#would offering ice for that burn be going to far? XD

[star-lemonade]

I shouldn’t have said that

Astro Moonbin x Reader

Cw: smut

Rating: R

Word count: 3.3 k

Summary: Your friend Bin overhears you say you never had good sex in your life and asks if he can help with that.

A/N: While I wrote Country Side Vacation I thought it would be nice to have a series under the theme “reader slips up and says that they haven’t had sex with anyone in a while / no good sex in a while and their friend, who is in love with them, helps out” with different idols. This is unofficial part two XD

“I just want to get fucked really good one time in my life.”

You just felt so frustrated. It was not like you had had lots of exes but still it aways seemed like it was so good for them. Even your friends had stories of mind blowing sex but that just had not happened to you. You let your head sink down to the railing of the balcony. This party sucked too.  

“You what?”

Cold ran down your spine like an ice cube. That voice. Oh no. You did not dare to turn around. Unfortunately you did not have to. Bin came up to the railing next to you. 

The lights of the city below were a good excuse not to look at your friend. Your face burned. Why had you said that out loud? So stupid. Now Bin must think what a failure you are. You could not even get laid properly. 

“Forget you heard that.”

You did not look at Bin and fled. 

A few days later you got a message from Bin:

“Hey, wanna grab something to eat?”

You confirmed and met him at one of the usual places. Cheap and big portions was the restaurant’s MO. The room was little battered with its wood floors dented and discoloured, the paint chipping on tables and the walls. But it did not matter as you were here for the food. You found Bin sitting in the corner. Not where you would usually sit. 

He wore his usual grey hoodie. Something was different about him today. His hair was messy and he continued to comb it every few minutes. On his neck an angry red patch told you that he had scratched it. Something he did when he was stressed. He was fidgety and distracted. A piece of paper in his hand got folded into half and half again until it was not possible to fold it anymore. When the waitress came with the order he looked at it as if he did not know what food was and stammered an order. 

“What is up with you?”

Bin shovelled the food in his mouth. He stared at the bowl in front of him. 

“Earth to Bin, are you there?”

He was almost shocked to find you sitting across from him. The spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. You were getting concerned. All of this was not normal Bin behaviour. A gently you added:  “Everything alright?”

He set down his spoon and stared at the bowl in front of him. I hope nothing bad has happened. 

“I want to ask you something.”

Bin looked around. The table next to yours was empty, but there were people in the restaurant. He slid along the bench. Until he sat next to you. What every this is, it’s for my ears only. Now you were curious. 

“Do you want to go to your place?”

“Uhm-?”

Why would he ask that? He had been to your place tons of times. You looked at him. The answer was not written on his face, sadly. His face was neutral, it did not give any hints to the meaning of this. Bin had beautiful eyes and now he was pleading wordlessly for something. The problem was that you had no clue what that was. 

“Go to my place?”

He saw that you did not understand and sighed. You knew him long enough to know that whatever it was he wanted to say, he also did not want to say. Bin leaned closer so really no one would hear. 

“I will fuck you good. If you want me to.”

You froze. Without realizing you held your breath. Bin had just said that. He moved a little bit away, giving you space. 

That was what he meant with ‘going to your place’. This revelation was too much. You could not deal with this. Your -very hot- friend had just offered to fuck with you out of nowhere. 

“It’s okay, if you don’t want to.”

He patted your hair like he sometimes did and moved away. His face was flushed. Wait, this was not out of nowhere, it was about that party and that dumb thing you had said. You swallowed and grabbed his arm. Now that he has said it your brain needed to know. 

“How would you do that?”

Your question caught him off guard. He looked around scared, but no one was paying attention. 

“I would ask you what you want...but if it was up to me..”

He leaned forward so your faces were close. You could see the little scares on his cheek that looked like a smiley. 

“First, I would eat you out…”

It was surprising to hear him be so direct. Somehow Bin had always stuck you as a bit more prude.The thought of his head between your legs however was really good. It had been to long since you had had a mouth on your clit. 

“Then you would ride me to your heart’s content and at the end I will fuck you as hard and as fast as you want.”

That sounded like the best thing that had never happened to you. You did not know what to say. This was Bin. Your cute friend who really liked to go to the gym. 

“I will think about it”

Your tone was very matter of fact. In that moment your instinct was not to flirt with him. The rest of the meal was tense and you said goodbye soon. 

At home you did some thinking. Even your unconscious mind was working on this. Your dreams were filled with Bin’s head between your thighs and the hopeful wishing to be filled, stretched and thrusted into. You woke up very wet and uncomfortably turned on. 

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. You pulled out your phone and texted Bin.

“Can you come to my place?”

Bin sat down on the edge of the bed and you in his lap. It was the first time you really noticed how big his thighs were. They felt solid under you and supported you as you weighed nothing. 

Bin’s hands were on your ass, keeping you from sliding off his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. Maybe the first kiss should have been more special but you were impatient. Bin responded to the kiss and he pulled you closer. You felt his kiss in your stomach and between your legs. Who knew your shy friend was this good of a kisser. 

He pulled back and scanned your face. 

“How do you want me?”

His voice was hoarse and the pupils of his brown eyes blown out. You had had your doubts about this but one thing was clear. Bin wanted you, wanted this, just as much, if not more than you. 

“Just like you suggested. First your face between my legs..”

Dirty talk was not your strong suit but Bin did not seem to notice. He nodded and you got up from his lap. 

“Do you want me to strip for you?”

Your face was hot instantly and in your best pearl clutching voice you said: “Is that what they teach you at the dance academy?”

He smirked. Bin is enjoying this way too much. 

“Maybe.”

You felt a bit awkward but also excited. This was not something anyone had ever offered and usually you would have to pay for something like this.

“Yes.”

You may had to watch from between your fingers, because it felt overwhelmingly intense and intimate. He ran his hands over his body and your eyes followed. The sweater he was wearing hid most of his figure but one thing you could see, Bin had broad shoulders. He pulled the sweater up a bit revealing the skin of his stomach. You wanted to touch it but it disappeared again. Bin let the fabric slide back in place. Despite being tall and buff, Bin could dance gracefully. 

He turned his back to you and lifted the sweater. As you had suspected, he did not wear anything under it. The fabric slid up his broad back and you could not take your eyes off him. 

He sat in your lap but most of his weight was held up by his strong thighs. 

“Can I touch you?”

Your hands already hovered over his skin, ready to make contact. 

“Yes.”

You let yourself breathe again. Finally you could feel what Bin felt like. You ran your hands over his back and marvelled at the firm muscles. At the hip you traveled to the front to his thighs. The tension from holding his weight made them hard and big. You wanted to rest your head on them and have them between your legs. 

Bin stood up and turned around. An outline had appeared in his underwear but it was not fully hard yet. 

“How was it so far?”

His voice was soft and his eyes were even softer. 

“You look fantastic, Bin.”

He blushed. It was cute. 

“Can you lie down for me?”

Your mouth was dry and the words got stuck in your throat. Bin nodded and joined you on the bed. You straddled his hips. The contact of your hips made both of you gasp. His hands flew to your hips. He grabbed you not to control your movement, but because he needed something to hold on to.  His fingers had slipped under the hem of your shirt, just ghosting over your skin. The sight was so much worse - better- than before. From his thick arms and big chest to the grooves of his abs, Bin just looked perfect. You rolled your hips into his and soaked in his little whimper. His hands pushed your shirt higher and you leaned forward so he could take it off. The cool air made you shiver but not for long. Bin sat up and wrapped his arms around you. His lips were on your neck and moved further down. Your eyes followed his movements trying to save the picture, burning into your memory how he looked kissing your chest. He locked eyes with you as he pulled down your bra and sucked your nipple into his mouth. A jolt ran through your body and you gasped. Your hand tangled in his hair. It was long, for him at least, and soft, perfect to hold onto. If you had not been so distracted by his teeth lightly biting your nipple, you might have played with it. He pulled back from your abused chest and looked up, expecting for you to say what was next. As much as you wanted for Bin to eat you out, like it had been the original plan, you were soaking wet and wanted to be filled already. You licked your lips.

“Is it okay if I ride you now?”

Your tone was a bit more desperate than you would like to admit. Bin purred a ‘Yes’ and kissed your lips. His strong arms pressed you against his bare chest. He was solid against you in the best way possible and his tongue danced in your mouth, slowly getting you even more worked up. You were sure that his goal was not to fuck you, but to drive you insane, to get you so horny you would simply rip off his remining clothes. 

You broke the kiss and stood up to wiggle out of your pants and underwear. Bin did not break eye contact as he did the same. His erection sprung free and you swallowed hard. He fished something out of his pocket and lay down on the bed again, waiting. You crawled on the bed towards him, running your hands up his legs as you did so. It had the effect you wanted. Bin gulped. A blush spread on his face and chest. Your hands reached his thighs and you decided this was actually your favorite part of his body. Those big muscles were just perfect. You gently pushed his legs apart and he watched as you kissed the sensitive insides of his thighs. He shivered when you sucked on the skin and something between a gasp and a moan escaped him. You pulled back to see your work and a red mark had appeared that would fade in a few minutes. 

“Can you continue?”

Bin’s voice cracked and he looked at you with pleading eyes. 

“Continue with what?”

You teased him but you were not also not sure what he wanted exactly. He licked his lips. 

“Can you leave a mark there?”

The question was like a punch between the legs. You may have clenched around nothing upon hearing that. Not trusting your voice you nodded and leaned down to the red circle on his thigh. Bin would have a bruise there for days. Bin would see the bruise there for days. And think of me every time he sees it. You sucked hard on the spot, making sure it would form a bruise and listened to Bin’s heavy breathing. 

When you were satisfied with your work you pulled back and looked at his face. A thin layer of sweat covered Bin’s skin and he had closed his eyes. His hand clutched your bed sheet and you smiled. 

“Was it good?”

You asked in the more innocent tone you could muster. 

“Yes, very.”  

He pressed the words out rather than saying them. You loved that you could affect him like this. He handed you the condom that had been in his pocket and rolled it on. You loved teasing him and for good measure you took him into your mouth. He gasped and his hand grabbed the sheets tight again as if it was the only thing anchoring him. After a few good sucks you let go, You did not want him to come just yet. 

You swung your legs over hips and aligned him with your entrance. He slipped in easily but that did not mean it was bad. The stretch was just right and you moaned quietly. With a whimper your hips came to rest against his. Bin’s hands landed on your thighs and moved up to your hips. He licked his lips. You loved how he looked under you, all big and strong but so at you mercy. His breathing hitched when you tentatively rocked your hips. 

Ride me to your hearts content. His words echoed in your mind. Don’t mind if I do.

His hands held onto your hips as you rocked against him, his fingers pressing into your skin. You leaned back a little, changing the angle. The pressure on your g spot increased in this position and you let out a moan. 

"Stop."

You froze. Bin sighed in relieve. His thumbs rubbed circles on your hips.

"Everything okay?"

You hoped that you had not hurt him somehow. 

"I’m fine it was just really close."

He did not meet your eyes. Bin was embarrassed that he almost came. You leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was intended to encourage him but it escalated into an intense display of how much you wanted to fuse with one another. He was already in you, how much closer could you get? 

"Wanna switch?"

Bin nodded with glazed over eyes. 

"Lie on your belly."

You wondered what he had on his mind. Doggy style had its appeal but it was hard to come for you. He guided you to lay down flat and straddled your hips. Okay this is not doggy style. When he slipped into you again, you knew why he want this position. With every thrust he brushed your g spot. His hot breath tickled your neck when he asked: "Do you like it?"

He supported his weight with his arms and slowly slid in and out. It was not exactly the pounding he had promised but damn, it was so much better. You clenched around him for more pressure where you wanted it most, but that was not the best strategy. His thrusts were shallow and you simply pushed him out. You let out an annoyed noise at the loss.

"You’re a little too greed."

He kissed neck as he pushed in again. 

"Don’t worry." 

His hips moved slowly as before, controlled and patient. "I will make you come." 

You involuntarily clenched around him this time. Bin’s slow but steady thrusts build you up but it was nerve-racking. You were so ready to come but the last bit was missing. A little more was all you needed. 

"Bin please."

He grunted and sucked on your neck as he sped up. It was still not enough. You wanted to touch your clit to finally come but you could not get your hand down there nor would you be able to move your fingers once you were there. Bin’s thrusts went deeper now not hitting your g spot as often and you wanted to cry. You were so close, just a little more.

He pulled out and you whimpered. 

"Bin." 

You felt like you were either going to get angry or cry or both. He pushed you and turned you around. Oh, fuck. His face did not have his usual soft smile, instead he was concentred and a fire burned behind his eyes. He ran a hand threw his hair and you got another good look his spectacular body. Those wide shoulders will be the death of me. He did not give you more time to complain, but wrapped your legs around his hips. Your arms crossed behind his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Even though you were technically on the bottom, had more control of his movements now than ever. You used your legs to guide Bin’s hips and now you noticed how strong he was. His hips snapped against your at an ever faster and harder pace. Your fingers tangled in his wet hair. So close. His muscles were really not just for show. Your body tensed and Bin’s movements became more erratic. You arched your back of the bed and you probably pulled out some of his hairs. His thrusts became weaker as you rode out your orgasm and he stopped soon after. 

He buried his face in your neck, his breathing going fast. Your legs were a bit shaky but you still wrapped them around him, not ready to let him go yet. His breathing slowed and more of his weight rested on you. You wiggled under him, changing your position slightly.

"Am I too heavy?"

"No, just my boobs are not pillows. It hurts when there is too much pressure on them. Now it’s okay tho."

You stroked his hair and he sighed. It was a little bit too warm for your taste under his body but the weight of Bin on you was comforting, anchoring you to the here and now. He was not as hard anymore, but it still felt good to have him inside you. Bin pressed some lazy kisses to your shoulder. He pushed himself up slowly and slid out. You pouted a little and he explained: “I was gonna fall asleep on you.”

You wanted to say it did not matter but Bin was quite heavy, it would have been hard to breathe. He went to your bathroom and when he came back he lay down next to you. 

The atmosphere had changed. You were not sure what would happen now. You had not exactly talked much about it beforehand. Bin looked good in your bed but also very tired.

“What’s gonna happen now?”

At the words a short panic blew away his sleepiness. He studied your face. 

“Do you want to go on a date sometime?”

[bruhstories]

Yes, Daddy

summary: it's stepdaddy!zeke, there's no need for a summary xD pairing: stepfather!zeke x stepdaughter!reader warnings & content: stepcest, unprotected sex, fingering, spitting, lots of daddy mentions, oral sex (male receiving) word count: 1.5k

a/n: danger! this is very self-indulgent, i'm so sorry

You couldn't understand why your mother wanted to get married after your father left. The two of you were perfectly fine just by yourselves. She kept yapping about how a man could offer you stability and security, but you knew better — you knew your mom just wanted to get laid, and since she was almost 50, no one sane man of her age would marry her. She looked good for her age, so it was no surprise when she finally brought home her boyfriend. What was surprising was that Zeke was twenty years younger than your mother. Hell, you were closer to his age than her — he was only nine years older than you. But you could completely understand why she fell in love with him. The man was handsome, extremely intelligent, charming and, most importantly, rich. And for some stupid reason, Zeke was dating your mother, a reason you didn't figure out yet.

Then the wedding happened, and your mother was the happiest she'd ever been. You helped pick her dress, organised the whole damn thing to the smallest detail, even tasted the cake. You were going to move out eventually, and decided your mother would feel better if she had someone around her, so you tried to be nice to your new father. Besides, after Zeke moved in with you, you found out he was a pretty cool guy. So cool, that you began to fantasise about him, touching yourself when you heard him fuck your mom through the thin walls that separated your rooms.

You can't sleep. You toss and turn in your bed, you're either too hot, too cold, too tired or too full of energy.

"Fuck." You breathe out, pushing the blanket off of you. Perhaps a glass of milk will help, and so you go downstairs, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of knee socks. You don't expect Zeke to still be awake after the way he the bed screeched an hour ago, yet there he is, watching some documentary about monkeys.

"Can't sleep either?" You walk into the living room and he glances at you, not so subtly admiring your thighs. Maybe you should've put on some panties.

"No. I can't get used to the mattress."

"Huh." You shrug, making your way to the kitchen. "Want some milk?"

"Yes, please." Zeke nods, not taking his eyes off of you. You don't turn the lights on, you know your house like the palm of your hand, and open the fridge, bending down for the jug. The shirt isn't long enough to cover your body once you've bent, and you know that. You count on that.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all."

You hand him the glass of milk before plopping on the couch, thighs exposed to the viewing pleasure of your stepfather. Neither of you is paying any attention to the TV, but you both pretend to be immersed in the documentary. Until you become adventurous and rest your hand on his knee. He doesn't flinch.

"You've got some milk..." Zeke points at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? Did I get it off?"

"No. Here, let me." He wipes the drop with his index finger. Swiftly, before he can remove his hand, you poke your tongue out, giving his finger a slow lick. He's frozen, and you take advantage of this to suck on his index, not breaking eye contact for one second.

"Thanks." You flash him a smile after removing his finger out of your mouth with a pop. You're threading on thin ice, and it's about to crack by the looks of his growing bulge.

"Do you think it's appropriate for you to suck on your stepfather's fingers like that?" Zeke's condescending tone makes you squeeze your thighs together, and he leans closer to you.

"You could've removed them from my mouth, daddy." Your hand travels from his shoulder to his chest. "Makes me think you liked it. That's not very appropriate either, is it?"

"Why, you little... slut." His calloused fingertips graze over your collarbone before snaking around your throat. You whimper at the tightness of the grip, a smile creeping on your lips. "Shh, you wouldn't want your mother to wake up, would you?" You shake your head, half-lidded eyes watching his every move. Zeke releases your throat and you already lifted your shirt. "So eager to please."

"Mmm, I wanna please you, daddy. Wanna make you feel good." Your hand is desperately trying to pull his cock out but Zeke has you pinned to the couch by your shoulders.

"Bet you've got a tight cunt." He licks his lips, imagining how you'd clench around his throbbing dick. "Bet you're also soaked."

"Why don't you see for yourself?" You take him by surprise with a kiss that's so wrong, but that feels so right. Zeke kisses you back, tongue exploring your mouth like it's uncharted territory while his hand snakes between your thighs. You're not fighting him by any means, no. In fact, you spread your legs so he can have all the access he wants, seemingly satisfied by your actions. And he's right, you're dripping for him.

"Am I wet enough for you, daddy? Bet that old hag is so dry." You don't know what possesses you to say those things, you never hated your mother. But Zeke just has that effect over you and you can't even think anymore.

"Now, now," he shoves two fingers between your folds and you throw your head back, "that's no way to speak about your mother."

"Oh, p-please, as if you give a shit about h-her!"

"Hmm, it's true. I wanted to break up with her until I met you. And I knew I had to make you mine." Zeke adds another finger, curling them up to hit your sweet spot. "I'm glad you're not as stupid as your mother."

"Shit, fuck me, please! Wanna feel your cock inside me, daddy!"

"Needy whore. Do you beg other boys like this?"

"N-no, just you! Only you!"

"Good, because starting today, you're not allowed to see other men. Not after I fuck you."

Finally, you think, finally he wants you. You bite on your lower lip when he spits on his cock, the glistening tip pushing at your entrance as you squirm and whimper. Zeke is by far the biggest man to fuck you, and you're sure you'll be sore tomorrow. Inch by inch, he bottoms out, filling a whole no one could have filled. Manicured fingernails dig into his shoulders for support because the man is so feral and aggressive, you feel the couch sliding back with every thrust. And your face — it's a sight for sore eyes, the way your lips form an O when he fucks into you, the way your eyes roll when his cock grazes over your cervix. He drinks you in, that's a fact.

"Fuck, you're sotight." Zeke grabs your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks. "Open that filthy mouth."

You obey, thinking he might kiss you, but the man merely spits into your mouth and you clench your spongy walls around his cock, swallowing before he can tell you to do it.

"Good slut." He praises you and you feel your cheeks burning, chanting his name like a prayer. "As much as I love you mewling like a bitch in heat," Zeke shoves three fingers in your mouth, "I need you to shut the fuck up."

You nod, eyes filled with lust and desire as he fucks into your poor cunt. The harder he thrusts, the more you want him, and so you buck your hips, earning a low growl from your stepfather.

"That's right, take it like the whore you are."

You want to ride him, want to scream his name, but you can't, not with your mother upstairs, but at this point, you don't even care if she hears you — all you want is the sweet release of your orgasm that's been building up for some time now. Zeke can feel your need by the way you pant and arch your back, and he decides to let you have it.

"Be a good girl and rub that clit for daddy, yeah?"

You don't waste any more time and do as you're told, frantically touching yourself, clenching your muscles before relaxing them with muffled moans. He seems satisfied by your little performance, slowly pulling his throbbing cock out of your sore, soppy cunt.

"You gonna suck and swallow, love?" He removes his fingers from your mouth, coated in your saliva, drool dripping down your chin.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You answer him eagerly, tentatively falling to your knees and without a warning, you take him into your mouth.

It doesn't take much to make Zeke come — with hollowed cheeks, you bob your head up and down, back and forth, palming his balls and swirling your tongue around his cock and he's putty in your hands. When he's close, he holds your head back so that you don't miss a single drop of his cum and, like the good stepdaughter you are, you swallow the entire load with a smile on your pretty face. Zeke mockingly pats your head and you look at him with glossy eyes.

"Same time, tomorrow?"

"Yes, daddy."

[wesimpforxiao]

A spur-of-the-moment One-shot?

Be warned, heavy angst XD DISCLAIMER: DOES NOT PERTAIN TO SAY MY NAME AND I’LL BE THERE(and no I’m not killing anyone off in that story you guys can relax cuz it’s a promise!  I’d recite Teucer’s pinkie promise lines but I can’t remember them at the moment haha)  

....

What was it that you cared most about?  Was it the village you risked your life to protect?  The safety of your friends and family?  Him?  Or your own life?

You didn’t really have time to think of an answer when yet another blow crashed into you and sent you flying into the field.  The sickening crunch of bone as you hit the ground was probably heard by your offender.  One last shot.  One last shot.  You grit your teeth through the pain and sat up, shoulder slack from the impact of their last attack.

“DIE HERE!”  A mix of ice and flame torched your attacker, their screams echoing in the dead of night until they disintegrated into ash.  But just as you thought the torment was over, your gaze fell to the ever-widening gash at your side.  “Ah.”  It appears my delusion and vision outperformed this time.  A wry chuckle left your lips, and you sank back into the dewy grass that willingly soaked the blood up like it was an offering to the soil.

What did it all mean, in the end?

Hi, Xiao.  Your whispers of a greeting reached the ears of the yaksha, who was somewhere south of here.  I know it’s late, but I just wanted to say hello.  What good would it do to call your dear friend here?  You couldn’t feel your toes anymore; the tips of your fingers were becoming numb and the palms of your hands tingled.  I hope your day went well.  Have some almond tofu for me, would ya?

The arrogation of mankind won out yet again; this was a fitting end to your self-proclamation of godhood.  That yaksha of yours would probably remind you of it if he were here right now.  Truth be told, it’d be nice to have some company in your final moments, but it wouldn’t be right to have him witness the fall of another one of his companions.

Yet he knelt beside you anyway.

“Y-You shouldn’t be here,” a miniscule smile rose upon your bloody lips.  “My village isn’t too far.  Could you be a peach and make sure everyone is alright for me?”

Xiao’s fingers trailed to your side and peeled the fabric away from your skin, his face twisting into a scowl when he caught the glint of the delusion in your hand.  “You shouldn’t have tha--”

“Come on, you know I can’t...I can’t help myself.”  Your laugh turned into a coughing fit, and he retracted his hand.  He didn’t seem at all surprised to find you at death’s door; that’s how reckless of a human you were.

“The wound is too deep.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It will be slow.”

“I know.”

“Are you in pain?”  How is she even conscious?

“I feel warm and fuzzy, nothing else.”  The yaksha observed your labored breathing for a moment, the sound of the crickets filling the gaps of silence.  “You should go.  I’d like...to die in peace.  Please.”

“Fool,” he growled.  “I will not.”  For he knew you well enough to know you wanted him, needed him here even though you said the exact opposite.  Just like him.  It was the main connection the two of you had; your minds both focused on protecting others by pushing them away.

“I’d rather not have someone,” a deep, slow breath, “watch me pass.”  He was getting a bit blurry.  “It’s creepy, you know.”  So sleepy...

“Rest here,” he encouraged with a hand warming your forehead.  He ignored the slight lump that had formed in his throat.  The death of a companion was never easy, but he’d have to bear it.  He will join his friends one day...but until then, this wouldn’t get to him.  It couldn’t.  He forced himself to hold your unsteady gaze and swallowed the hurt that began to constrict his chest.  You will not see me break in your final moment.  “Rest here, and die knowing I stayed with you to the end, friend.”

What a soft voice, a soft expression from your dear companion.  “...yes...”  You were determined to hold his gaze as long as your eyes allowed you to, and your hand met his warm one at your forehead.  “Th-Thank you, Xiao.”

The lone yaksha let out a long, heavy sigh after you took your last breath.

......

ALTERNATE ENDING (Cursing warning.  Also, this one is worse ;-;)

“Sh-Shit,” a half-hearted laugh left your lips when your hand retracted from your side to reveal a lot of blood.  “A-haha, X-Xiao’s gonna make a fuss about this.”  You forced yourself to lie down in the dewy grass, biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from yelping when your broken shoulder touched the ground.

Hey, Xiao.  You blinked the tears of both fear and pain away as you stared up at the night sky.  ‘Just breathe,’ you thought.  ‘No need to panic.’ But the searing pain within your stomach told you there was a need to freak out a bit.  You could only imagine how badly your organs were damaged...How was your day?  Sorry if my prayers are a bit repetitive.  It’s just nice to talk sometimes.

“Tch.”  Another wince of pain and suddenly Xiao was standing above you.  “Ah...you shouldn’t be here.  M-My village is...”

“Do not speak.”  The adeptus knelt beside you and peeled the fabric away from your stomach.  “Your village is fine.”

“Promise?”  Screw holding the facade, this hurt like hell.  You squirmed when his fingertips grazed you.  “Ngh! Stop!”

“The wound is too deep.”

“I know!”  Reality finally set in, and your breathing quickened in a panic.  At least the adrenaline numbed a little bit of the pain, but it paled in comparison to whatever damage was done to your stomach.  “F-fuck, get away from me.”  Your growl didn’t faze him, but something flickered across his face when you began to cough up an unruly amount of blood.

“It will be slow.”  His gaze caught yours. “Painful.”

“I-I know,” tears stung the corners of your eyes.  The pain was only getting worse.  “Please leave me to die here.  Go on, now.  You don’t have to be here.  Shoo.”

“Fool,” he sneered.  “Of course I have to.”  

“It’s creepy to watch me like this,” you forced a laugh, but more blood came up instead.  “Ugh...haah, it hurts too much.”  The yaksha stroked your hair somewhat awkwardly in an attempt to soothe you.  “X-Xiao...I...please end it.”

Xiao watched you carefully, his hand stilling.  “You want me to end your suffering?”

“Y-yes, please!”  Every breath invited a pain equivalent to being burned, every movement invited what felt like knives into your organs.  “P-Please.  I know...I know it’s a lot to ask.  But I’d rather it be by your hand.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to do this, but a pain still shot through him at the thought of your death.  He was looking forward to your endless bickering for the next several years, looking forward to savoring this last banter with you, but if you were in that much pain, so be it.  He summoned his polearm, and caught the brief panic in your eyes when you realized the blade was much bigger than you remembered.  “You’re certain?”

“Just...Just make it quick, please?”

He lifted you enough so he could envelop you in his embrace.  “Rest now, my companion.”

A sharp yelp echoed through the field as his blade pierced the center of your chest until it had pierced through the other side.  Your grip on his arm tightened for a few long seconds as you drew your last breaths.  “..th...thank you...”  His stiff stroking of your hair soothed your anxiety of letting go, but the stiffness wasn’t attributed to awkwardness of human contact--instead, it was grief.  Shock.  Sadness.  Whatever humans attributed this god-awful feeling to.

Yet another voice to haunt him.

So be it.

[raevenlywrites]

Ties That Bind 22 of ???

Of course the first person I encountered upon waking was Adelina.

Rei was long gone from the tent, if the chill of the bedroll was any indication. I’d expected to find him just outside the tent flap. Instead I was met by the long, lean body of Zane’s primary guard.

And lover.

My cheeks immediately flamed in spite of myself, knowing what she must think. My mouth worked uselessly as my mind offered no words to explain. I couldn’t exactly claim it wasn’t what it looked like, though Rei and I certainly hadn’t spent our time together in the way I knew a serpiente would assume.

But surprise followed surprise, as Adelina ushered me back into the tent with a conspiratorial air.

“We don’t have much time,” she whispered, nearly knocking me over in her rush to get us back under cover. “Our men will only keep each other busy for so long.”

“I-- what?”

I couldn’t begin to parse it. Adelina didn’t seem to mind my clueless state. She rushed on, eager to say her piece.

“I need to know how we’re meant to play this. Is Zane to be your lover or not?”

I could only blink.

“I know how the serpiente would read this, but I just want to be sure. You’ve taken his hand before you mother, you danced with him last night before the crowd. But when its just us, you’ve made no overtures. So I just want to know what role I—I mean he—is meant to play before you people. Are you two seriously planning to join our kingdoms?”

I stumbled to a seat, sitting before my wobbling legs made the choice for me. Did they really think--

“Danica, please. We don’t have much time.”

I felt like I was missing something, great swaths of something. I suddenly wished I’d stayed behind to walk and talk with them more as the serpiente had made their way here.

“I… honestly have no idea.”

It was the best I could give her. I felt this woman deserved the truth, but Zane and I hadn’t really discussed it. Mostly because I hadn’t thought either of us had taken the suggestion seriously. But looking back on all our conversations--

“What do you mean you have no idea?” Adelina snapped, but even without a serpent’s ability to read emotions I knew she wasn’t cross with me. The tense, pent up energy that so often drove me to pace was obvious in her posture, her tone, her entire being. I realized suddenly that if the serpiente could sense emotion anyways, there was no reason not to wear their hearts out on their sleeves. Or lack thereof, as was often the case.

I was getting side tracked. My mind was working furiously, but not in any useful direction. Adelina, like a dog among sheep, was not having it.

“Sweet Anhamirak, Danica are you listening to me? How will we be presenting Zane to your people?”

“I had wondered that myself.”

Adelina’s head whipped around as the man himself pulled back the flap of the tent. Rei scowled just over Zane’s shoulder. But amazingly, he didn’t pull the serpiente away from me to make sure I was unharmed. Adelina, at least, it seemed he trusted.

“Shall we have this conversation out in the open?”

The question was ostensibly for me, but his eyes remained locked with Adelina’s.

“You were never going to ask--” she began, tone pleading.

“I was biding my time,” her prince asserted. “Neither I nor Danica appreciate being rushed.”

“We’re at the bleeding gate!” she countered. “If not now, then when?”

“If we could maybe refrain from shouting?” Rei suggested. “And maybe come out of the tent? We’re making a scene.”

Zane nodded and backed up, holding the tent flap with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

“Ladies.”

The last thing I wanted to do was face a mixed assemblage of curious serpiente and avians, but I didn’t think hiding in the bedroll with a blanket over my head was an option. I let Adelina help me to my feet, drawing the coolness of her hand into my demeanor. I hoped that maybe, some small of my reserve went to her as well. The shaken woman looked like she needed it.

The sun was well and truly risen, slanting sharply through the trees. It was mid, maybe late morning, but any sleepiness I might have felt was burned away by the singing of my nerves. Time to face the day.

Adelina, to my surprise, stayed on my far side, keeping myself between her and Zane. Rei fell into step on Zane’s other side, the four of us making the short walk to the main central fire and the breakfasts cooking there. Food suddenly sounded wonderful, and not just because it would present further delay. That was simply an added bonus.

Zane handed me down onto a log with as much grace and decorum as he would if it were a dining room chair. The absurdity of it made me smile, which I realized was the goal when he rewarded me with one of his own. I was learning to tell the difference between his pleasantly bland, haughtily mocking, and genuinely pleased smiled. I hoped I got to see the latter one more. It looked good on him, turning an inhumanly beautiful sculpture into something warm and soft and touchable.

And just like that I was blushing again, with merely the hint of thoughts of intimacy.

Zane laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“And here I thought I was being on my best behavior. Courtly manners too forward for you, pretty Danica? You didn’t seem to mind my hands on yours last night.”

I scowled at the abrupt shift in his tone, the venomous suggestion I knew was meant to wound. Was he really mad at me for showing genuine emotion? Well, too bad. He was about to get even more.

“That’s petty, Zane. Don’t threaten my reputation just because you’re unhappy with something.”

Zane blinked, and Adelina laughed. She reached down and squeezed my shoulder, startling me, Zane, and Rei all. That only made her laugh harder.

“Well done, Dani. You’ll handle him just fine.”

“That’s Shardae, to you,” Rei bristled.

Zane opened his mouth, and whatever was going to come out of it was not going to be good. I gave a sharp pierce of a whistle, not thinking, just determined to cut this off before it got any worse.

“Alright! That’s enough.”

Adelina removed her hand, which I was surprised to find I missed, but it was time for me to take the reins while I could. I could invite her to be more informal with me later, if there was a later.

“Adelina brought up a valid point with me Zane; we need to sort out what kind of impression we intend to make.”

For a moment, Zane looked pained, almost like he would plead with me. But he straightened, put his feelings aside, and just like that, I was talking with the Arami of the serpiente, the man who would be king. Like Adelina’s hand, I missed seeing the genuine him, but appreciated his cooperation.

One ego down—and another immediately took its place. Rei fidgeted beside me, and without even making a sound, he was throwing just as much a fit as Zane had. I could ignore him—I should ignore him—but I’d had enough.

“Yes, Andreios?”

“Nothing, Shardae.”

“No, no. Speak your piece. You obviously disapprove of something.”

I watched him pull away from me, drawing his emotions deep inside--only to come rushing back in an even larger wave.

“I do. As your alastair, I take offense to serpents barging into your tent, and taking liberties with your person.”

My mouth dropped open, eyes as wide as the moon. I absolutely could not believe my ears. This was not my Rei. It was so utterly unlike him to be speaking of such personal things in front of company. Had one single evening of kissing really changed him so?

I was suddenly more glad than ever that I’d not let my mother bully me into an announcement last night. I had some reevaluating to do.

“The man I name as my alastair will have to be comfortable with the serpiente way of doing things. I don’t need a hoverhawk. I need a partner, who understands me.”

It pained me to have to speak so bluntly with others listening. I’d have much rather had this discussion in private—or better yet, not at all. This was not my Rei. Unfortunately, I did not have time to deal with him now. And if he really intended to be my alastair, he needed to understand that my people and this peace would have to come first.

Rei’s face went stony, then empty. This time, it was no retreating tide. It was a frozen glacier, his hurt feelings behind a wall of ice for good.

“Of course, Shardae. I don’t approve of it as a guard, either. But Adelina is hand picked by the Arami, and its not my place to question her.”

Just as my words were meant to subtly remind him that he was not yet my mate, his were intended to throw Zane and Adelina’s relationship in my face. It steeled me against pity I might have been feeling before. I had neither time nor patience for this.

“Quite right, Captain.”

I turned my back on him, and my own hurt, and gave all my attention to Zane.

“Please pardon our rudeness, Arami. Now, let’s discuss introducing you to my people.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

[shadowdianne]

Okay but it would be really cute for a Cissamione prompt to be like, at a ball or something and Andy interrupts them before they kiss 🤣

Nine months later here I present…. Something Xd Hope you like it anon <3 And thanks for the prompt 😉

As always ever-present reminder that I might be a little bit of a brat when it comes to details… and far too invested in long sentences, lack of perfect edition if I happen to write this in the middle of the night as it is, and far too short actual dialogue. Apologies for everything and I do hope this is enjoyable.

Less of me, on with this :P

 Lights illuminated the room, pools of flickering flame that climbed their way through the decorations that had been carefully hexed a few hours prior, so they maintained their shape and form while floating soundlessly above the chatting crowd below. Marble and wood splayed beyond the lights, its colors swallowing whatever little droplets of that very same light that absconded its way into Narcissa’s hair for everything that Hermione was concerned.

Unperturbed, or perhaps far too lost in the other witch’s silhouette, the brunette witch didn’t quite see her fellow colleagues as they laughed and talked around her, conversations inane, lacking most of the times, insipid, and far too work-related in others even if today’s ball had been called in the hopes, perhaps, of creating a divisive line between work and pleasure. After all, Imbolc was shining bright among the magic present in the air and the ones at the ballroom, the members of the Ministry that is, weren’t the only ones celebrating such a moment. Beyond the curtains and veils and walls so carefully jinxed so no muggle could hear them above in the grey-surfaced city, many other members of the Wizarding Community would be enjoying the festivity as well. And yet, Hermione had caught herself realizing, half-apologizingly, despite the boredom their conversations had for her that she would have been one of the many others who couldn’t quite separate themselves from their work-related company if it hadn’t been -that is- for the far too good dressed witch that had made her entrance just late enough for the alcohol to have been poured and refilled more than twice already.

She had hoped she would come, she had given her own invite herself after all; a cacophony of nerves and what-ifs stuck at the back of her throat as she had played with the envelope made out in parchment and pressed celandine and violets that had left minute granules she has promptly shaken off as Narcissa had risen her brows and tilted her head, all angles and shadows and eyes that shone as conjured ice.

“Are you sure of this?” She had asked then, within the confines of the apartment that had become theirs even if none of them dared to speak such truth out loud. Despite the reality of Narcissa still living at the Manor that had become rightfully hers after the Trials and the divorce and some other legal affairs that had become far too long to enumerate while trying to find the better way to explain that nothing would please her and burn her more than seeing her there, among others, next to her, distance close enough that maybe, just maybe, she could grab her fingers and squeeze them between hers.

Hermione had bitten into her bottom lip then, sheets around her, the chill of mid-January chasing the fine hairs at the back of her hair as she moved up on their bed, moving closer, farther from where she had fished out the letter from, a simple, sober “And plus one” written at the very top of the envelope on itself. The words laconic, mute of the colors Narcissa’s eyes kept on bringing as she scanned the parchment again and again, as if waiting for the letters to slid of the page, transformed into fog and glass. She had taken Narcissa’s empty hand with one of hers then, kissing the palm, curving her fingers along so the blonde witch would mimic her as she laid her chin against their conjoined hands.

“Only if you want.” She had replied then, serious, expectant, willing, needy, burning.

But, the brunette witch now thought as she maneuvered herself away from her colleagues, away from the walls, away from the fire and flames that framed the edges of a room that couldn’t contain the happiness at seeing Narcissa entering and searching for her, finding her and promptly doing the same as she was doing, wasn’t Imbolc meant to be fire? Didn’t she deserve to have the one she wanted at her side then and there? She emitted a small smile as she finally moved close enough for Narcissa to grasp both of her hands by her wrists, thumb running through her pulse points, as she appraised her, blonde and dark on her hair, glass, and jewels on her hair, black and fire and white on her silhouette having forgone her usual Slytherin colors for something more appropriate for the evening and reason of the party itself.

Hermione knew her stunning, knew her beautiful, gorgeous, divine, and with that in mind, she licked her lips and reminded herself, dazedly, that despite her will and want and accepted offer at accompanying her neither of them had truly talked about how much or how little would they be willing to show. So, sadly, she pressed her lips together, blushing, always blushing, and -still trapped by Narcissa’s hands, turned them palm up so she could feel the tipping dance of the blonde’s own heartbeat against the pads of her fingers. A staccato of nerves and -yet- resolution.

“Been some time since I was here.” The blonde mentioned, almost in passing, eyes glued to the walls, to Hermione if the brunette narrowed her eyes enough to see the quick pupil movement. Anything, everything, that would shield them both to the onlookers, the ones who were trying to be subtle, the ones who weren’t. “I like what they have done for today. You will need to tell me if you managed to get them to do the eternal flame spell you talked me about.”

Narcissa had been pardoned. In a fashion, after a trial that had been far too long and work that had needed to be done inside the blonde’s own mind once she had risen her head towards the Wizengamot and admitted her part, subscribing to where her faults had lied, admitting her will of changing, of not quite leaving everything behind but ready to try to. She had paid, obliging to what both others wanted of her and she herself had asked of her. And yet her presence, her memory, was still followed by the very same eyes that glanced and looked and judged Hermione’s own presence in the Ministry, even after all those years, even after showcasing time and time again that her place there hadn’t been nepotism but something earned, something good.

So she jutted out her chin and pretended not to see them, none of them, as she glanced up towards the fires; the colors changing ever so slowly from bright red to purple and mauve if one stared at them long enough.

“They finally went with a spell over Incendio so the flames remained cold longer.” She informed, contrite and Narcissa scoffed a little as she -sadly- dropped her hands, grasping a glass that had floated towards her in the attempt to get her to start drinking.

“Their miss.” She said, taking a sip, liquid splashing slowing, lazily, as she appraised Hermione with the promise of a shadow of a smile, eyes slow, weighing, smoldering.

Maybe she should just kiss her, no matter the murmurs and scolds and gasps and questions that would come later. Or maybe she could just, simply, ask her to leave the place, find another one, secluded, safe.

“I…”

Her train of thought was interrupted, however, when a profile appeared amongst the many others around them all, the instantaneous wave of panic not appearing as it had once done but yet making her tremble with the realization they were about to be interrupted by none other than Narcissa’s sister as Andromeda promptly abandoned her own conversation with some members of a department Hermione didn’t truly focus on, and strode towards them with the resolution of someone about to start an equally long conversation with them both.

“Your sister is here.” She said in the spare seconds they had, the flashing idea of convincing Narcissa to climb to her own office, beyond the hall, beyond the elevators, beyond the sleeping memorandums turning into ash.

While Narcissa baited looks, Andromeda was a very different beast altogether. She had been, after all, the good sister as far as the general public was concerned. She wasn’t followed nor judged but was still as looked at as the others who have been there, on their own, during the war. She was invited to the usual feasts, however, either by ones or others wanting to get some edge out of the almost perfect living copy of Bellatrix Lestrange herself and so as she moved everyone deferred around her as her smile caught Narcissa’s eyes the second the blonde turned towards where Hermione’s gaze was lost, shoulders rising in surprise at the sight.

“I didn’t know you had been invited Cissy! I would have sent you an invite but I was already a plus one…”

“I was, kind of a last-minute thing, though, hence why I couldn’t find a moment for…”

They were warm to each other, the sadness that had peppered their conversations having been diluted some time ago. And so, Hermione couldn’t blame Andromeda for wanting a moment with her younger sister. Decided to move away, leave them so they could be as free as they could be among so many others, she stepped at her right, a passing caress on Narcissa’s forearm that could very well look intentional to others who were paying enough attention.

“Andy.” She said, all smiles and warm eyes but the other witch wasn’t having any of it and, grabbing her by the very same point her sister had had mere moments before, she spun Hermione until she was between them both, head tilted, mischievous.

“Oh no you don’t.” She said merrily. “You are going to stay here and listen as I ask my sister why she hasn’t kissed you yet. Noisy ones be dammed, Cissy, have you seen her?”

Oh, well. Or she could just question if she could ask for a non-verbal approach of disappearing without a trace.

[blarrghe]

“Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast” Dorian x Anders, because I imagine Dorian has NEVER had a lover make him breakfast before (and Anders probably as a cat-shaped waffle iron)

Ok, as much as I love “his boyfriend makes him breakfast and it breaks Dorian” I also like, JUST did that over in my pavellan fic. It was very sweet and all, but consider: neither of these men are functional adults so who the hell is making breakfast? Still, got Anders his waffles. Anyway this directly sequels the last one again, because I’m using prompts to generate this story now I guess, and I’m really invested in this slow burn friends-to-lovers angsty mess now, so this got super long. I’m gonna start posting this as a series on AO3 I think -- also taking title suggestions XD. Thanks for dragging me into this hell :’) Here’s Breakfast:

He told himself that he was just coming along to keep an eye on him. A designated driver of sorts, just one without a car, or driver’s license, for that matter. He showed Dorian to the bar across the street and ordered himself a glass of water while Dorian asked for “the worst swill you have", with a rather large tip slapped on the bartop. He was handed something astringent smelling in a foggy glass, downed it in one quick backwards toss of his head — arching his neck, snapping back again with a shudder — and then he asked to have the bottle. 

Dorian took two more shots before he spoke. “Did you know that there was an author, horror novelist, whose mother disapproved so wholly of her marriage that after she died, she and her husband took their revenge by having sex right on her grave?” 

So. This was going to be an interesting evening. “I did know that, actually.” Anders said. 

“I’m rather a fan of hers, of her work, I mean.” he took another shot, “and of her misbehaviours. Only, do you think it would be too gouache, seeing as it’s already been done?”

Anders coughed. “Because if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t be?” 

Dorian shrugged, and took a fourth shot. Maker, he’d finish the bottle within half an hour, at this rate. 

“I’m a fan of hers too,” Anders attempted to steer the conversation into something somewhat more...appropriate, “of her work.” He was also a fan of the story, but maybe not at this particular moment. 

“Oh?” 

Anders took a sip of his water, and signalled to the bartender to put a water glass in front of Dorian, too. “I tend to enjoy stories about misunderstood monsters,” he shrugged. 

“Me too.” Dorian ignored the water glass in favour of shot number five. “Of course, she was married to a like-minded soul, I’d have to find myself a willing participant.” 

“Strange thing to put into your dating app profile,” Anders agreed. Dark humour came easy — though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.  

“Mm. Man seeking man to fuck on father’s grave, must be willing to break cemetary locks and city bylaws. Risk of haunting, serious inquiries only.” 

Anders tried to stifle his laugh. Man seeking man, though. No. Nope. Very terrible idea. 

“I don’t suppose you’d be game?” 

Anders coughed again, his cheeks flaring up, and shook his head. “I — uh — I think that must be against...one of my oaths.” he stuttered, still flushing. 

Dorian took yet another shot, which made six. What in the world was he made of? "Yes I suppose it must be. Or should be, at any rate." His cheeks were a bit flushed too, even in the dim light, but just from the alcohol; evidently the man had no concept of shame, because next he said, "well, it was worth a shot." 

Speaking of shots. "Water," Anders instructed, moving the water glass closer to Dorian, "you should drink some water." 

"Yes doctor." Dorian obliged, taking the glass to his mouth but raking his eyes up and down Anders as he drank down the entire thing. Anders just kept on blushing. 

"I take it you and your father didn't get along?" It probably wasn't the right question to ask the recently bereaved, but he'd nearly failed that psych 101 course he'd taken in first year, and it was a step away from morbid propositions. Void, where was Merrill when he needed her? 

"You met him, didn't you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, and with quickly failing coordination, poured himself one more shot, while spilling enough to fill another over the bartop. Anders grabbed a napkin, while Dorian threw his shot back without seeming to notice. "My father hated me." He said, once he'd swallowed. 

Tear soaked apologies and an alcohol soaked "celebration" of his death. Anders felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet that was quite removed from the growing pangs of hunger his measly lunch — a granola bar five hours ago — had left him with. 

"I'm sure he didn't —" Dorian stopped him with an ice cold look, intimidating even as he swayed in his seat. Anders frowned, there had been something in that psych course about not sharing your own traumatic experiences with a patient, even if they were relatable. Muddies the waters of who's caretaking who, or gives them ideas, or makes you look crazy too, so they lose confidence, but — "mine did, too." He gave Dorian's arm a tentative pat, and waved the bartender down for a refill of water. Dorian drank it without prompting this time, but his eyes watched Anders again, waiting for more. "Or he must've, got rid of me quick enough." 

"Ah," Dorian leaned back, a little too far, Anders tensed to catch him in case he started to fall, "then I'm an ass. Sorry." 

"No, you're —" Dorian swayed back forward with a bit of a jolt, like he'd forgotten how to stop and needed to grip the bartop to keep level. He reached for the bottle again, and Anders shot a hand out to grab it first. Their hands met, Dorian's falling on top of his over the bottle, and then in an instant Dorian's flew away again. "You're drunk." Anders said. 

"Yes," Dorian agreed, "marvelous." He went back to the water, then cast Anders' hand, still on the bottle, a hopeful look. "Though not to the point where I won't remember any of this miserable day, yet." 

Anders raised an eyebrow, and kept his hand on the bottle. 

"Not that I'm saying I wish to forget you," Dorian's eyes were pleading with him, glossy as they were, "you've been rather kind, really, it's just…" when Anders still didn't release the bottle, he groaned. Then he straightened out his face again, a mask of sensibility that was barely holding: "I'm afraid you aren't seeing me at my best, doctor Anders." 

"Just Anders." Maker, but the sadness behind it all was killing him. You're heart's too soft, Anders, he scolded himself. 

"Anders, then. Quite the name." 

"More a point of origin." Anders explained with a shrug. 

"Yes, the hair rather gives you away. And the complexion." He reached out and slipped two of his long fingers through a strand of Anders' strawberry hair, which was falling in a straggled mess about his temples. Anders flinched, pulling his head back, and Dorian frowned apologetically. "Pretty. You're very pretty." He said. Anders shook his head and rolled his eyes — the man was drunk — but blushed again. 

"It's what the circle gave me," Anders explained the name with another shrug. He wasnt entirely sure why he was volunteering so much personal information to this perfect stranger. Perhaps he felt it was owed, after witnessing the death of the man's father, and all he'd overheard. Or maybe it was those eyes...

"Oh." Another apologetic frown, "and you ran away to Tevinter? Well, you wouldn't be the first." Anders nodded. "Where from?" 

Anders chuckled dryly, "Kirkwall, most recently." 

"Oof." Dorian grunted a drunken sound of disgust, and Anders chuckled again, "how in the world do you manage not to drink?" 

Anders’ laugh grew stronger, he shook his head and took another sip of his water, while Dorian redirected his attention once more to the bottle still protected by his hand, as though just now remembering his plight. "One more, I promise I'll be good." He begged. 

"Speaking as a doctor, I think you've had enough." 

"I thought you were off duty." 

"You're going to make yourself sick." 

"Then it's lucky I'm with a doctor." 

Anders sighed, and poured him one more slightly scant shot. Dorian frowned at the way the alcohol didn't reach the rim of the glass, but threw it back with a grateful sigh. 

“Can I call you a cab, Dorian?” Anders offered, watching worriedly as Dorian gave his head a dramatic shake and swayed a little more back and forth. The bar was emptying out, and last call was coming upon them. He cast a glance at the old watch ticking away on his wrist, mentally calculating how long it would be until he could be at home, in his bed. Not that he minded keeping the miserable man company, quite the opposite, despite everything. He had a pull to him Anders couldn’t quite explain; the eyes again, probably. But the bus came once an hour at this time of night, and didn’t stop at the closer stop, just the well-lit main hub that lay several blocks from his apartment — another fifteen minutes of walking after he got off, so a good hour or more to get home, altogether, if he left now. 

“Is it that time already?” Dorian sounded disappointed, spinning the empty shot glass around on the bar, then with a sudden spark of concern in his eyes he turned his face to Anders, “I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I? How dreadfully selfish of me, I —” he was sputtering a rather pitiful apology, and Anders’ stomach fell again at the sight of it. 

“It’s alright,” he said gently, muscle memory finding the soft smile he used for giving bad news to patients, “your father died today, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yes, father died…” Dorian got a far-off look in those cold eyes of his, and then directed them back at his empty glass, “and you — you had to, I mean, here I am wasting your time when you must be — selfish —”  all at once, his face crumpled, and the guilty muttering gave way to tears. Shit. 

Anders patted his back once, carefully, and Dorian seemed to utterly collapse under his touch, sobbing into the sticky countertop. Anders took a deep breath, and dragged him up again. He tossed a tip of his own onto the bar as the bartender shot them an aggravated look, and hauled Dorian away, draping his arms over his shoulders. Dorian slumped into him, heavy, hunched over, still crying, as Anders pushed through the door of the bar and into the balmy night air, awash with the putrid stench of dumpsters in the alley and the sick coughed up by the bar’s less restrained patrons. It all made him a little homesick. Dorian, hanging halfway off of him, lurched forward like he was about to add his own mess to the stink in the alley, but then he righted himself again, and propped himself up using Anders’ shoulder. Anders took the opportunity to pull out his phone. 

“Where am I sending you?” he asked helpfully. Dorian made another face that seemed to threaten that he was about to be sick. 

“I’m not going back there,” he muttered, less to Anders than to the ground. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Just help me find my car?” 

“You can’t drive.” 

“I’ll sleep in it — I left it in the lot.” 

“No.” 

Dorian pushed himself off of Anders, propelling himself away from his shoulder, and staggered forward a step. Then he seemed to change his mind, or realise he was in no state to walk on his own, and reached an arm out to fall back against the wall of the alley.

“No?” He asked, incredulous as Anders took his arm and draped it back over himself, walking them out of the alley and the stink. 

“I’m not letting you sleep in your car,” Anders shook his head as he dragged the man forward. He was heavier than he looked. Strong, too, if the grip on his shoulder was any indication. “Besides, I can’t risk leaving you in a vehicle, if you did something stupid that would be on me.” 

Dorian snorted, “do you think I’m stupid?” 

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Anders answered honestly, which seemed to amuse Dorian. 

“I’m not stupid.” he said, “very, very smart, actually.” he insisted. Anders nodded appreciatively. 

“Alright then, so you see why I can’t just leave you in the hospital parking lot, in your condition.” 

“Mm. Kind of you, but I can think of worse places.” So could Anders, but he shuddered to think what could happen to Dorian if he left him alone like this, drunk and stumbling and wearing the most expensive looking suit he’d ever seen; he’d already flashed his overstuffed wallet far too openly when ordering his drinks inside. “Is there a hotel? I could buy a hotel.” Dorian slurred. 

Anders was fairly certain he’d forgotten a word in his suggestion, but given the suit and the wallet, maybe not. Before Anders could answer, he lurched forward and away from him again, back towards the alley, and into a spasming sort of crouch, retching. 

Anders took an instinctive step back as Dorian gagged and sputtered out a vomit of mostly liquid and bile onto the broken stone of the alleyway, then remembered his physician’s training, and rushed forward to steady him. Between coughs, Dorian swore, and when he finished (miraculously, his suit and shoes were still unharmed), he began to cry again. Anders sighed, and once more feeling a little bit homesick, he breathed out an all too familiar refrain: “well, shit.” he said. 

“Not —” Dorian was stuttering apologetically at him now, “not my best.” He wiped at his tears, swore again, then got up from his crouch and began to stumble forward once more, heading the wrong way down the alley. Anders took him by the shoulders and led him out again. 

“Hotel?” The word smushed out of him with so much drunken misery that Anders felt almost like crying for him, and he sighed again, pulling out his phone. 

“I’m taking you home,” he dialed the number and gave the taxi company their location, then propped Dorian up against the wall of the bar that faced the street, rather than the alley, keeping an eye on his paling face and shaky breathing. 

“What, your home?"  

Anders nodded, “if you choke on your vomit and die in your hotel room, I’ll feel responsible,” he explained as Dorian looked up at him with a perplexed, and dare he say it, even eager look. 

“Very kind of you, doctor Anders.” he said, but before Anders could correct him on the honorific again, he stooped and threw up, so doctor Anders it was. 

——

Dorian all but fell asleep in the taxi, head drooping down into his chest, swaying this way and that as the car rounded the corners, but thankfully he kept from throwing up any more. The luck didn’t hold once they were inside Anders’ apartment though, and soon Anders had him steadied in a kneel over his toilet bowl, getting out the rest of it. Dorian flung most of his clothes off before throwing up this time, wrestling himself out of the suit jacket and tight shirt beneath it, while Anders tried not to be impressed. He had a really remarkable physique, but he was also lurching and coughing miserably into Anders’ toilet, so it was definitely not something to admire. Then he got him onto the couch, set a large bowl on the floor by his head, and coaxed him into one more glass of water before letting him lie down. Dorian offered him another tearful apology, and then tearful thanks, and then he passed out. Anders sat back in a chair across from him for a while, watching as his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall, ensuring that his head was turned to the side, mouth facing the bowl, in case he was to vomit any more in his sleep, and then he finally, finally, stumbled his own way to bed. 

He woke to the sound of his cupboards banging shut and the kettle screeching to a whistle.

Anders stumbled out into his kitchen to find Dorian standing there with a distraught look on his face, pouring water into two large mugs. He was dressed again, and looking remarkably perfect, actually. Hair all in place and posture all upright once more. The bowl was gone from the floor, too, and nothing smelled off — just a little like tea. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked, suddenly aware of his own shabby pajamas. 

Dorian turned, still looking distraught. "You don't have any food." He complained, "I fed your cat —" Anders looked down to the corner of the kitchen where Ser Pounce's food bowl was, and found Ser Pounce there happily nibbling from a bowl filled to slightly too full, "I hope that's alright. I woke up with him on my chest and he wouldn't stop pawing at that cabinet so I figured…" 

Anders smiled softly, and not in a practiced way, he'd entirely forgotten to check the food bowl when they came in the night before, occupied as he'd been. 

"And then I saw you had a coffee pot, so I was going to make coffee, as a thank you — well, actually, I was going to have some delivered, but I don't rightly know where I am —" Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and he was talking quite speedily, cheeks going just slightly pink "but you don't have coffee. Or anything." 

Now Anders blushed, embarrassed for the nakedness of his cupboards. 

"Anyway, thank you. Tea?" 

Anders nodded, and took the few remaining steps to the counter to grab one of the mugs of still steeping tea; he liked to keep the bag in. He moved from the counter to the couch, cupping the mug with both hands, and sat down. 

"117 Orseck Ave.," he said, "that's where you are. How are you feeling… how much of last night do you remember?" 

"I remember making a fool of myself, if that's what you're asking. And you being uncommonly kind." He paused, "it is Anders, right?" Anders nodded, "is there anything else I should remember, Anders?" 

Anders shook his head, "that about sums it up." 

Dorian chuckled. When he wasn't drunk or crying, it was a nice sound. He leaned against Anders' counter — stunning, how was he stunning after a night like the one he'd just had? "Well, you've certainly wasted enough of your time looking after me, and I can get out of your hair now, but —"  

"— I wouldn't call it a waste of time," Anders interrupted, because something in him always seemed to speak up whenever Dorian went about making statements like that. It kind of had been a waste of his time, Anders tried to protest against that something, he'd lost a great deal of sleep to it, anyway. But somehow the look that his interruption gained him from Dorian was impossible to remain grumpy with. 

"Have you been to Marc's?" Dorian asked suddenly, brightening with a hopeful smile, "since I know where we are now, and its nearby, and you have no food," he went on, "and personally, I'm starving —" 

"I imagine you would be," Anders said, though at the mention of hunger his own stomach took the opportunity to awaken too, noisily. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the sound. 

"Might I buy you breakfast? I feel I owe you that much." 

Anders hadn't been to Marc's. He'd been by it many times, a busy little brunch place, always smelling of bacon and pancakes and with a line out the door. It was a bad idea to say yes to this, he thought, a bad idea to say yes to anything involving absurdly handsome men who just lost their fathers, who were obviously walking disasters waiting to happen (you always had a thing for disasters waiting to happen) — shush. His stomach grumbled again. 

"I haven't been," Anders answered, "there's always a line — and I am on call, I might not have time to —" 

"Oh, we can skip all that." Dorian brushed the protest aside, "so? Don't try to tell me you aren't hungry." 

Anders kicked at a bit of cat hair fluff adorning the edge of his couch, "alright, sure."

Dorian was certainly good at getting him to say yes to things he should know better than to say yes to. If he kept going on like this, the next thing he knew he'd be having sex on his father's grave. 

---- 

They arrived at the restaurant, just a short walk from Anders' building, and yet in a considerably nicer part of town — the new money was creeping in towards his end of things, but where he lived at least was still very much no money — and Dorian walked straight up to the front of the line. Anders hung back, watching skeptically as Dorian performed a series of intricate maneuvers: some charm, a smile, a handshake Anders recognized from Varric — the kind with a bill snuck inside — and then he turned, waving Anders over. 

"We can wait ten minutes for a table, or have our food prepared now and take it outside. Your choice." He smiled. Maker, such a good smile; straight teeth and a brilliantly white gleam. "But you're on call, right? And to be honest with you, the fresh air is making me feel considerably less queasy. Park across the street?" Anders nodded and shrugged at the same time, a gesture that seemed to satisfy Dorian into continuing to take charge of the situation. "Alright then, to go. And fast, if you can. We're both very busy and important." He winked at the young hostess as he was handed two paper menus, and Anders could have sworn she blushed brighter than the checkerboard red on the apron she wore. "What do you fancy?" Dorian asked him, handing over one of the papers. 

It was diner food, but not really. Poached eggs with house-smoked bacon over an heirloom tomato coulis, waffles with Orlesian creme sauce and glazed berries, rare wheat pancakes with apple cinnamon compote and vanilla syrup  — just a few options, all of them coming with a detailed list of decadent flavours. In addition to those few confounding main courses was a fresh juice list filled with exotic fruits Anders had never even heard of, and approximately twenty different kinds of coffee. 

"Uh, waffles?" He said, squinting at the menu, "waffles and coffee?" 

Dorian beamed some more, and took back his menu to point out the waffle dish, as well as several other things, confidently ordering far more food than could possibly be necessary as well as coffee and one of the strange fruit juices while insisting that Anders simply had to try it. The patient employee nodded and hurried away, and not ten minutes later came back with two plastic bags stuffed near splitting with cardboard containers, and a tray of drinks. Dorian thanked her with another winning smile and secretly-funded handshake, and then they were off. 

The park across the street had benches, so they sat on one — finding one in the shade of a great, leafy tree, as even the morning sun was warm. Then, Dorian began a conversation, and the whole thing was far less awkward than Anders had expected. Dorian asked about his work, so Anders described some of it, though he avoided anything too close to topics of death and dying, and Dorian held his gaze while he talked and asked compelling questions. He seemed to be, as claimed, very smart, and the food was practically otherworldly. Then Anders asked Dorian about his work in turn, and Dorian sighed. 

"Well, you're new here, aren't you? How much do you know about Tevinter politics? The intricacies of it all can take a lifetime to wrap one's head around. That's by design; keeps things all tied up with the upper classes who have it in their blood to be intollerable bureaucrats." His air was flippant, but altogether disapproving, which Anders appreciated. 

"I've been here a while now, actually. A couple of years, anyway, I understand it a bit. Political science was always my…'' downfall? "Second passion." He washed down a heaping forkful of creme covered waffles made of pure fairy dust and clouds with whatever exciting fruit drink Dorian had handed him — it tasted like bright green, with a hint of citrus. "I feel people should be informed — active. Healthcare is as political as it is practical." And mage freedom, that was political too, but they didn't have to get into that. Mages were already free in Tevinter. Other kinds of people, however — something bitter bit at the back of his mind. But it was too sunny, and the food too good, for that sort of conversation. 

Dorian nodded approvingly, his eyes lighting up. "Alright then, I'm an Altus. I argue things in circles in the house a lot, these days I've been losing all sorts of friends arguing this Sopperati electorate reformation bill," Anders' eyes widened, impressed. He'd been following the progress of it, a huge step for increased class equality, if it passed. So maybe it was just sunny enough for such a conversation. "but of course it can only go so far without approval from the Magisterium," Dorian went on, a slight growl of frustration colouring his tone, which was appealing in a different way, "and for that we need to convince those with seats in the — in the —'' he stopped, and some of the light fell from his eyes. "I just remembered that my father is dead." He said. Shit. Not a sunny conversation, after all. "His seat passes to me, you see, because nepotism still runs stronger than good sense and he's written my name into all these continuations of his legacy and…" he sighed, and stabbed hard at a piece of brilliantly poached egg, which honestly didn't deserve it, "sorry. It's going to be a very hectic and difficult few weeks, with all the ceremony and paperwork and the whole ordeal of burying him…" he scooped up some of his bleeding egg yolk with a wedge of toast, and went silent in favour of eating, while Anders took an uncomfortable sip of juice that seemed to have lost some of its vividness. "You've been here for years, you said?" Dorian changed the subject, refocusing on Anders. Anders nodded, still awkwardly sucking up juice through the straw of his cup. "I would have sworn you were an escapee fresh from the harbour." 

"Why?" Anders bristled a little. 

"Your apartment. You have no food or furniture," Anders bristled a little more, "and you've never been to Marc's", Anders frowned, furrowing his brow at the impossibly good, impossibly expensive waffles, "and you're too nice." Dorian finished. Anders looked up in surprise, catching Dorian's eye. They were still a bit lost for light, but soft on him. 

"I'm just very busy," Anders shrugged. And very poor, but, well, Dorian probably thought anyone with fewer than a thousand acres of family land was poor, given his status. He didn't need to know the extent of it. 

"Hm," Dorian's eyes were still on him, soft and thoughtful, "what else haven't you done?" Anders shrugged, and Dorian began listing things. Tourist attractions and famed galleries, but also other, lesser-known offerings of the city that Anders had never even heard of. 

"Ferry through the archipelegos?" 

"No." 

"The volcanic sand beaches?"

"No." 

"Dinner at the top of Tidarion Tower?" 

"No." 

And on like that, until he finally said yes to something — taking in a show at the infamous burlesque playhouse in the city's red light district, which elicited an eyebrow raise.

"Priorities, I see." Dorian chuckled, "at least you have good taste." He reached an arm up over Anders' side of the bench, as he finished with his food and slid the box away, very smooth. "I'd have offered to take you. Maybe one of the others sometime, then, if you've a mind." He suggested. Anders could feel his cheeks beginning to run hot again. Still a bad idea, he reminded himself. Apparently sensing his unease, Dorian removed his arm from its perch near Anders' shoulders. "May I say something painfully honest?" he asked. 

Anders swallowed, but he managed a smirk as he replied. "I think we're well past that," he said. 

Dorian shook his head with a dry chuckle, "yes, well. I'm all out of sorts, as you may have noticed." 

Anders chuckled too, but with him, not at. 

"And normally, if I'm to get drunk and go home with a stranger, it all goes a certain way," then he actually winked, which on him was somehow charming and not over the top at all. Anders swallowed again, "and, not that I'm opposed, but, well, as I said: you've been uncommonly kind. I could — I've been losing friends left and right lately, it seems, with this bill, and…" 

"I'm a fan of the bill," Anders said, "in fact I'm not sure it goes far enough." 

The interruption seemed to lend Dorian some more confidence, as though he needed it, "so, pretty as you may be, I could use a, uh —" 

Anders blushed again, but finished for him, "a friend?" He could use one too, if he was being honest. Near everything seemed to be making him homesick, lately. 

Dorian nodded. "If that's not too forward." He said. 

"You fed my cat," Anders replied, "as far as I'm concerned, we're already friends." 

At that, Dorian smiled. He asked Anders his cat's name, and chuckled at the answer, and then they exchanged phone numbers and Anders stuck a little cat next to his own name as he entered it into Dorian's contact screen, which had him laughing even more. Anders offered to put the puking emoji next to Dorian's in return, but he insisted on a snake, because he “had a reputation to uphold”. Then Anders’ pager went off, and he groaned inwardly, wishing he could spend the day in the sun for once. 

“Duty calls?” 

Anders grimaced, and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, meaning it. Dorian stood too. 

“You should take the rest — actually, this may be awkard, but I think we’re going the same way.” His car. Of course. 

“You’re going to have a small fortune to pay in parking tickets,” Anders realised, frowning. 

“Oh that’s fine. I have one of those — big, actually.” he winked again, “very big.” Sweet Maker, he just never stopped. 

Dorian insisted on a cab, and then he insisted on paying for it, and then he insisted on Anders taking the rest of their uneaten brunch items to store in the breakroom for his lunch, and then finally he was ready to let him go, with a promise to be in touch. He extended his hand for Anders to shake. Anders took it, holding fast with a sure grip, and then, drawn in yet again by those cool, sad eyes, he pulled Dorian’s arm towards him, and wrapped him up in a tight hug. 

Dorian stumbled back afterwards, cheeks flush, eyes glinting with surprise. “What was that for?” 

“Just seemed like you needed it,” Anders said. 

Dorian was still blushing, and his smile warmed Anders’ own cheeks. “Suppose I did,” he agreed. 

“Take care, Dorian.”

“As you say, doctor.”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face I Want to Sit On

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Facesitting

<- Chapter 9 (continuation of A New Arrangement)

Summary: Post Red-Dragon Chilton refuses to take his mask off again after the first time you were together. Getting him over his insecurity about his face might require a little kink. NSFW.

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

For @thatesqcrush​’s kink bingo! @caked-crusader​ USED YOUR TITLE XD

2,139 words

A month into your arrangement with Dr. Frederick Chilton, and he was still devastatingly insecure about his appearance. He paid you, officially, as a financial consultant for his estate. Unofficially, he was paying you for sex. Technically—as that would be illegal—he was paying for your company, and you just happened to usually (though not always) have sex. Occasionally, he really would have a financial question for you, or he wouldn’t be up for it and you would just cuddle together and watch movies.

But he wouldn’t remove the mask for you again.

You had already seen his face once, scarred, singed bare of hair and eyebrows, lips absent around his white teeth. You didn’t mind it nearly as much as he did—it was different, and what happened to him was tragic, but he was handsome. He seemed happy with the unconditional acceptance you offered, and the kisses you pressed to his not-lips, and you thought he would start letting his guard down.

Yet when he greeted you at the door on your next visit, though he leaned seductively against the door frame, his cocky smirk was hidden behind a stone-faced mask. The more you flirted and prodded for him to take it off, the more prickly and defensive he became.

“I just want to know all of you,” you pouted.

He snapped, “I am not paying you to know me.”

And with that died not only your hope of greater intimacy, but also your plans to tell him to forget about the money. You were going to admit that you only took it in the first place because of how excitingly taboo it was, and that you would rather be his girlfriend, but a ball of ice sank in your stomach as you read between the lines of his cold words. If it wasn’t on his terms, he didn’t want you.

The fact that you had seen his face had been acceptable only briefly, during a moment of intense passion that overrode the alarm bells of anxiety, and now that the moment had passed, knowing you had seen it only made things worse.

He took to fucking you from behind, bending you over a table or pushing your face into the mattress, rather than let you look at him, even with the mask on. He pinned your hands if you tried to touch his head, his neck—anywhere close enough to mask to threaten its security. It was disheartening to think he was withdrawing from you emotionally, but you enjoyed hearing his noises as his cock sank into your tight entrance. “Oh god—oh god,” he moaned for you. He was very vocal in his pleasure, surprised every time to know that you would have him. No matter how much you voiced your own pleasure, every time you showed up to one of your “appointments” and let him claim you, he still half expected you to run away in disgust. Every time his cock slid between your ass cheeks and found your cunt dripping with arousal for him, he was like a grateful puppy. His vulnerable whimpering behind you turned you on, and his fingers interlaced with yours, squeezing for dear life as he came. It was still intimate. Despite his trying to pull away, he was still intimate in his own, guarded way.

One day you discovered something about Frederick Chilton quite by accident, and that knowledge began to change everything. He gained strength every day, but he was still easily exhausted, so you often catered to him when he was needy. He was getting a little too comfortable treating you as a pet at his beck and call, and so on this particular day when he whined for you to make him a cup of Earl Grey, you whipped about and demanded, “Get it yourself!” He looked shocked by your defiance, unaccustomed to not getting his way, but did as he was told. “Bring me one, too!” you added. He complained the whole time, but did.

When you begged him to do something—pouting, saying please—he might tease you, deny you, or snap with annoyance if he didn’t like the question.

If you told him to do something, he obeyed.

And it seemed, as much as he enjoyed being served, he also gained great satisfaction from being of service. In bed, doubly so. While you first took him to be very dominant—considering his natural role as the wealthy doctor skulking in his mansion who “bought” you, and the way he could get very particular about telling you how to dress, and undress, and what positions he wanted you in—you slowly recognized how much he enjoyed being subservient.

The first time you challenged him when he wanted you to face away from him again, telling him, “No. I’m on top today,” a fire came into his eyes. You grew more assertive in telling him where you wanted him to touch you, and how hard, how fast, and he was eager to please you. He always wanted to please you, and was thrilled when you let him know exactly how—even if it meant looking into your eyes as you fucked. A whole different connection began to grow as you had conversations about it, about who was in charge when, what sorts of things you could ask each other to do, and how to refuse. It wasn’t as though you were doing anything particularly extreme, but it was becoming more of a game, and as such, needed rules. The more he trusted you, the more you took control, and the more you took control, the more he finally relaxed.

When he surrendered to your will, he didn’t have to doubt or question himself, or how desirable he was. Every day, you made him feel that much more confident.

“I’m going to ride your face,” you growled, pushing his shoulders down onto the pillows so his head was up at a slight angle. You crawled on top of him, straddling his chest with your naked thighs. “Mask, or your mouth?” you asked, the timber of your voice demanding an answer, giving him a few seconds to choose.

Behind the mask his eyes were pale, pupils narrowed to pinpricks at the thought of being exposed, and from his throat issued a small tense noise but no words. He was obviously still too nervous to think about removing it, even for your pussy.

“I’m gonna use that mask to make myself come.” You narrowed your eyes and smirked at him, running the tip of your finger down the smooth porcelain contours, your tongue flicking over your lower lip as you crested its pointed nose. He let out a soft moan, chest rising and falling. “When I’m done you can fuck me, but only if you’re a good boy.”

“Yes, mistress.”

You could feel his breathing quicken as you straddled his face, warm puffs of it whistling out the sides of the mask tickling your thighs. His excitement alone was already getting you aroused. You slowly lowered yourself and gasped as your sensitive flesh met cool porcelain. There was no give to its surface, but the smoothly sculpted swell of its lips was tantalizing against your clit. You grasped the headboard for balance, and began to rock, gently at first, spreading your wetness over the hard lips to lubricate them, then grinding your hips against them and feeling shockwaves of pleasure course through your spine as they massaged your clit.

Frederick’s hands gripped onto the back of your thighs, supporting your movements, and spreading your ass cheeks. He groaned. The mask must have been uncomfortably pushing into his face with your weight on it, but his eyes were darkened with lust. He breathed in deeply, smelling you and the slippery essence you were sullying his mask with, and he let out a long, intoxicated moan. He circled his chin, moving the mask against you as his long fingers dug into your thighs, trying to add to your pleasure—which could have been better, honestly. Warm, wet flesh always beat cold, hard porcelain.

“You wanna taste me, Frederick?” you asked, voice thick. He moaned, whimpering with frustration. “I know you want a taste,” you said, rolling your hips against his false mouth. You met his eyes very carefully and held the gaze. “Take off the mask.”

It was a command, but he knew he could refuse it if he wanted to. If it was too far. But signaling you to slow down would be letting you win, and he never admitted defeat. He would never break, never fail to serve you. He admired you, and you deserved anything you wanted from him. His hands left your ass, and you backed off of him as he reached under his chin, and tipped the mask up.

Without any lingering hesitation other than a brief, sweet smile at him, your pussy crashed back down against his face and rode him, hot and dripping, his tongue lapping up your juices. Everything was worth the drawn-out, pornographic, moaning, slurping, voracious noises he made as he ate you out. You nearly came unseated with how intense the waves of pleasure were washing over you, your whole body immediately going warm and tingly and slack, so dizzy you almost forgot where you were. Fortunately his arms wrapped around your hips to draw you in closer, and held you firm against him.

“F-fuck,” you muttered, regaining some of your senses. “Fuck me with your tongue, Frederick.” Your head rolled back as he pointed his dexterous tongue and slipped into your cunt, muffling his groans as he savored your sweet taste. You bucked your hips into his mouth as he plunged his tongue in and out, writhing inside you.

His cock was rock hard, jutting straight upward out of his unzipped pants, weeping with precum. He reached down to jerk himself off, but you caught his hand and pinned his arm under your leg. “Tut-tut. Me first. Your hands are only to touch me, understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” he rasped.

“Good boy.” You stroked his head, caressing the burned stub of an ear as you lowered yourself back onto his tongue and the lewd wet noises continued. He slid a hand down your ass and between your legs to penetrate you, fucking you with two long, thick fingers, while the other hand angled itself to aid his tongue in working your clit. His lack of lips meant his mouth was lacking a few of the usual functions, like sucking, but the way he used his fingers so expertly to add pressure, gently pinch, and work in tandem with his tongue to increase your sensitivity, you would never have missed it.

A warm floating feeling overtook you without warning, and you felt yourself losing control. “Oh god, I’m gonna come, Frederick,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna come in that mouth. Oh god, Frederick—oh god—”

His fingers dug into your hips leaving deep impressions in your skin, holding you firm onto his face as he licked you through your orgasm, you writhing and crying out his praise. Wave after wave shook you, until your cries became ragged and desperate—he was holding you in place and overstimulating you. You might have let him, giving in and letting the warm pleasure build up inside you again, even fiercer this time, every muscle burning and overworked, but you hadn’t asked him to do that. You poked him a little roughly in the middle of the forehead, and told him, “That’s enough.” He whined and loosened his tight grip so you could get up. “Such an eager little slut, Frederick. You’d eat me out all day if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes.” He swallowed, eyes gleaming wickedly at the idea. A mingling of your wetness and his saliva dripped down his chin.

You laughed, low and teasing. “I thought you would be excited… it’s time for your reward now.” Leaning back, you reached for his hard and waiting cock. It throbbed in your hand, and he sucked a shallow breath.

“May I fuck you now, mistress?”

His voice was soft and eager, but you didn’t miss the edge of something more demanding creeping into it. “Ask nicely,” you said.

“Please let me fuck you.”

You grabbed a towel from the side of the bed and wiped off his chin. He didn’t flinch as you touched his face, well beyond that now. A smile slowly spread over your lips. “Since you were such a good boy, getting me off so well...” you pretended to think it over, “Fuck me, as hard as you want.”

[factual-fantasy]

20 more asks! ♡٩(●ᴗ●)۶♡

Well.. I don’t know, there’s plenty of kinds of candy that I’ve never liked.

I don’t like butterfingers, I don’t like snickers, jelly beans or most licorice.. But if I had to come out and say one specifically, I really don’t like butter fingers. The taste is fine, its the nasty texture that gets to me. ( >﹏<;)

I asked around to a few family members and got 9s and 10s out of 10. I myself think I go above and beyond to imagine and build up every little tiny detail to my stories so.. 10/10 I suppose? <:D

Hmm.. I think I’m going to put this ask into 3 category's.

1. Who likes candy corn?

U.M.Dragster

Jeepy

White Truck

Green Truck

2. Who would eat some of it if it was given to them, but would not buy it with their own money?

Brown Suburban

Beluga

Ranger

Miata

Escort

Vega

3. Doesn’t like candy corn.

Red Van

A.T.Dragster

Suburban

Honda

Unique category's. 

Volvo doesn’t eat candy and has never tried it. But he would like it if he did.

Bash Buggy also doesn’t eat candy. But if he tried it he probably wouldn’t like it too much.. He’d eat some of it if someone offered it to him though.

1. I’ve watched all the Bayverse movies and the Bumblebee movie. I liked them a lot. :}  However I am not into, nor have I seen any other adaptions other than Prime..

2. Hoo boy, here we go. XD

Suburban is a literal beast in the snow. The best of the best. The snow is no trouble at all and the cold never bothered him anyway. He may not like the snow all that much because it makes him wet and a little cold.. but he certainly doesn’t hate it and will play in it with the kids if they want him too. He also never passes up the opportunity to have a snowball fight or build a snowman.

Miata really struggles with handling the cold physically, because she’s so small, light, and rear wheel drive.. but she really does enjoy it. She likes to help the kids build giant snow men and loves making snow angels, she doesn’t mind the cold or snow at all.

Escort? Uhg. The cold isn’t enough to shut him down, but it sure darn FEELS like it. I mean sure, okay, he’s front wheel drive so actually driving in the snow and cold is fine.. buuut, if he stops moving? Its game over. He’ll start shaking and sputtering and pretty soon he’ll shut down. He does like to hang out with the kids sometimes, although normally the cold nips at him enough that he doesn’t go outside.

Brown Suburban isn’t a big fan of snow because his body struggles to start up enough already, having the cold on top of it makes it just that much harder. But honestly its not too bad. He’s heavy enough that he can drive through snow decently so that’s a plus. However, his starting up issues with snow aside, he does actually like snowball fights. One time, it was Jeepy, Wheeljack, Suburban and Bulkhead vs Brown Suburban. Brown Suburban won. The goal was to knock your opponent down. 

U.M.Dragster and his sister H A T E the cold with a burning passion... heh, burning, anyway. They just.. cant handle it at all. Like, not at all. Their joints lock up and they just shut down. One time, they both sat at the entrance of the base huddled up together and watching everyone else.. When A.T suddenly froze up and just fell over. They’re sad that they cant join everyone else. But they’re just too thin, the cold gets right under their plating and freezes their cores. <:{

Green Truck struggles with cold and snow, he really does. He’s old and has a bad shivering problem. His alt form is also a truck, meaning he’s light and doesn't get good traction in the snow and ice. Now if the kiddos want him to, he’ll go out and play with them. But otherwise he really isn’t a fan and would rather be cooped up in the base where its warm and dry.

Vega? Heck nah he don’t like the cold or snow! You kidding?? Vega is a total base hermit. Because of his age, his body really doesn't handle cold well at all, despite the size of his engine. He normally doesn’t leave the base when its cold. But in all honesty? He’s a big ol’ softie when it comes to kids. If they catch him in a decent mood he’ll go outside and endure the conditions to hang out with them.

Red Van would usually be pretty good all around when it comes to handling the cold and snow.. if it wasn't for her knees. Because of the damage they have sustained, she cant really go out in the snow all that much. The internal wiring in her knees is mostly exposed and it doesn’t react to cold well, making her sore and achy. She usually just spends her time huddled up in the base with heated straps wrapped around her legs.. <:{

White Truck is, well, a not-so-strong truck. So driving in the snow is pretty difficult. He’s decent with handling the cold and doesn’t mind goofing around with the kiddos in the cold, but I don't think he’d really want to go out on his own in it.

Beluga is pretty good at handling both and likes to goof around in the snow with the kids. She doesn't mind the cold or the wetness so honestly the winter months are no problem for her. She actually probably enjoys the winter months more than any of the others do.

Honda is mostly fine handling the cold and snow, but she’s not exactly a fan. She’ll goof around in the snow if the kids want her too, but she won’t go out on her own.

Ranger can handle the cold just fine, but being a truck an all.. driving through the snow is a little difficult at times. She’s a softie at her core but is usually not persuaded to go outside and play unless a lot of older bots are out there too. She doesn’t like to go out in the snow but she likes to keep an eye on her team when a lot of them are out in cold conditions.

Volvo can handle the cold very well because he’s so dense. His arms, legs, chest, back and every where else has many, many layers of metal. That doesn’t mean he likes it though. Driving wise he’s fine and temperature wise he’s fine, but he just doesn't like getting wet. He also has no time for “snowball fights” and “building snowmen” and what not. He’s a base hermit when it snow comes to that’s for sure.

The cold nips at Jeepy a little bit, but boy is the snow fun. Drivin, slidin, ridin, all of it is just a blast for him. He doesn’t mind the cold one bit while he’s ripping around and having fun.

Bash Buggy might just be the worst in the snow. Bash is basically 100% blind because snow screws up all 3 of his vision modes. Everything and everyone is cold and wet, so thermal doesn’t work. Grid cant latch on to the shapes around him because everything is round and the same color. And then Night vision doesn't work in the day time anyway, but the snow makes it worse none the less. His body is so severely stripped of his armor and insulation, that the cold just... uhhg, it just eats him up. His body tries so hard to keep him warm that he looses all of his energy being in it. He hates this. All of it. He just wants to be outside and hang out with his buddies, but.. he just cant. It’d probably kill him to be out there too long, so he’s stuck just being a base hermit all winter. <:{

♡♡Winterrrr~~~~♡♡ mmmm snooooowww ♡♡~~~ ♡(*´ o `*)♡ The season I was born in~~♡♡

Sadly it doesn’t snow much where I live, and when it does its only around for like 3 days. ╥﹏╥

And yes it makes me happy! I love getting asks, of all kinds! (excluding mean ones of course XD)

I like Alfred Pennyworth more, but Batman is cool too. :}

WHEEZE I-- BRuH, this is the best thing ever! XD I don’t know how quickly Doritos burst into flames but lets just pretend its pretty fast.

Escort and Vega are huddled up in a corner of the base in front of the only tiny space heater they have. They’re both shivering and quietly chatting when, I feel like Jeepy, comes up to them with this giant box.

“Is that heater helping at all?“ Jeepy asks genuinely and worried.

They pause for a moment, but then Vega shrugs and Escort makes a face and shakes his head. Jeepy then grins from ear to ear.

“WELL!“ He says kicking the heater aside and pouring out the contents of the box into the floor in front of them. Out of the box came several hundred bags of Dorito chips. 

“What are..“ Escort starts. But Jeepy is already grabbing a blowtorch out of no where and attempting to light the Doritos on fire. The Doritos quickly burst into flames, causing immediate panic. 

Escort quickly pulls Vega up from the ground and they dip. Ratchet and the other medics start freaking out. Everyone scatters and are scrambling to find the kids and a way to put out the fire. Brown suburban scoops up Jeepy and gets him away from the fire while other bots manage to find all three kids. 

Someone manages to stomp out the fire, maybe Ranger. After assuring no one was hurt and everyone is okay, they just look at Jeepy like?? WhY did you do that?? Jeepy’s like a clueless kid and was like, “Well they were cold and I heard these things were flammable soo...?”

Sigh, Jeepy’s got a few screws loose but they love him anyway. XD

Replace “Blue Suburban’s” with “my” and you just quoted Suburban.

Hmmm... Well lets see.. maybe like, if they wore clothes, what you be their iconic clothing of choice? Hmm..

Miata would have a lanyard of some kind, not sure what design it would have but I think it would be black and grey.

Escort would probably have a thin black jacket that doesn’t have a zipper. He’d wear all the time, even in summer. Its just enough to keep the chill off of him but not enough to make him overheat.

Brown Suburban would have a poorly made bracelet made of pony beads that he wears everywhere. He never talks about it and no one knows where he got it. As far as anyone knows, he doesn’t have any children..

U.M.Dragster and his sister would probably have bracelets too. Mostly likely matching ones that are souvenirs from the races.

Vega would have an old black leather baseball cap that he wears everywhere.

White Truck would have a pair of black flip flops that he wears all the time.

Beluga wouldn’t have an article of clothing, she’d have a galaxy print backpack that she takes with her when ever she has the chance.

Honda doesn’t have an article of clothing that she wears all year round. But she does have a scarf that she wears every day of winter and fall

Jeepy would have some kind of beanie that he wears all year round.

Bash Buggy might have some really small article of clothing. Like a small piece of torn fabric that he keeps in his wallet. It would be a piece of a shirt or something that he had a sentimental connection to before it was destroyed. He keeps it with him at all times, its his way of coping with the past and keeping a piece of his memories with him.

I’m not sure about the rest of them. They may have something too but I cant really think of anything..   

Cat people?

Escort Brown Suburban A.T.Dragster Honda Beluga

Dog People?

Green Truck Suburban U.M.Dragster Red Van White Truck Bash Buggy Jeepy

Doesn’t like animals?

Volvo Vega

Bird people? 

Miata.

Fish people?

Ranger

It would probably be Suburban. He’s very gentle with humans and would be very careful if he picked me up. 

I’d probably freak out a little being that high up in the air, but I know that Suburban would keep me safe.

For some reason, that felt super weird to type out.

Hmm.. lets say you said you loved him romantically.

If you managed to convince him, he’d go pretty quiet. Just looking from side to side and thinking.. He’d be fidgeting with his hands and look like he’s trying to say something but cant form the words.

“D-Do you really?“ He’d ask. If you said yes with certainty.. he’d begin to tear up.

“..Y-You can do better.. you c-can so much better than me..” 

He’d probably begin to cry. “You d-deserve so much better than me..”

Hmm... a certain funny or weird ask?.. Hm.. Well, I’m not sure about funny or weird, but this ask? 👇 

Was very well worded and S T U N G. I’ve been thinking about it recently. I really need to replace those windows, Suburban didn’t deserve that.

Yeah, they’ve both lost a lot and unfortunately relate to each other in that regard. Miata has a big heart, and seeing someone so sad and alone just really made her sad. She wanted to talk to him to try and make him feel better, but she ended up actually becoming good friends with him. He’s even her mentor now actually. :}

You missed it? :} Its about time I backed away from the red and eased my way into the blue~

I figure I should probably clear this up real quick. Miata is single too, but I said she isn’t because she just got out of a relationship with the Decepticon Zippy. So she’s not looking for love at the moment.

As for Volvo, good luck. Legit, even I don’t know what it would take to woo him, and I MADE him for crying out loud!! 

Ah my name, Factual Fantasy. I was wondering when I’d get this question. Fair warning, long explanation pending.

So you see, I have this thing I like to do with my drawings and stories. I like to incorporate truths and facts into them. I like things to function realistically, and have an explanation for everything. I’ll give you some examples.

Lets say there’s this show, and due to the storyline there's a polar bear guy that spends most of his time in warm water and in the sun. The show never addresses the fact that this would kill the polar bear due to his blubber and two layers of fur making him overheat and die.

So, how can I make this work? How can a polar bear survive comfortably in warm climates? How about this, he shaves his fur down as short as he can possibly go. So that way his winter coat is thinned out greatly and he can at least decently handle most warm weather? That’s a good explanation for something that doesn't make sense.

How about another example?

I want Gaster to be Sans and Papyrus’s dad in my AU, but there’s a lot that needs explaining. Why does Sans and Papyrus look so extremely different in so many different ways if they’re brothers? How could they have been born if there are no other skeletons to speak of in the game? Well, how about this.

Gaster wanted kids, but no longer had his wife. So he turned to science and cut a hole out of his left hand to take its DNA. He does lots of experiments on the bone piece and manages to make Sans from it. Unfortunately a lot of mistakes happened along the way which messed up Sans’s body pretty bad. Sans’s growth was messed up and he stopped growing at age 15. His magic is unstable and comes out in strong bursts when he attempts to use it.

After Sans was successful he tried again with the other hand and made Papyrus. Papyrus was made with way fewer mistakes and thus, Papyrus grew up normally and resembles his father.

This would explain where they came from and how Gaster could be their dad without the presence of a mom. This would explain why Sans looks so different from Paps and Gaster as well. It could also be the reason why Sans never usually uses his powers much. Not just because he’s lazy, but because its dangerous too.

How about one more example.. just in case..

Okay. Lets say I want to make an AU where Stanley has Bills powers but doesn't know it. How can I make that make sense? How can Stan have powers but not know it?

So I think okay, first, the powers. I want him to have Bills powers but I want Bill to be dead, So, Instead of Bill being erased, I make it that the memory gun shattered him. Making Bill dead, but his pieces remain. Giving Stanley his powers. That’s reasonable, that makes sense.

Now, how can he not know that he has these powers? Well, perhaps he only has some of Bills pieces. Maybe Bill was shattered so severely that most of him is just dust, while some of his pieces remain mostly intact. So this could mean his powers aren’t as strong and don’t really show up. So if he cant really see or feel his powers, he wouldn't know he has them.

Okay. Now of course, sooner or later Stan is going to accidentally use them right? How can he still not know he has them after he uses them? Well what if Bills activated powers + Stanley’s Human mind = black outs? Like, his mind cant handle the power so the power just takes over him, making him black out. So he uses his power, blacks out and then comes back to himself and doesn't remember anything. 

Well what about Ford? Ford would surly be around Stan when he uses his powers and remember them right? Well, what if the only times that Stan’s power has flared up strong enough to become visible was when Ford has been attacked and knocked unconscious? That way, both twins black out when the powers are used and neither of them remember it. Simple!

I took a crazy unreasonable world and made it all makes sense. It all has an explanation, an answer, facts that connect it to a realistic build. I always build my worlds on facts and reasons. Another good example is my Transformer OCs. Nearly everything about them is something related to the real cars, just shifted a little bit. Vega’s overheating, Red Vans knees, Escorts heart attack, Green Trucks leg, Bash Buggy’s blindness, the Dragsters being siblings, etc, etc, etc.

Do you get the picture..? I like to explain things. Put facts into my fiction. Make things and characters feel more real and connected to reality on a different level.

I like to, and always have, added reasoning and facts to my fantasies.

Factual, Fantasy.

[angelanimedesaray]

Through The Looking Glass Chapter 4:  Friend

AN:  Ah, yes...here we see a bit more of a focus on Reader’s background, with a follow through on something that was more briefly touched on in the last chapter.  A little more on the side of heavy topics, buuutttt it goes back to lighthearted again, don’t worry.  The heavy stuff is more of a backdrop in the younger years in this story.  Also, I think the next chapter is going to be time passing, cause these are starting to feel a little...I don’t want to say forced, more like hard to weave into a solid chapter in a straight, continuous timeline.  I feel like I’m starting to stretch ideas further than they were initially intended to stretch to make a chapter without jumping all over the place.  Finally, sorry, but that means the serious/heavier stuff is gonna start kicking in sooner than I originally planned XD

Characters:  Levi, Reader, Reader’s Mother, Mentions of various background OCs

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Bullying, Minor Injuries, Aftermath of Bullying

Word Count:  4669

<---Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

(One Year Later)

*Reader’s POV*

Your fingers flexed around the slick plastic pouch that was pressed against your throbbing forehead, the freezing pouch getting gradually harder and harder to hold as your fingers grew painfully numb and the ice that had kept the pouch solid melted against the heat of your forehead.  Your other hand held one half of a break-in-two popsicle, sucking mindlessly on the frozen treat to sooth the second pain on your lip.  Your foot scraped idly at the dirt as you sat on the last step of the back door stairs, nose starting to get runny with the cold of the popsicle, ice pack, and the slight chill in the air...also because your tears had been happening off and on for the past couple of hours.  The sun was also high in the sky, blazing down on you and making you have to squint slightly against the light if you wanted to look anywhere but down.

Inside, you could hear your mom still on the phone, still yelling at whoever she was talking to from the school.  At least out here she was a little muffled, not as loud as she’d been in the house up in your room.  You didn’t want to be around while she was yelling, even if she wasn’t angry at you, which was why you’d opted to be chilly on the steps instead of tucked into your bed like your mom would probably prefer.

“It’s your job to take care of my kid while she’s at your school, what the hell are all your teachers doing on the playground if this is happening on a daily basis?” you heard her shouting inside, and you felt yourself start to curl up like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell.

I wish Dad was here...

Frankly, you weren’t even supposed to be home right now.  You were supposed to be sitting in class with Ms. Richardson for math time...or maybe it was time for reading by now.  Either way, school was still in session, but you were home early because during recess, while about to go down the metal slide on the playground, one of the other kids had pushed you hard enough you’d tipped forward, slammed your head against the slide, and...well...the next thing you remembered was your mother looking down at you.  You didn’t remember where you were when you came to, either, just your mom looking at you and the light being a little too bright as you asked why she was there.  After a confusing blur of events you couldn’t get straight or remember details for other than you thought a doctor might have been involved because you remembered a man in a white coat and the crinkle of tissue paper, you’d found yourself here, on the steps, listening to your mother scream inside because you had nothing else to do.

A friend would be nice, too.  I don’t have any of those at school…

“What the hell happened to you?”

You jumped at the unexpected voice directly in front of you, looking up sharply and wincing when it made your head swim, but still able to make out the familiar boy standing in front of you.  You must not have noticed him walk up to you because your head had been down…

Levi looked even better than the last time you’d seen him.  His skin didn’t look sunken in anymore, though he was still pale.  Instead of a ragged mess, he’d finally gotten a haircut, black strands of hair falling just past his ears and a little longer in the back, just above the nape of his neck, the rest shaved down.  His clothes were cleaner--still dirty, but no longer torn, frayed, and far larger than he was--and while there still seemed to be dirt and dust clinging to him, he seemed cleaner, too.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t at school.  Was he homeschooled?  He hadn’t seemed worried about school the first time you’d seen him, so maybe that was the case.  Too bad...you could really use a friend like him at school, especially with how bad things were getting.

“Was it those two assholes again?”

Remembering Levi had asked you a question, you blinked, noticing that your hand had started to fall in surprise and Levi’s gaze had lifted towards the discolored goose-egg on your forehead before you covered it up again with the ice pack.  You shook your head slowly, taking the popsicle out of your mouth so you could answer him, though you kept the cool treat resting over the split in your lip from two days ago that had been re-opened with recent events.

“Those are bad words,” you said disapprovingly.  Levi only rolled his eyes, so you chose to answer his question, still sulking.  “No, they stopped picking on me after you pushed them,” you said softly.

Inside, your mom’s voice rose considerably to what was basically a scream, making you wince and Levi look back towards the house.

“A court case is what’s about to happen!  My kid’s been coming home with bruises and cuts and scrapes for two years, it’s been getting worse, not better like you kept telling me it would!  Your recess monitors aren’t doing anything, they’re sitting there watching and letting the other kids get away with this bullshit!  None of this should have gotten this far--I shouldn’t have to pull her out of school to take my unconscious daughter to a doctor--!”

“The kids at school are getting worse…” you said quietly, your mother’s voice growing more muffled as she paced away from the back door again.  Levi’s eyes seemed to get harder, suddenly studying you up and down, and you squirmed under his gaze, subconsciously tugging at the pant leg of your shorts to try and hide the large bruise that covered the sensitive skin of the back of your leg behind your knee.  It was older, like the split lip, but still discolored and obvious--the spot where Serenity had kicked with her steel toed boots until you’d pushed her away.  You didn’t think you managed to hide it quickly enough, cause Levi’s gaze seemed to narrow.

“Aren’t you fighting back?”  As you shook your head no, his gaze seemed to harden a little more.  “Why not?” he asked with surprising force.

“I’ve tried,” you said defensively, rubbing gently and absentmindedly at the bruise on your leg.  After you’d pushed Serenity away with that self defense move your father taught you, you’d ran, not wanting to get kicked with those boots in a fight.  More specifically, you ran towards the recess monitor who’d been watching to get Serenity in trouble for hurting you.  Instead, you got in trouble for pushing another kid on the playground and got detention and recess revoked for a while.  Your eyes burned with angry, frustrated tears at the memory that you pushed down, the words ‘only babies cry’ ringing in your ears.  “Even if I just push someone off me, I get in trouble with the adults.”

“Who gives a shit what the adults say?  Make them leave you alone so you don’t get hurt.”

It wasn’t that simple.  Maybe with those two boys Levi shoved it had been, but this was different.

“If I do, the school’ll have an excuse to kick me out.  Mom hasn’t moved me to a different school cause she says this is the best one.  She had to try really hard to get me in, even though the school didn’t want to.  I can’t get kicked out cause Mom and Dad want me to do really good in school.  They say since I’m smart, I have a chance to do better than them...so I can’t get in trouble, which means I can’t fight back.”

Maybe that’s why they all pick on me...cause they see I won’t fight back…

“Tch,” Levi let out a long sigh, hand raking through his hair as he sat down on the steps next to you.  “If they’re anything like those idiots from before, it would only take one time to make them leave you alone.”

With all the problems at school, it might only take one time to get you kicked out.

You shrugged, resting your elbow on your good knee as your arm started to hurt from holding the ice pack against your forehead for so long.  “It doesn’t matter.  Mom found out my teacher’s trying to fail me on purpose, and started talking about schooling me at home.  I think she’s gonna do it after this.”

Right now, however, you really didn’t want to be talking or thinking about any of this.  Levi always looked so serious or hesitant.  You liked seeing him smile, though--you liked getting him to play with you, to have some fun.  He never knew the games you wanted to play, and you always had to teach them to him, but when you did manage to get him to loosen up and play, it made you feel...proud, for some reason.

Deciding you needed to change the subject away from the sad things, you put down your ice pack, ignoring how your head throbbed as you reached for the other half of your popsicle all wrapped safely in the white wrapping, pulling it out and offering it to Levi with a small smile.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi carefully took the bright red treat that matched the one Y/N had been sucking on, holding it awkwardly for a few seconds.  It felt...cold.  Freezing.  How the hell was there something this cold in weather this warm?

“You look much better,” she said after he’d taken it from her, her voice sounding far more cheerful this time...though it seemed a little forced.

Levi studied her.  The small smile she gave him despite the sad look in her eyes, the multicolored goose egg that swelled across at least three-fourths of her forehead, the reopened split lip that might have been bleeding still if she wasn’t holding the red frozen treat against her lip.  He’d seen her flinch when her mother shouted loud enough to be heard from inside.  She’d been hunched over, curled into herself on the step when Levi first realized where he was and spotted her.  He wasn’t used to seeing her to timid--usually she’d been right in his face with all her upbeat intensity, and he didn’t like seeing her shrinking away because she was in pain.

She wanted to try and go back to being her usual upbeat self.  That was what she was trying to do by switching the topic back towards him and away from her.  She was asking him to stop talking about what was happening, and to help her be her usual self.

Though it made him wonder...if she was still in pain, if she was still upset, yet she was still able to be upbeat and happy...was that really who she was?  Was it a front?

He’d play along.  If it helped her feel better for a while, then all right.

“Can’t say the same for you,” he returned flatly.  She looked taken aback for the first second, and Levi worried he hadn’t made it clear he was joking and had hurt her feelings.

Thankfully, she broke into a brighter smile, laughing partially from surprise, and partially out of real amusement.

“This?  Whatever, I’m pretty,” she said cheerfully, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she said it.  She didn’t really believe it, then.  She was simply returning the banter, looking away and sucking on the frozen treat again.  She hadn’t told him what it was called yet…

Tentatively, Levi finally mirrored her action.  It was freezing cold, but sweet, like some kind of fruit, melting slowly in his mouth like it was turning into a refreshing cold juice.  He attempted biting down on it, but a jarring chill shot through his teeth and down his spine when he tried, promptly stopping him from trying to bite it again and reverting back to letting it slowly melt in his mouth.

He liked it.  It was sweeter than anything he was used to, yes, but still good.

A companionable silence settled over them as they both sucked on their matching treats, Y/N now wearing a slight smile.  Even though she didn’t want to think about what she’d told him, he still did.

It might not have been anything deadly, but she was still banged up.  Levi’d heard her mother say that she was unconscious and had to be brought to a doctor.  The last time he’d been here, she’d brushed off the kids picking on her like it wasn’t anything serious, and he’d believed her.  She’d been upset, yes, but she’d brushed it off and moved on without much of an outward reaction.  Not to mention, he’d easily scared the two kids off.  So he’d let it go.

This, on the other hand...this was serious.

Part of him wanted to go and kick their asses himself if she was so insistent she couldn’t do it herself, but he knew that wouldn’t help.  Sure, they’d know he was strong, but if he wasn’t there the rest of the time, that wouldn’t stop them from hurting her.  It wouldn’t help her.

Frustratingly enough, he could also begrudgingly admit he understood why she felt she couldn’t fight back.  It sounded like her parents wanted her to have a better life and were pushing her to get the best education in order to do that.  He wasn’t sure how all of this could be better, though--it was already more than he’d ever seen.  A large house, obvious luxuries, citizenship on the surface with trees and open grass in the back...but he hadn’t seen much beyond this.  Maybe there was more, something her parents wanted attainable for her.  They wanted a good life for her, and she was worried about ruining that.

That didn’t mean he thought she should just lay down and let others beat her unconscious.

Levi came out of his thoughts as Y/N moved next to him, setting down the wooden stick that remained after she’d already finished her half of the treat.  At the same time, she leaned over and rested her head lightly on his shoulder, the side that the goose egg wasn’t on resting against his shoulder.  Levi stiffened at the unexpected contact, unsure how to react or if she wanted something from him in return.  She seemed to be curling into herself again after he stiffened, but she didn’t move her head off his shoulder.

“Levi...are we friends?”

Levi glanced down at her, unable to see her face from the way her head was turned.

Where did that come from?

“I guess.”

She ducked her head a little lower, and for a moment, Levi thought she was about to pull away, the weight she was putting on his shoulder lessening for a moment.

“I don’t really have anyone else…” she said softly, almost too quiet for him to hear.

Oh.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really have anyone else, either.  All he had was Kenny...and Y/N.  Kenny wasn’t anything close to the warm or compassionate type that Y/N was.  And he rarely saw Y/N.  But when he did…

The weight on his shoulder got a little lighter as she started to pull away, and the words rolled from his lips before she could pull away thinking he didn’t really see them as friends or that he was being evasive because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings right now.

“Then we are.”

She paused, processing his statement before she fully rested her head against his shoulder again, scooting a little closer in the process.  It wasn't any kind of contact he was used to, but he tolerated it.  It seemed like she needed it, and it was...sort of nice.  He liked this.  Normally she was dragging him all over the place and he didn't get the chance to really stop and enjoy the surface.  Right now, he was able to sit quietly with her and breathe in the fresh air, feel the warmth of the sunlight he was normally denied, listen to the sounds of birds and rustling trees again as welcoming as a familiar lullaby.  This time he was able to revel in the feeling of being on the surface, and this time he wasn't alone while he did so.

He wanted this--he wanted to live up here on the surface with the sun and fresh air instead of in the rot of the Underground.  He wanted to be able to see Y/N more often, whenever he wanted--to be able to beat up those assholes that were picking on her with what Kenny'd taught him, and stay so they knew to leave her alone or they'd get hit again.

What did he have to do to stay up here instead of be stuck below ground?

Before he'd realized it, his entire treat had melted away, all that was left the red-stained, smooth stick it had been attached to.  Levi set it beside him on the steps like Y/N had done, still mulling over thoughts of how he could try getting surface citizenship.  Kenny would know something, right?  Levi didn't expect the man to help, he always wanted Levi doing things for himself, but maybe he could at least point Levi in the right direction?  Levi knew Kenny had been on the surface regularly, so surely there was something Kenny could tell him.

"I'm sorry if this is boring," Y/N said abruptly, interrupting Levi's thoughts.  "I'd offer to play a game or something, but I feel woozy when I move around too much."

"That's okay."  He didn't mind.  He was enjoying the quiet, and she was hurt--the last thing he wanted was to make things worse all for some stupid game they didn't need to play.

She straightened up a moment later, his side feeling chilly now that she suddenly wasn't leaning against him.  "There's other games we can play, though, sitting right here on the steps!"

"We don't have to--"

"I'm always having to teach you the games we play, which makes me think you don't play enough.  So yeah, when you're here, we have to play something!" she said in that tone of hers that told him she wasn't taking no for an answer, a determined pout making her split bottom lip prominent.

Why did he even let her boss him around so much?

A fresh bread roll was offered to him without hesitation by a hand as small as his own.  ”Here.  Here!  It’s for you.”

Because every time she’d been forceful with him, it hadn’t been to hurt him...but to help him, muscling right past his rougher exterior to get at the heart of what he needed and make it happen.  So he let her, because even if she was bossy about it, he tended to enjoy the outcome.

“What are you thinking?” Levi asked, ready for the incoming explanations depending on how many games she wanted to try.

She perked up, clapping her hands together in anticipation.  “All right!  We could play Double Double This, or have a Thumb War, Or play Simon Says, or we could play Slaps.  What do you think?”

What kind of game names were those?  Especially that last one, it sounded like the point was to go around smacking people...though considering the state she was in, that probably wasn’t the case.  Interesting mental image, though.

Levi shrugged.  “I don’t know any of those.  Whatever you pick.”

She let out that exasperated sigh of hers--he really didn’t know why she was still surprised when he didn’t know what any of these games were, by now she should have just accepted he wasn’t going to know them.  “Okay...we’ll start with Double Double This, cause that might take a little while to learn.”

Turning so they were facing one another, she took Levi’s hands in her own and started to teach him.  According to her, the fun was in learning it, and gradually being able to follow the pattern faster and faster.  It took him a couple tries, but once he had it down, ironically, it was Y/N that kept messing up, bursting into a fit of giggles before she’d straighten and demand they try again.  With how many times they had to start over, Levi was sure that the game was going to become muscle memory.

When she finally stopped messing up the pattern, and after they picked up speed until she couldn’t keep up with how fast Levi was going, she switched games, teaching him the simplistic thumb war game, and doing a few rounds of Simon Says (A game she said was more challenging when you were on your feet and anything was fair game to be called out).  They ended on the Slaps game she’d mentioned, her pain apparently forgotten since she was all for playing a game where the objective was to smack the other person’s hand before they could pull away.  Another one he was good at, considering his nerves were a lot steadier than hers and he was faster.  He could spot her flinches and bluffs, able to keep his hands steady over hers and unmoving except when he really needed to while she squirmed and kept starting to pull her hands back with soft squeaks of nervousness.  It was actually sort of fun making her jump or squirm when feinted, making her think he was about to try and smack--always lightly--the back of her hand and watching her squeal and jerk back with a wild whoop of laughter.  It kept making the slightest smile ghost across his lips, a thrill going through him as well, even if he was too fast for her to actually land a smack on his hands unless he let her.

Eventually, when Y/N ended up shaking her hands to get rid of the sting from all the times they’d smacked each other’s hands, they stopped playing.

“That was pretty fun,” she said with a grin, still shaking her right hand.  “We’ll have to do that one again sometime--you’re real good at it.”

Levi watched her lean back against the steps, picking up the pouch she’d had pressed to her forehead earlier and playing idly with it to keep her hands busy.  It sloshed around like it was filled with water…

“Hey, Levi?  I never asked you where you live,” she said curiously.  “You always just sorta show up, but I don’t know where you came from.”

So she finally asked.  She must not know, then.  Was her opinion of him going to change, like he’d worried it would the last time he came here?  “I live in the Underground.”

He waited in tense anticipation, waiting for some kind of disgusted reaction like he’d been led to believe surfacers would react to him with.

“Underground?  Like...like in burrows?  Like hobbits in Lord of the Rings?”

He had no idea what she was talking about with that nonsense about hobbits, but for a moment, he honestly thought she was making fun of him.  Until his sharp gaze registered the pure confusion on her face as he turned to look at her, ready to make some kind of scathing remark until he saw the look in her eyes.  Her brows were crinkled together, nose scrunched up, a thoughtful frown on her face.  Did she really not...know what the Underground was?  How could she not?  Wouldn’t someone have warned her to stay away?  Wouldn’t it have come up in that history class she’d told him she was so fond of last time he was here?  Half of him wanted to call her out for messing with him, but she looked genuinely confused.

“The Underground,” he repeated, suddenly unsure of how to explain it to her.  “It’s...a city, underground.  Dark, dirty, lots of...shady people,” he said haltingly.  How much did he really want to pop the protective bubble she seemed to be wrapped in?  He didn’t want to tell her that he never saw the sun.  That everything seemed to be in shades of brown and filth.  That rot clung to everything and everything.  That you could probably see a dead body every other street.

“So, you have your own house in a city that’s below ground?”

“The city’s below ground, but I don’t have my own house.  Kenny and I go wherever there’s space.”

“Who’s Kenny?”

Levi paused.  How did he explain Kenny?  The guy who took him in and taught him how to kill a man in ten different ways as soon as Levi had recovered enough to start learning things?  Again, it didn’t feel like something he should tell her.

“He’s...he’s a guy who used to know my mom...that started…” ‘Taking care of’ didn’t sound quite right.  Did you really throw someone you were taking care of into knife fights to see how well they did and if they’d learned anything?  “Looking after me,” he settled on saying.

This felt awkward.  He didn’t really want to be talking about it, and Y/N’s eyes were burning with curiosity, focused entirely on him as he struggled to find the words to explain a situation that had been so rooted in his sense of normal he wouldn’t have considered it strange if he hadn’t been glimpsing Y/N’s life in contrast.  Since the moment he’d realized she was naïve to the kind of horrors that he saw day in and day out, he didn’t want her to find out about them.  She lived in a peaceful existence that he wanted to live as well, and he was afraid to lift the curtain on his reality for her and risk shattering it with too much knowledge about his harsher world.

“You said you were learning to play the piano?” he asked instead, switching the topic as abruptly as she had earlier.  She blinked in surprise, but after a moment of hesitation, nodded.  “Have you gotten better?”

Taking the hint, she eased back into lighter conversation, talking about the songs she was learning to play, humming segments of some of the songs out loud, and talking about some of the more complicated keys she was starting to take on.  When she started to slow down and run out of things to say about one topic, he’d prompt her to another based off the interests she’d told him about last time.  Keeping her talking about the smaller things brought back the peace he’d had before she’d started digging into where he was from.  He was able to keep them there, comfortable, listening to her talk about her world, up until the moment he blinked...and once more found himself in the Underground.

It was such a non-event, so sudden with no warning, no exclamation.  The most that happened was the sudden silence as he found himself alone under his and Kenny’s room of the week after Y/N had been speaking to him.  It felt like some kind of...disrespect, considering how big of a deal for him appearing back in the Underground was.  Being shoved back underground with no warning shouldn’t have been so subtle, so quiet.  It was like he couldn’t fight back, like he had no control over it--he didn’t, but this just made it even more obvious, more frustrating.  He wanted to stay above ground, yet in the literal blink of an eye he kept finding himself kicked back into the rot.  He hated it.

He had a friend up there, someone who clearly cared about him.  And after getting a few tastes of what life could be like...

I’m going to find a way to stay up there...one way or another, I’m going to live on the surface.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier​ @clary-quinn​ @sunny-flo​

Tags:  @fanartdom @kaz2y5-pie @tartheyes​ @super-peace-fangirl @huntersbunker @nefelimalfoy @soft-levi-girl-blog @kissing-violet-wings @regalillegal @sugas-daddy7

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Dig Your Grave” - Hypodermic Sally McKenna x Cordelia Goode

Okay so I’ve been looking and I can’t find nearly enough Cordelia x Sally fics. Or like. Any. Maybe this isn’t a popular ship? But this idea wouldn’t leave me alone so here we go! No smut ahead (shocking, I know xD) but man I love this one. I hope you all do, too!! 

The first time Cordelia had walked into the Cortez she had been a whirlwind. A firestorm of life and energy and need. It was intoxicating, and Sally couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Wanted to feed off of her. Needed to claim her and take her and make sure she never left again.

“I’m looking for someone, one of my sisters,” Cordelia panted to Iris, hands gripping into the front desk.

“How the hell am I supposed to know who your sister is?”

Cordelia huffed, head tilting to push her hair off of her face. Sally stood behind her in the lobby, edging closer. Drinking her in. Basking in the light that radiated off of her. Drowning in the warmth that dripped out of her pores and pooled on the floor.

“Please,” Cordelia said, and Sally almost heard that familiar break in Cordelia’s voice that always made her go weak in the knees. Desperation. “Her name is Queenie. She’s a witch. And I need you to tell me what room she’s in right now or so help me—“

She cut off, voice wavering, and Sally was toast. It was the last straw. The one thing she could never resist. A broken soul. And so she offered the only thing she could.

“I can take you.”

~~~

She was walking too slow. Maybe it was the drink in her hand. Maybe it was the heavy leopard-print coat. But her steps were too short and too paced and Cordelia didn’t have time for this. 

“Can you walk any faster? This is urgent.”

Sally glanced at her over her shoulder, smirking and wobbling across the patterned carpet. The itch running under Cordelia’s skin tripled and she thought she might scream. It was enough that Queenie had ended up here, in this place. This dark, deep hole that sucked every ounce of light from the atmosphere. But the fact that Cordelia couldn’t get to her, couldn’t find her on her own, relied on this woman to guide her through the endless hallways and help her… It was a slice across Cordelia’s ego that she didn’t need. Not when she was already fighting so hard to keep herself together.

“What room did you say she was in?”

“Forty-two,” Sally replied calmly, taking a sip of her drink. 

“And how far away is that?”

Sally chuckled, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

“This is urgent.”

Fingers twitched around the glass. “I heard what you said, baby.” 

And with that Cordelia snapped, rushing forward and gripping her nails into Sally’s arm. She growled in her ear. “Listen to me. This is not a game. I need to find my sister. And I am running out of time. So you would do well to take me to her, fast as humanly possible, or so help me you will feel fire and rage and it will not be pleasant.”

All it did was make the other woman smile, tongue popping against teeth as she looked down at Cordelia. She quirked a brow, a hoarse laugh falling from her lips. 

“It’s a good thing I’m not human then, huh?”

~~~

Sally sat with her ear against the door for what felt like ages, waiting to hear her voice again. Cordelia had blown past her at least fifty times now, Queenie’s hand gripped in hers as they walked determinately down the hallway. It wasn’t going to work. Queenie had been here too long. But if this effort meant that Cordelia would stay, would keep returning and would keep walking past her, Sally would keep her mouth shut. 

This time, though, they had fallen silent. The halls had been filled with plans and counterattacks and alternating routes. And now there was nothing. 

Cordelia had sat in that room with Queenie until she hadn’t. Until goodbyes had been said and hugs had been exchanged and Cordelia had shut the door. 

She glanced at Sally as she left, turning down the hallway and wiping at her cheeks. And then there were tears dripping down Sally’s face and she sniffed, unsure if this particular hurt was for Cordelia or for herself.

~~~

Cordelia sat at her desk, hands stacking and re-stacking the same pile of papers. She couldn’t get her out of her mind. That woman, that dirty, broken woman… She clouded her brain, haunted her dreams. There were some nights Cordelia could have sworn she was standing at the foot of her bed. 

A ghost, a figment, a wish. 

~~~ 

“Back so soon?” 

Sally leaned against the bar, twisting a finger through Cordelia’s hair and taking a drag of her cigarette. She waited for her to turn, to flinch, to pull away like so many had before. To leave and call her crazy and shrug the feeling of her off of her shoulders as she fled in the opposite direction.

But Cordelia was different. Sally had known that from the start. And more than anything, Sally wanted to stand by her to revel in the pure goodness that radiated off of her and pushed the grime out of Sally’s soul.

Cordelia shifted, pulling Sally’s hand into her own and turning it over in her fingers. She stared up at Sally, a look in her eyes that Sally couldn’t read. And then something fuzzy spread through her brain, peeling out from Cordelia’s touch and making her heart feel… lighter.

Maybe, if she got close enough, if she kissed her and pressed against her and scraped her nails across her skin, it would stick to her. Rub off on her and into her and feed her from the outside in.

~~~

Sad eyes stared back at Cordelia, tears blinked free and dripping down flushed cheeks.

“Why do you hurt?” Cordelia asked cautiously, voice low in the abandoned bedroom. 

Sally’s brows pushed up. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her face contorted. 

“You don’t know?” Cordelia tried again, thumbs skimming down Sally’s shoulders.

Sally shook her head. “It’s been so long…” Her voice broke. “I don’t remember.”

~~~

She tasted like honey. Like honey and purity and love. Her entire afterlife, Sally had longed to find someone to stay. Someone to cherish her and coddle her and never leave her again. She had dreamed, begged, prayed for a soul. Just one that would stay there with her forever, by their own doing or by someone else’s, she didn’t care. Desperately she had scrounged Liz’s bar, picking up whatever damaged mess she could find in the fleeting hope that this one could change. Could love her. Would be different.

But here, with Cordelia pressed against her and her warmth seeping into every cold inch of Sally’s heart, she was beginning to think she had gotten it all wrong. She had waited for decades for someone to join her here. To waste away beside her until they were cold and rotten and only hers. In that moment, though, with Cordelia holding her so gently that she could positively cry, she realized that what she wanted, what she truly wanted, was life. She missed the heat. She missed the pain. She missed the ache and the joy and the freedom. The freedom to choose who she could be with. Freedom to say no to someone. Freedom to deny her instincts and her desperation and choose to stay with a living being, rather than wait for them to settle for her.

A soft sob escaped her and Cordelia pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

“Oh, no no no,” she cooed, feather-light kisses peppering Sally’s face. “Oh my sweet girl, what ever is the matter?”

~~~

She smelled like smoke. Like ice and ash and spice. The kind of smell that got stuck in your nose before you knew it and burned in your mouth long after you had left. Sally was addicting, contagious, and Cordelia was spiraling down a path that was almost as dangerous as the hotel’s hallways. Once you let go, you never got out. 

It was with a certain kind of determination that Cordelia gathered the girls in her office, ordering them to shut the door behind them. Queenie owed Sally. Zoe would do anything for Cordelia. And Mallory, well… Mallory seemed to understand Cordelia in a way that she didn’t even understand herself. 

The only thing Cordelia could comprehend was complete honesty. It was what her girls deserved, and so that was what she gave them. After a rather long, probably too-detailed explanation, she was met with smiling faces. 

Queenie had scoffed at the first mentioned of Sally’s name, but after Cordelia had opened up and sealed her feelings in cement before them, she quieted down, a slow resolve creeping over her face.

“You really want this, Ms. Cordelia?” Queenie had asked, arms crossed.

A slow nod. Not hesitant. Deliberate.

“Not want. Need. More than I need to breathe. More than I need anything.”

Queenie shifted. “But she’s... a mess.”

“She’s my mess,” Cordelia growled back, leaning forward on her desk.

And with that, the three girls nodded back at her, and the plan was set in motion. 

~~~

It was taking too long. Sally had no idea how much time had passed, but it was too long. The air was starting to press in around her, claustrophobia making her skin crawl. She trusted Cordelia. She did.

She tried to.

But she had existed in this world long enough. She knew not to expect anything other than disappointment. 

And so she screamed. She screamed and she wailed and she threw anything that she could get her hands on at that fucking door that never opened. That she stared at every day, waiting. 

Cordelia should have been back with an answer by now. But she wasn’t. 

Disappointment was bad. Disappointment hurt. But what she was feeling now made her chest split open, ears ringing as her gut twisted. She fell to the floor from the sheer pain of it. 

And then she stopped. Froze, curled on the ground, nails clawing into the carpet. Because she realized why it was so agonizing.

She was hurting because she had lost something. But the realization that she had lost it came with the epiphany that she must have had it in the first place. 

It may not have been perfect, but a piece of her living self had been sewn back into her soul. It was hope.

And it was wonderful. 

~~~ 

“I promise,” Cordelia cooed, Sally mouthing at her neck. “I— ah— Oh, sweetheart. I promise you.”

Sally nodded eagerly against her skin, her teeth replaced by soft kisses and wet tears. A moment later and she was falling against Cordelia, clinging to her with everything she had.

“Is this the last time I’m going to see you…?” she choked out, fingers gripping into Cordelia’s skin. They were ice cold, and Cordelia thought for a fleeting moment that she would miss that feeling. Miss the frozen prick of Sally touching her. Everywhere.

But this would be better.

“I think so, darling.”

A harsh sob. Cordelia combed her fingers through thick hair.

“I think so…”

~~~ 

Sally watched them from the window. They had arrived in a wave of black. Heels and skirts and frilly umbrellas. It was strange to see her Cordelia leading them like this, all done up in extravagance. When she visited Sally, it was usually silk. Silk or lace or something delicate and smooth and soft. 

She stared at her hands, rubbing her fingertips together and relishing in the lack of feeling there. She never felt, unless she was touching someone else. Not her cigarettes, not her alcohol. Not even her drugs. She didn’t feel the needles going in, didn’t get the high. And so after a few months of frustration and anger, she had taken her lack of withdrawal as a blessing and sobered up faster than she should have, given her dependence on the evil little messes. Looking down at Cordelia now, she thanked whatever god sat above her for that gift.

Cordelia was talking to the girls, gesturing around the alley and  pointing with a gloved hand. Sally took one last look, burned the image of her into her brain and stepped away from the window, retreating to the comfort of her bathroom. 

It was delicate, the way she applied her makeup this time. So unlike the last time she remembered doing it alive. She was sober. She was clean. She was dabbing on her lipstick with such precision she could have won an award. Because this time it mattered. This time was the last time. And she needed to make it count.

Once she was satisfied, Sally dumped her makeup into a suitcase. She threw her clothes in on top of it and zipped it quickly. It wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all. And she still had business to attend to.

~~~

“Do you all understand what you are doing?” Cordelia asked, fingers gripping into her umbrella to keep her voice from shaking. 

“Yeah, girl,” Queenie said, looking her up and down. “Are you sure you want to be here, though? We’ve got this without you, if you want to… You know.”

“Get a drink?” Mallory supplied dryly, and Zoe nudged her. 

Cordelia smiled, despite everything. “I appreciate the offer, girls. And I thank you for it. But I need to be here, with all of you. I need to help or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Three nods. In unison. And then they began.

~~~

Sally dragged her suitcase behind her, the soft clacking of the wheels pounding with her heart. How many times had she done this? How many times had she tried to run from this place, denial digging its way into her heart and chaining her to the Cortez with every fiber of her existence. 

But this time, she walked slowly. This time, she took a deep breath and pushed the up button in the elevator rather than the down. 

She parked her suitcase, her one, small, lonely suitcase, next to her stool. 

“What’ll it be?” Liz asked, a knowing look in her eyes as she reached for a glass.

“I guess I’d better make it a good one, yeah?”

Liz smiled.

~~~

Cordelia watched her girls, matching her words with theirs. She was so proud of them, so incredibly impressed with the way each of them had bloomed like a flower. She hadn’t needed to do much. They had come into their powers on their own, egging each other on and forming bonds that pushed their progress further. 

A part of her felt guilty, having left them for so long. Having abandoned them countless days and nights to spend time in this cursed building. But as she watched them, their eyes pinned on the ground in determination and their hands locked together, she couldn’t help but feel… Forgiven.

~~~

Sally stood across from the reception desk for what felt like days. It was there, right there, maybe ten steps away. And yet it had been a lifetime of walking, wandering, hurting, and longing to get here. The clock was ticking in Sally’s head, though, unnaturally loud for someone who had lost all sense of time within these red walls. And then she took a step forward. And another. And another.

Her finger came down on the bell and the “ding” echoed through the abandoned lobby, cutting a line through the stuffy air. 

Iris glanced up from her book, double-taking when her eyes met Sally’s. They flicked down to the suitcase.

“Checking out?” she asked, quirking her brow.

Sally gulped. “Should be.” 

A pause, and then Iris nodded slowly. Sally dug into the pocket of her coat, pulling out her key and sliding it across the desk. Iris grabbed it before Sally let go, their fingers brushing. Sally flinched at the contact, the way it burned. The way it always burned when Iris touched her. 

A light squeeze, and then Iris was pulling away. 

“I’ll miss you,” Iris said softly, pulling the key between her fingers. 

Sally nodded, the soft part of her that always ached when Iris spoke.. surprisingly quiet today. Nothing was pinning her down, pulling her brain inside of itself and making her hate every atom of air that surrounded her. It was empty. It was calm. It was nothing.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Sally tried, and for a split second it felt as if she actually meant it.

Iris smiled, nudging her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She turned to replace Sally’s key, puling cobwebs out of the cubby where it used to stay. 

“You got everything?” 

Sally nodded, doubt running through her mind as she contemplated the question. But before she could remember what she had forgotten her vision started crumbling and the hotel dissolved around her.

~~~ 

Cordelia watched as the small pile grew larger. Larger. It was circular, too round, but she knew it had to start this way before it grew into what she needed it to be. Her girls were chanting, hands still intertwined. The pile froze.

Cordelia looked between her girls, the confusion on their faces, and panic started to claw its way up her throat. She was in over her depths. She was asking too much of them. And now not only would she lose her Sally, but she would lose the strongest witches in her coven. At the very least she would lose their trust. She scrambled.

“It’s going to be difficult,” Cordelia tried, pacing around her girls and sliding her hand over their shoulders. “It has been decades. Decades of elements hitting this relentless pavement, California heat and rain and wind and whatever else.” She swallowed, trying her absolute hardest to keep her voice steady. “But I believe in you. I know you can do this.”

Her voice was firm by the end of it, but her fingers were sliding against the fabric of her dress, lip between her teeth.

Zoe was first, arm extended and fingers stretched tight as she poured her energy over the pile. Then Mallory. Then Queenie. Cordelia couldn’t do it, though. She couldn’t taint it with her energy. Or everything would be ruined and she would be cursed with a memory that would never be able to separate horror from imagination again. 

And so she touched their shoulders, fingers ghosting over fabric, and poured as much of her energy as she could into her three girls. She felt them straighten, felt their auras shift, and then the pile continued to grow. 

“Faster.”

~~~ 

Falling. She was falling. And the only thing Sally could think of was her hair. It was sticking her her face, flying into her mouth, and she was starting to worry she may choke on it. But then the world around her was filled with the smell of honey and plants and life and green, and she smiled. Actually smiled as her head cracked on the concrete of the alleyway.

~~~ 

Skin first, then hair, clothes, and Cordelia wanted to scream at the fact that there was no life in it. There was no color under the skin, no matter how pale. There was no smirk on her lips. There was absolutely nothing, and she gripped her hands into Zoe’s wrist to keep from rushing forward and shaking her awake. 

To keep herself from giving up. 

To keep herself from losing hope. Not now. Not when she was right there. So close. So lifeless.

~~~

Sally blinked back stars, the loud rushing of the city streets crashing on her ears and making her head split open. Somehow the world was much brighter than when she’d left it, and it was almost painful to open her eyes. 

But then she heard a voice. Cordelia’s voice. Felt trembling fingers running down her arms. And her eyes flew open.

She looked like an angel, her Cordelia, with the way the sun was lighting her from behind and blurring her features. Sally’s hand came up, brushing over Cordelia’s skin to make sure. Just to make sure.  

~~~

Cordelia gasped, hand flying up to cover Sally’s on her cheek.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Cordelia cooed, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning into Sally’s touch. 

“You’re warm.”

[studiopoprocks]

Whenever you get to it... fluff alphabet with shoto? Maybe? Please? 💜💜

Todoroki Shoto Fluff Alphabet

A - Affection (How do they show how much they care in their day to day lives)

It’s pretty obvious that Shoto hadn’t really been shown any sort of affection before you. But once this boy gets some, he’s addicted. He’s almost always touching you in some way get your mind out of the gutter. From hand holding, to cuddling, Todo will be beisde you, and enjoying the fact you’re with him. He always makes sure to tell you that you’re his angel, and that he loves you. It’s the little thing that count.

B - Before (How did they act before the relationship/ what was the relationship like?)

Met at a hero’s gala, and snuck out together. You both agreed that whenever you’re dragged along with your pro parent, you’d met up. Usually ending up in deep conversations, in the middle of a big fancy garden. You both kept your distance physically, before you actually got into a relationship, but emotionally; you’ve always had a deep convection.

C - Comfort (How they act when their S/O is sad)

Now you’d assume he is completely clueless on this type of thing. WRONG! This boy can tell the moment you start to feel down, instantly going in for a hug. But if that doesn’t work, or he finds you crying he’ll go through his mental checklist. Firstly wrapping you up in any nearest blanket, hugging you while wrapping it around your frame. Then wraps his arms around you while you burry your face in his neck. Boy would never force you tell him whats wrong, but will always listen and offer his advice if you want him to.

D - Dawn (What are mornings like?)

Always wake up together. Even if one of you has to get up earlier. You take turns making breakfast if it’s the weekend, but it’s usually more like lunch beacause any days off you get is spent cuddling in bed, watching whatever is on TV. Once he becomes a Pro though, you’ll absolutely refuse to get out of bed at 4:30am, but you’ll always wake up to talk and kiss him goodbye.

E - Embarrassed (How does their S/O make them flustered? How do they return the favour?)

(This was a specific request so I’m going to make it longer)

Shoto has a very stoic face, however it’s easy to tell when he’s flustered, just examine his quirk. When you first started talking, he refused to left you hold his right hand. Due to the fact that you had unexpectedly grabbed it once, and he almost ended up burning your delicate skin. Anything could make him fluster and act up. Conpliments, PDA, kisses, even you just acting cute. (Strangely he doesn’t get flustered with hugs) it’s kinda funny to watch the boy accidentally light his shirt on fire, or end up encasing his hand in ice. On the opposite side though, he returns the favour ten fold. He doesn’t mean to, he’s so blunt that it doesn’t register to him that it might make you flustered. He’ll say things like ‘I live for you, you’re the reason I want to get up in the morning’ out of complete nowhere! He has a bad habit of doing it at fan signings, cuz he’s getting so many questions about your relationship. ‘My favourite thing about her? Obviously everything.’ Complete and utter straight face the entire time. That doesn’t mean to say that he doesn’t enjoy you’re super cute blushing face, or how you get when you’re flustered.

F - First date (Were did you go and what did you do for your first date together)

You never had an official ‘first date’ due to meeting at hero galas. However, the day you two started dating was kinda like it. It had only been a few weeks since school started, but here you were at another gala. Shoto had quickly found you, walking with you to the garden, not too far from the hall. The music was so loud that you could hear it all the way from outside, but it just added to the ambience. Of course you had snuck food from the hall, making yourself a a makeshift picnic under the starts. It was calming, and you even slow danced at one point, laughing as you enjoyed each other’s company.

G - Gentle (How Gentle are they with their S/O? Or do they like to rough house with them?)

Shoto genuinely believes you are made out of porcelain. Yes, he knows you can handle yourself, but he’s still not risking anything. One of his worst fears is turning into his father, which includes being rough with his s/o. He will still train with you, without holding back, but you best be ready for him to check every inch of your skin afterwards.

H - Habit (What do they repeatally do in the relationship?)

Todo has this habit of always making sure you’re at a comfortable temperature. It stems from always wanting to look after you, and plus if you need an adjustment, he would happily cuddle you to the right temperature. If he notices a small shiver, he’ll instantly offer up his jacket. If you start sweating, boi is already looking up the nearest ice cream store. But nothing works better then him regulating your temperature himself.

I - Intreating (What do they find fascinating about their S/O? And vise versa?)

It’s kinda sad, but a big draw to you was because you totally excepted him dispite all flaws or scars. He find it so amazing how when even talking about villains, you never talk negatively about looks, or thing that they can’t control. Only about their crimes or morals. He cherishes how you look beyond the surface, and wonders how he got so lucky.

J - Jealousy (How easily do they get jealous, and how do they deal with it)

Now Todoroki doesn’t get jelouse. Let me rephrase that; Todoroki is good at hiding that he’s jealous. He completely trusts you, and knows you wouldn’t cheat on him. He’ll let you deal with any clingy fans, HOWEVER if he notices that you need help. RIP to whoever is crushing on you. Will come up right beside you, left arm protectively over your shoulder. That’s around the time any creep starts noticing the ice creeping up their leg. ‘Something you wanna say to MY girlfriend?’ Que death glare until they leave.

K - Knick Knack (A random momento they still have from their S/O)

You had accidentally left one of your favourite mugs at Shotos, and of course he used it every chance he got. In until he broke it. He had felt horrible, but told you right away, after cleaning up the mess. Dispite his knowledge though, you had glued it back together and painted gold along the cracks. The reason being: ‘I read somewhere that people repaire broken objects with gold, showing how it adds to the beauty of it’ of course you count use it to drink, but it turned into a plant pot. Along with his favourite thing in his room.

L - Location (Favourite place to go on dates)

Loves taking you to do nature related things. His go to is a clearing that looks over the city, you’ll often have picnics there, then stargaze for a bit. It’s quite nice, and not too far from his place. His sister had shown it to him when he was younger, and he went there to clear his mind every so often. So now he clears his head with you, a win win for both of you because he makes the best picnics!

M - Movie (What cliché movie trope has actually happened in the relationship?)

You ever see those movies where everyone is at a big dance, but everyone is wearing masks? Two strangers (who actually know eachother) meet, and dance the night away. Well this happened to the clueless pair of you. You guys basically confided in eachother, telling one another about the crush developing for each other. Both only realizing it the next time you saw eachother, promising to wear the same outfit as last time. XD

N - Nickname (What do they call their S/O?)

Names he calls his S/O:

‘Snowflake’ doesn’t mean it in a weak sort of way.

‘My love’ often used around Endeavor

‘Beautiful Star’ refers back to the first date thing.

Names his S/O calls him:

‘Cuddle bug’ cuz boi is touch starved.

‘My other half... and half’ started off as a joke, due to Bakugo. Ultimately it ended up as a reoccurring name of affection.

O - On Cloud Nine (How they act when they are in love/ Is it obvious to everyone around them?)

Todoroki is a very stoic person, so it’s not very obvious. Heck, half the class didn’t even realize you two were dating, until Shoto started getting protective of you due to something Mineta said. But once they knew, it became so obvious. He would follow you around, making sure you were okay after every training session, and even genuinely smile on a daily basis. You’re both super attentive to eachother, and seemed to always be holding hands!

P - PDA (Do they like showing off their s/o, or are a little shy to kiss in public)

Probably the most you’ll get is constant hand holding. He likes knowing your always beside him, and vise versa. Usually fingers interlaced, on Shoto’s right side, for two reasons. 1. Your hands won’t get clamy due to the cold, and 2. Because he can’t always control his fire when his emotions act up. However if for some reason you have to go, he’ll hold your conjoined hands up to his heart and say his goodbye. Maybe giving your forehead a kiss on special days.

Q - Quirk (A random ability they have, that’s helpful in a relationship)

Todoroki has this amazing ability to talk everything out with you. He hates fighting due to his childhood, so he always makes sure everything is out in the open. As to not have any misunderstandings EVER. He will and wants you to open up about everything from incecurities, to every bit of your day. Too many problems have come through miscommunication, and he isn’t about to allow your relationship to do the same.

R - Rearly (Something they love to do, but it doesn’t happen often)

Absolutely loves ice skating with you! But specifically on Christmas Eve, with all the lights and songs surrounding you both. He wouldn’t let go of your hand, and is constantly heating you up with his quirk. Sneaky boy heats up his lips, in hopes you’ll kiss him more. (First Christmas together he gave you your gift in the middle of the frozen ice)

S - Special (Something that only them and their S/O do together)

After the first month of dating, Shoto started bringing you to see his mom. You’re kind heart reminded him so much of Rei, and honestly he though you two should meet because you’re going to be apart of the distinctional family. He seems to feel a lot more at eas when you’re there, so it’s turned into a personal thing you do together.

T - Together (How often do they spend time with their S/O?)

Not enough! Between school or hero work, you bearly get anytime to yourselves. You always make a point of having date night, but sometimes due to how hard the week was: date night becomes movie + cuddle night. Of course you always fall asleep together, but half the time one of you is already passed out before the other gets home.

U - United (In which way does the relationship become a whole? Marriage?)

Basically once you’ve become part of the family. Weekly visits to see his mom, helping his siblings out with various things, and even standing up to Endever. (Also is that a patchy guy in the shadows smiling at you?) if this boy had opened both his heart and his family up to you, you best believe a ring (thx to dads credit card) is coming your way.

V - Value (What do they treasure the most in their relationship?)

Shoto values the time you spend together so much! It’s rare that you two have more then a day to spend together, so he’s going to make the most out of it. Expect to do 5 or more things in the day, and be joined at the hip for the majority of it. On the off chance that you both end up haveing the weekend off together, Todo is already booking flights. It’s usually a last minute type thing, but hey, who would pass up a trip to Tokyo with their boyfriend?

W - Wish (What do they hope will come from the relationship?)

He wants the chance to be better. He wants to be the best husband (and hopefully father) in the world. He’s never had a very good family life, and honestly he wants one. Especially one with you, because duh, you’d make a great wife! (And maybe mom) and hey if you decide you don’t want kids, then he’s totally fine with that, as long as you get him a pet.

X - XOXO (Favourite types of kisses and hugs)

Shoto is a sucker for curling up in your lap, while you run your fingers through his hair. He’ll hug your waist as you massage the days stress away. That combined with a sleepy goodnight kiss, this boi would die happy and content. He tends to get nightmares, but your goodnight kisses scare them away. Without you, he honestly doesn’t sleep well.

Y - Yearning (How do they cope when they're missing their partner?)

Originally, he was totally okay for the first day or two. But this boy didn’t realize how genuinely touch starved he was, especially without you. Calls every day, just to say hi and that he misses you. Will surround himself in your stuff, and gifts you’ve given him. Stole back his sweater just because it smelt like you. When you finally return, he won’t leave your side for the whole day.

Z - Zeal (Will they go great lengths for the sake of the relationship? What kind?)

Todo would empty his fathers entire bank account for you. He’s willing to to almost anything you ask of him, because he believes that you deserve it. It’s kinda funny when you ask for something small, and he takes it to a whole new level. You ask him to cook more often because you’re busy, he just signed up for a chef class. Ask him to open up about what he’s dealing with? He will sit down right there and let you comfort him. He respects your wishes, and enjoys when you ask him for stuff, because you should be able to lean on eachother anytime.

[tuliharja]

Oh, the otp asks are so interesting! Would you consider for HashiMito answering the following: 3, 9, 12, 21 and 24? I hope it's not too much, but with canonical, and so politically-involved couple those are super interesting.

Thank you so much from the ask @olliya!

Yes, I agree to you! OTP asks are always so interesting~. And I don’t mind at all, since HashiMito is one of my otps, so I was really happy to receive this ask from you! Not to mention the fact you picked very interesting ones. Thank you again from the ask. ^^

(The asks can be found from here.)

Alright, let’s put those shipping goggles on! *Cue for a very long post.*

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Hashirama would probably try to write sonata to Mito and once he would realize it’s much harder than it seems, he would end up asking Tobirama to help. With the help of Tobirama, Hashirama would make most brilliant sonata ever, but once he would present it to Mito…she would be left highly unimpressed.

 “Hashirama, did you perhaps ask help from Tobirama?” Mito questioned from her husband, before she sighed. There wasn’t any reason to ask that question when she already knew the answer, yet watching her husband turn into a spluttering mess brought her some sort of amusement. Deciding to be merciful, Mito gently cupped Hashirama’s cheeks, giving him kiss to his forehead. “Hashirama, you don’t have to make me sonatas, poets, or anything that would be too elaborate. As long as it becomes from your heart, I don’t mind even if your compliments would be extremely tacky.”

She watched how her husband slowly turned into a sobbing mess, gently brushing his hair as she merely allowed him to relax in her arms.

After that incident, Hashirama would gift Mito flowers. Being the expert, anything related to plants, he would know each and every flower and those meaning. He probably wouldn’t be best with actual words, but each bouquet would hail Mito’s beauty, kindness, power and how lucky he was when Mito did choose him.

Mito would had mastered the use of words, because she would know how valuable the talent of speaking would be. She could make even most praising comment sound like most wicked insult ever. That’s why, she would rarely compliment Hashirama as she knew her husband already received lots of compliments as he wasn’t any ordinary man. Repeating those same compliments would sound just hollow, empty and she didn’t want that. She would also know repeated words would turn meaningless, so she would rarely use endearing words about Hashirama.

To everybody else she would seem cold as ice, but in those rare moments when she would compliment Hashirama, he would take those into his heart and cherish those. Such occasions would be when Hashirama would manage to genuinely surprise her, show genuine understanding about her feelings and hopes, and take into consideration her wishes. But the most cherished moment would be when Mito would finally admit to Hashirama she was pregnant, while she was a Jinchuuriki. Hashirama would reassure her he wouldn’t leave her and make his best to ensure both she and the child would be safe. After she would calm down, she would spill her heart to Hashirama, telling how blessed she was to have such wonderful husband that would still stand next to her even when she was carrying Tailed-Beast. She would hail his strength, kindness, understanding and way too big heart. Later on, that night they both would compliment each other’s bodies in very sensual manner. ;)

 9. Have they made each other cry?

Yes, since what would marriage be without any tears? There have been happy tears, but also sad ones. Happier tears have been in happy occasions, such as when they got married, when their first child did bear and when Mito would tickle the hell out of Hashirama. Who said Mito couldn’t be mischievous when she would want to? They’ve also been crying tears of joy when they got their second born (because it’s kind of their own fault they got a child, now isn’t it? xD)

There has also been tears, when Hashirama has tried to cheer up Mito when she has had extremely bad day when dealing Nine Tails just to see her wife happy. But there has also been tears of sadness as at times Hashirama’s gambling problems would be too much for the stressed-out Mito. She would hide her tears, but Hashirama would know. He would eventually weed out his gambling problem, when they were at the risk of losing their home and the tear-streaked look Mito gave? Yeah, absolute broke Hashirama’s heart. There would also been tears when each of them would get so badly wounded, they would be at the brink of death. One of such was after Mito sealed Kyuubi inside of her. Hashirama was sure Mito would perish as it seemed holding down the beast was too much for her. Hashirama’s eventual death also made Mito cry as she felt like her whole world collapsed at that exact moment, but such is life: many different types of causes which can make one cry.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Many people think they would have, but in reality, they don’t have expect in minor businesses. The political field can be extremely messy, especially when considering the fact Hashirama was doing something (building first ninja village) that hadn’t ever been done before.

Before Mito married Hashirama, she understood right to way for things to work she had to do some groundbreaking thinking. She knew if she married Hashirama, she wouldn’t just switch her Uzumaki family to Senju family, like in old times. No, what Hashirama was offering was that, she could still be Uzumaki and Senju. In old times, when one was wed to some more powerful clan, you had automatically become part of that clan. You had to basically throw everything that you had been before, expect your ninja talents. While you could gain a new and possible better family, there was always that fear if your spouse would die. If your spouse would die, you would automatically become an outcast. Just fodder to be used in next fight against some other clan, unless you would marry someone else or become a concubine. The option to go back to your old home wasn’t anymore an option, since you had quite literally been kicked out from there. Of course, some bigger clans treated this possibility much ‘nicer’, but the fact was, your position would still be bad compared to anyone who had born in the clan.

Now this Hashirama was offering something else. A village where you wouldn’t be an outcast, should such a thing occur. Hashirama painted all pretty pictures how they all would be one ‘big happy family’. Of course, Mito knew such thing would take time. But the possibility was tempting and since Mito didn’t want to forget her roots even if she would marry someone, she agreed upon this. She even went so far as convince Uzumaki clan to make their own village, Uzushiogakure, as the Uzumaki clan wasn’t yet ready to be part of some other village. In that way, Mito could keep one leg in her home and one in her new one. It also served as a way to ensure she wouldn’t be treated poorly in her new home, since at times when one would be married to some other clan, the new clan could treat the new spouse extremely badly. Of course, she didn’t have to worry about that (given the fact Hashirama was Hokage).

As time went on, Mito started to see better Hashirama’s views. She liked quite many of those as if those all would become true, there wouldn’t be anymore war, everybody would be treated equally and the children would be taken care of by everybody, even if their parents would die. Of course, she disagreed upon some things her husband suggested, such as sharing Tailed-Beasts between each newly formed village, but to make things work she understood everybody should have equal power at the palm of their hand. She also disagreed when some clans that joined Konoha would get some privileges such as Hyuugas, but since they were newly formed village that was striving for something new, even she understood some sort of bait was needed to get them join them. Things like these made disagreements between her and Hashirama as at times she felt like Hashirama didn’t care or see wrongness that he tried so much to weed out. Times like those, she felt like the village mattered more to her husband than anything else… in those darker times, she would deliver some cold facts to her husband that would make him despair over some of his choices. In those times, Mito would see the man behind the God of Shinobi whom she would comfort as she knew for things to work, they had to stand united together or watch the world burn.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

Hashirama believes his actions toward Madara did drive Mito to seal Nine Tails inside of her which basically did change her in more ways than anyone could had at first believed. While that was true, what Hashirama had hard time to grasp was the fact Mito did it willingly. Hashirama felt incredible guilt about that, because that event made Mito more prone to display her negative emotions. While that might sound like a good thing, because before that Mito tended to hide her negative emotions, it wasn’t at all fun and games when Nine Tails’ negative chakra was leaking out of Mito and she was trashing Hashirama around their house like a ragdoll. In those moments when Mito was very upset or angry, she reminded more a wild animal more than a person.

At first it was very hard, since Hashirama quickly learned Mito had tons of pent-up anger in her. His paperwork being late? Angry kyuubi-Mito. Him forgetting the dishes? Angry kyuubi-Mito. For a while it felt like there were two people inside of Mito, which was true. It took lots of patience, motivational talking and reassurance from Hashirama to make Mito understand not to hide her ire, no matter how small it would be. Eventually Hashirama managed to make Mito embrace her more ‘negative’ self that actually improved their relationship greatly. It also helped Hashirama to understand Mito better.

While Hashirama was already a stunning leader even before Konoha was founded, he was extremely poor what came to social skills. He could give motivational speeches to anyone, but if he had to make deals, small talk, simply listen or anything that would need any kind of ‘fine’ talk, he would more than often ask Tobirama’s help. Yet that behavior wouldn’t anymore cut when he become Hokage. He couldn’t anymore push Tobirama to deal with the stuffy, boring affairs and go train with their students. Which is where Mito stepped in. She put Hashirama through a mini hell to drive into his thick skull at least the bare minimum of social skills. It opened a whole new world to Hashirama. While before his overbearing personality had made some people feel uneasy and even that, he didn’t realize they might actually have brilliant ideas, he would now calm down and listen them. His relationship even with Tobirama did improve, because now he would listen his little brother giving him a speech of his latest invention, that actually made Hashirama understand Tobirama and him weren’t that different. They both were passionate people, yet because he barely before did stop to listen his brother’s ‘odd ideas’ he never knew.

While Mito’s social skills course did bring lot of good things out of Hashirama, it also brought his darker side. Hashirama could now use his ‘happy-go-lucky’ character at times as a façade to gather information and later on use it against Konoha’s enemies as most of his opponents only saw a fool front of them. But Mito teaching how to wear a mask in important meeting? Hashirama was eternally grateful to his wife about that.

 24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

When Mito married Hashirama she vowed to herself she would protect Hashirama, no matter what. But to do so, she had to do it while remaining hidden. She would protect Hashirama from the shadows, even going so far as kill someone if they threatened her husband. She would even create secret service, ANBU, just to protect her husband. They were an organization that worked in the shadows, that no-one knew, especially Hashirama. Expect, Hashirama did knew. He knew exactly what his wife was up to, yet he never addressed it as he waited Mito tell him about it. When years went by and Mito still didn’t tell him, Hashirama started to feel uneasy. He would drop intentionally questions or make scenarios that could make a perfect opportunity for Mito to tell about her role in ANBU and the organization itself. But she never did. It started to eat Hashirama in and out. While he knew Mito had her best intentions toward him, it still made Hashirama feel like unworthy of the truth. Didn’t Mito trust him? Did she think he was still that fool that she had met those years ago? Hashirama wanted to trust Mito, but he didn’t want to confront her. It wouldn’t had been same as if she would tell herself the truth.

To numb the pain Hashirama turned into drinking and gambling. With a good buzz he could make his doubts away as it would leave his core thoughts: that which were love. Gambling also brought a thrill to him that he hadn’t felt ever since he had become a Hokage. Maybe Mito wanted simply feel thrill? The adrenaline that would pump to his veins when he would bet everything to win or lose was just exhilarating. Though each time when he would lose and face upset Mito, he would feel a sting of guilt just to remember his wife’s secret. So, another night with gambling it was! Hashirama’s actions were slowly spiraling out of control and he only came into a rude awakening of reality when he faced tear-streaked Mito. She told him they were about to lose their house and everything, if he wouldn’t just stop. It was that moment the two realized they had to change, or they would lose them. Mito was stressed over the fact she tried to keep Hashirama safe, but it was harder than she had first believed, while Hashirama had tried to escape his problems with drinking and gambling. This event was one of those turning points with them as they slowly started to unravel those all. Eventually Mito told Hashirama the truth which lead into his own confession, making both of them to forgive each other and slowly strengthen once again their strained relationship. But even though they had managed to tackle this particular obstacle on their married path, there was still one big obstacle that had been slowly marinating.

While Mito understood in some level Hashirama’s deep friendship with Madara, at times it was extremely hard. In most situations like these, one would pick in a heartbeat their partner. But in Hashirama’s case, it wasn’t ever that simple. While Mito trusted Hashirama, it still made her at times doubt herself and her position as his wife. When she tried to talk about her doubts, most people would dismiss her and tell her how lucky she was. She was married to “God of Shinobi”, so why she was complaining? Wasn’t it beautiful her husband was friends with his childhood friend who had been Senjus mortal enemy? It made Mito hide her doubts and concerns as she all but turned eventually a blind eye her feelings. The worst part was that, Madara was actually nice toward her. But it all came crashing down when she sealed Kyuubi and she realized hiding her negative feelings wasn’t anymore that easy. Her all doubts came flying out of the box that had been hidden deep within her heart. She knew she had to learn to forgive her foolish husband his past ignorance and be more straightforward with Hashirama as Hashirama could be at times very dense. She eventually did forgive Hashirama when he showed her, she was extremely important to him and being friends with Madara didn’t take out or lessen his love toward her.

[ramonadecember]

22 and/or 38 for the angst prompts

Angst Prompts or OTP Prompts

alright alright alright, I got the other message. I see you, I see you wanting cullistair. be kind, I haven’t written for them yet. this uh...... got a LOT longer than intended, and I was writing most of it in my phone notes, which is why this took forever. xD anyway... alistair and cullen as templar recruits together? you bet. (sorry there’s a lot of cute despite the angsty prompts)

22. “Which part of me wasn’t enough?” + 38. “Did you expect this to turn out better?”

--

It shouldn’t have been such a blow when it happened. Alistair even told him it’s what he wanted to do—what he was going to do—and Cullen had still fooled himself into thinking he had changed Alastair’s mind, that it was even possible to do so. Cullen’s belief likely had to do with the... moment that Alistair and him had shared only a few days earlier.

The two of them had come up as recruits together with the Templar’s, even if Alistair had a little bit of a jump start on him. In fact, that’s even what helped to bond them in the first place, with Cullen gravitating toward the kind boy about his age who seemed to know the ropes and who didn’t roll his eyes when a sword form was forgotten or mock when a stutter punctuated a canticle. 

That bond only grew over the next handful of years, and in a way neither necessarily anticipated. It turned out that while an ear to listen was nice, a fumble of mouths and hands when a moment alone could be spared was capable of offering just as much comfort. 

Cullen took things a step further once Alistair had declared his intentions of joining the Wardens. Alistair has been so excited, so hopeful as he recounted the opportunity to Cullen that he was near breathless with it. Cullen tried to be happy for him and he sat on the dread—the heartbreak, he’d later realize—over him leaving for days before he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Once the opportunity presented itself, Cullen pulled Alistair aside and absolutely poured his feelings out. He’d never been one for eloquent speeches, but it got the point across, and that was, “I love you.” It was something that had been there between them for ages, an obvious thing really, but had been left unspoken until that moment. 

Alistair’s eyes went wide to hear it, and without so much as another look around, he crowded Cullen in, he kissed him long and slow, and when he pulled back it was only enough so he could spill his own confessions, telling Cullen he loved him too, that he loved every part of him.

Cullen rode that high through the next few days, and then came the realization like a punch to the gut. Alistair was still leaving. Somehow, Cullen had tricked himself into thinking his love would have been enough to stop the plan, and when he confronted Alistair about it, Alistair gave him the most distressed, heartbroken—pitying, Cullen had thought at the time—look.

And so Alistair went.

Cullen didn’t see him again for over a decade, even though news of Alistair always made it back to him. There was even the time in Kirkwall that Cullen heard there was a Grey Warden presence in the city, and very little investigation got him the specific names, but Cullen had made sure he was busy doing anything that would put him anywhere else other than where he might run into Alistair until he’d heard the Wardens had departed once more.

He was not at all prepared when Alistair rode into Skyhold alongside the Inquisitor and Hawke all those years later. It was harder for Cullen to be avoidant then, and his efforts to were noted by the other advisors with varying levels of curiosity, but still he tried. Alistair showed up at Cullen’s office all of his own accord anyway. 

Cullen didn’t even look up from his desk when someone entered until there was a quiet throat clear, and then He did a double take when his eyes raised to the smiling face of Alistair. Cullen’s heart leapt to his throat as he startled, fumbling with his reports and sending a few scattering. Alistair’s soft laughter did nothing to help Cullen’s coordination or the crimson painting his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess of things,” Alistair said, his tone light enough, his hold on the report he was handing back to Cullen lingering, keeping that small bit of connection.

Cullen told himself he’d gotten past it long ago, that if Alistair and him ever had a chance encounter he wouldn’t be like this, but still, “You have that habit though, don’t you?” came tumbling out of his mouth. The tight smile on his face held no warmth as he continued with, “Did you expect this to turn out better?”

Alistair released his hold on the report like it had burned him, like Cullen’s words had. It was the first time his own smile faltered. “That’s not fair.”

Cullen knew that, but rather than apologize, he waved it off, saying, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, perhaps we could do this another time.” And when Alistair only stood there and stared at him after the dismissal, “If you’ll excuse me, Warden.”

Alistair acquiesced for the time being, but he kept gravitating back to Cullen. Cullen would lying if he said it wasn’t difficult to maintain the frosty attitude, it was all too easy to fall back into that comfort that inherently came from being around Alistair.

It was slow going, but they did talk, even if there was one topic that went unspoken on, hanging heavy between them but remaining off limits. Coordinating on efforts regarding red lyrium and disappearing Wardens and anything else Alistair might have insight on helped to break the ice, but then Alistair would linger around after war room meetings or in Cullen’s office and conversations would turn to catching up on the years they’d spent apart, and then inevitably, with the bottle passed between them late one evening helping to loosen lips, the reminiscing began. 

Cullen swore he was still trying to work, but more often than not, his eyes followed Alistair as he picked about the office, toeing remaining rubble off to the side or scrutinizing the titles on the bookshelf, all the while recounting stories about their training days. His distraction only grew when Alistair perched himself on the edge of the desk next to the missive he was trying and failing to write, and he had to finally set his quill down to glare halfheartedly up at Alistair when he teased, “Your penmanship still leaves something to be desired. Is that why you never wrote back? Letter writing was never an area you excelled in.” 

It was supposed to be a joke, but Cullen’s face fell and he busied himself shuffling the papers on his desk. By this point, near everyone had given him an earful about how he needed to be better at return correspondence, as everyone from his own family members to Alistair had fallen victim to that shortcoming of his. Cullen tried not to think about the letters from the latter, letters which, for the longest time, the hurt in his stubborn heart hadn’t let him read when they’d arrived. 

When he did break down and read the letters, as few of them as they were and as far apart as they came, it was just as much of a mistake as Cullen thought it would be. The actual content of the letters was inconsequential, but Cullen could remember exactly which letter it was when Alistair stopped signing them with a simple ‘Yours.’

“Yes, well, some things never change,” Cullen said to keep himself from spiraling back into agonizing over just what that meant, as he had all that time ago.

“They really don’t…” For example, how Alistair felt about Cullen. He reached out slowly, taking Cullen’s chin in his hand to turn his face back up towards his, and when there was no protest, only Cullen blinking wide, golden eyes up at him, lips gently parting in surprise, Alistair leaned down and pressed his own to them. 

Cullen melted into the kiss but the moment Alistair tried to deepen it, he tore away with a hurried, “Wait—”

And so Alistair did. After all, he’d already waited this long.

“You left,” Cullen said. He shook his head when Alistair opened his mouth to speak. “Please, just let me get it out.” He didn’t know if his face was burning more from the kiss, or from forcing himself to finally talk about this. 

When Alistair nodded but stayed silent, Cullen went on. “You left. You told me you loved me, and then you left the Order, you left me.” It was definitely the talking now, what was deepening the flush. “And I spent… more time than I care to admit agonizing over that, telling myself it couldn’t have been true, always asking myself ‘what part of me wasn’t enough?’”

“Cullen…”

“I know. I know.” That wasn’t the case at all, and even though Cullen was slow to accept it, he had. What mattered more now was how much time had been wasted because of that thinking, how once Cullen realized how badly he’d screwed up, he didn’t know where to begin with fixing it—as if Alistair wouldn’t have faced down three more archdemons if it meant getting word to Cullen that all was forgiven, that none of that mattered.

“What I’m getting at,” Cullen began again, “is that when you leave next—” because it wasn’t a matter of if he would leave, he had to “—I don’t want it to be like that again. I want to be yours again.” 

“Maker, but I love you, Cullen.” Alistair took Cullen’s face in his hands. “Every part of you,” he confirmed, as he had so long ago. “Even the part that deluded you into thinking you ever wouldn’t be.” You could put a ten plus years and a continent between them, and still his whole heart would belong to Cullen, and Alistair almost considered telling him as much just to see if he could get the pink to spread all the way to the tips of Cullen’s ears, but he decided to spare him—for now.

This time when they kissed, Cullen didn’t push him away.

[moveslikebuckywrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub (Good Omens), Dagon (Good Omens), Hastur (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Uriel (Good Omens), Disposable Demon (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Fluff, Bodyswap, Episode: s01e06 The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Aziraphale loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens) ---

Back at it again with the Gift Fics!  this one for @apple-duty​ whom I love so very much, I hope you like it <3

The song prompt Apple gave me was I’ll Be Your Mirror by The Velvet Underground, so of course I wrote a body swap fic xD

You can read it on AO3 or the full fic is under the cut (but you’ll miss the very lovely poster; that's only on AO3)

---

The first thing Aziraphale is aware of is the stench.  Like rotting eggs mixed with bile mixed with month old trash with just a hint of lilac.  As if someone decided to pin all of their hopes and dreams on a multipack of Poundland air fresheners.

Also it’s wet.  The air feels damp; his clothes feel damp.  He can hear dripping coming from somewhere.  That constant trickle of a faucet drip, but one that never quite keeps to a pattern.  The kind where you expect the drip, but then it’s just a millisecond off course and grates on your nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

It’s a veritable assault on his senses.  After all, Aziraphale has standards.  He also has a throbbing pain in his head that he doesn’t quite remember where it came from.  He keeps his eyes screwed shut, trying to will the pain out of his head.

Think back, try to remember.  He’d been in the park with Crowley.  He’d had ice cream.  He liked ice cream.  No, focus back.  Angels; a kidnapping.  The Sound of Music?  Still sick of that one.  Then a crowbar.  Tickety-boo.  But it’s all backwards because…

Aziraphale finally opens his eyes.  Everything is dark, impossibly dark.  Sunglasses, of course.  Oh dear, that’s right, they’ve swapped faces.  He’s in Hell wearing Crowley’s face; laid out on a concrete slab in what appears to be a prison cell.

He sits up and takes stock of his surroundings: four concrete walls with no visible door, the concrete slab, and a poster on the wall.  The poster has a kitten hanging from a tree branch, it says “Hang in There!” at the top.  Underneath, in a scrawl, it says “The Worst Is Yet to Come” with a crude approximation of a smiley face1.  It’s unsettling at best, completely idiotic at worst.

He lies back down on the slab.  It’s uncomfortable, but far from the worst place he’s ever rested.  There’s nothing for it now, all he can do is wait.  Whatever denizens of Hell have been charged with capturing him will come back for him soon enough.

After all, “the worst is yet to come”.

He has to focus, he has to become Crowley.  This won’t be difficult, he’s known Crowley so long.  Aziraphale has memorized nearly everything there is to know about the demon - for thwarting purposes, obviously.

He knows the kinds of quips Crowley would make in the face of adversity.  How he carries himself around perceived authority.  How he walks like he’s not sure what exactly ‘hip bones’ are supposed to be.  

But he also knows Crowley’s kind heart and his clever mind.  He knows Crowley’s loyalty.  And it is loyalty, isn’t it?  He never went to Alpha-Centauri.  He never would have, not without Aziraphale along for the ride.

He knows how the lines around Crowley’s eyes crinkle differently when a smile is genuine.  How he stammers when he’s overwhelmed or embarrassed.  How when he’s had just a bit too much red he starts to hiss at the end of his words.  How he can captivate a room, hold it in the palm of his hand like an apple on offering.  How when he laughs, he laughs deep and full and melodic.

He knows so much about Crowley; the being in the world he holds most dear in this life.

He’ll have to channel all of that to keep Crowley safe, and he knows that right now Crowley is doing the same for him in Heaven.  They’ll survive this, they have to.  Aziraphale can reflect everything Crowley is right at them and win Crowley his freedom.

Aziraphale closes his eyes and a razor sharp memory comes back to him unbidden.  A church in 1941, the burning remains of a house of God that signalled the beginning of Aziraphale’s own awareness.  He’d been falling for a long time, but not from Grace.

He’d seen it, in Crowley’s flat the night before.  The eagle lectern from the church.  Sentimental old serpent.

When this is over, if they survive, there’s no need to hide any longer.  Their sides are perfectly aware of their “fraternizing”.  

If they get out of this, Aziraphale resolves to tell Crowley what he’s known for so long, in the deepest recesses of his angel’s heart.  He loves Crowley, with every fiber of his being that shouldn’t.  And when this is over, he’s going to tell him just that.

---

Ozone.  Overwhelming, nostril burning, ozone.  Like an overactive air conditioner.  And pine, but that particular artificial pine.  Cleaning solution.  Hovering over the surface like someone dumped an undiluted jug of it on the floor and just walked away.

And the light, it’s so harsh.  Hell is supposed to be harsh, but this is on another level.  He can’t see anything else for how bright the light is, these eyes that are not his are taking their sweet time adjusting.  He strains his wrists against the rope restraining him.  It’s rough and itchy, obviously imbued with some kind of celestial energy since he can’t will it away.

The room feels cold, like an unbearable chill.  But he can still feel himself sweating.  Like the worst waiting room in the known universe.  No temperature regulation to be had.  It’s ironic, he thinks, if this is supposed to be where you want to end up.  The chair that creaks every time he moves is not helping.  It’s so uncomfortable he wants to scream.  

He can’t, of course.  He’s bound and gagged.  By angels, of all things.  Figured his lot would go in for that before Heaven did.  Hell has several agents with those kinds of things as their purview (for pain and for pleasure, and for that weird place they intersect.)

Ah well, focus on something else.

The windows are a nice touch - floor to ceiling polished glass.  He can see all the wonders of the world from here, and even Crowley has to admit the view from the top is nice.  But it’s so empty.  A vast hall with no life in it whatsoever.  Where are they keeping all those alleged pure souls?  Not here, obviously.

It’s lonely, he realizes, with a twinge of affection for a certain ineffable being.  One that he’s currently wearing the face of.

No wonder the angel surrounds himself with books and food and the finer things.  There’s nothing here.  Nothing but overly bright and overly clean.

Aziraphale belongs in a dusty bookshop.  He belongs on Earth with the humdrum monotony of human life and the ever-changing majesty of human invention.  Not in this place.

This place that belittles him, makes fun of his hobbies, of his corporation, of his soft heart, of his do-gooder nature.  Everything that makes Aziraphale, well, Aziraphale.

This place never deserved him.  Never deserved an angel that cared about every being he came across, even so much as to cover a lowly demon with his wing in the rain; or who cares so much about humanity he’ll swan dive away and straight back down to Earth for an infinitesimal chance to save them all.

They’ve never deserved the one angel who truly is a being of pure love.  They were never his angel’s home.  Home doesn’t treat you like that; home is supposed to be a place of love.

He shakes his head.  Gotta play the part, he thinks.  He knows Aziraphale better than he knows himself.  Aziraphale has a few nervous tics, but underneath is a soldier.  A guardian charged with protecting the first of humanity.  A protector who has watched over the Earth and its inhabitants for longer than anyone or anything else (save for two).  

A being of so much immeasurable ethereal power that a mortal being could never comprehend his true form.  A being of so much love that it overwhelms even a demon who shouldn’t be able to sense that anymore.  A being who cares about things like crepes and Shakespeare and nonsense first editions of books no one even remembers anymore.

A being who cares about him.  Who cares about Crowley.  And is right now in Hell wearing his face and being strong for him.  

Crowley can do the same.  He can be a mirror image of Aziraphale, in every way.  He has to.

And when he gets out of here, the first thing he’s gonna do is finally, finally kiss his angel senseless.  Let him know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he is wanted, that he is loved, and that he is home.  Crowley will be there - for as long as Aziraphale would have him - to show him how wonderful he is, how beautiful he is, and how absolutely loved he is.

Even love from something wretched is better than the falsehood of this place.  Crowley had learned that the hard way in the early days.

But when this is over, he’ll be there to hold Aziraphale together, to be the light on the door that leads him home.

---

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub sneered, “I sentence you to extinction via holy water.  Have you anything to say?”

This trial had been a farce at best.  Just evidence and an execution sentence.  But they had been prepared for this.  

“Well, yes,” ‘Crowley’ says after a bit of contemplation.  “This is a new jacket and I’d hate to ruin it.  Would you mind if I took it off?”

Beelzebub rolls their eyes and Dagon groans.  He hears Hastur mutter something about “flash bastards” under his breath.  Aziraphale turns and takes off the jacket, folding it neatly over a metal chair in the corner.

He spares a couple of passing glances to the tub full of holy water next to him, saying a silent prayer to no one that this works.  He can feel the residual energy radiating off of the water and he suppresses a shudder as he strips down to just Crowley’s socks and underwear.

He’s wearing his demon’s face and facing down the very thing he’s feared for so long would be Crowley’s undoing.  How long has he been terrified of this?  Ever since that horrid argument in 1862 he’s feared for the demon where holy water is concerned.  

The lengths Crowley had gone to to get it has scared him, but it had been worth it in the end.  Aziraphale can’t imagine a life without Crowley in it, and hopefully after this he won’t have to.

He moves to the tub, stands staring into the water.  It feels a bit like things coming full circle, at this point.  “Any time now, traitor,” Hastur calls to him, “We don’t have all day.”

He turns around, takes a deep breath, and falls in backwards with a dramatic splash.  Aziraphale is gripped by a momentary panic as he hears the tell tale pops and sizzles of holy water-induced destruction.  It soon becomes apparent that this is just the residual demonic energy on the floors and walls, sizzling away into the ether when it mingles with the splashed water.

Oh, that means this is going to be fun.  He can’t resist, tossing a bit of water towards the window of the demons staring at him.  Watching them scream and recoil.  He smirks in a way that he hopes fits on Crowley’s face.

“I don’t suppose that anywhere in the nine circles of Hell there’s such a thing as a rubber duck?”  Aziraphale asks to the room in general, finally turning to his supposed ‘jury of peers’.  He has to suppress a laugh.  Dagon is cowering behind Beelzebub, who looks like they just witnessed Gabriel trying to dance the salsa.  

“No?” he asks with an obvious lilt to his voice. When they don’t answer he goes back to his humming and splashing, being as ‘flash’ as he can possibly be.  

“He’s gone native,” Beelzebub croaks out while Dagon cowers behind them, “He isn’t one of us anymore.”

“So you’re probably thinking,” Aziraphale says with a flourish, draping himself over the edge of the tub as though he doesn’t know what bones are, “‘If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?’”

He watches their faces, sees the fear underneath.  Angels can sense love, that’s true.  But they can sense other things, too.  Fear, in particular.  They’re meant to assuage fears, to calm and reassure.  But Aziraphale has been playing both sides for long enough in the Arrangement that he knows how to nurture that fear as well.

He stares Beelzebub right in their beady eyes, “And very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.”

“He’s bluffing, we can take him,” Hastur says, a bit too quickly to be casual, “One demon against the rest of Hell?  What’s he going to do?”  Aziraphale pays him no mind, Dukes of Hell are beneath Principalities anyway.  And none of the demons in Hell are fit to even look at Crowley’s face, as far as he’s concerned.

“Shut it!  Get him out of here, this’ll cause a riot,” Beelzebub shouts while rushing to block the window to the peanut gallery; Aziraphale honest-to-someone giggles.  Beelzebub keeps shouting, “What are you all looking at?  Nothing to see!  Nothing to see here!”

There are footsteps and a flickering of fluorescent lighting, and Aziraphale turns to see Michael, prim and proper as always, strolling down the hallway without a care.

“I came to bring back the - oh, Lord.”

Aziraphale almost wishes he had a camera phone, just so he could preserve the shocked look on the archangel’s face.  For days when he needs a good laugh

“Michael! Dude. Do us a quick miracle, will you?” He says, hand outstretched, not wanting to waste an opportunity and feeling emboldened by wearing Crowley’s face, “I need a bath towel.”

Michael hands him one in an instant, still looking shocked as anything.  The confidence that comes from being Crowley is exhilarating.  The more he gets away with, the bolder he is.  Aziraphale decides right then and there, he’s going to make sure they never, ever threaten Crowley again.  

“I think it would be better for everyone,” he puts on his best angelic fury voice, preying further on that seeping feeling of fear, “if I were to be left alone in the future.  Don’t you?”

He stares each of them down in turn, holding eye contact and glaring into their very souls.  He waits for each to nod in turn before deciding he’s satisfied.

“Right,” he says with a smirk and a wiggle (he is still him after all, even wearing Crowley’s face), before getting out of the tub and doing his best saunter towards the exit.

He heads for the elevator, stands still as a statue as he waits for it. He’s in such a hurry to leave he nearly runs into one of the Erics on his way in.  As soon as the doors close, he sinks against the elevator wall and sobs.   Aziraphale cries as he feels the worry wash away from him, the worry that’s plagued him for centuries now.  Crowley is finally free, and Aziraphale couldn’t be more relieved.

---

“Can I hit him?  I’ve always wanted to hit an angel.”

Of course Eric would want to take advantage of an opportunity.  Idiot that he is,

Sandalphon grins, gold tooth glinting in the harsh lighting.  “Go for it,” he says with contempt.  Aziraphale had told Crowley about earlier the day before, when the Archangels had cornered him in an alleyway.  Now it seemed they didn’t want to get their hands dirtier than necessary.

Eric stands in front of him, reeling his fist back like he’s gonna be able to do anything.  Lowly disposable demons, always wanna be above their station.  Crowley can’t break character, but he isn’t gonna let this asshole get a punch in.  

He stares coldly into Eric’s face, pouring every but of contempt he can without breaking the facade.  He can’t let them see him crack.  He can’t let them see Aziraphale crack.

He screws his angel’s face into what he knows Aziraphale to be.  Brave and steadfast, even in the face of adversity.  Never truly backing down when he’s up against the wall.  And he lets out one, teeny, tiny little smirk.  Just enough that only Eric would be able to see it.

“I...should be getting back,” Eric stammers, fear radiating in waves,”I’ll come and pick up the Hellfire in, what, an hour?”

“Barbecue will be over by then,” Uriel says with all of the enthusiasm of a uni student with a 5 AM math class.

Uriel makes her way over to him and unties the ropes on his wrists in one movement, “Up.”

And he does jump up, because that’s what Aziraphale would do.  He adjusts his clothing - waistcoat, bowtie, cuffs - same way Aziraphale has always done.  The nervous tic that’s been his calling card for millennia.

“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to reconsider?” Crowley knows the angel would make one last attempt, one last gesture to give them the opportunity to do the right thing.  “We’re meant to be the good guys, for Heaven’s sake.”

“Well for Heaven’s sake,” Gabriel says with his corporate smile, “we make an example out of traitors.  So...into the flame.”

Crowley stares at the pillar of hellfire for a beat, more than a little concerned with if their plan will work or not.  He thinks of his angel, burning in hellfire, burning out of existence.

He thinks of a bookshop.  Of a Queen record melting to a gramophone.  Of linen pages and leather binding going up in smoke.  Of himself, on the floor, soaked to the bone, screaming to no one and nothing.  Of an angel shaped hole in his life.

Crowley thinks of how relieved he was, sitting there drunk on Taliskers, when Aziraphale had materialized in front of him.  Not himself again, not yet, but safe.  Where are you, wherever it is, I’ll come find you.  He’d meant it, and Crowley had found his angel again at the end of the world.

He’d screamed through fire, he’d drove through fire, and now he’d walk through fire.  All for his angel.

“Right, well, lovely knowing you all,” Crowley says, knowing Aziraphale would be kind, even to the last.  “May we meet again on a better occasion.”

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already,” the smile that Gabriel gives him now makes him want to vomit; it’s so callous and fake.  He stares Gabriel right in the eyes as he steps forward.  The heat from the pillar is warm and comforting; he’s a demon, after all, he was born anew in Hellfire after the fall.

Crowley takes a deep breath and walks in, letting his body adjust to the heat.  It’s comforting, in a twisted sort of way.  Like a nice screaming hot bath at the end of a particularly difficult day.

Crowley sighs and rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck a couple times for good measure.  Hellfire is surprisingly good for the joints, when it doesn’t kill you instantly.  Gabriel and the other archangels are staring at him, stupid gaping looks on their faces.

What’s a field trip to heaven without a little bit of fun at the expense of some right bastards?

He breathes Hellfire right in their faces, laughing as they scamper back liked spooked rats.  He thinks to himself that it’s a shame that the Hellfire didn’t hit any of them.

Sandalphon looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin.  Uriel is shivering.  Gabriel is wearing his fake corporate smile again, trying to find a way to salvage the situation.

“It may be worse than we thought,” he stammers out, Sandalphon hiding behind him like a scared little kid.

“What...is he?” Uriel asks, the only one with a level head in this situation.

“You see,” Crowley says in a multi-layered version of Aziraphale’s voice, “I don’t think you want to know what I am. Because the less you know, the less danger you’ll be in.”

Crowley weaves his hand in front of him, almost like an orchestral conductor, swirling the Hellfire between his fingers.  Shaping it into little spheres and then banishing them back to the rest of it, acting for all the world like he doesn’t care.

“Gabriel, we need to go to damage control,” Uriel says, tugging on Gabriel’s sleeve, “If word gets out about this.”

“You’re right, yes, of course,” Gabriel stammers, rubbing his temples with one hand, “It’ll start riots, I know.  Fine, Aziraphale, just...get out of the fire.”

“Oh are you sure?  I’m just working on my tan a bit, it’s ever so dreary in my bookshop, I don’t get much sun you know.”

“Just leave, Aziraphale!” Gabriel shouts, face red and perfectly done hair falling out of place.  That alone was worth the trip, to break the composure of the Archangel Fucking Gabriel (what a prick).

“Ah, right then, I’ll just…” he steps gingerly out of the fire, adjusts his clothing again (waistcoat, bowtie, cuffs - every single time), and worries his hands together as he heads for the exit.

He gets in the elevator that will take him back to the lobby, where he’ll hurry to the prearranged rendezvous point as fast as he can.  As soon as the door closes, he collapses against the wall and laughs.  Big, full, gargantuan laughs.  Soon enough his sides is hurting and he hadn’t even known their corporations were capable of that.  

Aziraphale is free now, and Crowley has never been happier.

---

Aziraphale fidgets anxiously on the park bench.  Crowley should’ve been back by now, he’s sure of it.  He’d been half expecting to meet him in the elevator or the lobby, if he’s honest.  Then again, Heaven does like to drag things out.

It’s all he can do to keep from jumping from the bench when he sees his own usual corporeal form heading towards him.  They did it, they survived.  They averted the apocalypse and tricked both Heaven and Hell.  And now they can spend the rest of their days on their own side; together.

A place that Aziraphale has wanted to be for a very long time.  He settles himself as Crowley sits next to him on the bench.

“So,” Crowley says in the angel’s voice, but sounding so very much like himself anyway, “D’you think they’ll leave us alone now?”

“At a guess, they’ll pretend it never happened.”  Aziraphale is practically vibrating off the park bench.  He’d made his promise to himself, he’s going to tell him.  Just, not while he’s wearing his dear demon’s face.  “Anyone looking?”

Crowley presses fingers to his temples and scans the area, Aziraphale fidgets with a ring that doesn’t exist and shoots a look skyward despite knowing he doesn’t need to any longer.

“No,” Crowley says, sounding a little distracted in his own right, as he extends a hand, “swap back then?”

They link hands and Aziraphale feels the atoms on the outer edges of his corporeal form rearrange themselves back to his usual soft and stuffy self.  He shakes out the kinks just a little while Crowley cracks his neck next to him.

Aziraphale looks over at him, noting that he seems stiffer than usual.  Must be the swap.  Even if it was just outward appearances, it’s still rather taxing.  Crowley catches him staring and reaches up to change the collar on his jacket back to red.

“A tartan collar, really?”

“Tartan is stylish!”

Crowley just rolls his eyes at him, and Aziraphale decides it’s now or never.

“Crowley, I have something I really must tell you,” he’s glad to have his own visage back, if only so the ring exists again for him to fidget with.  This should be easy, but what if he’s wrong?

“Whatsit then, angel?” Crowley says, raising an eyebrow, and oh suddenly it is so very, very easy.

“I’m sure you must already know, I don’t see how you wouldn’t, I’ve never been good at hiding it, but Crowley,” Aziraphale can feel the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.  He’s heard of happy crying before, but never experienced it himself, but this feeling of release so close to saying those three simple words must be what that’s like.  “Crowley, I lo-”

He doesn’t get to finish.

---

Crowley is, at best of times, a bundle of anxiety and nerves.  Today was no exception.

He hadn’t been sure when the time would be to make his move, but then Aziraphale had looked at him like that and every bit of resolve he might’ve had holding him back faded away.  

Aziraphale had been saying something, Crowley hadn’t really been paying attention, but suddenly it didn’t matter.  All that mattered were those lips and his lips and the tears in the corners of his angel’s eyes and making them go away.

His hands were on Aziraphale’s face before he could tell them not to be, and their lips were crashing together soon after.

So now here they sit - on a park bench, lips locked together.  Aziraphale is frozen stiff as a statue and suddenly Crowley has a very sharp and very real fear that he’s gone to fast again.

He breaks off and hides his face in his hands, sunglasses pushed up into his hairline, “Christ, fuck, ‘m sorry angel, shouldn’t have done that.”

“Crowley, my dear-”

“Won’t happen again, promise you that,” he just can’t stop stammering.  “I mean, now you know, so if you want time or something or for me to fuck off just say the word.”

“Crowley,” Azirpahale says louder this time, gingerly touching Crowley’s wrists, “dear would you please put down your hands.”

Aziraphale wraps his fingers around Crowley’s wrists, tugging his hands away from his face.  Everything is a bit blurry and Crowley realizes he’s crying.

He blinks the tears away and sees Aziraphale, smiling that bright and wonderful smile that Crowley doesn’t always get to see.  

“There you are,” Aziraphale says, running a thumb along Crowley’s cheek to wipe away a tear that dared to escape it’s confines.

“Stop it,” Crowley says, trying to look away but finding himself unable, “don’t give me that look.”

“What look would that be?”

“You’re looking at me like you...you…”

“Love you?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley could swear the angel’s eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, that,” Crowley says softly as Aziraphale continues stroking his cheek, “you can’t love me.  I’m a demon, twisted and unkind that’s me.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says cupping the demon’s cheek, “you couldn’t be more wrong about that if you tried.”

And then, miracle of miracles, Aziraphale leans in and kisses him.  Aziraphale is actually kissing him.  And he’s kissing Aziraphale back.  And Aziraphale is kissing him back again and what a revelation that is.

There’s no telling how long they sit there, it’s not like either of them have to breathe.  When they finally break apart, Aziraphale’s voice is barely a breath against his lips.

“I love you, Crowley, I’ve loved you for so very, very long.”  Aziraphale tilts his forehead against Crowley’s and for some reason the intimacy of that is more overwhelming than the kiss they just shared.  “Wily old serpent, light to my darkness, my darling, my dearest.”.  

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says reverently and wistfully, drunk on love and belonging, “Aziraphale, you never belonged there, you’re so much better than them.  I’ll spend the rest of my days proving that to you, if you’ll let me.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, kissing him again, “I’d like nothing better.”

“Love you, angel,” Crowley says, peppering kisses all over Aziraphale’s face, getting to hear that laugh that sounds like daybreak, “let me tempt you to lunch.”

Aziraphale laughs, full of hope and full of love, the way Crowley thinks he should always be able to laugh.  “I do believe, my darling,” he says as he kisses Crowley on the nose, and it should not be as adorable or endearing as it is, “a table for two at the Ritz has just miraculously opened up.”

As they stroll through the park, hand in hand for all the world and Heaven and Hell to see, Aziraphale feels like he’s home for the first time.  Here, with Crowley, finally allowing himself to bask in the glow of a love unconditional and patient.  And finally Crowley can feel the love that’s been his all along; the unyielding adoration of his angel.  Faintly in the distance, they can hear a nightingale singing in Berkley Square.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Since you asked, I'm all too happy to oblige and send you a few more since these have been amazing! (Feel free to ignore it if I managed to pick a number you've done already xd) But 3, 25, and 26 :)

I feel like this took forever to write (even though it obviously didn’t) but anyway, enjoy all the words since I went way overboard with these.

3 – final

All the times they had met on the battlefield had had her terrified that it would be the last one, the final time she saw his face. Even their last kiss or last embrace hadn’t left her so paralyzed with fear. Maybe because she’d known what they’d been, for she’d planned her escape. But the uncertainty of every battle left her shaken with the question when one of them would die, putting an end to the messy affair between them. And that was the last thing she’d wanted. For she’d never wanted to leave him in the first place.

The final time she’d seen him, which had only become clear in retrospect, had hurt with the fact that she knew it wasn’t final. They were both still alive. He was trapped in the ice but he was alive. And it couldn’t end like that. A story like theirs could never end like that. She knew in her heart that he’d be back. The final time she saw him couldn’t be in her memories or dreams.

Seventeen years and it still hurt to see him. The pain hadn’t changed just like he was exactly the same as she remembered him. Full of rage and out to get her. She couldn’t escape from his wrath even if she wanted to. She’d left him once and he wouldn’t let her do it again. And as she lost consciousness from his attack, she knew that wasn’t the last time she’d see his face, for he wouldn’t kill her.

“My face will be the final thing you’ll ever see.”

The words rang in her head long after she’d been freed from her cell and he was dead. He hadn’t been wrong. She still saw his face. And that would be the case until the very end. Their story had been interrupted before it could reach its final form and it would never leave her alone. It was never finished, and he might have taken his final breath, but her love for him hadn’t perished yet. And no end was in sight until then.

25 – return

The book lay abandoned on the couch–open no less like she never left them because it hurt their spines–as she paced around the room waiting for his return. He was late and she couldn’t concentrate on reading when she felt the heaviness in the pit of her stomach and her heart racing to compensate for the slow movements of the hands of the clock. Something must have gone wrong. He could be in trouble and she could do nothing because his mothers hadn’t let her go with him. She wasn’t even told where he’d been sent, otherwise, she would’ve been there already. But the Ancestral Witches had been separating them a lot lately, claiming it was not necessary to have both members of their strongest team exhausting their energy for a job that could be done by just one of them. And so far their tactic of utilizing their resources had been working but Griffin knew something was bound to go wrong at some point. And she’d dreaded the moment, hoping they’d realize that Valtor and her were better off having each other’s backs since that reduced the risk of injuries and failures. But they’d kept it up and now…. she hoped it wasn’t too late to fix the mistake.

It was a little more than half an hour after his estimated time of return that she felt the enormous whirl of magic accompanying the opening of a portal. It was in the other end of their base and bursting chaotically with no sense of direction. He hadn’t been in the proper mindset to concentrate on a precise location and the magic had spat him out at a random place.

She let her own magic seek out his and whisk her away to him and she was soon teleporting herself. She ended up in one of the smaller corridors of their base, somewhere she didn’t go often but she didn’t have time to think about that.

Valtor was standing in front of her, doing his best not to fall over as he held his ribcage with one hand, his other arm limp at his side and sporting a cut that, thankfully, wasn’t deep. It was just a surface wound unlike the injury to his chest. By the expression on his face that was all bruised and swelling she could tell he was in a lot of pain. More than when he had a cracked rib. He had at least one broken rib, possible internal bleeding and multiple smaller injuries over his entire body. His clothes were dirty and ripped as he’d probably been tackled to the ground where he’d struggled with his opponent. Or, more likely, opponents. She doubted one person could beat him up that badly.

She approached him slowly, resisting the impulse to throw herself at him, for he could barely support his own weight currently. Her quiet steps could do nothing to drown out the sound of his harsh, ragged breaths and it pained her to see him like that, gathering himself and all the strength he had left in order to just move through the base. The battle and the following use of his magic to open the portal must have drained him completely.

It took him some time to raise his head and he only noticed her when she was making her final step and stopped in front of him. He didn’t even look her in the eyes before the arm hanging at his side wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. He drew in a hissing breath through his teeth at the motion, the cut on his bicep probably burning, but he held on to her, pressing against her body despite his injuries.

She wrapped her arms around his neck since that was pretty much the only affection she could provide without irritating any of his injuries and hurting him more. She was torn because she wanted nothing more than to offer him comfort but he needed to have his injuries checked. Every second they wasted could be vital.

She pulled away to tell him all of that but the words died in her throat when she caught his eye. He was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time, with so much relief in his eyes that it had her weak in the knees, her hands shaking as she reached for his face.

“Valtor,” her voice was shaking as well and her eyes filled with tears when she touched his skin, cupping his cheeks gently. She had to reassure him that she was there and she was real, that he was at home, in her arms, and the only way to do that was to touch him. Even if it made him wince. It was better than the thoughts that had been running through his head, better than the pain of thinking he would never see her again. Shivers ran down her spine at the realization how bad it had been.

He ran a hand through her hair before pulling her into a kiss, his lips parting hers and his breath filling her lungs finally had her breathing. He was alive. He was safe. He’d come back to her. And that was all that mattered in the world.

“Valtor,” Belladonna’s bark was like a whiplash making them jump apart, Griffin’s insides freezing. She was standing at the other end of the corridor and yet, the chill of her presence could be felt from all the way across it. And she wasn’t even alone. Tharma and Lysslis were standing at her sides like they always were and they all looked furious. “You were supposed to come to us and report about the mission.” Frost started creeping up the floor and walls towards the two of them, making the temperature in the closed space drop quickly and significantly. Griffin was shaking again but not just from terror this time and she instinctively reached for Valtor for support even though he probably needed that more than she did.

“That’s where I was headed, mother,” Valtor’s voice was steady but still respectfully quiet and his head was bowed down as he avoided eye contact, adopting submissive attitude. He didn’t let go of her hand, though.

“And it took you forty minutes?” Belladonna asked even though she was well aware he was just coming in. If Griffin had felt the portal, there was no way the Ancestral Witches hadn’t. They just wanted to force him to admit his failure so that they could lash out at him. She’d seen them do it before. And she knew what would follow. She couldn’t let it happen. “Report. Now,” Belladonna’s tone got sharper, deadlier as the frost kept making its way through the corridor and was now close enough to bite at both of them as soon as the news of the mission left his mouth.

“He needs to go to the infirmary first, Mistress Belladonna,” Griffin cut in, keeping her head down to avoid challenging them any further than was strictly necessary and keep her courage. She was still shaking on the inside and wasn’t exactly sure how much of that was visible on the outside as well. “If there’s internal bleeding, every second could be essential.” She dared a quick glance at the direction of the ancient witches and that was enough to have her swallowing, her voice dying in her throat. If they required a reply from her now, she wouldn’t be able to give it and that would get her a punishment as well.

“But he found the time to get all romantic with you,” Tharma said, her voice seemingly controlled but the rage was burning in it steadily and insidiously and it was a good thing Griffin couldn’t talk currently because anything she said would be the wrong answer.

“Is that what you’re doing now?” Lysslis spoke, her words full of cold, soulless curiosity that was like a knife poking at their open wounds and cutting through every nerve in its way. “You’re letting her fight your battles?” The way Lysslis referred to her crushed every last bit of hope Griffin had that she and Valtor could reason with them. They’d been praising her for her strategies when she’d first joined them and won them some huge victories. But lately all she did was get frowned upon. Especially if it concerned Valtor in any way. “You can’t speak for yourself and you can’t complete missions on your own. Are you co-dependent on her now?”

“That’s not-”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Belladonna’s voice was loud enough to break the ice crust covering the corridor in pieces as she interrupted him. “She speaks out of turn to us and you come back empty-handed. The answer is crystal clear.” The cold flushed over them, making their muscles shake so hard it was impossible to keep holding hands and their teeth chattering which she was sure the Ancestral Witches could still count as disrespect and punish them for that, too. “That partnership was bad for you.”

“We’re your most successful team,” Valtor argued, looking her in the eyes, heat pulsing out of him and warming Griffin up enough to have her muscles relax. Steam filled the corridor as the frost melted off. “We’re unstoppable together.”

“You still need to be able to function as an independent asset.” Belladonna snarled, more frost creeping their way. It couldn’t reach them with the heat coming off of Valtor but that was because she wasn’t trying to reach them. She wasn’t controlling the process. It was happening subconsciously. “Yet, all we’ve gotten is proof of the opposite.”

“My mission failed because the Company of Light had sent word the king to warn him of my attack and the guard was five times what I expected.” Of course it had. The Ancestral Witches didn’t let her plan much anymore, leaving their fingerprints all over everything they touched and giving away their plans to the Company. They were a force to be reckoned with but they lacked any subtlety in their planning, relying on brute force instead of stealth and that could cost much. It’d almost cost everything today and they still hadn’t realized it. Even the might of Valtor’s Dragon Fire wasn’t enough against too many opponents. “I still defeated them all and managed to escape.” If they’d captured him… Griffin didn’t even dare think of that. The Council had no mercy against any random dark magic user that was caught doing anything they considered wrong. There was no telling what they would’ve done to him.

“You still came back empty-handed,” Tharma stepped in, the wind swirling around her feet and destroying Belladonna’s frost, making small pieces of it start spinning in the air. If they’d been any thicker, they would’ve been dangerous like glass shards. “And you dare talk back to us?” Electricity crackled around her and a lightning aimed at Valtor left her form.

“No,” Griffin summoned a magical shield that stopped the attack from reaching its aim. Valtor’s hand was immediately on her hip, squeezing warningly to snap her out of it. She couldn’t oppose them like that and she knew it. But she couldn’t let them torture him either. “If you attack him now, it will take him more time to heal and go back on the battlefield,” she tried to be logical about it which had about fifty percent chance of just angering them more.

And it looked like that was the case with Tharma who was seething, more electricity crackling around her, but she still waited for Belladonna to react first. It was Lysslis who spoke instead.

“So you’re just thinking about the Coven?” she asked, her voice soothing, lulling you into false security as she slithered in front of her sisters and ever closer. “Our little strategist,” the words finished in a resentful hiss.

Griffin knew better than to open her mouth. She just stood still, looking at Lysslis’ general direction but not into her eyes. She wasn’t suicidal.

“Very well then,” Lysslis’ praise was like a slap in the face but she stood her ground as the ancient witch stopped in front of her. “We have a mission just for you. And you’ll either come back victorious or you’d wish to never have come back at all,” the threat was quiet but impossible to miss. Especially with Lysslis’ magic plunging her directly into an illusion, making the feeling of Valtor’s touch disappear.

She was wrapped into darkness, unable to hear or see anything, before a flash of white searing agony sliced through her mind and she couldn’t even feel herself react. She could’ve screamed or fell to her knees but all her brain registered was the pain and nothing else.

“You’ll bring us what we want no matter how much blood you have to spill,” Lysslis’ voice reached her, making her misery worse. That was a part of the problem. She was trying to leave as few victims behind as possible. It was better from a strategical point of view but they were taking it as misplaced mercy. Though, any mercy would be misplaced by their standards. Even when bloodshed clearly wasn’t the answer. “Otherwise, I will personally pull your mind apart piece… by… piece…” every word echoed in her head, bouncing off the corners of her consciousness, hitting it with brutal force and leaving bruises behind.

The illusion ended as abruptly as it had begun and left her out of breath, the memories of terror and suffering fresh in her head, but at least she could feel Valtor’s hand on her again. It seemed like she hadn’t had any external reactions, for he hadn’t tried to pull her out of it. Or maybe he was just being cautious, playing along with their reign of terror. It was possible that he just didn’t have enough strength for anything left, too.

“Get him to the infirmary and then come find us to receive information about the mission,” Belladonna’s voice cut through her but she was grateful for it also cutting them lose from that confrontation. It was over.

She wrapped an arm around Valtor’s waist, relieved that it didn’t cause him pain or even discomfort, and opened another portal. He probably wouldn’t have enough strength to even walk the short distance to the infirmary. And even if he did, she had no desire to go past the Ancestral Witches who were blocking the corridor. So she focused on the map of the base in her mind and helped him into the portal, letting her anger at his mothers feed her magic. She’d finally recognized their current location. It was in the part of the base that the Ancestral Witches had to themselves and he’d been going to them to report about his mission despite the seriousness of his current state. If his return hadn’t drawn her to him, they would’ve hurt him even worse than his mission.

26 – protection

This is a continuation of the storyline from the previous prompt.

Griffin stood in front of the door she’d pushed open so many times with her hand rested over the handle and her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t understand her own hesitation. Over the last couple of weeks she’d only lived with the thought of that moment and now that it had arrived after countless sleepless nights and wrecking her brain without rest in order to complete one of the hardest–and most brutal–missions in her life, it was finally here and she couldn’t make herself open the door that would lead her home.

She shook her head and exhaled slowly to collect herself and banish all worries from her mind. The worst was behind her. She could breathe now. And she could see him.

She pushed the door open and walked in, her eyes immediately finding him. He was on the bed, resting, and just that sight made everything she’d been through worth it. His face had gone back to normal, all of the bruises gone, leaving just the familiar features. She couldn’t quite tell about his ribs even though they had to be almost healed by now as well.

“You shouldn’t have tried to protect me back then,” he said, halting her step and leaving her wounded in the middle of the room. After all these weeks they’d spent apart, that was the first thing he had to tell her? Something that would keep her away before she’d even managed to kiss or touch him. “You put yourself in danger.”

She stood in her place, holding his gaze. She’d done the only thing she could’ve lived with in that situation. He could reprimand her all he wanted, she wasn’t going to apologize for caring about him.

“You know the real reason why they keep us separated isn’t saving resources,” he said in a softer tone this time and extended an arm to her which she quickly took, the warmth of his skin entering her veins and spreading inside her to chase away the memories of how awful the weeks without him had been. “It’s because you don’t sleep in your own bed anymore.” Well, they’d made sure she’d have to when they’d forbidden her to see him. Not that she’d had any time to, planning carefully and doing other missions to get the Company off the trail of what she was actually after. “It’s because I laugh more.” The admission made her smile and she tried not to think about how his weeks of recovery had gone. At least his mothers had been focusing on her which must have kept them mostly off his back for the time being. “It’s because we fell in love.”

Her eyes filled with tears against her will and she leaned in to kiss him and as their lips met and the teardrops falling from her closed eyes left cool tracks on her cheeks, she was washed over with relief. She was finally back in his arms and they were unstoppable together. So she hated it when he pulled away.

“I heard your mission went well and you came back with everything they wanted,” he said as he cupped her cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding hers and she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes to enjoy it. “That’s good considering your behavior after my failed mission didn’t do you any good.”

Her eyes snapped open and she was ready to protest but he didn’t give her the chance.

“You stated that you were loyal to me and not to them loudly and clearly,” he raised his voice a little, startling her. He usually didn’t do that. “And that can be good as long as I am loyal to them but you’re still unpredictable enough to be a problem.” She would normally smile since that was something she prided herself on. It was what being a witch meant. But his expression made the heaviness in her chest return. “There are two ways this can go from here. Either they’ll put us back together as a team or…” his hand dropped from her cheek as his gaze left hers.

“Or what?” Griffin asked, her voice cold and harsh as she squeezed on his hand to draw his attention back to herself. She wanted to hear it. She wanted to be certain what awaited her if the Ancestral Witches deemed her more harmful than useful.

“Or they’ll kill you,” Valtor said, his voice quiet, causing her hand to get pulled out of his as her arm fell limply at her side. “Which is why I want you to be ready to leave,” he continued as he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly to make sure she was listening. She was. She just couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing.

“Leave?” she hissed as she grabbed at his forearms, holding on for dear life. “How am I supposed to leave? They control this place. If I try to open a portal, they can just close it and I won’t be able to do anything.” Her magic wasn’t strong enough to defeat theirs. Not to mention that she didn’t want to go anywhere where he wouldn’t be. She couldn’t leave him behind. That was out of the question.

“Fairy dust can open a portal that they won’t be able to close,” Valtor said, his voice frantic and his words an absolute madness.

“Where am I supposed to get fairy dust?” Griffin cried, gripping at him tighter. It was madness. All of it. It was madness that they had to go through that because they were in love and his mothers were afraid of that. And it was madness that he wanted to send her away. How was that supposed to work out? She’d be alive but without him she wouldn’t be living. She couldn’t leave him.

“I’m certain you can find one fairy,” he held her gaze adamantly as if trying to communicate the answer to her through telepathy. Faragonda. He wanted her to reach out to Faragonda. It was a genius plan. The fairy would help her even after everything she’d done and she could count on her protection no matter what it was that she had to face. But that would mean never being with him again. “Please, Griffin,” Valtor said as if he’d read the thoughts in her head. “I need to know you’ll be safe.” His hands cupped her cheeks and she covered them with hers, soaking up the feeling of his skin on hers. It was possible she wouldn’t get to feel much more of it.

“Okay,” she nodded, tears spilling from her eyes again. But the ache in her chest was better than the thought of how much he’d hurt if he had to watch her die. He was not only willing to let her go to ensure her safety but he was also telling her to get in contact with Faragonda. It couldn’t have been easy on him and she didn’t want to make it any harder. But she still held hope that none of that would be necessary as she pulled him into a kiss.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Thirty-Nine: Pure ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: We’re Not in Konoha Anymore... ] [ AO3 Link ]

“GET OUT!”

Gasping for breath, Hinata bursts through the door, feet tangling and collapsing her into the snow. Cold quickly bites at her exposed skin, clothed only in a gown and shawl, boots barely laced as her father rages behind her. The warmth of her breath plumes in the frigid Winter air, curling like steam as she tries to find her footing. Gathering up her skirts, she stumbles from the manor toward the stables. There was no time to grab any supplies, but she’ll be damned if she leaves her horse.

Shaking fingers work at the latch of the stall door, the mare within snorting at the commotion. “Easy,” Hinata murmurs, trying her best to calm the beast. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Not even bothering with tack, too afraid to linger any longer, Hinata simply hops up bareback and urges her mount from the barn. Once clear of the door, she kicks heels into her side, earning a gallop into the swirling snow.

She doesn’t look back.

Clinging to the palomino’s cream-colored mane, Hinata buries her face into it to hide from the cold. For now, she has no goal, no destination...beyond leaving home as far behind her as she can manage. No longer can she abide the anger, the disappointment, the abuse. Let Hiashi have his perfect second daughter. She’ll find a way.

...she has to…

Through the night she rides, the horse slowing to a trot as the estate fades behind them. The frosty breeze is pervasive, slipping through her garments with ease. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a midnight ride through the snows, but...there’s no helping it now. If she can just make it to town...find someplace to stay...come morning...she’ll…

Thoughts seem to congeal like ice in her mind, slowing and sluggish as her body loses warmth. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Hinata’s last sight is the blur of the forest as she topples from her mount and into the snow, oblivion taking her into darkness.

“...mngh…”

Eyelids pinch, orbs beneath them flickering as if plagued with visions. Beyond, she can see flickering warm colors, like...fire?

Struggling to drag them open, she realizes she’s...no longer out in the snow. The previous night plays slowly, fragmented through her mind. Her father’s anger, her desperate flight, her fading energy, and now…?

Laid upon her side, she’s before a large hearth, crackling and roaring with flame. Rough stone frames it, the rest of the room dark and cold as she hovers near the heat. Struggling, she props herself up atop an elbow, attempting to look around. Her clothes are a touch damp from the melting snow that clung to them, boots removed and settled near the fire to dry. She’s in...some kind of sitting room. It’s large, filled with furnishings and utterly black beyond the halo of the firelight.

Where on earth…?

Grunting as her body protests - still sore from her tumble from horseback - Hinata forces herself to her feet. A torch within a sconce is taken, gingerly held to the fire until it lights. Holding it aloft, her free hand gathers up her skirt to better walk unhindered.

Time to investigate this place.

Gingerly navigating the room, she finds more and more evidence that this is a place of someone hoarding decent wealth. Bearskin rugs, fine tapestries, graceful furniture...but some is toppled over, all of it covered in thick layers of dust. Wherever she is...it hasn’t been properly lived in for quite some time. An abandoned manor, perhaps…? A tentative story shapes in her mind. Someone must be squatting here, using the empty halls as shelter from the cold. They must have found her, brought her here...but to what end? Was it generosity? Or with far darker purposes in mind?

Given her clothes, her unmarked skin, and other features, it’s not hard to guess she’s of the gentry. They may have her here for ransom, figuring someone will be willing to pay a pretty penny for her back.

How disappointed they’ll be.

Once she’s gleaned all she can from the immediate room, she moves to a heavy oak door. Carefully, she pulls at the steel handle, flinching as the hinges protest. A crack lets her peer through. Beyond seems to be the main hall of...wherever she is. The only light streams from a glass atrium along the two-story roof. Open, with a sweeping staircase leading to a second floor, it’s nearly barren. And beyond, to the other side, great double doors that are surely the entrance, closed and barred. Above, a partially-broken chandelier still hangs, several strands broken and the entire thing askew as support lines have snapped.

...perhaps this is more than just a manor. It’s almost big enough to seem like…

Still curious, Hinata pulls the door further, ignoring the screeching metal and stepping out. The stone floor is cold against the bottoms of her feet, but goes largely unnoticed in the wake of her eagerness to see more. But where to go from here…

“...you’re awake.”

A sharp breath disappears down her throat, spinning around. In the large, echoing room, it’s hard to know where the voice came from. Decidedly male, it seems to dance around her. “...I...I am. Where am I…?”

“In the ruins of a place long forgotten...that died with those who inhabited it.”

Turning slowly, torch lifted as she tries to see, Hinata attempts to puzzle out the voice’s meaning. “...people...died here?”

“Many. All but one. And he who remains...is cursed.”

That earns a pause. “...cursed…?”

“He begged a witch to save his brother, one afflicted with an illness unrelenting. But the magician’s wording was vague, the promises two-sided. In the end...rather than save his brother, he doomed his family. And he was left to wander the ruins of his kingdom as little more than a monster…”

In her chest, Hinata’s heart quickens. A monster…? Kingdom? Then...is he…? “...and what will become of this...monster?”

Silence falls, and just as she assumes she’s been left alone, answerless, Hinata hears, “...there is no hope for him. As it should be. This is his penance.”

“Was it you who saved me? Pulled me from the snow?” Her question redirects the tide of conversation, fearing it may end before she learns what she must.

“Foolish to be so lightly dressed in the bowels of Winter. What were you doing…?”

“...fleeing a father who no longer loves me. I was headed to town, trying to escape. But then...I collapsed. Did you save me…?”

Another pause. “I couldn’t let an innocent perish in the cold. But you cannot stay. This place is a breeding ground for sorrow.”

It’s then she hears it: shuffling, up above her. Brandishing her torch, she tries to alight the banister above her on the second floor. A shadowy figure prowls just out of sight. “...and what of this curse?”

“...what of it?”

“Every curse has a key. A way to break it.” Though an echo of fear beats in her chest, Hinata has come too far, lost too much to be afraid now. This just might be her only chance. “...you’re him, aren’t you? The one who lost his brother, his family. You’re the cursed man.”

A growl sounds softly from above. “...there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’ve nothing left. No home, no money, just the clothes on my back. And...my horse…”

“She did not flee. A brave creature, withstanding what she saw.”

Following the figure with her eyes, Hinata asks, “...please, let me see you.”

“I’ll only frighten you.”

“I’ve very little left to be afraid of.”

More silence, stretching further and further until, “...very well.” Above her, she hears the shuffling footsteps. Moving to the center of the hall, Hinata stands in the halo of moonlight. Down the stairs the figure moves, tall and hunched. Hesitating at the light, it then lets slip a foot into the white.

A paw, shrouded in dark fur, with bends like a dog’s. Breaching completely into the moonbeam, a creature of legend looms over her, clothed only in a tattered, makeshift cape.

A wolven beast.

Pale eyes widen, but more in shock than fear. “...you…?”

“Am a monster. A wretched thing with a hunger and temper that gnaw at my insides,” he growls. “It’s not safe for you here.”

Not replying, Hinata takes a slow step forward, a hand daring to reach. He flinches, but in turn holds out a padded paw-like hand.

“...here is better than catching my death in the cold,” she murmurs, gently laying her palm atop is own. “As I said...I’ve nothing to return to. So tell me: do you know the curse’s cure?”

“...I cannot tell you.”

“Why not?”

“To do so would...sully the chances. As slim as they are. There can be no knowing, no...bias. Otherwise…the conditions may not be met.”

“...I understand. But...may I stay?”

“...if that is truly what you want, I won’t stop you. I have nothing to offer you…”

“A roof over my head is more than I had,” Hinata offers, smiling softly. “...may I know your name?”

“...Sasuke. Of the line Uchiha.”

Somewhere deep in her mind, the name rings a bell. “...and I am Hinata. Of the Hyūga. Perhaps we were meant to find one another - maybe...we can be each other’s keys.”

Dark, bestial eyes consider her warily. “...time, I suppose, will tell.”

                                                           .oOo.

     Welp, this is a day late, but yesterday was abysmal, so hopefully you can forgive me ^^; I'll get to today's two owed drabbles later. I'm slowly playing catch up, aha~      Anyway...in case it's unclear, the prompt I made this out to be is pure love: the condition for Sasuke's curse. Hence being unable to tell her, in case she tried forcing the feeling, which wouldn't work. Beauty and the Beast is my FAVORITE Disney movie, so I had to do something based on it once the idea hit me. I might do more when given the chance! But any continuations will likely have to wait until next year. This challenge, with SHM on top, has been veeery draining, lol - I love them both, but I'm going to need a break after this year over, and before I can make anything else xD      But yeah, here's...yesterday's entry, lol - I'll be back later with today's SMH and 365 day entry. Trying not to burn myself out~ Thanks for reading!