golden Deer)

Leader: Deerstar (Claude) - A light brown tabby tom with a white chest and paws. On the surface, he seems like an amicable airhead. However, those who know him more personally know he’s a cunning warrior and a brilliant strategist. He uses RiverClan’s watery territory to his advantage to stay out of the war as much as possible, not wanting to risk his own cats for the sake of another clan’s conflict. 

Deputy: Rosecloud (Hilda) - A light ginger - almost pink - she-cat. She’s an incredibly strong warrior, despite her dainty appearance, though she’s often lazy and unmotivated. Many cats questioned why Deerstar would appoint her as a deputy, but he has his own reasons. Meanwhile, she takes a lot of joy in having the authority to boss other cats around.

Medicine Cat: Rainfur (Marianne) - A blue-gray she-cat with dark-rimmed eyes. She’s known for her gloomy disposition and almost repentant devotion to StarClan - despite not really doing anything wrong. Cruelty she faced as a kit and young apprentice ingrained in her a belief that she was going to grow up to be a cruel and horrible cat. Still, she’s dedicated to her duties as a medicine cat.

Warriors:

Violetwhisker (Lorenz) - A grey-brown tabby tom. He’s incredibly vain and often questions Deerstar’s authority. He believes the clan should be more involved in the war, as they could stand to have much to gain. He’s uptight and self-absorbed, and seems to believe that simply being around him is a blessing.

Lightfur (Lysithea) - A tiny, long-furred white she-cat with odd pink eyes. She’s always been sickly, and can’t go out often in bright sunlight due to problems with her skin and eyes. Though she can’t properly fight due to her health, she has a brilliant mind and is a capable fisher. Marianne has offered to give her medicine cat training several times, however she has always adamantly refused, not wanting to be seen as ‘weak’.

Foxpelt (Leonie) - A wiry ginger she-cat. She’s incredibly passionate and determined and once idolized a former WindClan senior warrior, Larchfang. She can be a bit blunt at times, maybe even rude, but she’s truly a passionate and driven warrior.

Goldenfur (Raphael) - A giant, muscular golden tabby tom with long fur. He’s a gentle giant, incredibly good-natured, and loves nothing more than food and training. Well, nothing more other than his little sister, who he dotes on constantly. He lost his parents in an accident when he and his sister were young, but he doesn’t let the tragedy get him down.

Hazelwhisker (Ignatz) - A skinny, light brown tabby tom. He’s one of the few cats in all of the clans to take an interest in art, and often sneaks away from camp to arrange pebbles and other objects in pleasing patterns. He’s a bit ashamed of this hobby, however, as he feels it’s not befitting of a warrior.

Cats outside of clans:

Ash (Byleth) - A blue-gray rogue, child of the former WindClan warrior, Larchfang. They joined one of the clans as an adult, but mysteriously vanished after the war started…

Blade / Larchfang (Jeralt) - A large brown tabby tom who left WindClan after he started growing suspicious of Lilystar’s intentions. He fled with his only kit, shortly after the death of his mate, and raised them outside of the clans. Unfortunately, he was eventually found and brought back in. He and his kit are both gone now, however…

Cherry (Anna) - A reddish-brown she cat who wanders the land, always somehow finding strange trinkets that she tries to trade with other cats…

[BONUS] SkyClan (the Ashen Wolves)

Leader: Sootstar (Aelfric) - A dark grey-brown tom well-liked for his gentle, polite demeanor and many acts of charity to cats outside of SkyClan. His clan is the most welcoming to outsiders, likely because many of its current members were once outsiders themselves.

Deputy: Smoketail (Yuri) - A lithe, graceful gray tom with silky fur. Born to a rogue long before joining SkyClan, Smoketail has traveled far and lived in many different places, despite still being rather young. He’s a bit slippery and a bit too cunning for his own good, and has lived through many things he’s reluctant to talk about.

Medicine Cat: Dapplefur (Constance) - A pale tortoiseshell she-cat. She’s a bit cocky and arrogant at times, and talks much bigger than she has to, but she’s really alright in the end. Rambles a lot about 'restoring her family’s legacy’, whatever that means. However, there are times in which she acts like a completely different cat, becoming shy and downtrodden.

Warriors:

Bearfang (Balthus) - A bulky black and white tabby tom. He’s a loudmouth and often overconfident and hotheaded. He often rushes into battle without much regard for the situation, much to the chagrin of Smoketail. He joined SkyClan after getting in trouble with a band of Twolegplace rogues. Once upon a time, he knew a couple of RiverClan cats - Including Rosecloud and her family.

Redwhisker (Hapi) - A long furred red tabby she-cat. Hapi is the type of cat that marches to the beat of her own drum, and is often inside of her own head. However, misfortune seems to follow her everywhere, and she has the worst luck when it comes to encountering threats such as foxes and badgers on patrols. 

And that’s all folks!

[johns-prince]

I have a sort of weird McLennon AU idea: Reincarnated!John

I got the idea from reading this interview with Paul McCartney, where he claims if he had been a girl he could have maybe gone out and fought for John to keep their very close relationship and prevent Yoko from essentially “stealing,” John away. 

Then I got to thinking, well, what if, instead, John had been the girl? Which then lead to me connecting it too-- well, what if when John had been killed, on Dec. 8th, a little girl had also been born. Basically, John’s soul being reincarnated as a female. 

A little girl born a few hours after John Lennon was assassinated, December 8th, 1980, in a hospital in Liverpool England, named Joan Winifred Stanley. Jo, or JoJo for short. 

Now while this girl has John’s soul, heart, mind, and similarities feminized-- Joan is still an individual, with her own childhood and memories-- who’s growing up in the 80s, and is a lively, young, and lovely teenage girl in the beginning of the 90s. Her favorite rocker is Joan Jett, likes Blondie, Queen, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Michael Jackson, and has a secret love for Elvis Presley... knows of the Beatles, but only see’s the band and their music as “alright, sort of antwacky.” though her mom fancies them. 

Joan has fiery auburn colored hair which reaches some past her shoulders, wavy and thick, can often be a big birds nest of a mess. Milk chocolate brown eyes that appear to have specks of amber when the sunlight hits them; while softened with heavy lashes, are burning and alert, a glare could possibly kill someone. Poor eyesight, hates wearing her glasses because she thinks they make her look like a total lame. 

[reference to what sort of glasswear her eyes required and the style of them]

5′5″, thiccc thighs, perky but rather small breasts, wide hips. Noticeable jawline and chin, though softened with baby fat, high cheekbones, sharp aquiline nose, bottom lip plumper than the top. Top two front teeth are crooked, slightly turned inward. It’s hard for me to describe her hairstyle during the very start of the 90s, so it’s something like this since she is an 80s child and for most of her young teens was in the crowd so;

See now, this is what I have for female John / Joan as far of what her face and hair may look like;

****[It’s still sort of rough, I know, I need to ink her in and then color her before I wanna show the full reference drawing. I honestly want to try and give her a bit more of a wider jawline, or a bit longer of a face-- but again, Joan is still her own person so she can’t look exactly like John, of course]

Sagittarius[John was a Libra], smoker of Luckies, musically inclined [perhaps sounds like a mix of Deborah Harry and Joan Jett? Though more nasally] loves to sing, learned to play acoustic guitar from her mother, and learned to play the harmonica from her grandda [the one good thing he had given to her as their relationship was generally soured since her mother’s parents saw her as nothing more than a bastard child] Could be considered a bit tomboyish but knows how to use her feminine wiles to manipulate, humiliate, and get what she wants. Tries not to be a horrible rebel as she hates to disappoint and stress out her mother, but can be a wild child and has a bit of an issue with authority and respecting rules and requests she deems unnecessarily stupid. Single child raised under a single mother as her father was never in the picture, and while her mothers’ parents were around they barely helped, so they lived in the manner of “we manage.” Coming from Liverpool, and in the poor-working class of society, her mannerisms of speaking are indeed Scouse.

Hot tempered, jealous/possessive of close friends and crush/lover, quick wit and sharp tongued, masks hurt with indifference and practically ghosting someone til she gets over it or they apologize adequately. Wants to love and own people, but does NOT want to be owned or tied down as it makes her feel caged. Freedom of self is incredibly important to her, and feeling like she’s losing it can cause her to act out and lash out. 

Now, in the early 1990s, I believe Paul is around the age of 49/50. This might be just me projecting, but that makes Paul the legit Daddy in this whole thing, if ya catch my drift. Paul is, in my humble opinion, rather attractive and handsome in his late forties/early fifties. So yeah, silver fox Paul is gonna be a thing.

I have a thing for older men, alright? Let me project just a little bit here in my own AU. 

I really haven’t thought much on how these two end up meeting, perhaps they meet during Paul’s World Tour during 1990? Again, Joan knows of the Beatles, and knows of Paul McCartney-- begrudgingly she does like a bit of his music-- but hadn’t the money, nor the greatest of utmost desire as many of her other female friends had, to get into to see him when he stopped in Liverpool. She thought it to be neat, but could live without seeing him. 

But fate would lead to the two of them meeting, in probably an unexpected sort of way. 

Anyways, right away Paul get’s this extremely strange vibe from this girl, this girl who watches him, squinting up at him, with such interest-- and despite being a well known [legendary] and talented musician, and veteran of the music industry, he suddenly feels like he’s been thrown back to the very first day he’d met the scruffy and polar opposite, John Lennon. He finds himself wanting to impress this young bird, because he feels as if despite all his credentials, they mean nothing at this very moment, and he’s stupidly nervous around some girl he had just happened to bump into [because she’s a young bird perhaps?? with burning brown eyes and a quirked, teasing mouth that reminded him of someone???], and it’s like being back to square one of having to prove himself, of his talent and passion, and in the end, the two appear to be sizing each other up, circling like predators do with prey.  It’s a painful comparison when he realizes it, realizes how far this whole interaction threw him back, back into memories and feelings he had long since tried to bury, as not cry and mourn over each day.

It’s her who tries to end the first encounter, because she also gets this awfully weird aura from this old rock n’ roller, but she has no memories to connect it too. It leaves her feeling frustrated, because she really can’t find any rhyme or reason to why she feels this way, why she feels that this isn’t their first time interacting. Despite being an older man, she can’t help but think he looks rather good, and while she can’t put her finger on it again, she thinks that if Elvis had lived to be a bit older, he’d look something like this McCartney fellow. And while she tries to hide it, act indifferent and barely moved that she’s talking to the Paul McCartney, she does feel a bit starstruck, and so she simply wants to end this and keep it as a personal, favorite memory that she may recount to her friends and mother, who’ll probably think she’s just bullshittin’.

But when she attempts to leave, again this McCartney man, who insists that she call him Paul, catches her attention with a light grasp of her arm and stops her instantly. He’s quick to drop the hand the moment she whips her head around, shooting daggers at where he had touched her, then to staring right into his eyes. Paul isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he feels like he needs to see this girl again, but as an excuse, he claims that it’s been awhile since he’s been back in Liverpool, and so, perhaps-- perhaps she could be the one to show him about. It’s a pitiful attempt of avoiding that he simply wants to meet up with this girl again-- and Joan rolls her eyes and breathes out an amused laugh at such a poor front. 

“Aren't I a blind bit too young fe you?” Joan would say, and while the words are obviously a dig, a tease, Paul can’t help but feel as if she had slapped him, his face growing hot and red. Tries to explain, sputtering, almost insulted, that “No-- I mean, yes, I mean, I am not--” and Joan, at first with a relatively flat expression, raises an eyebrow and slowly a smirk begins to form as she watches Paul, the Paul McCartney, fluster and stutter about like the awkward teen boys she knows and have shot down. “Am jus’ skitt'n,” Joan would give in with smile and a laugh, that caused Paul goosebumps and his stomach to lurch, because while softer and higher pitched, reminded him of someone, someone once closer than close. 

“A’rite Sir Paul, I'll indulge you.” and so, while she reasons it’s to just be nice this old rocker who probably hasn’t seen a young groupie in some time, she makes it appear she’s writing down her address or phone number on his hand-- and before she makes her get away, Paul would point out she hadn’t officially given her name to him-- “No manners these kids,” Paul might tease, and the auburn haired girl, with a smile that reached her eyes and showcased her nearly straight pearlies, told him her name was Joan, Joan Winifred Stanley, to be precise. Without giving him a chance to respond to it, she bid him farewell with a playful two fingered salute-- and for a breathless moment, Paul swore he had seen John there, just for a split second.

When he finally gets himself grounded and doesn’t feel so hot anymore, he discovers that she hadn’t written her number down, nor even an address-- just simply a street name; Menlove Avenue. If he’s so interested in continuing their little encounter, he could just go up and down the street, was her reasoning. She didn’t believe he’d go through such trouble to find her again-- anyway, he’s touring, and he has a wife and kids. Weird for a man his age to want to what, make friends with a barely 18 year old bird from old dingy Liverpool? A nobody, Joan would think, almost bitterly.

I’m still putting a lot of thought into this AU, so a lot of things can change and such, especially the idea behind how Joan/John and Paul meet and begin to interact more regularly, how their relationship starts and builds and grows and changes, and of course how it might end [I’m fiddling with the idea that Joan ends up dying too, but that’s a bit too angst-y for me to really focus on so] 

Of course because I’m a fucking degenerate, I would like to have a moment where the two do end up having an intense affair-- though it’s just sensitive because, despite being not real at all, I want to give some respect to Linda and his kids around that time too, because I know Paul loves them dearly. So this AU is obviously full of fucking angst-y and complication and slow burn and miscommunication. 

I can’t even have my cake and eat it too in my OWN FUCKING AU. Typical. 

And yeah, there’s gonna be a noticeable age-gap in this AU, so if that’s not your thing, then that’s fine. There is gonna be a lot of coming of age shit attached to that, a bit of daddy kink, Joan having obvious daddy issues [John most likely had legit mommy issues let’s be real], first times, you name it. 

In the AU, Paul is slowly going to come to the outlandish idea/theory that this girl is John, or at least John’s soul reincarnated. He can’t help it-- she reminds him of John too much, it’s eerie how alike the two are that they might as well be the same person. Paul knows he must be crazy for thinking it, and hates it because it makes him feel as if he’s gone completely obsessed over John, the idea of John still being here with him. 

I will include an appearance from George and Ringo, with maybe Ringo trying to tell Paul that perhaps this is his way of handling the absence of John, and Paul, trying to justify himself, partially agrees. George ends up meeting this girl, and can’t help but agree that Paul may be right, just maybe, because even George can’t deny this girl reminds him of John too, and gives off this aura that is unmistakably John. Ringo thinks both of them are daft sods, but when Ringo meets Joan, he also finds himself seeing John in her-- though Ringo never voices it. But George is careful to not agree with Paul out loud, worried it might encourage Paul in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous way. 

That is, will Paul confront Joan about this and finally tell her that he believes she is John reincarnated? Paul wants too, he wants to tell her, but he’s not stupid, he knows it would probably freak the girl out and cause their budding relationship to instantly crumble and die. But whenever Paul talks about John to her once they’ve gotten close enough that he’s comfortable to divulge such intimate stories and memories about his best mate, Joan’s face would become pensive, almost a far-away look in her eyes, and would begin to comment on how she swears she’s heard these stories before, or that something even similar had happened to her to which had happened to John [even though many of the stories are personal, and kept rather private, so how would she know???] 

But Joan would simply shrug off those feelings of Deja Vu, laugh and shake her head, and just move on. She didn’t like getting those feelings, like she should have memory of something but just doesn’t. 

Excerpts from a fanfic I’ll never write:

It’s a mess, really. Paul falling for this young lively bird with a mean wit and soft lips and squinting eyes that desperately needed glasses, which still managed to observe and could kill someone in the heat of an argument. A girl with auburn hair that tickled his cheeks whenever they’d hug, a girl with a memorable nose, a girl who smelt of ciggies and Liverpool and vanilla and home.  “You’ve got kaleidoscope eyes,” Paul would try one afternoon, sounding like a young awkward teen again trying to impress a young but experienced girl. Joan would turn those fiery eyes to him, squinting, turning to an unimpressed glower that didn’t match the flustered smile. “Sod off, old man,” Joan would reply, snubbing him as she would do, though the smile still betrayed her. 

Paul would fall, fall and fall, like Alice, except there would be no floor to catch him. He would fall for Joan, because he fell for John. It’s a mess, really-- because as things escalated, Paul’s love for Joan and John began to blend and blur, and it was bad because who did Paul really love? Joan, the wild young thing who could tear him down just as easily as build him up in the same sentence and look, or John-- who could do the same but ten times over, and had. Joan though, Joan was putting pieces back together that he had tried to bury long ago, pieces that John had left the day of December 8th. 

“I’m not John,” Joan would say, blunt and straight, cigarette clenched between her teeth. Paul feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I’m Joan,” she’d continue mercilessly, taking a long drag of the fag before ripping it from between her lips, smoke swirling out between the cruel words of reality.  “I’m not some catalyst for your best mate, for whatever you and him had.” Joan’s young face twisted angrily, her eyes filled with dark hurt as she glared at the old rock and roller before her. For a second, Paul saw John again, John with his sneer and his burning glare and his words of knives that dared Paul to say something back, to engage him in war.  It made Paul sick, all of it. He opened his mouth to argue, to protest what she was saying, what she was claiming has been happening all these months. But he can’t, because it’s true, it’s all true, and it burns his insides up.  “You love John, and, and I’m not John,” she’d say, voice cracking as she can’t hide the hurt that comes from finally speaking these truths, bringing them to the light. Her face looks broken, tears threatening to break just as her voice had-- cigarette forgotten between two delicate fingers.

When Paul could find his voice, all that could be said was the girl’s name, soft and almost like a plea; “Joan.”  “Don’t,” she’d bite back like a cornered animal, lip curling in disgust from just hearing her name come from those lips that had practically seared marks along her body. But Paul didn’t, he couldn’t stop, he’d still try-- tried reaching out towards her, a hand going to grasp at her free hand by her side, but all he got was grazing the tips of his fingers to the back of hers before she whipped her hand away, body following the violent motion as she stepped back, away. Those eyes, it’s like she wanted to kill him, especially as that had broken the dam and now her cheeks were wet and she was trying not to hyperventilate and finally she dropped the cigarette as her hands began to quiver.  “I don’t want to hold your hand anymore!  don’t you get it?” she might as well have slapped him, stabbed him, but Paul truly believed those things would have hurt less than what she had just said to him. 

Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read all this bullshit lol I’m really invested in this AU, and so expect more of it. I will be posting the full drawing of Joan once it’s finished, or I can’t bring myself to work on it anymore and thus claim it’s finished to the best of my abilities lol