#yes the fates being purple is a stretch but let me live i did the best i could their lip is like purpleish

[bigprincess-energy]

hadestown + colours (inspo.)

[turquoisea]

Family reunion

Pairing: Dabi/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-con, Degradation, Brother/Sister Incest, Manipulation, Guilt-tripping, OOC, Smut

Contains manga spoilers. Minors DNI.

Words: 4130

Synopsis: You was kidnapped while on your way home from work. Turned out your kidnapper was someone you knew.

A/N: I don't own any of the characters. Please read the warnings before continuing and we're gonna jump straight to the scene after (y/n) had been kidnapped (because i was too lazy to write the former part OTL)

==============

Unable to escape from the kidnapper’s tight rope around your wrists, you helplessly let him carry you to somewhere that looked like an abandoned building. Not like you could exactly tell where it was, given the fact that your eyes had been covered ever since he captured you until you two “arrived” at the destination. Either had you been able to scream or to call for help, “If you decide to be a naughty little girl and make a fuss, or to even let a single person know about this and hinder my work, I can and I will burn your whole workplace while letting your watch every single second of it.” – the kidnapper had threatened, making panic surged within your body; the only thing you could blurt out to answer his “Is that clear?” was a simple “Yes.” Not wanting to involve any of your aquaintances, you decided to keep your mouth shut the entire time. You thought that it was a better idea to wait until you could learn about what he wanted, his motives behind this before trying to escape.

He placed you down on the floor after carrying you into a small room with the action being a little too gentle for a kidnapper, you thought and opened your eyes only to be met with a pair of turquoise gazes, slightly hidden behind his spiky black hair. Those reminded you of Shouto’s left eye color but they had a rather.. captivating effect, making you unable to tear your eyes off them. More like Touya’s eyes – the recollection passing your mind was quickly brushed off, given the harsh reality that Touya has been dead for more than 10 years. You cautiously opened your mouth to ask, still keeping eye contact.

"What do you want?"

“…What do I want?” He repeated the question before slowly taking off his black face mask. The way he did it was deliberate, elegant even, as if he was putting on a show to reveal what’s hidden behind the mask. In front of you was an abnormal façade: Purple skin lied under his eye bags, his lower cheeks and lower lip, all the way down to his collarbone; connected together with the normal parts of the skin by surgical staples. An audible gasp escaped your throat the moment you realized that the man who abducted you was the wanted criminal you saw on TV.

“League of Villains.. You’re.. You’re Dabi…”

“Dabi? Ah yes, people call me that now. But I thought you would recognize me now, you’re my family after all..” He trailed off at the end, as though he was rather hurt by your comment.

“Family? Stop joking now, we don’t even know each other!”

“You sure? Even when you used to call me Touya-nii with that sweet voice of yours?”

“I said stop!! Listen, I have no idea why you know about Touya but he’s not alive anymore, don’t bring him into this!” Your shaking voice resounded with rage. In the past few years you’d partly moved on from your brother’s death, even learned how to stop tearing up whenever someone mentions him. To say you was mad was an understatement, since the kidnapper crossed the line, pulled out those emotions that you’d tried so hard to hide them away. You couldn’t stay calm anymore. This villain and the audacity to even mention Touya, let alone making such an unbearable joke about him.

“(y/n)-chan,” The way he called your name was too familiar “you still have the habit of defending me after all this time.”

“Wh..What.. do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? You were always there to patch me up every time I went out training on my own. Those nights that distress and hatred consumed me, you were the only one who was willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, to hear me rant about that stupid family. You were the only one who didn’t refuse to look at a “failure” like me while our father focused all his attention on that “masterpiece”. You made me feel like I’m not useless, (y/n)-chan. Sure you haven’t forgotten, right?”

“You’re.. lying.. Touya-nii is..”

“Yes, yes. Everybody thought so.” He interrupted. “But I escaped from the fire and as you can see,” He raised his hand to touch the staples. “I’m still here. If I’d died in that fire, I would have become a ghost, an evil spirit to haunt the hell out of Todoroki Enji.” The explanation ended with a snort.

But not for you, you couldn’t possibly laugh about it the way he did. You were nothing but speechless. The big brother you once thought wasn’t here, could never be here with you anymore was still alive and kicking. Thoughts of how Touya had managed to live since that day started to emerge your mind and probably because of the invisible connection, the blood connection between you two, you could feel his pain, his suffering, the dull ache that never go away in every single staple on his body… It must’ve been hard for a thirteen-year-old child to manage by himself after crawling out of a literal hell, you thought, mouth still agaped with astonishment. Tears neither stopped welling up, nor did they escape your shiny orbs when you looked at him through your blurry vision. You had so many questions to ask, but none of them could be voiced.

“But that’s the story for another day. Now, we have to celebrate the happy reunion of brother and sister, right?” He interrupted your thoughts before slowly approaching you. His tall body hovered over yours, enhancing the feeling of being small and helpless as your hands still being tied behind your back. He gripped your jaw with one hand, the other started to work on the buttons of your shirt while Touya’s slightly chapped lips met your own in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly turned passionate, sloppy with his tongue chasing every corner of your mouth.

“Touya..nii..” You panted between his kisses, trying your best to stop him from doing what you think he was trying to do. “We shouldn’t.. You shouldn’t do this.. We’re siblings..”

“Ah yes, you’re my favorite sibling after all, one more reason why we should do this, right?” His stapled mouth stretched into a huge grin, then he leaned back to take in the view of your body.

“My little sister has grown up.. To be honest, I didn’t have any of these dirty thoughts when we were children but now, I just want to fucking ravish you until all you can think of is me and my cock.”

His dirty talk sent a shiver thorough your body and you started to feel heat coiling up in your core. As if amused, turned on by your reaction, Touya grabbed one of your breasts and gave it a squeeze, causing a soft moan to escape your pump lips.

“What was that? Don’t tell me (y/n)-chan is aroused by her very own brother, hm? I’ve been stalking you for a while, my little sister. ‘Twas hard to find you since you don’t live at that house anymore. Can’t believe behind all those innocent act is a little whore who gets aroused easily by her Touya-nii.” He spat out, specifically emphasized the phrase you used to call him. Blue eyes looking down at you as if you were indeed what he said – a slut waiting to be bred.

“Touya-nii.. Please stop it.. I don’t want this..” Looking up at him through your wet lashes, you said with a whimper, begging him to stop.

Little did you know it had no such effect for Touya. Seeing your vulnerable face in a helpless state only boosted his ego; he felt as if he was the only one you could rely on, the only one who was able to decide your fate and damn, he could never get bored of this.

“What a pity, (y/n)-chan, because I, in fact, DO want this.” Touya murmured between kisses, leaving red spots blossoming all over your breasts, your shoulders, your collarbone. “Don’t you want to make your Touya-nii happy (y/n)-chan? You see, there hadn’t been a single day in which these staples stopped hurting me whenever I move. My tear glands were burned ever since the fire. I couldn’t cry because when I do, it hurts and blood flows out of my eye bags.” His fingers indicated the purple skin underneath his eyes as he continued. “I've lived with emotional numbness ever since. Your big brother doesn't feel anything anymore, (y/n)-chan..” Touya trailed off.

“But you, the only one who didn’t refuse to look at me... Having you here with me really makes me happy, and the kind little sister I know wouldn’t want to take that happiness away from me right?..” Turquoise orbs looked up at you through black strands of hair. As if wavering, as if pleading, as if he was asking you for your consent.

All to hide the fact that he guilt-tripped you into this.

And with him being a quick-witted, perceptive man, Touya’s tactics were never fruitless. He could tell your conscience would be troubled if you’d turned him down, especially when he phrased the words like that. He took advantage of the shocking state you were in, making you feel pity for him and overlook his immoral behaviours.

Touya waited with bated breath, eye contact still maintained.

“I..I want Touya-nii to be happy..” – your reply after a moment of thinking only caused a chuckle to escape his mouth and it’s almost like this was all he had been waiting for, all in his anticipation. This was the exact reaction that Touya wanted and as your best big brother ever, he couldn’t possibly put off anymore without his hands as your bra, nor could he wait any longer to secure this “happiness”.

“Knew my favorite sister would say that.” Touya couldn’t hide his triumphant expression when he quickly made his way down to your skirt, lifting it up so he could see what’s underneath. Gently, he palmed your groin before dragging his middle finger between your clothed slit only to find that your panties was already soaked.

“Oh? I already knew you were a whore behind your innocent façade but didn’t think you would be this shameless.. Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “Getting all nice and wet for your own brother. You said you wanted to make me happy but in truth, you just need to feel nii-san’s cock inside your hole right? Shameless slut.”

You groaned in exasperation and opened your mouth to protest but before you could even say anything, he ripped your white panties apart, making you squirm in awe. The rough pad of his thumb dragged over your clit while his knees spread your legs wide and held them in places. Touya’s finger slowly rubbed your clit in a circular motion and you couldn’t help but wanting more of those frictions, your hips involuntarily bucked forward.

“I was going to eat my favorite little sister out, but it seems like you can’t wait any longer huh? Look at this little pussy..” He said while using his index and middle finger to swipe at your entrance, gathering your juices on them, his eyes didn’t miss the way it clenched around nothing. “You must be so, so desperate to feel anything inside your pathetic hole, right? Will my fingers be enough to satisfy it?”

“Touya-nii..”

“Don’t be vague, (y/n)-chan. Sure you don’t want to hump a pillow like a dumb slut with her hands still tied while watching me masturbate to the sight of you right? Because if you don’t use your words now, I might let us do that for real.”

“Please, Touya-nii, I don’t want to! I want.. to be filled up by you instead..”

Upon hearing your words, Touya started palming the large bulge of his pants before unzipping the fermeture, gently pulled his boxer down to show you what’s underneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of Touya’s veiny cock. It was not as big as what you usually see on movies (not that you don’t know the porn industry isn’t anywhere near realistic), but rather thin and long as it was hard, practically throbbing in his palm whenever he stroked the shaft. However, what made you surprise was the shiny Prince Albert piercing located on the glans, signaling a hard time in the near future for your cervix.

Seeing your face expression only made Touya’s smirk grew wider and he looked like the cat that got the cream when he continued making you use more of your words, making you beg for his cock.

“And you want to be filled by what?”

As hesitant as you were after seeing his cock piercing, the way his fingers ignited sparkles of fire inside your core had your pride, your uncertainty wavering. You’d rather be fucked until your mouth can’t even form a coherent sentence than be left naked and needy while watching him masturbates until he cums anywhere that’s not inside your pussy. So you used your words, like a good girl should.

“By your cock, Touya-nii! I want you to fuck me hard!”

“Sure thing, my cute little slut.” He cooed. “Who am I to refuse to give my sister what she needs? I’m a good brother after all.”

And as a “good” brother he was, Touya even slide his fingers inside your wet pussy to prepare you for his cock. Despite having a fire quirk like your father, his fingers were cold and were only warmed up by the heat inside your core. They smoothly pumped into you, scissored you open, sometimes even curled up on purpose only to slightly brush against your soft spot, leaving you wanting more. His other hand found its way again on your clit, rubbing and circling along with his continuous fingering until you were nothing but a moaning mess, begging for your release.

He decided that he’d prepared you enough and retreat his fingers just before you could reach your climax. You whimpered loudly when he took the orgasm away from you, legs instantly wrapped around his hips to pull him closer. You had never felt this touch-starved before and all you could think of was only your Touya-nii, his captivating blue gazes, his touch, his voice and his pierced cock that somehow fits perfectly on his slim but toned body. You needed to feel him and you clumsily rubbed your pussy against Touya while trying to break free from the ropes tying your wrists together. But all that you could do wasn’t near enough so you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Touya-nii.. Please.. Please give me your cock.. I can’t take it anymore, I need your cock inside me..”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.” Touya sneered as if he wasn’t the one who purposefully denied your orgasm before holding his cock, rubbing the swollen red tip at your entrance, feeling your juices mixing with beads of his precum then thrusted it all the way in. You both winced the moment you and your brother became one: you from the depth that his cock could go and him from the way your walls clenched around it.

“(y/n)-chan.. Your little pussy feels so tight.. Not that I mind how many people you slept with but damn.. This pussy's a keeper for sure..” Sighing with a shaky voice, he pulled out slowly only to slam back in ruthlessly. His hands used the dagger from before to release your aching wrists then started to rub small circles on them as if to soothe the pain. With your hands now free from bound, you wrapped them around Touya’s neck to pull him even closer, your lips moved under his to meet them in a kiss.

"Touya-nii.. Please move.." After a moment long enough for your pussy to stretch to his size, you broke from the passionate kiss to whisper to him; your tongue softly licked his lower lip, feeling the rough texture while your pussy clenched around his cock. You lifted your hips, inviting your big brother to bury his hot member deeper into you.

"Eager, aren't we?" To your plea, he only chuckled before moving his hand to grab a handful of your tits, squeezing the soft mound, toying with your swollen nipple. "Your wish is my command, my baby sister. Nii-san's going to make you feel really good now." His voice sounded so sensual when he moved his mouth close to your ear, whispered honeyed-words then nibbled at your earlobe, causing you to clench your pussy even more.

Touya's hands traveled down to grab both of your asscheeks, held them tightly in their places before he started thrusting his pulsing cock. "So good.. Touya-nii.." You moaned in rhythm with his hips whenever he bottomed out inside you; his cock piercing rubbed your walls every time he moved. The friction felt heavenly that you could feel your legs started to shake as if you couldn't control them anymore. He was different. His cock was different from anything you'd ever experienced. Touya filled you up so well, both physically and emotionally, making you feel good, feel loved, making tears well up in your eyes.

He let your legs rest on his shoulders as he continued claiming your pussy to himself, each thrust was hard and deep 'til the point that Touya's tip touched your cervix whenever he sheathed his full length in you. It hurt, but it hurt so good that not only did you not want it to stop, you wanted more and more of him, you wanted to indulge longer in this sinful pleasure.

"Fuck.. You're so tight around me.." He groaned as his pace became faster. A hand retreated from under you to hover above your neglected clit before he started stroking it softly, rubbing back and forth, drawing repeated circles onto your bundle of nerves.

Touya didn't leave anywhere on your body untouched: your tits, your belly, your inner thighs, your asscheeks, your clit, your core. His name fell out of your lips between heated moans like prayers and the pleasure kept building up that you felt like you're about to burst into bliss. Everything was so intense and you started to you wonder, is it because he denied your orgasm before or because his cock could actually bring you heaven? Those thoughts crossed your mind but you didn't know the answer. He'd fucked you dumb and now you couldn't think of anything else other than him and the tension deepening in your lower belly.

"Touya-nii.. 'M wanna cum.. Please.. Please let me cum.." You whined when you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, afraid that he would deny it again if you don't beg.

"Cum on my cock baby, let me feel you. And you should be.. Fuck.. grateful that I let you do it.." He didn't stop his assault on your clit as he railed you hard and fast, his thrust grew sloppier when your pussy clamped down on him. Wet noises echoed in the abandoned building along with your whines and the moans that Touya tried to hold back.

"Thank you.. Thank you Touya-nii.. for letting me cum.." was all you managed to choke out before you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut causing tears of pleasure to fall out and your pussy clenched around him as you released your pent-up pressure.

"Attagirl, nii-san loves you.. Gonna officially mark you now, 'mkay? Gonna breed this little sister's pussy, gonna fill you up with my cum and put a baby in you.." Touya leaned over to whisper into your open mouth, planting chaste kisses all over your face while sloppily humping your body like an animal. You could feel him burry himself deep inside you when his brows furrowed and he muttered "Fuck" before Touya came inside your pussy. His thick ropes were hot as they spilled into your womb, painting your walls with his colour.

A moment passed with nothing but pants as you both tried to regain your breaths. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow with his cock still plugged in when you heard the clicking sound of a camera. Your eyes immediately shot open only to find Touya holding his phone in hand.

"Touya-nii.. Did you just.." You warily asked.

"Oh? Did I forget to tell you?" Touya casually looked up from his phone, a smirk tugged at the corner of his stapled mouth and he suddenly looked so strange, as if the person in front of you and the one who just came inside you was two different people.

"You see, there are two possible ways to completely break Todoroki Enji." He began explaining, his voice distant. "One, is to kill his masterpiece Shouto right in front of him by the own hands of his 'failure'."

"And two," His eyes locked with you as his smirk grew wider. "is to let him see his pure little angel being corrupted by the abandoned son." Touya finished his short speech, his hips pulled back so his now limp cock fell out of you with a wet pop. White cum slowly dripped out of your used pussy, all captured by the camera again.

You could see the flame of anger burning in his eyes when he mentioned your father's name and the tone of disgust in his voice when he spoke lowly of himself. There were so many problems that you didn't know where to begin with. All you could do was hang your mouth open, speechlessly watched him typing something on the phone.

"There, all done." Touya cheerfully informed. "Don't worry a thing, my baby sister, no one will get to keep those pictures except for me. I sent them to the old man using Vanish Mode, he'll see them for a few seconds before they disappear forever, just like how his little angel vanish from his life. Oh how I wish I could see his expression when he opens my messages."

You were absolutely stunned. You never thought your dead brother was able to come out alive, let alone to even have a detailed plan to destroy your father's mentality. There were so many things that your mind couldn't process in an instant.

"So you.. So you fucked me just for this?.." Your voice came out shakier than you expected. Your hands unconsciously moved to cover yourself as you hugged your own body, the world starting to crumble in your eyes.

"Partly, yes. But I wasn't lying when I said I love you." Touya planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

"E-Enough with all of this. I'm going home!" You raised your voice and wriggled out of his touch.

"Can't let you do that (y/n)-chan. The world doesn't know me as Touya, you're the first, the honorable one. Can't risk you leaking my secret right? And I plan to torture old man's mind repeatedly with more images of you, just like how he projected everything onto me when I was young." He tilted his head and laughed, and suddenly you couldn't tell whether his laughter was genuine or was an act of mockery. Probably both.

"Besides, I'm a little.. disappointed that my favorite sister actually wants to part so, so soon, especially when we just had a rather.. emotional family reunion, no?" His mood seemed to light up as he continued speaking.

"What.. do you mean by that? Just let me go already! I promise I won't tell anyone!" Tears started to form in your eyes as you slowly realized what the man meant. You were uncomfortable with the room's atmosphere; it's overwhelming you and you didn't want to stay any longer. You looked behind him, trying to figure out an escape path.

"Now, if you wanted to go so badly," - your actions couldn't escape his perceptive eyes - "I'm gonna escort you to a better place, 'mkay? They're gonna track down this place soon enough since I texted him with my phone. But don't you worry, nii-san won't let anyone hurt you, my (y/n)."

Touya had an almost-innocent smile when he approached you with his arms open, as if waiting for you to give him a hug. You backed away, but as stubborn as this Capricorn man was, he still wrapped his arms around you.

Ever since your childhood, Touya's body was warm, Touya's embrace was always comforting. But now, everything he did chilled you to the bone, making you start to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly you felt a sharp prick on your skin; followed by your consciousness slowly slipping away. Your vision started to grow blurry and all you heard before you drifted off was his voice, whispering to your ear.

"Now we won't be alone anymore."

The End.

A/N 2: I hope you enjoyed it! English isn't my first language so please be gentle with me QwQ. Thanks for reading!

[deja-you]

Starlight

m. de lafayette x reader

chapter four | champagne and sunsets

summary: it was never your intent to be anything more than a common thief, but fate—and a rather attractive general—have other plans for you.

word count: 2.5k

masterlist | previous | next

The expression the receptionist makes when she hands over the key to the honeymoon suite is a little too suggestive, but other than that, you find that Ambros is a rather lovely planet. The high ceilings and gilded artwork on the walls of the hotel you were staying at were a mere microcosms for the glistening planet itself, rich off tourists and natural minerals. You had a brief amount of time to read up on the history of the planet from a pamphlet at the front desk while Lafayette was checking in.

The elevator ride to the twelfth floor is quick, and you and Lafayette carry your luggage to room 1215. With the slide of the key, the door swings open and you take in the sight before you. The room is spacious with large windows and a balcony facing out over the rose-colored sea. There's a large king-sized bed that takes up most of the space, rose petals strewn over the sheets. Romantic.

A golden bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket calling out to you. You drop your bags to the floor and make your way to the champagne where you find a small note from the hotel congratulating you and Lafayette on your wedding. You stifle a laugh and brandish the bottle for Lafayette to see.

"Free champagne," you grin.

Lafayette raises an eyebrow. "Starlight, we're working. This isn't a vacation."

You roll your eyes. "I'm aware, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun. Congress is paying for the room, we really shouldn't let that money go to waste, right?"

He gives you a pointed look. "Your logic is flawed."

You sigh and put the bottle back down into the bucket; maybe you'll revisit the idea of opening the bottle of alcohol if he is going to be so uptight for the entire mission.

"I'm going to go scout the area," you mutter to him, coming up with an excuse to leave your shared living area. It's probably a good idea to memorize the layout anyway. You barely register Lafayette's response as you begin to explore the resort.

There are two entire floors dedicated just to the casino, and you make a note to yourself to check them out before you leave. A few restaurants: fine dining on the lower levels, small cafes toward the middle of the building, and a bar on one of the top observation decks. There are many attractions your hotel offers, and you decide to check out the conservatory on the twenty-ninth floor.

It's rather busy around this time of day, but the conservatory is expansive enough that you can walk around freely without bumping elbows with anyone. Walking from section to section, you slyly listen to bits and pieces of conversation hoping to pick up a lead on your target. Some time passes and realizing that you've examined a starfire flower one too many times, you decide it's time to search somewhere else.

In the elevator, you catch sight of the label "pool" on the highest level and don't think twice before pushing the button. Moments later, the elevator has shot into the sky, and with a ding, the doors roll open to reveal the light purple of the twilight sky. The weather is just right when you step out onto the roof, the warm climate of the planet combatted nicely with the early evening breeze.

Most guests are attending dinner at this time or going to see a show in one of the many theaters, so the pool deck is all yours for the taking. It's been a long day for you, so you think you deserve a little bit of self-indulgence. Removing your shoes, you sit down by the pool that seems to stretch on forever, reflecting the sky on its calm surface, and you dip your feet into the tranquil waters. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to soak in the peace of the moment.

It feels like an eternity, but when you open your eyes and see that the sun has hardly moved from its low place in the sky, you know you haven't been up here too long. You hear the sound of the elevator doors opening and immediately you tense up in annoyance that someone would come to bother your solitude. You're about to pull your legs out of the water when the intruder speaks.

"I had a feeling I'd find you up here."

You turn your head slightly to see Lafayette walking toward you. You relax a bit. Once he approaches your side, he sits down next to you, and to your surprise, he rolls up his pant legs and dips his feet into the water beside you.

"Found any leads yet?" He asks.

You hum a response and shake your head. "No. You?"

"Nothing on out target, but I'm pretty sure there's a young cardshark in the casino that's been conning wealthy guests out of their money," he says.

This makes you smile a little. "Good for them. I used to do similar work."

"I'm just going to assume you mean working in a casino and not being a con-artist."

“What? We met because I decided to con you; are you not a fan of the business?” You lightly nudge his shoulder with your own as you tease him.

“Starlight, it’s illegal,” he points out.

“Only if you get caught.”

“But you did get caught.”

You purse your lips. “Yes, because I saved your life. You wouldn’t have ever found me if I didn’t have that one moral lapse of judgement.”

“Moral lapse of judgement?”

“Mm, yes,” you hum, “I was quite successful looking out for myself and making a living. It’s a shame I suddenly felt a sense of conviction and decided to save your life.”

Lafayette snorts at this. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you had a change of heart.”

You study his face in the dying light, pushing down the butterflies in your stomach that inevitably appear when he gives you that sideways smile. In this quiet moment, you take the time to admire the golden lines that run from his ears up the side of his forehead, intricately linking and marking him as Franco nobility. You want to memorize them and draw the patterns on your own skin; they’re beautiful. Before he can see that you’ve been staring, you look away, eyes falling to the reflections in the pool. You’re happy to be here now with him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad, too.”

When the last of the daylight finally leaves the sky, Lafayette stands to his feet and offers you a hand. You accept, pulling yourself up to your full height. It's too cold to stay on the rooftop any longer, so the two of you step into the elevator and press the button for your room number.

The elevator ride is uneventful, and when you get to your floor, the cool evening air greets you once again. The wide halls of your floor have open walls, large columns are wedged between the floor and the ceiling. You and Lafayette lazily walk down the hall, not in a rush to be anywhere. There are a few other guests meandering about in the open air, and that's when you spot the group of New Britannia soldiers making their way down the hall.

Ambros is such a lovely planet, you nearly forget it's currently New Britannia territory in a bordering system. Troops of soldiers police the planet, checking credentials and arresting anyone they suspect have ties to the United Planets of Amerigo.

The troops are making their way down the hall, speaking with guests occasionally and checking their papers. Your heart begins to thrash against the walls of your ribcage as they get nearer. Lafayette bares the markings of Franco nobility, and Francosia has been known to sympathize with Amerigo.

In a split second, you've made up your mind.

Taking Lafayette's hand in yours, you pull him over to a column, adjusting the both of you to where you are placed with your back to the pillar and Lafayette in front of you. You guide his hands to your waist, and while he looks a bit bewildered, he allows your movements. Your hands reach up to cup either side of his face, your fingers deliberately covering up the golden markings on his face. You pull him closer so you are standing cheek to cheek as you hear the soldiers’ footsteps get closer.

“Just go along with it until they’re gone,” you whisper into his ear, smiling against his skin as if you’re saying something scandalous.

His eyes flicker to the soldiers with a look of realization before looking back to you. You press your lips against his cheek, and Lafayette seems to get the message, because the next thing you know, he’s wraps his arms around your waist and pushes you roughly against the stone behind you. Lafayette buries his face in the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses over your shoulder and along your collarbone.

His lips find a sweet spot, and he begins sucking a hickey into your skin, causing a soft moan to escape your lips. With one hand shielding his face from the passing soldiers, your other hand finds its place at the back of his neck. You can’t help but wonder when the Amerigo Army had time to teach its generals this technique.

The soldiers pass you with no problems, muttering something about “lovebirds” under their breath. Lafayette seems to have forgotten all about them, his lips moving up your neck to your cheek. He’s placing a kiss on the corner of your lips when you come back to your senses and lightly tug on the lapels of his suit.

“Love,” you say, and the both of you are both hyper-aware of how desperate and breathy your voice sounds. “Maybe we should take this back to the bedroom.”

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to understand the meaning behind your words. To your surprise, Lafayette picks you up bridal style and carries you back to the room. Once inside, he kicks shut the door behind the two of you and sets you down gently on the bed. Now that it’s just the two of you, Lafayette takes a step back from you. Tension lingers in the air.

“I… I’m sorry about that.” Lafayette’s eyes trail to the ground, obviously embarrassed.

You clear your throat, skin still warm from the moment before. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It was all just part of the cover.”

There is an awkward moment of silence between the two of you. Finally, he nods and moves toward the bathroom.

“Well, we have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yes, we should probably get ready for bed then,” you agree.

Lafayette spares you one last look, attempts a smile, and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the shower being turned on seconds later and take that as your cue to change into your nightgown. You slip into the cool covers of the bed, propping yourself up on the pillows until you find a comfortable place for yourself. While you wait for Lafayette to finish showering, you pull out your tablet and begin reading up on Ambrosian customs; you can never be too informed.

You have no idea of how long it has been, but eventually the shower shuts off. A few moments later the door swings open, and Lafayette steps out.

"About time," you tease. "Thought I'd never get a chance to brush my teeth."

"Next time you can join me. I hate to think you've been sitting out here bored," he responds.

You'd like to take a moment to think about how incredibly flirtatious his comment is, but your mind goes blank when you look up at him. He's fresh out of the shower, hair still wet. Lafayette wears a pair of dark sweatpants that hang too low on his waist. He's not wearing a shirt, and you can't help but stare at his toned skin. His stomach and arms are well-defined, and you catch the golden glint of the small medallion he wears around his neck.

He shrugs on a white t-shirt, and you can tell his body is still wet from the shower by the way the shirt clings to his torso. Never before have you wanted to be a t-shirt so badly in your life. You feel your face heat up, and you are in the process of pulling your gaze away from him, when he looks up and meets your eyes. The way his lips curved up into a smirk left you with a visceral feeling.

“S’there something I can help you with, starlight?” His tone is light and playful.

Your throat is dry, but you manage to get out, “I can think of a few things.”

Lafayette throws his head back and laughs quietly at your response, and you despise the way your heart crashes against its cage at his actions. You slide out of bed and move past him into the bathroom, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush and then shoving the toothbrush into your mouth before you say or do anything more that you’ll regret. Lafayette doesn’t notice the way you are aggressively brushing your teeth, and you don’t notice the way his eyes linger on the neckline of your nightgown and the hem that ends at your upper thigh.

When you finish brushing your teeth, Lafayette is taking a pillow off the bed and moving it to the floor.

“What are you doing?” You ask, knowing perfectly well what his intentions are.

He looks at you bewildered. “I just thought it would be—”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the ground.”

“You’re not making me do anything.”

“Am I really that deplorable to be around?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Lafayette sort of resembles a deer in headlights at this moment. He shakes his head. “Starlight, we shouldn’t. It’s just that…”

“What? What is it?” Your hands have found their place on your hips and you quirk an eyebrow up at him, waiting for a response.

The answer is on the tip of his tongue. He knows why he shouldn’t share the bed with you, but truth is something he can’t say out loud. Lafayette sighs in defeat, picking up the pillow from the ground and tossing it back to the head of the bed.

Content with your victory, you climb under the covers on your side of the bed. Lafayette is still hesitant, but eventually he climbs into bed as well, keeping an absurd amount of distance from you. You consider making a comment about this, but you’ve already argued with him enough about the bed itself, so you bite your tongue. The light beside your bed is the only thing keeping the room from darkness; you turn it off and settle into bed.

“Goodnight.” You say this quietly, the darkness imbuing the room with a sense of peace that you are all too afraid to mess up.

Lafayette must feel this, too, because his response is a whisper as well. “Goodnight, starlight.”

[catcze]

1/2

[The response comes after a lengthy amount of time, but not so long that it seems like the sender’s been lazy. Rather, it seems as if they’ve been contemplating their response carefully. Each day that passes, the pit in your stomach sinks further and further, now knowing that Kazuha is (probably) ok, but that he’s in an area that’s out of your control.

You finally get a response one afternoon. Instead of sitting by the windowsill, this letter is within your mailbox. It’s beautifully patterned with swirls of variant shades of purple. The single envelope contains two sheets of paper. One is made of a fancy, translucent parchment and the other is a plain sheet of paper. You start with the fancy piece of paper.]

Miss Catte,

I’ve received your response and will address what you’ve sent in chronological order.

We, as in the Inazuma Bukufu, know all about Kaedehara Kazuha’s actions in Inazuma. It’s unfair to assume you would know any more. However, that doesn’t mean you know less than us.

You know his heart. The way his mind works. Subtle shifts in his body that give away his thoughts and emotions. For, you love Kaehehara. And from what little interaction with him I’ve witnessed since his recapture, he loves you.

We let him read over the letter you sent. There were tears in his eyes, ones I haven’t seen since...well, a long time ago.

Secondly, I want to clear up a misconception you have. We did not capture the Crux fleet. Yes, their captain wields an electro vision, but they hail from Liyue, not Inazuma. Kaedehara Kazuha is the only person my subordinates captured.

On the nature of Kaedehara’s crimes, there is nothing you can do to clean the slate he has created. As you might know, the vision decree enacted prohibits any civilian within Inazuma to possess a vision. Kaedehara refuses to part with his vision, and because of this, he will face his punishment.

However, if he were to give up his vision, I would be willing to rethink his punishment.

That is why I’ve thought of a proposal. Though it is demanding for you to request, I will allow you to write one letter for him. Perhaps you could convince him to release his vision. If not, it is your chance to bid farewell to him.

His execution is scheduled a month from writing this letter.

Think of your words carefully. Then leave the letter outside your window sill when you’re ready.

For whatever comes afterwards, I wish you a good life. Mortal lives are short in comparison to the endless stretch of eternity.

-The Inazuman Shogun, Baal

(Kazuha🍁)

2/2 under the cut <3

[The envelope that is left out is pristine, no wrinkles or crumples in the parchment, though it looks as if the fold of the top flap had shaky hands run over it countless times. The smell of vanilla is stronger on this one than the one that was carried by the bird so long ago, not diluted by its trip across the ocean. It looks ordinary for the most part, save for the name ’Kazuha’ in the front in a lovely cursive scrawl. It is placed out on the windowsill carefully, and by gentle hands. The envelope was shaded from the heat of the sun, and not tarnished by the fall of tears. 

Inside, the writing on the letter looks as if it was attempted to be clean and legible, but inevitably there are places where the pen had been stationary for too long, or where it had pressed a little hard on the paper.]

Kazuha, my love,

⠀Before anything else, I’d like to tell you that in a letter that I had received, the electro archon told me that she would be willing to rethink your punishment should you give up your vision. I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you this or not, if they’ll read through this letter, or if you already know, but nevertheless this is what I’ve been told and it’s something that’s kept me up at night. 

⠀I… spent a long time thinking about what I would put in this letter— I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Kazuha.

⠀But I decided I’m not going to persuade you to do anything. Not because I don’t care, because that is so, so far from the truth, but because if you’re suffering, and you wish to be free of the feeling… then it would be selfish of me to beg and cry for you to endure that for the rest of your life just because I can’t let you go. I can’t do that to you. I won’t. 

[The writing there was shaky, each letter pressed hard against the paper. The last two words in particular were shakier than the rest, and the period was large, like the pen had stopped for a long time.]

⠀It’s cruel to have you make you choose with your own life hanging in the balance. If I had the power, I’d make it so you never had to go through such a thing. If only… 

⠀But my love, whatever happens, whatever you choose to do, please know that all I want is for you to make the choice that you want to make. Whether that be to give up your vision or not. Whatever you choose, I promise that I’ll be alright. So please, Kazuha, prioritize yourself this time, okay?

⠀I always wished I could accompany you to your homeland one day, I’ll be honest. When times were more peaceful, I had hoped. I wanted for the day you returned back to be a happy one, and I’m sorry that you’ve gone back under such situations. 

⠀I love you too, Kazuha. For whatever time we have left together, I would like nothing more than to spend it married to you. You make me feel so loved, the happiest I had ever been— it felt so right to fall in love with you, and even though I may feel heartache, I will never regret it. All my best memories were those I spent with you, and I will always be so, so grateful for you being in my life. I—

[A pause. There’s a minute tear in the parchment, and some of the ink had been smudged, like it had bled into fallen tears.]

⠀If this is truly the last time that we speak… is it too much to hope that you can find me in another life? Maybe then things will be peaceful, and there will be nothing for us to run from, only places for us to go and discover. We can have a home all of our own, too, somewhere serene and quiet and ours. Where you can whistle into your leaf and I can grow those fruit trees again, and we could spend our days just sitting on sun-warmed rocks and eating dishes from your hometown. If only fate was kinder, having a family with you sounds like a dream. I‘be always wanted a daughter, too. 

⠀Promise me you’ll find me, okay? We will have our happy ending yet, my love. 

⠀Whatever happens, please know that I will love you forever and then some. There is nothing to forgive, all I have left to give you is my love and my thanks. My thoughts are of you, always. You are the love of my life, Kaedehara Kazuha— never doubt how happy you made me feel. 

[The signature on this is shaky, and tears have blurred it slightly. There’s a lipstick mark beside it, un-smudged. ]

Until we meet again,

Catte 💞

⠀

[bbbqlays]

다섯: 강한 감정

5: Strong Feelings

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It was a new day, and after your encounter yesterday with the man in charge, you were sort of on edge with everything.

“Hey there Eri. I heard you got new books to read.” Your hand reached to a box, opening it you found picture books along with fantasy chapter books. “Do you have a preference for any of these?”

She picked out the most colorful picture book. “You want to read the Paper Dragon?”

You picked up the book and looked at the cover. It was very colorful. She smiled widely, reaching out for the book with awe. “Okay!” You chuckled playfully sitting on her bed, she followed behind and brushed up against you.

You began reading, trying your best to make it entertaining, you even got one of the guards to laugh, a golden blonde haired man. You’ve never seen him until now, his eyes were a boost in mood, and you could tell he was smiling at certain moments.

The book was finished and Eri was way more excited about books, she jumped up but only fell on top of you as she laughed loudly.

“Ms, L/n, could you read another?”

“Why dont we do something better?”

Eri’s eyes lit up, wondering what could be better than a book. You stood up and went up to another box, you looked through to find one pair of child scissors and a bunch of colorful paper. You pulled out stacks and stacks and put them on the ground.

You waved eri over and pulled out a stack of papers. They were orgami papers with various colors. “We can make a paper dragon and hang it up on the ceiling” eri’s eyes brightened at the suggestion. “Oragami is one of the best things they teach you in school. Only because you can create anything out of paper by just folding.”

You divided the colors as quickly as you could before guiding eri through a talk. “Choose the colors and 12 pieces of paper.” She started picking out the colors, mostly being blues and purples, and everyone watched as she chose.

“Okay, and then now we are going to take the first piece.” You grabbed a random sheet of paper and sat on the ground across from her. You started to fold the paper and looked at eri to see if she followed. “And fold it... like that.” She did as she was told and smiled cheerfully while doing it.

Continuing, you explained and showed her every step. She followed delightfully. And the end result came to be two dragons long and proud. “And so now choose a color.” You offered the marker case and she randomly chose. It was purple. You picked out a black marker and picked up your dragon. “Draw a face.” You drew two little dots to signify eyes and a smile.

She did the same but instead had the tongue stick out. You both chuckled as you stood up, stretching. You looked at the clock on the side of her bed and sighed. “Looks like I need to go.” You groan and she followed with a sigh.

“Eri, I will be back tomorrow to hopefully do another fun activity. Maybe we’ll draw tomorrow.” Eri ran up and hugged, tightly gripping on your pants. She let go, but her stare seemed extra saddened. “See you tomorrow. Eat well.”

She nodded to that and you were escorted out. The man guiding you out had long golden hair. His mask fit snugly on his face, his green shirt adorned with a pinkish red tie.

You breathed softly as he guided you back to your room. “Does anyone ever talk?”

He looked at you, as if to smile. “Yeah, but usually to each other. Not really to the head.”

“The head... oh you mean Overhaul right?” He nodded in agreement. “What’s your name?”

“If you need to know, I’m Setsuno Toya.” He said it as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He was glad about the short lived conversation.

“Well, thank you Setsuno. Hopefully we can talk again.” He unlocked the doors with a bow, and you bowed again.

When entering you ripped off the mask and dropped it on your desk looking at the warm food displayed on the corner. It looked to be an American dish, specifically pizza. Toppings were placed on the side of the plate mostly meats.

You nodded to yourself and dug in, loving the warmth of the food. You closed your eyes enjoying the savory taste. It was a simple dish, and it tasted homemade. You wondered who made it and where, since you hadn’t smelled anyones cooking while with Eri.

You finished up, and looked around the desk, clothes laid out on the top and a new mask. You rolled your eyes feeling like a doll with all these clothes.

You rummaged through though, curious as to what they were. It was a blue short skirt, with black shorts, and a white button up blouse to match. It was as if it was made for a summer evening, or a date.

The thought made you chuckle as you threw them on the bed. To think you had a secret admirer was funny to also think about. The world built itself on soulmates, why would anyone play around with that.

The thought then hit you. “Fate... wouldn’t put me here right?” And you couldn’t play around with the thought of that because you couldn’t physically touch anyone.

Everyone had protection and you feel like you’d be killed if you were to touch someone. You tried to laugh the thought away but it lingered, and it scared you.

The clothes fit perfectly. Of course, and you felt good in it despite the earlier thoughts. You honestly thought you looked good in blue.

You enjoyed twirling around in it not being bothered to hear the door click open. You stopped twirling to feel good about yourself only to be met with the man in white.

Your face matched a shade of tomato as you went to try and hide yourself. You bowed to him apologizing silently. He simply bowed to you as well verbally apologizing for disrupting.

“I just came to get you for the meeting.”

You cleared your throat as you nodded. You grabbed the mask on the desk and threw it on still blushing embarrassingly. You walked out with him trying your best to slow your heart rate.

“Chrono right?” He nodded. “You’re like his right hand man, correct?”

“Yes, despite his demeanor he’s actually good.”

“I wasn’t doubting him, I was just going to ask... Why all this?”

Chrono looked at you not understanding the question. “Why this whole base? It seems eerie and too much.”

“Overhaul.” Chrono paused and thought about what to say. “He want’s to change the world. He wants an old image to come back.” Chrono nodded to his statement and continue guiding.

“So, it’s to better society... Correct?”

He nodded and that seemed to lift a burden from you somehow.

Chrono slowly opened the door and to welcome you was the same masked face you had seen last night. This time his tie was loosely around his neck, and he seemed more stressed than anything.

“Welcome Back!” Overhaul greeted you with open arms as he watched you sit. “Hopefully today wasn’t too overbearing.”

“No, of course not. Me and Eri simply read and did origami. Which I thank you for getting supplies for that.”

“So, I see you guys are getting along.” He adjusts his tie and looks off into the distance. “Do you have any other requests?”

Your eyes darted to his face immediately wondering what context. “To take care of Eri.” You were shaky now. Your head wanted to explode as you thought of other things to request that wasn’t for the benefit of Eri.

“Just supplies to draw with.” He nodded and looked at you pleasingly.

“And do you need anything? Specific things you had in your living quarters that you need here.”

You pondered. “If possible. A small library.” Your request seemed to peek his interest, and he simply chuckled.

“Very well.” His hand issued you away, and Chrono guided you out.

“Chrono. How can you tell when Overhaul likes someone?” It was a bold statement and you felt as if he wouldn’t answer properly.

“Don’t worry. He likes you just fine.” He gave you a genuine answer, making you think.

“Now, get some rest. And leave a note of all your favorite breakfast items under the door. Our ‘chef’ wants to make your stay here interesting and home-y.” He left with a nod.

You smiled, not a big smile, because what was there to smile about. You turned on the small lamp light on your desk and scanned your room feeling something off.

Flowers were on your nightstand. Not the ones from before but new ones. White roses. They filled the whole room with a beautiful scent.

You rushed to find another note under the vase, your hands feeling the hand writing. Beautiful cursive saying

‘You’re like a beautiful dove amongst a trash filled park. You stand out like a sore thumb. You please me without knowing it, and for that I keep you near.’

You couldn’t help but shiver as you read it. A smile wider than usual filled itself along your face.

“Beautiful.”

Someone is playing with the strings of fate, and falling for you evidently. You held the note close to your heart laughing loudly as you thought of who it could be.

Your heart fluttered as you thought of the man in white. He seemed to have more personality in this place than anyone else, and he’s seen you the most.

You giggle at the thought, and the thought of not even seeing his face filled you with mysterious happiness.

It was like being in grade school again...

Hey hey! Its Lay. I am sad to inform you that I am sick. I have covid and so it’s hard to get things done while sick. So sorry if uploads are delayed, and or not posted weekly. I’m trying my best, and hopefully you guys support me all the way through.

And if you want content from me everyday, I have a tiktok. I try my best to post everyday, but if you like overhaul here, you’ll definitely like overhaul over there! Thank you so much for reading and hopefully you stay healthy!

TAG LIST (OPEN)

@inanabsentia @wormxunii @lalachanya @cth-l @a-monsters-love @irisallenm @awkward-confused

[septiembrre]

22 👀

Prompt: kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Oh my god, Alex! I had so much fun writing this! It was a wild 5k ride these past 24 hours but here it is. I had never written hurt!comfort before, so this is my take on the classic Rio comes to Beth’s room late at night, bruised and bloody. 

I’m posting it here but it’s mad long. Feel free to check it out instead on AO3. 

I’ll Treat You Better (Than I Did Before)

It’s pitch dark in her bedroom and it takes Beth a minute to realize she’s awake. There’s a foggy, semi-intelligible lecture to Kenny swirling stubbornly in her thoughts. Was it even Kenny? Or maybe it was a pre-teen Annie of years ago...  It clings, insisting she pick up and finish the end of her rant if only to give her enough peace of mind to go back to sleep.

Earlier that day -- or Beth supposes it must be after midnight by now and the overly-rambunctious evening had all officially transpired in the past of the day before -- Kenny had come leaping down off a tree branch in the backyard. It was his latest attempt to “scare the bejeezus” out of his little sisters. He must have been up there for quite some time lying in wait for them to play below him. He had rappelled down like some sort of nightmarish, gangly monkey. Emma’s shriek had carried across the backyard to Beth as she sorted laundry in the mudroom, alerting her that there was mischief afoot. She could picture it in her mind’s eye, Emma levitating a foot off the ground. 

Meanwhile, her youngest, Jane, had sprung forward in instinctive defense of her more mild-mannered older sister, and tackled her pest of an older brother. Janey must have put all of her weight into it, too (and God, she would be great at football, if only there was a team that would take her) because she launched Kenny backward through the air to plop straight into a row of her beautiful, thorn-filled bushes.  

Beth had found herself sprinting barefoot across the yard, helicoptering in to extricate her thirteen-year-old son from his painful perch. After some careful maneuvering, her attempts had ended in a sniffling Kenny with blood dripping down his right arm from dozens of long, thin scratches. Luckily for Kenny (and Beth’s sanity), his mother kept her Neosporin stocked up in spades. Beth ended up sitting with him for the better part of the evening patching him up. 

At the cusp of his teenage years, Kenny is the spitting image of Dean, but damn, if he didn’t remind her of Annie at that age. Ballsy, sharp, plotting, and with little regard for self-preservation, teenage Kenny has really started to push her buttons. The same arguments come bubbling up from the years of yore, the same old patterns. Too quickly, she felt tears bead hotly at the corner of her eyes as she scolded Kenny to be sensical, to watch out for his siblings, to be safe. 

Then, when she was done, she had rounded on Jane. 

Beth’s thoughts continue mulling the evening over as she shifts under her covers. She comes further into consciousness, summoned by the underlying anxiety about the family history she worries could repeat, is repeating, in her children's lives. Beth considers the sheltered home-life she had carefully manufactured for her kids and wonders where she went wrong. Was this uptick in reckless behavior a product of the divorce?

She considers a quick Internet search — just to peek, get some reassurance. But, it’s just as likely she’ll come across something that will stress her out. Then she’ll really wake up and what she should do is go back to sleep, and leave the family pathologizing for the morning. 

Distantly, wrapped in the dark cocoon of her bed, Beth registers a robust rumble and the sound of rain— thunder? How long has it been raining? 

A bright flash of light peels through the curtains of the French doors and the windows of her bedroom, illuminating the ceiling above her. The answering thunder cracks loudly a few seconds later, and Beth, a grown adult, startles in her bed. 

Kenny and Jane certainly had too much of their aunt’s recklessness in them, but perhaps Beth and Emma (and sometimes Danny) were also too similar -- another thing to worry about. She wonders if her eldest daughter, her mini-me, is fated to a lifetime of boredom and self-effacement for the comfort of other people? Could this be the legacy Beth is passing on to her daughter? Oh my god. 

Beth squeezes her eyes shut, trying to shut out this unhelpful, midnight whorl of thoughts, and rolls over to check her phone. Three.

It’s too late, early, obscene for this particular spiral. But these are the kind of thoughts that take root in her mind, and come out in the middle of the night to make her second guess if she’s doing anything right in her life.

Beth takes a deep breath. She lets it out. Then, she burrows deeper in the covers, tries to settle back in her skin, and listens to the rain. 

It might have worked, too, except suddenly the French doors are jostled insistently from the outside. The handles smack sharply as they snap back into place, and Beth all but jumps a foot into the air. 

She’s suddenly awake, too awake, and pissed off. 

Beth has exactly one guess of who is out there. Who else could it be? 

Adrenaline pulses through her veins, as Beth leaps up to stalk to the double doors. She pulls back the gauze curtain and glowers at the shadowy figure outside. 

Lightning flashes again illuminating Rio’s glare that meets hers from the other side. He cants his jaw, raising a hand to rap impertinently at the glass. There’s blood on his face and his knuckles leave a red smear where he knocked on the window. 

Immediately, Beth unlocks the doors and steps back to let him in. The smell of wet earth floods her room, and abruptly, she and Rio are two shadowy figures in the darkness of her room. 

“You change the locks on me, ma?” Rio asks, playing wounded -- emotionally, that is. 

What a fucking night. 

“Yes.” Beth snips. She strides ahead of him to the ensuite and flicks on the lights to the bathroom. Her eyes squint as she adjusts to the brightness. “I didn’t want any more surprises.” Beth spins to face him. 

Rio has paused behind her, leaning against the frame of the bathroom. He brings up a palm to clutch the area of his chest over his heart. His knuckles are caked in blood, some of them still actively bleeding. Beth scans his face and registers the purple bruise blooming along one of his too-sharp, too-handsome cheekbones and there’s a dab of blood at his temple. His hoodie and pants are soaked from the rain and are dripping a puddle onto the bathroom tile floor. Her eyes drop down the length of him, and she notes that it’s the first time she’s seen his sneakers muddy. He must have tracked dirt all through her carpet. 

Worry coils knots between her shoulder blades. 

He looks like shit. 

But, still -- he finds the gall to drag his eyes suggestively down her body and she wonders what on earth he’s looking at. It’s the middle of the night, she’s not wearing any makeup, and her hair probably lies straight and limp from her pillow. Quickly her eyes flick sideways to the mirror to check that she doesn’t have drool flaking on her cheek. She doesn’t, but then her eyes catch on her frayed pajamas that in sleep have been pulled in an unflattering stretch across her body. She wonders if she could tug the fabric back into place without being too obvious, and her gaze rises to look at Rio surreptitiously in the mirror. In the seconds she’s looked away, his eyes have zeroed in on her chest and Beth is suddenly very aware that she is not wearing a bra. 

Quickly, the self-righteousness flares again. Once upon a time, she had thought it sexy-- okay, maybe a kernel of hers still thinks it’s a little sexy. But, now, after what happened between them, she never wants him to shed a drop of blood again. Beth wants to smack him, shake him… and draw him in, and warm him up, and kiss at the blood on his knuckles. The impulse beats warm, warm, warm in her chest. A clap of thunder sounds again, and like a flash she pictures his fingers illuminated in the dark of her bedroom, bloody and vibrant against the paleness of her skin. 

Somewhere low, her body throbs. 

Rio licks his lips. 

Beth swears at herself and tries to shake it off. “Get in here.” 

Blessedly, Rio doesn’t make any moves to touch her. Instead, they do a graceful pivot around each other, as he moves into her bathroom. She swears the air quivers with some spell of gravity or attraction manifesting itself between their bodies. Why-- Why is it like this? 

Beth bites her lower lip, exhausted, worried, and a little nervy. Rio tracks the movement of her teeth at her lip. 

Then, he shivers. 

It nudges her back to her senses. 

Beth lofts her nose in the air, prim. “Luckily for you, the Neosporin is already out.” She sighs, rolling her shoulders back. “It’s been a day.”

Rio nods along with her, his lips pressing together with the effort of suppressing a wry grin. “You’re tellin’ me.” 

She nods back at him. “I’m going to go get it.” 

“‘Kay.” 

Rio shivers again, and he looks disdainfully down at his wet clothes. 

“Don’t move.” Beth insists, exasperation and worry setting more firmly in. She wonders if she will find more blood under his clothes, knows she’ll see his scars again tonight, and prays he hasn’t added anything more to the collection. Beth tries to mask her concern. “I don’t want blood in my bedroom.” 

She starts to turn away, when Rio intones sardonic and somehow still with a thread of sincerity, “Thank you, darlin’.”

Beth throws him a quick glare and then tip-toes out of her bedroom to the kitchen. She takes the opportunity to adjust the set of her pajamas and combs her fingers through her hair. Then, mindful of not making more noise that would wake the kids, she quietly gathers the first aid supplies she had used earlier to tend to Kenny. There’s a quick moment of consideration, then she shoves the handle of bourbon under her arm. She makes her way back through the semi-darkness of the house, periodic flashes from the storm outside illuminating her way. 

Beth returns to her bedroom, the light from the ensuite beckoning her forward. Inside, Rio has settled on the edge of the tub. He’s pulled the hoodie off and it lies discarded in a sodden pile behind him in the tub. He’s left wearing a damp black t-shirt and soaked black denim. 

Beth sets the supplies on the vanity and then snaps her fingers, gesturing at him insistently. “Take it all off.”

“‘Scuse me?” Rio’s eyebrows raise in disbelief and amusement.

“Take off your clothes.”

Rio’s hands go to grasp the edge of his t-shirt.  “So it’s that kind of healin’, huh?”

Beth makes a dismissive sound and gestures impatiently at him to take off his shirt. Rio peels it off and drops it with the hoodie. 

His tattoos and the scars dance before her in the bright bathroom light like a mirage. Then, Rio drops his big, bloody hands to unbutton his fly. His thumb pauses, fondling the button as his grin spreads Cheshire-like across his face. Quickly, Beth grabs her towel off the rack and pushes it at his chest. Then she turns around and stares through the doorway into the darkness of her bedroom, to give him privacy. 

The night thunderstorm continues on, noisy and beautiful when she really comes to focus on it. Beth wonders if her children might have woken up with the thunder, but she hasn’t heard their footsteps. They could never successfully sneak around Beth, her ears tuned to their movements. Her eyes drift to the doorway of her bedroom and she sends a brief plea that they sleep through the storm. She doesn’t want Janey or Emma coming down to creep into her bed, while her crime boss is bleeding in her bathroom.

There’s a loud thud of soppy denim landing in the tub, and it brings her back to exactly what Rio is doing behind her.

She can hear the smirk in his voice when he calls, “You gonna kiss it and make it better now, Elizabeth?”

Beth shuts her eyes in a surge of pique. Why does she like him again?

But, hadn’t those same thoughts already flashed through her head? Of kissing his pain away?

She tries to get herself under control. “Are you decent?”

“Mmhm.”

Beth turns and finds Rio with her towel slung low around his hips, seated again on the edge of the tub. He’s dry now -- or drier. There are little beads of water that he missed lined under an ear, along a bicep. His blood stands out dabbed across his hands and at his brow. It doesn’t look like there’s any other damage to him. 

The tattoos look stark against his skin in the light, the scars starker but her eyes still have to skip past those. She wants to lick at the wings of his neck, to pin him underneath her, and suck at them in her bed. And god, he doesn’t look his best tonight. He’s not the sure-fire and graceful version of him prowling from his stupid, luxury car, or sitting incorrectly in whatever chair is around, or taunting her with his one-upmanship and wide smiles. But, want blooms wild at the sight of so much of him at once and she has a brief thought that the thunderstorm could work to their advantage. 

Rio shifts and stretches his legs out long in front of him. Then he slants his jaw at her in a manner that can only be described as cocky, daring her to ignore him, and her towel, and his probable nakedness. His eyes dance with mirth.

Quickly, regroups by Beth clamping her eyes shut again to dispel the image, the reality in front of her.

Does she still have any of Dean’s clothes? Damn, she knows she meticulously packed them all away for him to head off any possible excuse--  A loose shirt maybe? Or perhaps a spare bedsheet they could drape around him? No. That’s dangerous territory—

What was he going to wear out of here?

Well… she could always go grab more towels from the linen closet in a bit. Throw his clothes in the dryer. That was a start. 

Beth opens her eyes, and extends him her hand, “Let me see.”

“I can handle it, ma,” Rio says affectionately, seemingly sparing her in a rare show of grace. “It’s my mess.”

Ah, yes. His creed. 

“Why are you here then?” 

“‘Cause it’s pouring out and I was nearby.” 

She stares at him, trying to connect the dots. 

“...And you thought you could show up like this and I would— what? Be your hot pack?”

Rio scoffs a short laugh. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You knocked on my bedroom door at three in the morning,” she hisses. 

Rio shrugs, not giving a quarter. 

“Is this supposed to be a—” Beth lowers her voice to an affronted whisper. “—booty call?”

He stares at her, his mouth falling open. Then he shakes his head in what Beth thinks is disbelief. “Pass me the kit.” 

Beth doesn’t move. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares down at him seated below her. “What happened?” 

Rio grits his jaw.

Their scowls meet in a stalemate. 

Thunder crashes again outside, loud as ever. Beth jumps at the sound, it loosens her stance as Rio gives another shiver from the residual chill on his skin. His gaze softens on her, and she relents -- for now.  

Beth grabs the kit, flips down the lid of the toilet and perches on the commode next to him. She holds out her palms again. “Let me see.” 

This time, Rio extends his hands. 

Beth can’t help a small grin at the victory. She cranes over his fingers, turning them around in her palms. Despite getting caught in the downpour, his hands are warm, strong as always and eclipsing hers. For the most part, the bleeding at his knuckles has stopped, and she feels her worry unknot itself. In reward for his rare compliance, she passes him the bottle of bourbon.

He wrinkles an eyebrow in surprise. “You okay with me taking a swig from the bottle?”

Beth considers it for a beat. Then she leans over and plucks the old sippy cup she keeps in the bathroom for brushing her teeth and offers it to him. He chuckles and opens the handle. He fills the sippy cup half way with bourbon and now it’s Beth’s turn to give Rio a look of surprise. He takes a drink. 

“For sharing.”  He grins at her over the rim of the cup, too charming for the middle of the night. 

Remotely, Beth can feel the tiredness pulling at her bones from the eventful evening caring to three of her four children and the subsequent interrupted sleep. But more pressingly -- the heat throbs low in her core again. 

She pulls the cup out Rio’s grasp, and takes a sip. The smell of the bourbon is sharp in her nose as it goes down her throat, settling warm in her belly. She hands back the cup and returns to her self-appointed task. 

She absolutely doesn’t think of the finally-healed bullet scars in her face. Or the expanse of brown skin exposed in front of her. Or his eyes resting warm on her face, occasionally drifting to follow the careful movement of her hands. 

Beth focuses on the cuts. 

First, she grabs the peroxide. For an eternity, or what really is just a few minutes, the only sound is the rain falling steadily outside and their soft breathing. The smell of the peroxide makes Beth's nose wrinkle and Rio gives a quiet laugh. His fingers twitch as she irrigates the wounds but otherwise he takes it well. 

For the millionth time, she wonders if Rio boxes. He must, right?

After she’s done with the hydrogen peroxide, they both take another swig of bourbon, polishing off the sippy cup. Then, Beth moves on to dabbing Rio’s knuckles with alcohol. 

Halfway through the first hand, there’s another loud clap of thunder. Beth’s hands tense and she presses too firmly into one of the cuts. Rio flinches and looks at her with a question on his face.

“You scared of thunder?”

“No.” 

He smiles at her, not seeming to believe her words. 

“I’m just tired.” --and overstimulated, and are you even wearing boxers underneath that towel?

Beth pivots. “So what happened?”

Rio’s smile wanes and he looks at her with that old guarded look-- that I’m a tough crime boss and I don’t talk easy look. She rolls her eyes and continues cleaning his knuckles. 

“I was out on business--” 

She looks up from his knuckles to search his face. 

“Not our business.” Rio clarifies, but Beth only has more questions as he continues, “And I got into a fight with some dumb motherfucker who didn’t do as he was told.”

“What was the problem?” Her mind spirals. She’s responsible for a sizable part of his wealth now but so much of his business is still elusive. But, the question comes out inelegant, too direct. 

Rio looks at her with reproach, pursing his lips. 

“Didn’t respect the pecking order.” 

Honestly, she doesn’t have enough context to be sure she knows what that means. But, she’s certainly had enough of those kinds of disputes with Rio herself. She knows it’s serious -- hence the blood -- and she decides not to press. It’s three, now three-thirty, in the morning and Beth doesn’t have the energy to work on their communication at this hour. 

She returns her focus to his hands, but the rest of him, the exposed length of him catches her eye from the periphery of her vision.

She recognizes that particular musky smell of him, of his skin, as their bodies lean close together.

She tries her previous question again. “And how did you end up here?”

Her gaze darts up to look at him through her lashes. She finds him staring solemnly back at her. 

Then, he shrugs.

“You were closer”

Beth bites her lip.

It was just two months ago that they had slept with each other at Paper Porcupine. It had been the first time since before and it just happened, late one night at a private drop between them. It had been electric, furious, and everything she had fantasized about alone in her bed. They had gone a few rounds despite the lack of comfortable surfaces. 

She tries never to think about it. But, it ends up filling all of her day-dreams. 

He had gotten on the table next to the printing press, and he had dropped to his knees and eaten her out. The look in his eyes while he had-- Afterwards, he pulled out a stack from the drop money and seemed to pretend-swat her ass with it. They had ended up spilling the bag out and they fucked on fresh stacks of cash. 

Then there was kissing, a literal bathroom break. Then, Rio, bossy, ridiculous, had led her over to a work table. He had pulled up her blouse, pulled down her bra, and bent her over the edge. His hand firm at her back, he had pushed her chest into a tin of setting pulp. God.  She had moaned around the thick fingers that he had curled into her mouth, impossibly turned on and feeling the… sluttiest she had ever felt. Rio had murmured dirty encouragement in her ear, egging her over to the edge again and again.

Not one to let him get the last word, Beth had insistently pushed off the table just before he came and pulled him out. Rio had watched in a fevered daze, groaning as she had sunk to her knees, sucking him off, tasting herself with a triumphant glint in her eye. Beth had let his come spill, joining the mess smeared across her throat and breasts.

Afterward, they laid together, sticky, sprawled out on the floor, and came back to earth. Eventually, she had tugged open the buttons of his shirt. He had let her. And Beth had cried — quietly, restrained — as she kissed the scars she had given him. Rio had eyed her steadily, carefully as Beth’s world tilted completely off its axis. 

They fucked again a week later at the hot tub store, in the water with strategic use of one of the jets. And a few days after that in his car, and then in the back of hers. Then, Paper Porcupine again and that was the last time. Beth had just managed to get him dressed and out the front door as Annie and Ruby had come through the back rallying for printing night. Beth had feigned ignorance as they had asked increasingly pointed questions about the eye-sore of a Mercedes that had just been parked outside of the store and reality came crashing down.

After that, Beth had kept her distance. And Rio… was never one to meet her more than halfway.

But, he continued to drop in on her -- more than ever. She is clearly on his schedule, penciled into the spare hours of the day. 

And still, she continues to resist it — the pull. 

She could admit they had their fun. Is that what people call the best sex they’ve ever had in their life?

But, she doesn’t know if she’s ready for something so unsteady, something that makes her feel so messy -- too alive. If she ever will be ready. But, she thinks of Rio bleeding somewhere out there and other nights where he won’t come to her, thinks of the night where she left him bleeding out, and her mouth twists in a grimace. 

Rio brings the hand she isn’t working on to squeeze reassuringly at her thigh. 

It feels really nice. 

Beth has to clear her throat and blink away a few tears. 

After she’s done with the alcohol swabs, she motions for Rio to follow her to the sink.  

As they both crowd around her vanity, Beth realizes she didn’t quite need to follow him as he rinses his knuckles out with water. But, she reminds herself, it’s the middle of the night and she’s tired. The cuts and scrapes haven’t been serious — but there’s been too much blood in the past few hours. 

She uncaps the Neosporin. It’s something for her to do with her empty, searching hands.

“Nah.” Rio shakes his head and turns off the water. “I don’t need that.”

Beth levels him with the look she gave Kenny earlier, brokering no arguments. 

“You want me to get it all over your bed?”

“Excuse me?” 

He blinks back at her. Then in affected shock, he continues, “You take my clothes, you ply me with booze and now you want me to drive across Detroit while it’s still pourin’ rain?” He tsks. “Damn, mama. That’s cold.”

Beth rolls her eyes — and she’s tired, and if he keeps his hands to himself and she keeps her hands to herself… what’s a couple of hours of shut-eye next to the lean, naked length of him? He would have to be naked. She wasn’t going to let him get into her sheets with wet boxers, even if he surprised her and they were somehow on underneath that towel.

Well, she’ll tackle it when they get there. For now, she abandons the Neosporin on the counter, passes over the bandaids and bandages she knows he won’t take, and grabs the hand towel to raise to his temple. He dodges away, playful but somewhat serious.

“I’m good. I promise.”

That’s not enough to stop Beth from zeroing in on the bruise at his cheek. She brings her fingertips up to prod at it gingerly. It’s swollen and hot. Rio winces beneath her touch, bringing his hands up to snatch hers. He lowers her hands to his lips instead, and he presses his mouth to her fingertips. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs hotly against her hand, effectively distracting her from doing anything else.

Beth gulps, as a spark kindles. Her skin burns where Rio’s mouth presses warm on her skin and shoots down her core. It coils in her belly and has her shifting in her stance. She’s still aware of where he touched her thigh just now and she craves more of his touch, the pleasure of his undivided attention.

Beth is flooded by thoughts of him, back in her bed. She thinks of him wrapped up in her sheets. She thinks of it now in the safety of darkness, with the rain still pattering down on the house. And she yearns.

She’s never felt like this before — not even when she was a teenager, young and hormonal. She had been too laden with responsibilities and a fumbling boyfriend who would become a boorish husband. Before crime, she had always accepted what had been handed to her without a complaint. But now... 

When she’s with Rio, Beth feels fire in her and it’s impossible to back away, to back down. 

She wants to chase him, be desired by him, bring him to her bed and into her life and never let him go. 

She blinks up from his mouth to look him in the eye. That look suspends between them heady, rife— 

It’s three-thirty in the morning and so what?

She licks her lips and lets herself loose. 

Beth pulls her hands away from his mouth and wraps them around his palms pulling them to her body instead. Goosebumps rise up along Rio’s arms.

She thinks, What’s one more time?

She thinks, I want to be the one who warms him up. 

She thinks, I want this. 

Beth brings his knuckles to her mouth, Rio’s hands weighty in hers. The musk of him fills her nose and it makes her light-headed, wet. She kisses them tenderly, her lips dragging against where his skin is unbroken. Her attention is trained on his hands, but she registers the wings fluttering again at his throat, as he swallows hard.

When Beth is done kissing each cut, she brings one hand to rest on her hip and the other’s fingertips to her mouth instead. She takes the tip of an index finger in her mouth and she bites firm at the pad.

When he groans, she feels deep in her cunt. 

She’s achingly empty, burning and she wants him. She can’t think of anything else.

But, Rio hovers a breath away. He’s never needed much convincing before.

And she thinks, Right. We’re here again.

Her bed.

So, she rises up onto her toes, her lips landing softly on his bruised cheek. As she lingers in what increasingly feels like their natural orbit — kissing distance — she brings Rio's hand under her shirt to squeeze at the warm, rounded weight of her breast. It’s her turn to moan as he cups her, his hand reaching up to roll her nipple between his fingers.

Rio presses his forehead to hers, panting open-mouthed against her lips. The tips of their noses brush. She feels his cock hard against her stomach, through the stupid towel.

She wants to devour him.

Beth pulls at the drawstring of her pants and pushes them down. She brings Rio’s hand that has moved to clutch her ass, to perch between her legs instead so he can feel how wet she is.

Rio groans and murmurs, “This for me, Elizabeth?”

His fingers give a perfect, exploratory swirl around her clit. Beth rocks back, scooting her butt to rest on the vanity. She spreads her legs so Rio can dip his fingertips to tease her cunt with a hint of what it’ll be like to be full.

“Always for you.”

It’s unclear who initiates the kiss. It doesn’t matter. It all devolves quickly after that.

[candlelight27]

Chapter 4: I Am Finally Me

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Lots of talking, discussion about death and wounds in a war context, mild gore? (blood is mentioned)

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4267

AO3: I Am Finally Me

A/N:  We have a beta reader!!! It’s @galamixx !! Thank you so much for being the beta reader and editor!! 

Dimitri and Sylvain had accompanied you to your apartment on your way back from the party. 

Of course, after hearing all the ruckus and inquiring what had happened, Dimitri wanted to make sure you arrived home safely. Being the gentleman he is, he offered you a ride home. You tried to deny his proposition out of politeness, but he was insistent. Besides, he was one of the few people who hadn’t drunk anything and, in that moment, not having to walk home was the most attractive option. You were exhausted and the only thing you wanted was lying down on your bed.

There was a downside: he lived with Sylvain, so Sylvain was coming along. It wasn’t itself a bad thing, but you had the impression that fate was setting you both up all the time.

You sat on the co-pilot seat, while Dimitri was driving, and Sylvain was on the back. You looked at Dimitri, but he couldn’t see you because you were on his eyepatch’s side. Silence settled in the car despite the distant chatter of the radio. You were dizzy and drowsy. It was hard not to fall asleep right there.

Sylvain’s breath, steady, a sweet lullaby you focused on. Dimitri said something to Sylvain, starting a mindless conversation about domestic chores. Grocery shopping, cleaning the toilet...

Something poked your head from behind. You turned around to ask the red head what he wanted. But before you could open your mouth, he caressed your cheek affectionately. His hand was warm, and his fingers were soft as he traced the line of your jaw. He then kept talking as if nothing had happened, and you tried to concentrate on the streetlamps passing by.

He really was something else, wasn’t he?

You arrived shortly after. Dimitri double parked and waited inside the car, while Sylvain left the warmth of it to take you to the door of your apartment.

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

“It was nothing. Good night!” He waved at you.

You felt the cold breeze blowing on your face and on your legs during the short space between the vehicle and the building.

“Why don’t we talk tomorrow over some tea?” Sylvain suggested out of the blue. He was feigning nonchalance.  

“Are you still brooding over tomorrow?”, you teased tiredly, opening the outer door.

“We hadn’t settled a place or a time.” He hummed. “I don’t want you to sleep over and bail out.”

“You’re turning our serious talk into a date? How sneaky of you!”

“Is it working?”, he laughed as he went up the stairs before you.

“You’re incorrigible.”

You used your key to enter your apartment, but it wasn’t locked. It annoyed you because you thought Ingrid was still out partying somewhere in Hilda’s home. As you went in, you heard some giggling and whispering. You stopped Sylvain from coming in, evaluating the living room and the hall.

“Isn’t that the plastic sword Ashe had?”, he asked, his voice low, noticing something  was amiss.

“I can’t believe it”, you covered your mouth to prevent a laugh.

“Ashe and Ingrid? What has university done to my innocent friends?” Sylvain looked almost offended. “What’s next? Manuela and Seteth?”

“Never say never”, you shrugged. “Dorothea could say the same about you and me.”

“Well, yes… I hadn’t thought about that.” Sylvain scratched the back of his neck. He was standing in your lobby, looking uneasy. “Will you be able to sleep with the lovey-dovey lovers here?”

“I have earplugs in case they can’t contain their love”, you grimaced. He felt embarrassed as he was losing time just to be with you, moving his weight from one foot to the other and diverting his gaze, hoping he’d come up with something else to justify his presence there. “See you tomorrow then?”, he said at last, as though his body didn’t want to leave your side.

“Over tea. At 12?”, you suggested.

“Yes. Well, goodbye.”

“See you tomorrow, Sylvain.”

He disappeared into the darkness of the hall. You went straight to your bed, without sparing a second thought to anyone else’s business. You had a lot to think about yourself and needed a good rest.

 The next morning your head was foggy. The events of the previous night slowly came back to your mind while stretching your arms. It turned out, as you looked at the clock, that you had woken up way too early. The small hand of the clock marked the number nine. You practically jumped out of bed still in last night’s clothes and went around the apartment. Ingrid wasn’t up yet, but Ashe’s things weren’t there, so he must have left in the middle of the night.

You headed to the shower, rushed without reason. Under the hot water, you closed your eyes. You remembered his warm hand the night before, and the feel of his touch. It was familiar. You had grabbed his hand before, right? But the memory changed all of a sudden. An image flashed, Sylvain caressing your cheek, but you both were standing somewhere else.

It was a battlefield, filled with corpses. Professor Byleth and Dimitri were by your side. All you were tainted by blood: your clothes, your weapons, your hair. But there was an odd silence, a distant cheer. Sylvain, not letting you go, touched your forehead with his and whispered: ‘it’s over. At last, it’s over.” And he repeated your name like a chant.

You fell backwards, landing on your bottom. You didn’t hurt yourself, thankfully. Then, you got up, dried with a towel and put on some clothes.

When you stopped for a moment, you felt that your heart was out of control, beating in a frenzied rhythm. It was 9:23, you weren’t late to your date. You breathed in.

But your body wouldn’t calm down.

You were supposed to be wasted from the party, but if you had drunk three cups of coffee – which you hadn’t, and needn’t at the moment –, you wouldn’t have felt more awake and alarmed. There was something else inside of you trying to resurface, yet it reached the light.

You 09:24: Can we meet earlier?

Would Sylvain be up yet? You hoped so. And deep down, you knew he was reading the message.

Sylvain 09:25: Yes. Pls.

Sylvain 09:25: The wait is killing me.

Sylvain 09:25: [Photograph attached]

You took a deep breath, relieved that he was as restless as you.

You 09:26: I hope it’s not a dick picture.

Sylvain 09:27: I charge for those, sorry.

You opened the file. It was Sylvain, with a scarf, a coat and a backpack, walking around a park near the café you were going to meet him in. His nose was red, his eyes puffy from not sleeping too much, and in a bad way.

You 09:28: How long have you been up?

You 09:28: Let’s meet now

Sylvain 09:29: I woke up at 8

Sylvain 09:30: I couldn’t sleep anymore

Sylvain 09:30: Oh, eager, are we? 😉

You 09:30: …

You 09:30: I’m on my way.

You grabbed your own coat and went out. Sylvain was acting weird, but you guessed that what he was about to reveal was putting his nerves on edge.

You realised halfway to your meeting point that you had forgotten your keys. That’s how disconnected you were from your surroundings. Your head was cluttered. Where had all this come from? There was something else on the back of your mind, right on the tip of your tongue, that you couldn’t exactly take out, but you couldn’t remember what it was, It was unnerving. And the more you thought about Sylvain, the more those visions tried to surface, yet they couldn’t appear yet.

Thankfully, the café wasn’t far from your home and you arrived in less than ten minutes. It was a cold day, and there was hardly anyone in the street.

You didn’t bother looking around for Sylvain. You just knew he was inside of the place, so you opened the door ringing the small bell attached to it. A waiter with purple hair and well-done makeup wished you a good morning. After a quick glance around the local, you found Sylvain on a secluded corner, who was distractedly looking at his own drink and hadn’t realised you had arrived.

“Hi!”, you greeted nervously.

He smiled warmly. He was drinking a bergamot tea and on the opposite side of the table, your own favourite kind awaited you. You felt your heart melt, but then you realised another thing.

“Thank you, but how did you know my favourite kind of drink?”, you tilted your head. “Did Ingrid or Dorothea tell-?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know it.” He sighed. “I only knew from a dream.”

You blinked while he shrugged. He was waiting for you to talk.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me explain myself.” His tone was so serious, it sent a chill to your spine.

“Sure.”

“Okay…” He inhaled deeply. You were so curious about his secrecy. Unconsciously, you were leaning over on the edge of your chair in anticipation. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were fixed on his hands, which were holding the warm drink. “Before I begin, I want to warn you first. Felix thought I was going crazy for a month. He still doesn’t believe me, I just stopped talking about it and… well, haven’t talked to anyone about this ever since.”

“Sylvain, I don’t need a warning, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

“Yes, right.” He finally gazed at you. “I must ask something first. Have you had any nightmares or dreams recently? About the people we went with to Garreg Mach High School.”

Your heart beat faster and stronger hearing that. You had one just before breakfast, and you weren’t even asleep.

“Yes. I’ve had nightmares. About… Miklan. He transformed into a huge, beastly monster. And you were there, right next to me. And Professor Byleth. And many other students. Well, the others changed… Sometimes they were Annette, Dimitri and Felix, sometimes they were Hilda, Raphael and Claude.” You gulped for a moment. “When we were in the library…” Sylvain was watching you intently.

“Yes?”

“My chest hurt. That night, I dreamt someone had pierced me with a spear. It was horrible…” You paused to ease yourself. “I could feel the blood running down my stomach, and… the coldness flowing from the wound. I felt I was dying.”

“Did you know who hurt you?” Your hair stood on end. You didn’t answer. You were too afraid to speak because you, too, knew who it was. Sylvain sensed it. “It was me, right?” You nodded slowly, studying his movements. “I’ve dreamt that too. It was the main reason why I ignored you all those years.”

“Really?”, you frowned. “For a dream? It was not pleasant, but…”

“Well, imagine my situation,” he explained, “Ingrid has a cute new friend and the first time I see you I keep dreaming that I’m stabbing you with a fucking spear.” You giggled at his perspective. He wasn’t wrong. “I had the same nightmare on a loop for a week, so I convinced myself it was a signal to leave you alone. It did really freak me out.”

“And here I thought you hated me”, you made a funny face. “Why did you so suddenly change your opinion and started talking to me, then?”

“I wanted to pass the subject. Hard to do a project without speaking to your partner,” he replied, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Sylvain, weren’t you going to be honest?”

“Ah, this is going to be awkward,” he moved his hands around, not sure about where to let them rest. You could see he was uneasy again. “From then on I had a lot of dreams about you. We would spar together, sneak out of Byleth’s lessons… and we went through a war together. It was like we were the main characters of one of those romance novels of knights that Ingrid loves.” He looked at you shyly. Sylvain took a deep breath, and rushed the next part of his speech, hoping you wouldn’t pay it a lot of attention, considering all he had already said. “I feel like I’ve loved you for a hundred of years, and I can’t deny it anymore.”

You took your time processing all the information and taking it in. “Are you weirded out yet?” He asked, flashing you an apologetic smile.

“No, no. I’m just… amazed that we’re connected in that way.” You took a long sip from your warm drink. “All you tell me sounds familiar, yet I can’t remember. I’ve always had a little crush-”

“Little?” He winked. The redhead knew perfectly how to disarm you.

“Yes, little!” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t know why, but it was as if I knew you all my life, and all my emotions just got stronger with time. And the more people we dated – it was mainly you dating people, but you understand me – the more I felt a piece of me was missing.”

“So you believe me and acknowledge that there are things out of place here, right?”

“Yes.” Another chill ran through your spine.

“Okay, so I’ve been talking to other people. And they had nightmares or plain dreams in a similar setting. A long time ago, with magic and wars. And it affects all of those who have something to do with Garreg Mach High School.”

“Once, Bernadetta hid in the bathroom crying because she thought she had murdered Ingrid,” you told him, as you remembered the strange occurrences of your high school days. “Edelgard and I were really disturbed all day because… well, why would she even think of that?”

“See? My theory is…” Sylvain interrupted himself. He was sure you were going to question his sanity, but he had to tell you. He knew he could count on you. Even if it turned out he was really going insane, you’d help him find a solution. Even if you’d barely ever talked two months before that moment, Sylvain trusted you. “My theory is that we’ve all lived that and that we have been reincarnated in this world somehow. But they couldn’t erase all the memories because our bonds once were very strong.” He couldn’t stop now. “And I think that we have lived in that world multiple times. Otherwise, the timelines don’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I killed you. Do you know where?”

“In Gronder,” you answer automatically. “Although I don’t know where that is, I just know the name…”

“It’s a field on the way to Garreg Mach from the south.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “That isn’t important, though. The thing is, I have other memories. I recall you calling me with an axe in Deirdru while I was trying to attack Claude. And I can also perfectly remember your face when you- when I- Ugh, when we got married. And we were way older.”

“We got married?” you said astonishingly.

“That’s not my point, but yes. Remember we also murder each other? It’s quite fucked up.”

“This morning… It wasn’t a dream, I was in the shower and it just came to my mind. The war ended, we were with Dimitri and Byleth. And both of us were alive.” Sylvain nodded at your words. He wasn’t surprised. You supposed Sylvain had other visions outside dreams too. You pitied him for all the years he went through this alone.

“Although, there are other occurrences that don’t change between the timelines. Glenn always ends up dying. So does Byleth’s father, and Dimitri’s family too. So far – well, you already know this – they are alive right now, but I’m scared that…'' He couldn’t end the sentence.

“Why would we be in a loop of events that change but always involve us and our friends?” You questioned out loud.

“I wish I knew. As I wish I knew why I’m the one having all these dreams while the rest looks like they know nothing of this madness.”

“You are very touchy-feely, maybe that’s why”, you suggested trying to lift the mood. Suddenly something dawned on you. “Oh... My dreams became more vivid when you touched me.”

“Fuck. I suppose that makes sense. It feels like it’s a divine punishment for my antics”, he dedicated you with a sad smile.

There was tension in the air. Sylvain bit his lip and looked everywhere else but you. You, on the other hand, were as confused as ever, your gaze blank. Your train of thought was a mess. Sylvain was right. The things he said made sense. But at the same time, it was impossible that something like that was happening to you. Surely, you would have noticed. Everyone would have noticed that something was wrong.

“What do you think?”, he finally dared to ask. “Do you believe me for real?”

“I do. But… It’s just too implausible. There has to be another explanation.”

“Then help me find it,” he said. His voice trembled.

“I’m going to. We’re going to find out what’s happening.” You took his nervous hand. “I promise.”

His phone started ringing. He cursed and took it from the pocket of his jeans. His frown deepened as he read the name of the person calling.

“Shit. It’s Felix. I gotta pick it up, he never calls so this must be an emergency.”

“Yes, go on,” you said.

You watched his body language carefully. Sylvain’s theory was madness, as he put it, but it somehow explained all the weird things that were happening to you lately. And something within you told you to believe him. How else were you going to understand what was happening?

Sylvain’s face was alarmed, so you paid attention to his conversation.

“What? A car crash? Where are you?” He started gathering his things on his bag while holding his phone between his shoulder and cheek. “Just Glenn? You’re ok? I’m going to the hospital, Felix.” Sylvain hung up the phone quickly before gathering his things, rushing to leave the café.

“Is Glenn…?” You didn’t want to pronounce the word. The tension was palpable.

“No. He’s alive. Although…” He stood up, worry in his voice. “Can you come with me?”

“Yes”, you agreed. This had to be a shock to him, not only because of other worlds and wars, but because they’ve been friends forever. “I don’t know if Felix would like me there, thought…”

“I need you with me. Please.” His voice was growing sore, almost cracking from fear.

“Of course.”

He grabbed you by your hand and he led you to his car. You sat on the right seat while he started the engine urgently. He didn’t lose any time and headed for the hospital where Glenn was. Judging by the direction, it was Seiros’ Clinic.

“If Glenn dies, does that mean everything else is going to happen too?” You asked, still considering all the possibilities. A war was not probable. But you never knew what could happen.

“I wish I knew.”

“That’s why you are so scared?”, you pressed.

“In part, yes.”

“What else worries you?”

“That you think I’m crazy and never talk to me again.” He focused on the road, resisting the need to look at you.

“Well, you needn’t worry about that. That much I can assure you.”

Sylvain didn’t answer. Instead, he squeezed the wheel. You looked at him through the rear-view mirror. His eyes were red, but your words had soothed him, so you didn’t say anything else until you arrived, letting him think about everything.

The halls of the hospital were coloured with white and a sickly pale green. Everything smelled like disinfectant. You walked aimlessly along the places you were allowed to roam until you found Felix. He was a total disaster, with his hair out of place, his expression of pain. You wished you could do something, but you knew Felix didn’t exactly like strangers meddling in his business.

He greeted both of you dryly with a nod.

“How is he?” questioned Sylvain, hiding his consternation. Still, his worry showed through his lack of greeting back to Felix, as he was more concerned for Glenn’s wellbeing.

“He’s in an induced coma. But he’s fine. His vitals are stable now. The doctors said that was a good sign.” Sylvain let out a relieved breath at Felix’ words. He looked at you, then back at his old friend.

“That’s good, Felix.”

“There are going to be long term consequences, though.” Felix’s eyes went to the floor. “That useless motherfucker,” he muttered, hiding his emotions by masking it with fake disgust.

A small nurse with long green hair emerged from the room. Her face rang a bell.

“I apologize for not introducing myself properly before,” She addressed Felix.  “You may call me Flayn. I’ll be the nurse attending to your brother Glenn from now on.” Felix simply nodded, unimpressed, muttering a ‘nice to meet you’ under his breath. “Mind coming with me, Felix?” Her shade of green hair reminds you of your professor’s.

Felix left both of you with a gesture of his hand. Sylvain sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair, of a green darker than the ones in the walls, and you let yourself rest on a seat beside him. You thought of the nurses’ face. Her name. You repeated it to yourself.

“Flayn!” You suddenly exclaimed. Sylvain tilted his head. “The nurse’s name was Flayn.”

“Yes. She said that was her name.” He furrowed his brow. “What’s with it?”

“Felix doesn’t know her?” You asked, surprised. “She’s Seteth’s sister. Or daughter. She was in school with us, right? And yet, Felix doesn’t know her.”

“Neither do you.”

“I do-!” You began, before being cut off by the sound of a door opening. Instinctively, you turned your head to the source of the noise.

Out comes Flayn, gently, letting out a sigh before she uttered some words in a low tone. Had you kept talking, or had some external noise passed from the outside, and you wouldn’t have heard what she said.

But you did, as clear as water.

Thank the Goddess he hasn’t died again.”

Your stomach turned. Sylvain’s theory was starting to finally sink in. You had believed him before, but such a convincing affirmation of his suspicions was disheartening. Why was everything happening? Why did it have to be you and Sylvain the ones who remembered those things? And did Flayn also have those dreams, or did she already know what was happening?

Your hands were shaking.

“Hello, Flayn.” Sylvain stood up to greet the girl with a handshake. “Thank you for treating Glenn and Felix so kindly.”

“It is simply my duty,” She smiled. “No need to thank me.”

“Have we met before?” He asked. From your perspective, you could see that he was feigning innocence, but you knew that he was just as curious about Flayn’s knowledge as you were. You couldn’t articulate any sound, so you just paid attention to them from your seat.

“That’s impossible!” She exclaimed with nervousness, but she calmed down instantly. “I lived in the west of the continent with my family until this year. I moved here a few months ago to live with my brother. Therefore, it’s impossible we have met before unless you’ve gone on a trip there.”

“That must be it!” Sylvain lied effortlessly. “Would Seteth happen to be your brother?” Flayn nodded. Sylvain continued. “That’s why you’re so familiar! He was our teacher in high school, and mentioned you a couple of times.” He turned to you, beckoning to help him with the conversation.

“Yes, Seteth cares about you deeply,” You added without any emotion. You gave Sylvain credit for being able to pull off ignorance so easily.

“I didn’t expect to find you here – you share his striking image.” Sylvain said nonchalantly with a wink. Of course.

“I see! Oh, you confused me for a moment,” She said sweetly, attempting to laugh off her alarm. “Now, I must go and get some supplies, so excuse me for a while. There are more sanitary personnel inside with Felix if you happen to have any questions.” You pondered to yourself for a fleeting second. Her speech patterns were peculiar. It was professional, yes, but it had a certain charm to it that other staff didn’t. You felt as though her and her politeness was speaking through a fairy tale. 

Flayn went away calmly and disappeared down the hall, quite pleased with herself. When you couldn’t see her, you groaned, burying your face in your hands while falling back on the chair.

“We’re fucked, Sylvain.” You uttered without regard if Flayn could hear you or not. Sylvain sat next to you again.

“I know this is a very insensitive thing to say, but I’m very happy that you’re freaking out. I feel less alone this way. It brings me comfort knowing we’re in this together.” He rubbed your back and you couldn’t help but laugh. What a mess you were in.

“What can we do now?” You asked him, as if he had all the answers in this world.

“I tried to ignore it, but it’s impossible.” He sounded defeated. “I feel like someone is controlling us and I hate it.”

“Then why don’t we investigate?” You suggested. Sylvain processed your words for a moment, then nodded slowly, agreeing. It seemed like the most logical step right then. He gave you a reassuring smile before moving on, moving his hand to pat your shoulder.

“Alright then. Let’s start with the library.”

[itstittycitybaby]

Seven Years (John Wick x reader)

A/N: A bit nervous about this one ngl but oh well. Hope you guys enjoy :)).

Light angst. 1468 words.

Summary: You and the infamous John Wick are reunited again after seven years. You had faked your death to escape the cunning grasps of being an assassin, but the man who was like a father to you had died. Judgement and Vengeance has called; its grasp tight and refusing to let go.

His lifeless body laid in front of you. Blood pooled beneath his corpse as he laid there, his eyes open. A sob threatened to claw its way out of your throat. Tears pooled in your eyes as you stood there, looming over the man who was like a father to you. “Oh Marcus,” a cry croaked out, escaping your throat. Your fingers clenched into your hands as your nails dug into the leather palms of your gloves. Marcus’ eyes were open; his once pale blue eyes a haunting ghost white. Kneeling down, you gently closed his eyelids. He looked at peace now, like his soul had accepted his fate. Gently, you soothed down his graying hair. Even in death, Marcus was still beautiful.

Your hands trembled as you stood above Marcus. “Viggo’s gonna pay,” you gritted out. “I promise.” Pulling out a nice red rose from the inside of your jacket, you placed it above his body. His arms were pulled as if he was holding it nicely in his hands. It looked similar to sleeping beauty, you laughed bitterly. How funny that the Prince was too late. The air felt cold and empty. The underlying sadness of it bit you at the core and the reminder of how lonely you were after all these years. Marcus didn’t even know you were still alive. He had thought you died after your last job. Regret bubbled in your heart and another cry threatened to escape. Marcus didn’t even know that one of his most fellow agents, that was like a daughter to him, was still alive after all this time. That your death wasn’t real. You could see it now; the reunion you always dreamed of. Marcus would’ve understood why you did it. Why you left him and John. He would’ve been so happy. “I’m sorry Marcus, I’m so sorry.” Your voice broke as the words left you. Leaning down, you gave him one last kiss on his head before saying goodbye.

The stingy sensation of someone watching you made you turn. The hairs on your neck stood up and the feeling of something crawling on you wouldn’t go away. There, stood the person you hadn’t seen in years. One person you hoped you wouldn’t run into. John Wick.

Helen was not the first woman John had ever loved. Yes, he did love her with everything he had, but his heart had always held onto someone else. Helen understood; how lovely and understanding she was. Now, she was ripped from him, just like how you were all those years ago. John had met you in his earliest years of his profession. The Continental was lively as ever. Women and men alike clad in suits and dresses. Laughter and chatter mixed in with the lively voices of the performers on stage. John had to discuss an important matter with Winston, knowing he’d be at the bottom of the Continental. What he didn’t expect, was to find a woman sitting across from him already. “John,” Winston greeted him as John strolled over to the booth he usually sat at. “Winston,” John replied. In the corner of his eye he could see your eyes study him with interest. Winston introduced the both of you once he noticed the gleam of interest in John’s eyes. Your lips pulled into a smile; your eyes warm but muddled with curiosity. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wick,” you said, raising the wine glass to your lips. John’s curiosity bubbled at the friendly nature that surrounded you. Either you were new and the life of an assassin hadn’t worn you down, or you were just kind hearted and easygoing. John figured it was the latter. You excused yourself leaving John and Winston to converse in private. His gaze followed you as you left. A knowing smirk graced Winston’s lips as your form disappeared all too quickly.

The dark warm eyes you had known all those years ago were hard and unforgiving. They were once filled with mirth and admiration, but now there was a simmering rage beneath them. The infamous Baba Yaga. A cut circled around his nose and a nice purple bruise bloomed on his cheek. John’s hair was peppery now; the beard he started growing out all those years ago was trimmed nicely, the angles on the jaw were cut sharp. There were lines around his eyes proving how much time had passed. Silence stretched between the two of you as you stared at one another. John looked disbelieved as he stared at you. You were supposed to be dead. “John,” you said breathlessly, “John.” He stood there unmoving. The way you said his name was like the chants of a prayer. The image of you beneath him begging for the sweet release played in his head like a movie. An image that he forcefully buried once he had wedded Helen. 

“I watched you die,” John finally spoke, the mere words coming out in a rumble. “I watched you die.” The lump in your throat hurt to swallow as unshushed tears threatened to fall. His hands clenched into fists and they trembled. His cold gaze settled unto Marcus. The rose was stark against his pale skin. John felt a pang of sadness seeing his friend dead on the floor like that. He pushed it down, tending to more important matters at hand. “I know. I’m so sorry John. I did what I had to do.” John’s jaw clenched at the words. His best friend, the first person he actually loved was alive after all these years. 

“John, be careful alright?” He was in his trademark black suit as he gathered his stuff. It was late that night; the stars kissing the sky as they shone brightly. You stood in the doorway in your silk pajamas as you watched your lover starting to leave. “I will, promise.” His soft lips kissed your forehead before he pulled away. 

You could still feel the remainder of John’s lips after all these years. John looked angry, hurt as he stood there. The dangerous glimmer in your eyes did not help ease your thoughts. They spoke loudly in fear of what was going to happen. The quiet whispers though, were the scariest. They mocked you silently as you stood there with tears rolling down your cheeks. Probably look like a mess, you mused. “Are you gonna kill me?” If John were to end your life, you couldn’t find yourself to care. How fitting would it be to die at the hands of your old lover. Oh, the irony. Though, you deserved to after leaving him like that. Hopefully, you’d be able to join Marcus’ side again, where you belonged. A bitter laugh left his lips. “No. Why would I?” You gulped. “Well I’m standing here alive. Makes me wonder if my “death” didn’t matter all that much,” you tried to joke. His eyes narrowed; the glare cut sharply at your heart and his lips turned into a frown. “Even after all this time and you still crack jokes at the worst times.” John’s hands curled into fists.  Okay, you deserved that. “What are you here for then, John? I thought you retired.” “I did, but judgement calls. And with judgement, vengeance follows.” Nodding you said, “Well you better hurry. They left a while ago.” “Any idea where they went?” You shook your head. A tear rolled down your cheek as you glanced at Marcus. “I just got here.” 

John’s heart tugged as he saw the loose tears you tried so hard to keep in. He tried to ignore it; it felt like a betrayal. Move on, John. Be happy for me. You deserve to be happy, a soft voice piped up quietly as he tried to sort out his thoughts. It sounded like her. “Come with me,” John blurted out. “I’m sorry?” Your voice was shocked. He couldn’t blame you; you thought he hated you. Angry, yes, but John could never find himself to hate you. He could only feel the desperation of having someone again. Something he figured he wouldn’t feel again. “Let’s bring vengeance together. For Marcus.” More tears spilled down your cheeks. Using your arm to wipe them away, you nodded. “For Marcus,” you repeated, shakily. Reaching into the holsters of your black cargo pants, you pulled out your infamous dual pistols.

“After all these years, you still carry Bacon and Eggs with you,” John said dryly. A chuckle escaped your lips. Looking down at your pistols you said, “These were the first guns Marcus ever gave me. It feels right.” Raising your head up you gave John a weak smile. “Let’s kick some ass.”

Seven years. Seven years John had watched you die in the explosion. The infamous pair of deadly assassins now reunited again. 

[spookyceph]

Rating: Teen and up

Crossposted on Ao3

Day 1 | Prompt: Fantasy

A Small Price to Pay

Appearing unremarkable was an underrated skill. So many people wasted their lives scrambling to be noticed. They traded away their dignity and sense for scraps of fame or fortune as if it would change their fate. Nobles, beggars, warlords, courtesans, criminals, heroes—they all wound up feeding the worms in the end. Tomura would know. He’d sent more than one of each category to their graves with a dagger slipped through the ribs.

The man who’d just strolled through the open tavern door, however, couldn’t have avoided attention even if he’d been making an effort. He wore all black, for one thing. The only variety came from the iron studs glittering across the shoulders and on the half-sleeves of his long leather coat. Even his disheveled hair had been dyed—that shade of coal couldn’t be natural. Like most not in Tomura’s line of work, he probably believed black was the ideal color for stealth. In truth, an entire outfit declared, Look! I’m up to no good and I think I’m being sneaky about it! Clothing in a drab, washed-out brown, like the threadbare cloak Tomura had draped around his shoulders, actually worked best. With wisps of his white hair sticking out from the hood, he’d easily be taken for an old drunk nodding off over his drink. No one of note. Certainly not the heir to the most feared assassins’ guild in the empire.

The stranger approached the bar. His step hesitated for a split second when faced with the rippling construct of shadow—a guild contact by the name of Kurogiri—who was tending it. Tomura channeled his energy into a bouncing leg as the pair conversed. After a minute or two, Kurogiri fetched a wooden cup and filled it with the tavern’s finest for the man in black, who must have given all the correct pass phrases because he turned and looked directly at Tomura’s corner.

His flashy clothing was nothing compared to his skin.

Initially, Tomura thought he was staring at raw, purple muscle stretched over the stranger’s forearms, neck, and lower half of his face. Not flayed, he realized several stunned seconds later. Burned. Some disaster or curse had charred his skin in impossibly symmetrical patches. Even more striking were the neat rows of slim silver rings running along the seams, binding living and ruined flesh. They flaunted what might have been a disfigurement as decoration instead. To anyone with a taste for the macabre, the effect came across as artistic. Even beautiful.

Tomura hated him instantly. Still, he regulated his breathing and didn’t allow his hands to lift from the table to scratch his neck while the ostentatious bastard meandered his way to the table to join him. Master All For One had entrusted him with assembling the team that would eventually topple the empire. If he meant to take over the guild one day—meant to rid the world of hypocrites and bootlickers like Yagi Toshinori, the Emperor’s Champion—he would need to deal with people he didn’t care for. Nothing would get done if he just shut himself in his room and played out ancient battles with maps and models forever.

The man in black stopped at the chair to Tomura’s left, resting long, slender fingers on its back. The blue of his eyes shone as bright as the center of the flame in the tin oil lamp sitting on the table.

“Evening. Mind if I join you?” His voice shared none of the swagger of his appearance. Low and soft, Tomura had to strain to hear it.

“If I did,” he snapped, patience frayed along the edges, “you’d be on the floor already, choking on your own blood.”

This warm welcome only made the man smile, silver rings pulling at scar tissue. He sat and made the mistake of actually drinking the ale.

Now here was something to cheer him up. A nasty grin stretched Tomura’s own scar, slashed straight down the side of his cracked lips. “How is it?”

The stranger tilted his head, peering into his cup as if he’d caught something swimming in it. “I think the only thing more likely to kill me is the water.” Regardless, he took another swig.

Bah. No fun after all. Mouth sagging into a grimace, Tomura pushed his own cup away just a bit more. “So. You’re the flame mage looking to tag along on the job.”

“Afraid so. Call me Dabi. And you’re the dreaded Shigaraki Tomura, protégé of the most feared criminal overlord in the empire.”

“The same. What makes you think you’d be any use to me, Lord Call-Me-Dabi? Looking at you, I’d say your spells blow up in your face more often than they hit your enemies.”

To his credit and Tomura’s further exasperation, the mage didn’t lunge at the bait. “If only it were that simple. My scars,” he lifted his rough, pitted arms, turning them over and back for display, “are the result of my father making a deal with a demon.”

Tomura had to catch himself before he looked Dabi directly in the face and revealed too much of his own. “Your father did what?”

That earned a wagging finger. “I’ll tell you the story…but only in exchange for answering a question about your own past.”

Unease played with the hair along the back of Tomura’s neck. “Let’s hear this question first.”

“Fair enough. I want to know whether it’s true you’re cursed to destroy anything you touch.”

Muscles knotting down his spine, Tomura stiffened. How did this flashy asshole know more about his past than Sensei’s own network of informants had been able to dig up on him? Was he lying about the demon story just to get Tomura to talk? For what purpose? He couldn’t determine an advantage for doing so. But…since he already knew about the curse there didn’t seem to be any use in hiding it. Anyway, maybe his reaction would reveal further clues.

Reaching out with his left hand and keeping his right on one of the daggers sheathed against his ribcage, Tomura touched Dabi’s cup with all five fingers. A series of soft crackles filled the silence as the wood split apart first along the grain, then into individual fibers before disintegrating into a powdery ash that plopped to the table as a pile of mush when combined with the ale. The mage’s eyes became as round and shiny as marbles.

“Fascinating.” He lifted one of his own half-scarred hands. Instead of curiously poking the mound of pulp, though, Dabi went for Tomura’s wrist. His fingers brushed skin, warmer than the sunlight it rarely encountered, before Tomura recoiled.

“Are you insane?”

“Depends who you ask.”

Two fingers carefully folded against his palms, Tomura tucked his hands under his elbows and shoved away suddenly intrusive thoughts of what the mage’s touch might feel like on other parts of him. “How did you hear I’m cursed?”

Dabi chuckled, low and deep and quiet like his voice. The sound sent a little thrill racing out from Tomura’s belly to the crown of his head before plummeting straight down to the tips of his toes, which curled in his boots. Bastard. He had to be using some sort of enchantment to enhance his voice. Had to. “So many questions. Information is too valuable to just give away, though. You of all people should know that.”

Tomura’s jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth squeak. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much—the answer ties in with your initial question, actually. A kiss should cover it.”

The remaining cup of ale tipped over and splashed its contents across the table as Tomura sprang up, jostling the edge.

“You want what?” He could sense the eyes of the handful of other patrons in the tavern locked on him from the outburst. Kurogiri, surely, must have been staring at him like he’d lost his mind. But Tomura couldn’t stop gawking at Dabi, who, despite an amused quirk of the brows, didn’t appear to be joking.

“A kiss in exchange for information,” the mage said. “To be collected in private, at your earliest convenience, of course. A more than agreeable price, if you ask me.”

For the first time in his life, Tomura was left speechless. “Wha…but…you…”

“’Why a kiss’, you ask?”

“Yes.”

Dabi’s shoulders bobbed in a shrug. “There’s already plenty of gold to be had for accepting this job from the guild. Ten tablets of gold upon completion, wasn’t it? A story about kissing a deadly assassin and living to tell the tale, though? Much harder to come by. Anyway, it seems fitting. I tell you something interesting about my past and you give me a new tidbit to share in the future.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I thought we already touched on that subject.” Leathery forearms folded on the table, the mage craned forward. “So? How about it?”

Realizing how far his common sense had flown from him, Tomura yanked his hood closer around his face and plopped back into his seat. He began snagging his thoughts out of the cyclone of emotion that had swept them up. From a purely practical view, Dabi lost in this bargain. Even if everything he said turned out to be a pile of unicorn shit, Tomura could still learn something from the telling itself. There had to be a hidden angle to this farce. A ploy to see his face fully and sell a description to the authorities? Hardly the easiest, most efficient way to go about it. An attempt to get Tomura alone and off guard to exact revenge? Plausible. He’d killed dozens of people, including two mages, in his career. There was no reason one of them couldn’t have been a friend or relative of Dabi’s. Giving the mage what he wanted, keeping him close, was an ironclad way to find out. A bit of pride was a small price to pay to destroy an enemy with their own trap.

And if paranoia had made something out of nothing…he could always kill Dabi anyway rather than live it down.

Tomura sniffed. “Fine. I agree to your insane terms. Now answer my questions.”

A sliver of white, straight teeth glimmered in the mage’s smile. Tomura had to rein in his imagination before it ran away with picturing them leaving bite marks all over his neck. “The reasons this story happened at all are rather prosaic, I’m afraid. My father was a powerful flame mage who wanted to be above all other warriors. Wanted to be the Emperor’s Champion, in fact. He fought in tournaments and dueled noble-funded contenders, beating every opponent, rising quickly through the lists despite being only twenty-five. Then he faced the man who would become his life-long rival. No matter how many times my father challenged him, he could never best him. So, not getting any younger, he changed tactics and decided to have a perfect child capable of beating this better man.”

Turning just enough to peek at Dabi past his hood and messy hair, Tomura snorted. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Told you the motivations were uninspired.”

“Don’t tell me he summoned a demon woman to bear him this perfect child.”

“The circumstances of my birth aren’t half so interesting, sadly.” Lacing his hands behind his head, Dabi leaned back in his chair until it was balancing only on two legs. “No, my father scoured noble families for any daughters with promising magical talent. Eventually, he wound up marrying an unlucky woman from a line of ice mages and she had me not long after. I inherited my father’s power over fire, but apparently not to the god-like levels he’d been hoping for. When ten years of trying to beat greatness into me didn’t produce results, he turned to alternative methods.

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but the old bastard summoned a demon with the authority to make the type of deal he wanted. He offered it my soul in exchange for augmenting my power. And now…”

With a flourish of one hand, flames the same brilliant blue of his eyes rippled up from Dabi’s fingertips. Heat slapped Tomura in the face even from that distance, sucking the breath straight from his lungs. Another flick of the wrist and the mage clenched his hand, snuffing the fiery ribbons.

“My flames burn hot enough to melt steel—hotter than any mortal can cast. Therein laid the problem and the demon’s trick. My new powers were too intense for a fourteen-year-old boy to withstand, let alone control. The attempt broke me, leaving me severely burned over most of my body and on the verge of death. In his infinite wisdom and mercy, my father declared me a failure. He sent me away to a monastery to ‘recover’. Really, he figured my injuries would finish me off and the demon would have its prize early. Fortunately, I’m more resilient than he gave me credit for.”

Despite Dabi’s casual, even flippant tone and posture, something in his eyes told Tomura that maybe this story—the core of it anyway—wasn’t a complete fabrication. Something within the burning-blue irises too cold and hard for even them to melt. “Not only did I pull through, I learned ways to protect myself somewhat from my own magic thanks to the monks and their connections to various rare book sellers and libraries. By the time my father sent someone—perhaps one of yours even—to finish what my injuries hadn’t, I was ready. I spent about another five years after that in hiding, accumulating knowledge and skill. Skills like breaking wards, or getting minor spirits to collect tidbits of information, such as a curse placed on an infamous assassin, say. When I finally had the strength, I summoned the demon who’d traded with my father and renegotiated the terms of the deal.

“See, promising somebody else’s soul, especially a child’s, is tricky when you don’t just outright sacrifice them. Comes with all sorts of cosmic snags. Rather than risk winding up empty-handed, the demon was willing to heal me as much as it was able and accept my father’s soul instead for services rendered. The next week, I delivered.”

Slowly, Dabi let his chair rock forward back onto all four legs. At the same instant, the scales in Tomura’s mind tipped as well.

“Fine. You’re on the job. Ten tablets of gold before, as you already heard. Thirty after. You cooperate with everyone else on the team, no exceptions, no complaints. Agreed?”

Dabi bowed as much as the table would allow. “I’m at your service.”

“Hmph. We’ll see if it’s worth anything soon enough. Are you familiar with the old entertainment district on the west side of the city?”

“I’ve kept an appointment or two over that way.”

“Do you know the fountain?”

The mage tapped his scarred chin. “Dried up, statue of a fox woman, lots of crude writing all over it?”

“That’s the one. Be there at sunset two days from now. Be on time or don’t bother to show up at all. I’ll take you to meet the rest of the rabble helping with this venture.”

“Perfect. And about that remaining payment—”

Tomura stood from his chair abruptly. “You’ll get it when I say so. Don’t push me or you’ll wind up with a blade through your windpipe instead.”

“I look forward to it.” Smiling, Dabi offered his hand across the table. “Working with you, that is. Not the slashed throat so much.”

He didn’t even glance down at the gesture of goodwill. “We’re complete opposites then.”

That parting barb still wasn’t enough to stifle the soft laugh that followed Tomura as he strode away, pretending not to notice the strange fluttering in his middle.

[noire-pandora]

I’ve joined another writing event but this time on Twitter and this is my take on the first prompt “Campfire”, where Elluin and Varric have a heart-to-heart conversation about the burden of responsibility.  Also on my AO3.

Words: 2002

Warnings: none. 

A shiver rippled over Varric's skin at the sudden gust of cold wind, the dying small campfire failing to keep him warm. He sighed, wondering why he agreed to stay with the Inquisition, the long trips through woods, mountains and plains exhausting him. In moments like this, when the lack of comfort affected his morale, he wished he was back in Kirkwall with Hawke and her friends, enjoying a cold beer at the tavern and making up stories. Instead, he stood on a wood log, his butt still hurting from the long hours of riding, his stiff back begging him for a hot bath and a massage. His clothes weren't fit for the long days of travel, his cotton shirts and pants doing little to protect him against the capricious weather.

He huffed, shoving a stick in the fire, hoping it would bring it back to life, but he only succeeded in putting it off. "Great," he mumbled, crossing his arms before his chest, his warm breath fogging in the air. "I'll freeze until someone wakes up. Why is it so damn cold?"

He raised his eyes to watch the sky in an attempt to forget about the situation he found himself in, only to be greeted by the sight of the Breach, swirling and twisting above them like a silent threat, ready to swallow the whole world. Instead of making him feel better, the hair on the nape of his neck rose, and his muscles spasmed as if readying him to flee from a dangerous enemy before it got the change to attack him.

His lips slightly parted, his fingernails digging into the log as fear slowly crawled into his mind. How were they supposed to close it when none of them had any idea how it happened? When the only one who barely understood it was a suspicious elf who came out of nowhere, offering his help? The fate of the world stood on the shoulders of a few heretics who got dragged into this mess, with little to no support from the ones who should have dealt with it. His breath hitched in his throat at those thoughts, anxiety hovering above him.

The noise of the tent's flap opening startled him, and he almost jumped in place. He swiftly turned in the direction of the sound, curious to see who woke up this early in the morning.

The Herald left the tent yawning and scratching her wild curly hair. He frowned, noticing the unusual dark circles surrounding her eyes and the tiredness written on her face. Exhaustion shrouded her, and it slowly turned her from the laid back, always ready to joke elf to a snappy person, ready to fight at the slightest misunderstanding. This sudden change worried him, for it wasn't the first time he saw this transformation.

"Morning, Sparks," he greeted her with a broad smile on his face.  

She acknowledged his comment with a tilt of her head and continued her morning routine, stretching her arms and legs until her joints stopped popping. After a few more minutes of light exercises, she finally joined him, creasing her nose at the cold, half-burned wood. With a swift flick of her hand, the fire took shape again, dancing lively and consuming the wood in a few seconds.

"You don't need wood to keep it burning?" he asked, leaning forwards and outstretching his arms to warm his palms over the fire.

"No," she shrugged, flicking her wrist again, the fire blazing even brighter. She sat on a log next to him to warm herself. "I don't need any wood to sustain it. As long as I have mana, it will burn."

He hummed, cocking his eyebrow at her explanation. Magical explanations always confused him and brought even more questions to his mind.  In the end, it only mattered that the fire slowly warmed him, and the mage casting the spell was on his side.

"You're up early," he spoke as casually as he could after a few minutes of sitting in total silence.

She shrugged, wiggling her fingers, the campfire slithering in the rhythm of her hand movements. "Yeah. It happens."

"Been happening to you often. Are you getting enough sleep?"

She eyed him, pursing her lips into a thin line. "Are you monitoring my health? I thought Solas was supposed to do that."

He shuffled his legs uneasy, sensing the hint of annoyance in her voice. "Chuckles isn't the only one who's worried for you."

"Worried for me? Why?"

"You've been acting strange lately, randomly snapping at us. Just wondering if you're alright."

Her nostrils flared, and the fire suddenly sizzled, its flames growing bigger. He quickly pulled his arms back, raising an eyebrow at her. "See! This is what I mean."

"I'm sorry!" she apologised, squeezing her fingers into a fist and hiding them in the pockets of her trousers. "Are you all right?"

He waved his hand in dismissal, shaking his head at her. "It's fine. You didn't hurt me. But something's going on with you."

She ran one hand through her curls, a finger getting stuck into a hair knot. She yanked on it, her jaw tensing. With another yank, she released her finger only to clasp her hands in her lap. When she spoke again, he could hear the tension in her voice. "I haven't got enough sleep lately. "

"Nightmares?"

She nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"

He gave her a small, sad smile, stretching his hands again as the flames shrunk to a safe level. He stared at it, his eyes glassy with the memories of the past. "I've seen this look before, Sparks. You're not the only one hunted by nightmares. How bad is it?"

She stared into the fire, her eyebrows furrowed into a deep crease. "Bad. I've had them for almost two weeks. I barely get enough sleep to function at day."

He contemplated her face, noticing how the bags under her eyes turned purple, the whites of her eyes bloodshot and how her usually rose cheeks caught a sickly pallor, a few spider veins showing through the paleness of her cheek.

"I think Chuckles can help you with this since he's the expert in the Fade and the stuff you mages dream at night."

She snorted, glancing at him. "And how do you know that?"

"I've heard a few of your conversations. Can't he do a spell to drive your nightmare away?"

She bit on her lower lip. "I think so, yes. But I'm not going to ask for his help."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Look, I know you two have your differences, but you're not looking that good, Sparks. And he can help you. He won't say no to you."

A few months ago, this suggestion would have gained him a huff from the Herald, but now she nodded solemnly, without commenting on how annoying Solas was. He found it amusing how quickly they became friends, and he had a hunch this friendship might slowly turn into something else.

"We've solved our differences, Varric," she confirmed, staring down at her feet, deep in thought. "I  know he'd help me. I just don't want to burden him with my problems."

He admired Lavellan's stubbornness and eagerness to stick to her moral ideas, but, at this moment, he had to suppress his need to roll his eyes at her comment.

"You won't burden him. It's his duty to take care of you. You hold the key to the safety of this world in your hand. You have to stay healthy, or else we're doomed."

She straightened her back, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "So my health matters only because I'm bearing the Mark. Is that what you're trying to say?"

He sighed deeply and scowled at her knowing very well she tried to change the subject by bringing this up. "No. But your health is affected by this Mark, and we're here to help you."

"Well, I don't need your help," she barked, the fire blazing strongly again but, this time, her outburst did not impress him.

He spread his arms wide, drawing in a long breath, readying himself for the confrontation. "Look, Sparks. I get it. You don't like to talk about your feelings. You've been dealing with stuff alone since you left your Clan. But those things were simple, compared with what you have to do now. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You need someone to talk with."

"No. I don't," she fumed, rubbing her temples, her skin turning red under her fingers. "I can deal with this alone."

He threw his hands up in frustration at her words, "No, you can't. Your fears won't let you sleep, and you need to talk about this. Before the bitterness and anger take control of you."

He could hear his blood pumping, her stubbornness giving him a headache. He took a deep breath in again to calm himself, but his heart still banged against his chest.

She jolted to her feet, balling her hands into fists. "Why do you care anyway? Isn't it like my lack of sleep is hurting you."

The question finally brought an end to his patience, and he found himself shouting, all of his worries making themselves heard." "Because one day, your anger will explode, and you will hurt everyone around you!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no word came. She dropped back on the log, bowing her head. When she spoke again, her voice quivered. "I...would never think of hurting any of you."

His anger immediately dispersed, hearing the pain in her voice. He felt ashamed by his outburst, but the thought of her succumbing to her rage and fears made him realise he was right. He made the mistake of acting gently and carefully with Anders when he noticed the changes in him but never pushed him to seek help. He promised himself he won't make that mistake ever again, even if it meant shouting at the ones he cared about.

He reached for her shoulder, and she jerked under his touch but relaxed as he gave her a squeeze. She kept her head down, avoiding his eyes.

"I know, Sparks, I know," he spoke again, this time his voice softening, and he hoped she understood how much he cared about her and her well-being. And not only because she wore that cursed Mark but because he saw her as a friend. "But if you let your anger and fear build-up, it will happen. I've already seen that once. I don't want you to end up like that."

"You really think I should talk with Solas?” she asked, her voice just a whisper. She fidgeted with the rim of her blouse, wrapping it around her fingers.

"Yes. And if he won't help you, I'm here if you need to talk. I can't take your nightmares away, but I can listen. You're not alone."

When looked at him again, he saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes, but she quickly raised her hand and wiped them away. "I'll speak with Solas later. Thank you."

"It's fine, Sparks. Sometimes it's easy to forget others care about us.”

She rubbed her nose, sniffing loudly. "Kids learn only when you shout at them, right?"

He chuckled softly and released her shoulder. "Right."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and before he could say anything, she got up again, but this time, her face showed no signs of anger. "I'll go get some wood for the fire."

He nodded at her, relief washing over him. "All right. I'll stay here."

She hummed in acknowledgement and strolled towards the forest. He watched her as she dragged her feet through the dust, head down, shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. He did the right thing by staying with the Inquisition because even heroes need a friendly shoulder to cry on.

[alwaysfoolsparsley]

The Decision

(For the theme “Beginnings”; 1,232 words; no warnings; some indirect book allusions but no spoilers; x posted to AO3 here)

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What if destiny gave you a choice? If you were shown the outcome - however long and torrid and twisting - of a fateful decision. If you could watch one choice as it spills out into eternity. What if you saw - if you felt -  all the pain and the heartache that would follow. What if fate showed this to you, and asked you to choose? Would you make the same decision, or save yourself the pain and walk away?

Geralt's head was swimming, his body burning all over, bile churning in his belly threatening to come out. He opened his eyes, but everything was black. He struggled to stand, but he couldn't find the floor. He pressed against nothingness; he was in nothingness; suspended outside of space and time.

"Don't be afraid," a voice said from behind him. He turned towards the voice, already knowing who he would see: the sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Shining white stars appeared in the blackness around them as if called into existence by her presence. Such was her power, even the stars were attracted to her and would come out to illuminate her.

He remembered now - her skin, glowing gold in the afternoon light, warm beneath his fingertips; her eyes, milky purple like summer violets, sparkling up at him, drawing him in; her lips, soft and wet with lipstick; that scent, lilac and gooseberries. The last thing he remembered was the house in Rinde and being put under her spell.

"You're unconscious," she said, calmly. She had moved closer to him, though he had not seen her walk. She appeared directly in front of him now, looking up at him with those violet eyes. He found himself transfixed by her, as he had when he had first seen her just hours before. Something about her drew him in: like a sailor to a siren; a moth to an open flame. "You're about to wake," Yennefer explained, "and shortly thereafter you're going to make a decision. Do you see it?"

"Yes," he said. He could see it, somehow. He saw her calling on the djinn, saw its power, saw her fate. He felt himself make the wish, the words tumbling over his lips, binding their fates together. A rash and reckless wish perhaps, for a sorceress he barely knew, but in that moment, he saw her, knew her, and he could not pull away; he could only pull himself deeper towards her.

He saw and felt all this in an instant - thought he also knew none of it had yet happened. Strange, he thought, he had never seen the future before. Though it did not scare him.

"I want to give you a choice," Yennefer said, awakening him from his vision. "You should have the opportunity to make a different decision."

Geralt looked down at her and saw there were tears in the corners of her eyes, sparkling like precious diamonds she was about to discard. Instinctively he pulled her to him, holding her firmly with one hand against the small of her back. He held his other hand to her face, his rough palm against her soft cheek, his fingertips just brushing against a few stray locks of her long black hair. It felt entirely natural to hold her in his arms - as if she had always belonged there, and had returned there many times - though he had never held her before.

"No," he said, firmly, feeling the words with utter certainty. "I can't make a different decision. There is no other decision to make."

Yennefer looked away, hiding her face against his palm. He felt her wet tears falling on his fingers. "That's not true," she said. "You don't have to make the wish. You can choose to walk away. To save yourself - perhaps save us both. Just look, look at what happens to us. All the pain we will cause. I want you to know what will happen before you choose."

He could see it all now, somehow: their entire lives stretching out in front of him, like a river of time, spiraling into the night sky. He saw the wish, saw her dark curls across a red velvet pillow, he saw his hands on her arms, felt her lips against his neck; he saw the two of them come together and ricochet apart - the force that pulled them together equally pushing them away from each other; he saw them make love a hundred, no, a thousand times: at the peak of the tallest of the Kestrel Mountains, in a valley of wild flowers in Adern, in the heart of a pine forest, by a crackling fire, on a balcony overlooking a busy city, and - by magic - far beneath the surface of a deep blue lake; he saw anger in her dark purple eyes; he saw her hurl insults and jars of preserves at him; he felt his muscles tense with rage; he felt the burning bile of fear and distrust in his stomach; he felt a shard of ice; he saw a kestrel soaring across the night sky; he smelt fire; saw the glint of steel; the deep red of spilled blood; he saw himself alone on the Path, long and endless, cold at night, with a lone star above to guide him; he saw Ciri, his daughter, wrapped in her arms as she protected them both from darkness closing around them; he felt the warmth of her skin against his; he felt her hand, holding his, slip from his grasp; he saw her eyes, deep and endless and intoxicating, staring back at his with a kind of love he didn't believe he could ever deserve, and he couldn't look away.

He saw all of this and held her close. "I can't make a different decision," he said.

"You can," she insisted.

"Fine then, I won't." he said. "How could you think that in showing me all this, I would change my mind? What, to avoid the pain? That would mean sacrificing all the rest along with it. Without sorrow, there is no joy. You are my sorrow, you are my joy. My pleasure and my pain. I will have it all."

She laughed, wiping the tears away from her eyes with her slender fingers. "You really are a fool."

"Yen, how are you doing this?" he asked. He knew her power was great, but whatever this magic was, it was beyond even her capabilities. "Is this really you?"

"Hush now," she whispered. "It doesn't matter, does it? Soon you will wake, and not remember any of this. But you will make the same decision - I gave you the choice, but if you're sure that's what you want, you will make it again."

"Then let me wake," he said. He held both of her hands in his and gently kissed her fingertips. "So I can see you again, now that I know what will become of us."

He felt his eyes closing, his body becoming limp, the world around him swirling away like smoke, and her fingers slipping from his grasp. His thoughts faded too, his memories, his premonitions, until all that that remained was... her; the feeling of her; the touch of her skin; the sparkle of her eyes; her soft lips; and that scent. That, he remembered, he felt, with the core of his being, and after that, there was nothing to decide.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ My Pet (Keigo Atobe)

Genre: Crack, Romance ☁

Word Count: 1,441 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Atobe ☁

World: Prince of Tennis ☁

Author’s Note: This was originally a drabble mini-series, but I’ve combined them into one fic. This was also written many moons ago so it’s cringe as fuck :D

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“Get. Away. From. Me.” you ordered through clenched teeth.

The reason for your annoyance flicked his hair as a cocky grin spread across his face. His deep purple eyes were shining with pride. “Ore-sama knows you love him, Y/N-hime.”

You were fighting the strong urge to hit him square in the jaw.

Atobe had been agitating you more and more lately, and you just couldn’t understand why. He didn’t seem to understand that you were half an inch away from murdering him and dumping his body in the river.

“I’m home!” you called, slamming the door and letting your school bag fall to the floor.

“Ah! Y/N!” Your older brother appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a thick white envelope in his hands, “Yuuta stopped by earlier. This is for you.”

“Thank you!” you grabbed the thick object and bolted up the stairs.

The package contained something very interesting. You weren’t prepared for what was inside.

A gasp escaped your lips as you stared at the pictures held tightly in your hands. The pictures Yuuta had gotten ahold of happened to be embarrassing snapshots of the king himself, ranging from mild – he sleeps with a pink bunny rabbit – to medium – young Keigo in a pink tutu and red cheeks – all the way to extreme – so graphic, they cannot be mentioned.

“I’ve struck gold!” you smirked, your evil mind beginning to run wild with how you could utilize this information.

Keigo Atobe was in for a world of hurt.

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The next morning, Atobe found himself on your doorstep, prepared to start the day off by annoying you to no end, as he usually did. He was caught off guard when you opened the door, a sadistic smirk playing on your lips and a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Get in here, monkey king!” you demanded, grabbing his tie and pulling him into the house. The door slammed shut behind you and Atobe got the feeling that his fate had just been sealed.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Atobe questioned, tapping his foot impatiently.

“I’ve had enough of your annoying ass, Atobe!” you declared, pulling a few of the pictures from your back pocket and showing them to the shocked king.

He fought hard to stop the blush that attempted to crawl up his skin, “W-Where did you get those?!”

You smirked, satisfied with his reaction, “I have my sources. I imagine you don’t want these public?”

He swallowed hard, clenching his fists and shaking his head, “What do you want?”

Your smirk rivaled that of the Cheshire cat’s.

Atobe’s dark eyes followed your movements as you pulled a collar out of your bag. Stepping closer, you fastened it around his neck.

“You are now my dog.” A click followed as you hooked the matching leash onto the metal hoop.

Atobe clenched his fists until they turned snow white. No matter what it took, he was determined to get out of this situation and burn those damned pictures to ash. And then he would get his revenge.

Atobe Keigo was no one’s dog.

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“Sit,” you commanded as you took a seat in the cafe, the leash held securely in your hand.

With a glare that would impress medusa, Atobe reluctantly sat down on the cold tile beside your chair, legs folded and arms crossed.

You grinned, patting his head before placing your order with the waitress, “An expresso, please. And bring a bowl of milk for my pet, too.”

Barely able to contain her laughter, the waitress scurried off.

Oh, if only looks could kill, Atobe’s master would be six feet under right now.

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“Ahh. This is the life.” you sighed in content as you lounged on the white leather sofa in the living room. Your hands were intertwined behind your head while your feet were resting up on the coffee table.

Keigo walked into the room, carrying a bowl of vanilla ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup. He handed it to you before taking a seat on the floor in front of you, his back against the couch. His dark eyes were narrowed in a glare towards the TV while a scowl took over his face.

Since when was the pet also the servant?

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Bzzzz

Atobe smirked at the sound as he pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket.

1 New Message Received.

He clicked ‘read‘ and the contents of the message made his smirk grow.

‘Master Atobe. We have successfully retrieved the boy’s copies of the pictures.’

Keigo’s butlers had not failed him. They had managed to get Yuuta’s copy of the pictures, and now he just needed your copies before he could rebel against his master.

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You yawned, stretching as you slowly peeled your eyes open. The bright red letters on the clock told you it was five in the morning.

Bzzzz

You glanced at Atobe who lay sleeping soundly on the floor beside your bed before your eyes moved to the vibrating cell phone beside him. Your curiosity got the better of you and you grabbed it, flipping it open.

1 New Message Received.

You clicked ‘read‘, your eyes scanning the words.

‘Master Atobe, we have found the negatives.’

Your eyes widened as you scrolled through the messages. Keigo had the originals, and now he had the negatives. You jumped out of bed, opening the bottom drawer of your dresser where you kept your copies. They were gone.

If he has all the pictures, why hasn’t he left yet?

That question prevented you from going back to sleep that night.

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You sat at the kitchen table, head in the palm of your hand. Your older brother was standing at the stove making breakfast.

“Why so down?” he glanced over his shoulder at you, raising a brow at your sulking form.

Letting out a deep sigh, you explained all about the message he had received. He already knew about you blackmailing Keigo and, while he didn’t approve, there wasn’t much he could do. “He has to be after something else. But what?”

“Negatives, maybe?” he suggested.

“Yuuta had the originals and the negatives, and he’s taken them. My copies are also gone.”

Little did you and your brother know, Atobe had woken up and was hiding around the corner, listening to the conversation.

The corners of his mouth pulled down into a deep frown.

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“Keigo.”

“Yes, Y/N-hime?” Keigo glanced up at you from his position on the floor.

“I know you have all of the pictures. So why are you still here? What are you after?” You demanded, arms folded across your chest.

His expression remained blank, “What makes you so sure Ore-sama is after something?”

“You wouldn’t still be my dog if you didn’t want something!”

“You’re wrong, as always.”

“What?” you blinked in both confusion and annoyance as Keigo stood up to hover over you, his face close to your own.

What was the weird feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach? You had been close to this boy a million times in the past, but you had never felt so off your game before. It was disconcerting.

“You want the truth?” he whispered, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Ore-sama stayed because he… he’s in love you.”

“What?”

“Ore-sama has always been infatuated with you, and this little pet experience made Ore-sama fall even deeper in love with you, Y/N-hime.”

He left no room for response, quickly capturing your lips with his own. Keigo let every ounce of love flow through the kiss, which you gladly accepted. A smile lit up your face as he pulled away.

You finally realized what that strange feeling was. The feeling that boiled in the pit of your stomach whenever you were around Keigo Atobe. It wasn’t hatred as you had previously tried to make yourself believe, it was love. You never realized that you had actually fallen head over heels for Hyotei’s king, but it wasn’t something you would soon be forgetting.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, Y/N-hime?”

“I’m really glad I made you my pet.” you smiled up at the man who held you tightly in his arms.

His deep chuckle made your heart skip a beat.

When you first made Keigo Atobe your pet, it was with the intention of getting back at him for all the torture – in the form of being an annoying twat – he had inflicted upon you. You never could have known that it would turn out the way it did but, you were not complaining. You were quite happy with the way things had turned out.

“I’ll tell you one thing. You were the best pet I’ve ever had, Keigo♥~!”

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[pain-somnia]

All Our Yesterdays [ch.1]

Fandom: That ‘70s Show Pairing(s): Jackie/Hyde, Buddy/Fez, Donna/Eric Rating: M Disclaimer: This story will utilize characters and situations that are the copyright of The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC . tomaday is in no way associated with the creator or producers of That '70s Show and no copyright infringement is intended. Obviously this is a fanfic meant solely for the entertainment of the fanfic author and (hopefully) it’s readers. Summary: After the events of "Street Fighting Man", Jackie and Hyde wish more than anything that things had happened differently.The next morning, they wake up in the past, on the morning of Vanstock where Jackie promptly makes one dream come true. They are not together—but, soon enough, one change snowballs into another... Day’s Notes: the notes for this fic are too large for for a tumblr post. they can be found in the links for FanFic and AO3. I hope you enjoy :) FF | AO3

chapter one: a sharp left in a different direction

Something was off. Completely and totally off.

Usually after a night of crying Jackie woke up with a headache. She couldn’t complain that she woke up nice and breezy, body relaxed as if nothing had ever happened. As if she didn’t cry more tears over a boy that called their future “crap.”

The sooner the pain hurt less, the easier everything would be. The easier it would be to compartmentalize her feelings for Steven Hyde and put them in a box inside of herself to be hidden just like her “Steven Box” was hidden in her closet.

Stretching her arms up over her head, Jackie froze and stared at her bare arm. Last night she had put on her favorite comfy flannel pajamas, the perfect set for when she wanted to feel warm and safe. Certain outfits were just as practical as they were cute.

But she hadn’t woken up wearing her cute flannel pajamas that were perfect for winter nights.

Why am I in my nightgown? Jackie sat up and examined her torso. Wait! Where are my—?

Jackie screamed in frustration as she clutched at her breasts—or the lack of them. She was small with slight curves, but they were perfect! Perfectly shaped and round not these small barely formed lumps she hadn’t had since she was fifteen.

For the second time since she woke up she froze. Taking a deep breath she turned to slide out of bed and put on her fuzzy slippers. She stared at her feet, eyeing the old slippers she used when she was a sophomore before they had to be replaced.

“What the hell is going on?” Jackie huffed as she examined her nightstand. Why would she have a photograph of Michael Kelso by her bed? Just last night she had gone to bed with a couple shot of her and Steven face down as it had been since she had broken up with him weeks prior.

She clutched at her hair, tightening her fingers around the curly locks. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breaths but it didn’t feel like she was taking in any oxygen. The pull on her roots hurt too much for her to still be sleeping. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mouthed a prayer to herself. She would open her eyes and everything would be back in its rightful place. It just had to be so.

Opening her eyes to the sight of her old purple suitcase with its matching traveling makeup case sitting by her bedroom door, Jackie screamed again.

She hadn’t seen that case since her sophomore year. The luggage set she used now was decidedly more adult—a lovely shade of carmine that was just right for her eighteen year old self.

I swear to God if my wardrobe isn’t up to date, heads are going to roll.

Jackie stomped to her closet and pushed through all of the cute clothes hanging in the proper color and seasonal order it was supposed to be in. The only problem was that most of her clothes, while super cute, were out of season for 1979. Most of them were trendy back in 1976 when she had first bought them.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jackie clutched her elbows and slid down her closet door. She didn’t even want to check the rest of her room. She didn’t need to look at her records to find out that the ones given to her by Steven were gone. She was sure if she dug through her closet she wouldn’t find a shoe box decorated and dedicated to hiding all of his notes and the ticket stubs from their dates and other keepsakes.

Lightly knocking her head back against her closet door repeatedly, Jackie let out an expletive worthy of Red Forman.

What was she going to do?

. .

The first person Jackie wanted to see was Steven. It angered her a little that no matter what he was the one her body, her mind, her soul would seek out. Just yesterday she had been crying her eyes out behind a pillar in public over him and yet now she was ready to run right to him.

Fate had it that the first person she did end up seeing was Fez of all people. As good of a friend as he was, she wasn’t as close to him as she was to Steven or Donna. He wouldn’t have been her first choice for comfort in a situation like this. Maybe if her hot rollers weren’t working properly, but not for finding out that she had slipped into some sort of crazy time rift and was now back in her fifteen year old body.

Great. And now she was sounding like dorky Eric, letting herself think about stuff like time travel.

Fez had come to walk with her to the Forman residence and to tote her luggage. Luckily for her, Fez wasn’t observant enough to recognize that her brain fog had anything to do with the fact that she wasn’t the Jackie he knew.

As if he would even know a thing about time travel or recognize it in a person.

He had fumbled through his explanation for why he was at her door, reminding her that she had called him the night before to help carry her stuff because she couldn’t have Michael picking her up or it would ruin her surprise.

Ugh. Jackie wrinkled her nose in disgust. Why couldn’t I have been sent to a time before I ever let Michael sleep with me?

Vanstock. Her first experience attending wouldn’t have been so awful had it not turned out that whorey Laurie had been sleeping with her first boyfriend while she had been dating him. It had tainted the memory of her good time.

Jackie had thought that the two of them could be really good friends considering they liked all of the same things. It was almost like having the missing half of what she wished Donna was like. All of the girly attributes that Donna just didn’t understand why they were so important.

The gang had all gone again the previous year in her original timeline and that was much better. But then again, she had spent the weekend with Steven and they had snuggled in his double sleeping bag. She had almost forgotten that they were sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

And with the reminder of Steven and their time together came the deep ache in her chest that was always present since she had broken up with him after the LOPP’s Christmas party. God, she missed him—missed them.

That was the one positive of the time travel. Yes it hurt, but her feelings for Steven were still there with her and her thoughts were her own despite being back in her underdeveloped fifteen year old body.

She wasn’t going to get over that. Applying her makeup on that morning had been frustrating each time she had to look at her rounder cheeks, still full of baby fat.

It’s a good thing I’m super cute no matter how old. Jackie turned her nose up at her own wandering thoughts. It was hard to focus on what was important when she couldn’t find the source of her problem.

At the moment all she could do was compartmentalize everything and create some order by what was a priority and by what she could actually fix within her own power.

Just because she was her fifteen year old self, it didn’t mean she had to live her fifteen year old self’s life. She was Jackie Burkhart and she got what she wanted when she wanted. And what she wanted was to not be that girl she was when she was sixteen.

It was a few weeks too soon but there was one matter she could take into her own hands right that moment. She just wished she had made her decision before Fez had carried her stuff all the way to the Formans’ house. Now she was going to be stuck taking it all back herself.

Going to Vanstock had seemed like a good idea when she had been faced with choosing between being with her friends or alone with her thoughts in an empty house. The housekeeper had been given the weekend off when her fifteen year old self had made the decision to surprise Michael with her attendance on the group’s road trip and she wasn’t in the right state of mind to be by herself.

“Jackie!” Donna was the first person to greet her when she walked up the Forman’s driveway. Her hair was totally flat and that god awful red but her cheeks still bloomed like she had a sunburn when she was flustered.

Jackie had to resist wrapping her arms around her best friend. She wanted nothing more than a hug and for someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay but this wasn’t the moment, especially when she knew what was making Donna so nervous.

She barely registered the mentions of mud and Canadians. Jackie’s gaze drifted from Donna to her future ex-boyfriend who stood in the back in his worn out denim jacket. She had to remind herself that this was Hyde not Steven. That while he was complicit in letting her heart get broken, this wasn’t the man that owed her any loyalty. It was just the boy that got his kicks where he could and didn’t recognize that what he was doing was terrible.

This was also the boy that would get his heart broken again in a few months and Jackie bit her lower lip to keep from shouting about everything she knew. This Steven Hyde wasn’t hers to protect like when he first met his real father.

And if she shared those secrets there were worse things that could happen to her than waking up almost a full bra cup size and a half smaller.

“Where’s Michael?” Jackie asked before anyone else could fumble some sort of weak reason as to why she shouldn’t go with them to Vanstock. Any moment now Steven was going to try to convince her that it was a fantastic idea regardless of the fact that Michael was bringing along the girl he was having an affair with.

“Jackie.” Steven stared her down, expression more solemn than she recalled him looking at sixteen. Last time when they stood in this driveway, he had been gleeful, downright giddy. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She wasn’t ready for this, whatever this was. His hair was longer and blonder, he wasn’t as muscular, but his voice was still the same deep timbre she loved and even though it should have been easy to separate this Steven from her Steven, she couldn’t do it. Jackie was convinced one look, one direct look, into her eyes and he would know everything.

Steven Hyde of 1976 would know she loved him.

“Can it wait?” Jackie’s gaze shifted anywhere but his face. “I really need to talk to Michael before you guys go.”

“Wait,” Eric looked back and forth between his best friend and her, “you’re not coming with us then? And why do you need to talk to Jackie?”

Jackie really didn’t need this right now. Eric Forman could hate her some other time but he wasn’t going to be wasting her time with his questions. “Makes no sense why I would be going.” Jackie crossed her arms across her chest protectively. “Doubt he’d let me come along after I dump him.”

“What?” Came everyone’s shocked response. . . Hyde leaned his head back and closed his eyes, propping his feet on the spool table. They should have been on the road over an hour ago. He should have been roaming the grounds and meeting up with his friends from Kenosha, dropping acid or smoking a joint in between the different musical acts performing.

The last time he had been there in 1976, that was exactly what he had done as well as hooking up with any willing hot chick. The desire for acid or a girl had significantly dropped since then, both for different reasons.

Opening his eyes, Hyde watched the smoke float in lazy circles up towards the ceiling. The swirls had his focus more than the conversation currently being had in the basement.

“You were just frenching Laurie not even ten minutes before she broke up with you, dillhole!” Donna huffed, passing the joint on to Forman.

That comment had Hyde peering at Donna from the corner of his eye. When she had discovered that Kelso had been cheating on Jackie back in his own 1976, she hadn’t warned Jackie at all. She still hadn’t warned her this time around, only weakly attempted to get her to change her mind about going on the trip. Not that Jackie needed to change her mind. She had shown up and broke up with Kelso in the simplest most blunt way possible.

“I don’t love you and you’re a cheating bastard. Have fun at Vanstock.” And then she just skipped away.

 The divergence in the timeline was going to be interesting.

Waking up had been a trip. Hyde had woken up thinking he had been tripping. It had been so long since he kept his hair long enough to be as blonde as it was and he felt lighter than usual━his limbs no longer carrying the extra weight of the muscles he had developed over the past couple of years.

Time travel. It was a subject that only Forman out of everyone he could possibly have a serious discussion with. Kelso at this stage wouldn’t even try to jump into the conversation unless it was about a time machine that could take him back in time before Jackie broke up with him.

“Shouldn’t we be glad that we’re finally free?” Forman shrugged his shoulders passing him the joint. Hyde didn’t honor him with a response, only taking a long drag before skipping right over Kelso to Fez.

Kelso didn’t even notice that he had been skipped in the circle. His head hung low and his eyes were glazed over with unshed tears. Hyde cared for them just as much as he did the first time Jackie had broken up with Kelso━not at all.

Tears from his friend over a girl that he himself loved meant nothing.

Kelso crying over Jackie was a joke. It was a joke back when all she was was the bitchy anchor around Kelso’s neck. It was a joke when he got caught cheating with Laurie.

“We were in love,” Kelso choked out, voice thick and watery from crying.

“Kelso.” Hyde snapped his fingers in front of Kelso’s face and tried to capture his attention. “No you weren’t. You were cheating on her with the Earth Mother Whore.”

Kelso blinked at him and swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love Jackie.”

Rolling his eyes, Hyde took the joint back from Donna and took the last drag from the remaining stub. He coughed as the burnt smoke hit his lungs and pinched the dying ember on the paper between his index finger and thumb. The high from the marijuana wasn’t enough for Hyde to tolerate listening to Kelso talk about being in love with his chick.

Ex chick. Future ex chick.

Time travel was such a fucked concept. It was one thing to hide a hurt that he had reasons for having, but the hurt he felt wasn’t for the Jackie of 1976 but the Jackie of 1979. He was hiding a deep ache in his chest that was caused by a girl that had probably been crying over his moron friend the night before, not him.

Miles away there was a shrill, loud, bitchy cheerleader who was probably stuffing all of her Kelso paraphernalia into a box right at that moment and it was killing him that he couldn’t have her. And because of this time travel bullshit she didn’t even know that she had ever been his and he had been hers.

“I can’t believe we’re missing Vanstock all because of Jackie,” Forman scoffed. “Leave it to her to ruin everything.”

“Forman,” Hyde turned to him in disgust, “really? Are you forgetting certain important details?”

“I still can’t believe you all knew!” Donna slapped her hands on the spool table. She glared at them all and then stood up from her seat. “I’m going to go see Jackie.”

“Wait!” Fez called after her. “I’ll go with you!”

Hyde reached over and pulled Fez by the back of his shirt, forcing him back on the mushroom ottoman. “Sit down!” Like hell was he going to let an infatuated Fez try and take advantage of the situation again.

Fez wrinkled his nose and gave him a disgruntled look before shrugging it off. “So what happened with Laurie?”

Hyde rolled his eyes yet again. Right after Jackie had confronted Kelso, Laurie had taken off when it was obvious they weren’t going anywhere. She had looked downright gleeful when they all had dragged their stuff back inside, looking miserable. She took one look at a sad Kelso and shrugged it off. No one knew where she went after everything went down, but Laurie made herself scarce as soon as it was clear that no one was going anywhere.

Kelso was a dumbass, but the consequences for his actions lead to Hyde finding out that there was more to Jackie than they all originally thought. There was just one very important difference in this timeline.

Jackie wasn’t heartbroken over her split with Kelso. In 1976, Jackie had told Kelso it was over, tears thickening her voice, and then threw herself at Hyde for comfort. This time, Jackie tossed out the break up statement casually with the same attitude she would give a shoe department employee her size on whatever clogs took her fancy and then went on her merry way.

Hyde didn’t know what to make of that. As annoyed as he had been when he was last sixteen years old, Kelso and Jackie’s first real break up was the catalyst to his and Jackie’s relationship changing.

This was his punishment at last from the government. Kelso threatened the president and once they all were lulled into a false sense of security, Hyde was shifted to a different time and was forced to relive his teen years in a simulation that altered the events of his life out of his favor.

Out of his favor? Shouldn’t this be what he wanted? Hyde was back in a time that he and Jackie could just hang out without any of the complications of dating.

But life was a bitch because that’s not how it worked.

His body was closer to seventeen than twenty but his memories were still there. He could still remember the way Jackie felt under his fingertips, how she breathed into him when he laid kisses onto her inviting mouth...and how she looked with eyes full of tears from a broken heart.

Couldn’t rat out a friend? Hyde inwardly scoffed. Maybe his sixteen year old self had a point, but nineteen year old him had more loyalty to the tiny loud girl than his doofus friend.

Government simulation or not, he wasn’t going to let Jackie go through all of that bullshit again. Hyde had planned on warning Jackie before she surprised him and took things into her own hands.

“You could have just—and I’ll say this yet again,” Forman flattened his palms together and pressed his fingers to his mouth before shouting, “not make out with my sister!”

“No,” Kelso’s expression became serious as he turned his attention towards Eric, “I couldn’t, Eric.”

“You know what?” Eric threw his hands up and flailed them in exasperation. “I don’t even care anymore that you ruined Vanstock. What am I going to tell Donna? She’s going to ask me if I knew the whole time.”

Hyde rolled his eyes behind his aviators. He already knew how that turned out last time when Donna had stormed off, upset. “As entertaining as it would be to see you fuck this up further, Forman—just tell her the truth.”

“How is that not going to screw me over?” Forman gestured wildly again. “She’s going to know that I’ve been keeping this from her.”

“Because if you lie it will end up biting you in the ass later.”

“Hyde is right, Eric.” Fez nodded in agreement. “Just take a look at Kelso. It’s biting him in the ass right now.”

“And you already lied earlier when you tried to get me to cover for you about Don Juan El Tardo and The Village Whore.”

“No!” Kelso jabbed his finger at Hyde’s direction and then Forman’s. “Eric, you can’t tell Donna. She’ll tell Jackie how long it’s been going on and then I won’t be able to get her back.”

The other three boys stared at Kelso like he had grown a second head. Fez was the first one to fling something at him, tossing as many magazines and comic books he could reach. Forman was irritated by the events of the day and needed an outlet. Hyde already knew how Kelso was, wasn’t surprised by his statement but it didn’t stop from irritating him and the anger boiled deep in his gut.

“I’m out of here.”

He was done with this crap for the day. It finally hit where the punishment was. Hyde was going to have to witness Kelso jerking Jackie around all over again━only this time, he was going to have to pay the price for feeling more than he wanted to for her.

This crap ain’t happening again. He slammed the door shut for his bedroom and flopped on his cot. This is why he didn’t do love. Fuck the U.S. government. . . In a way, Jackie was grateful for the place in time she had been sent back to. She wouldn’t have to deal with anymore of Michael’s crap and she had less stuff of his to throw away.

“He really gave you a slinky for an anniversary?” Donna sat cross legged on Jackie’s bed, tossing it back and forth between her hands. “Kind of makes me appreciate Eric more.”

“Yeah, Michael’s a moron.” Jackie slipped the photo of Michael out from the frame on her bed and wrinkled her nose in thought. “You think Fez would want this?”

Donna’s face scrunched up in confusion and she shrugged. Jackie shrugged back and tossed it into the trash can by her desk. She wasn’t exactly sure when Fez became a little obsessed with her ex-boyfriend, but maybe this was before then if Donna didn’t understand the question.

“I’m really sorry about the Laurie thing,” Donna apologized for the second time since she had arrived at the Burkhart mansion. “I just found out before you showed up and was asking Eric about it.”

Jackie kept her gaze on the box of stuff she had collected from her year of dating Michael. She bit her lip to keep from smiling or making a comment, but she couldn’t help the warmth that spread in her chest.

Despite her friendship with the Donna of 1979, it sometimes felt like Donna sided with the boys over Jackie most of the time when they were younger. They had their moments though and Donna was like a less attractive, goofy older sister. It felt kind of nice to have her right now even if they weren’t as close as they would be some day.

“I wanted to tell you but once I saw you I blanked out a bit because...well,” Donna shrugged, hiking her shoulders up to her ears, “you’re kind of my friend and I didn’t want you to get hurt and for me to be the messenger that caused it.”

“Well, I deserved to know.” Jackie finally turned her gaze back to Donna and smiled slyly. “But you could always do something for me to make me feel better.”

Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation but she playfully shoved at Jackie’s shoulder. “Alright midget, what are you scheming at? And no, I’m not dumping Eric in solidarity or throwing out my clothes.”

“As great as those two options would totally be, that’s actually not what I was going to ask.”

Donna sat up straighter, her curiosity obvious. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion but nodded for Jackie to continue.

“I really meant what I said about not loving Michael and—“

“Jackie, you just told him you loved him three days ago.”

“Shh! Let me talk you big goon,” Jackie snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “Ignore that, that was the past and I’ve learned some stuff about myself, okay?”

“Okay. So what about not loving Kelso?”

“I don’t want him to bother me. I know he’s your friend and he’s been your friend longer than I have but can you be on my side about this? I really am over Michael Kelso and never want to be with him again.”

Donna stared impassively at her for a moment before nodding in understanding. “I’m guessing this means you’re asking me to run interference in case he tries to get you back like he did after the Pam Macy incident...incidents?”

Jackie nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly it. Look,” Jackie turned her whole body and sat cross legged on her bed, “Michael isn’t just cheating on me with Laurie but also some tramp from Sacred Heart and really that’s just what I know about.”

In reality, Jackie knew a lot more now thanks to Steven tricking Michael to reveal everything he had ever hidden from her.

“I know he’s a cheater but you don’t seem as upset as I expected you to be.” Donna raised a brow in confusion. “Like you sound a little angry but mostly resigned. I expected waterworks. Didn’t think you could get over stuff like this unless you found someone else.” Donna slapped her hands on the bed on either side of her hips. “Oh my god, Jackie! You already like someone else!”

“No,” Jackie lied, shaking her head and dragging out the vowel in the negation. Damn Donna always nailing it right on the head. 1976 Jackie didn’t love Steven and it would be weird if she suddenly had feelings for him. “I just realized that what hurts is my pride, not my heart. So, I don’t really love Michael.”

As much as the cheating hurt back in 1976, Jackie had recently felt pain that made the Michael cheating stuff feel like a mosquito bite in comparison.

She didn’t know when the timeline would spit her back to where she belonged, but the one thing she did know was that she wasn’t going to be spending her time in the past letting a boy she didn’t love touch her. And Jackie of 1976 might not know it yet, but she deserved better than to be with that doofus.

She found better. And she lost better.

Jackie blinked her eyes but the tears welling up in her eyes threatened to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t be sad about that. Steven wasn’t her boyfriend in 1979 and he wasn’t her boyfriend in 1976. It didn’t matter how much she wanted him to be. 1979 Steven didn’t see a future with her and 1976 Steven didn’t see her at all—at least not as anything other than an annoyance.

Her parents were never around, she just broke up with the cheating boyfriend she didn’t even want, Steven wasn’t her friend yet, dorky Eric wasn’t really an option, and Fez was way too into her to be a real friend. The only thing she really had was her tentative friendship with Donna.

How did Donna end up being her lifeline?

“Could we still hang out?” Jackie sniffed. “I know I’m not with Michael anymore and well I’m not really part of the group…but I think of you as my friend too. My best friend. Despite the fact that you’re a lumberjack and all.”

Jackie was about to tell Donna that her eyes would get stuck if she kept rolling her eyes but was cut off by the feel of a slightly calloused hand taking hers into its grip. Donna offered her a small smile and nodded.

“Of course, midget.”

1976 and going into 1977 was going to be a rough school year for Donna. Donna invited her to live with her when she didn’t have a home and would in the future of this timeline. The least Jackie could do is save her lumberjack heart some heartbreak. Especially ones she may have had a hand in—there would be no Casey Kelso this time around.

Squeezing Donna’s hand, Jackie smiled to herself. It was only a day and she already had more than 1976 Jackie had. She had no idea why she was there or how but she did know one thing:

She needed to make a list.

[secretsantasides]

Gift #5: Sun and Moon

Gift for: @okay-finne

Prompt: Deceit/Logan, Unsympathetic Virgil/Patton. Gods AU, tw blood, body mutilation.

"Sun"

---------

He can hear their cries.

It distracts him from his own pain, the pain of having something so important ripped out of him.

It also makes his torture a million times worse.

Listening to the cries of his children in the room next door, not knowing if they're actually being hurt or if they're just scared.

He prays that they're just scared. Losing this integral part of him is one thing. Losing the children he already has is another.

"Stop- stop- don't hurt them, please don't hurt them! They're chil- they're children!" He yells out as best he can, panicked and thrashing on the bed he's strapped too. It’s too hard to lie right now, too hard to put up the harsh and cocky mask he usually puts up for the beasts near him.

Blood soaking the gauze around his abdomen.

Blood, everywhere.

The 'doctor' the gods had sent stands, grinning to himself, on the other side of the room, dark circles under his eyes and purple hair his most visible features. He smells like lightning.

Pain, everywhere.

In his head, in his body, in his heart.

The screams cut off in the other room, and his breath catches.

They should still be screaming. They should still be scared.

His own cries cut off as his panic mounts and chokes him, grief overwhelming him even as he denies it.

Maybe the screaming wasn't his children. Maybe it had been just another cruel method the gods decided to use to punish him more.

"Please, my- my children." His voice breaks on the last word. He can't convince himself that it's true; that the terror stricken voices hadn't been his treasures.

Not with blood caked against his dark skin and in his golden hair, against the scales that he had always prided himself in keeping in perfect order.

Not when they'd already gone farther than he'd thought they would.

Why take away his womb and leave him with his children?

What point would there be to take away his ability to give life while leaving him with the life he's already made?

_____________

The first ice age is caused by his grief. He stays locked within the depths of his palace, away from the servants who are only trying to help.

He gets punished for this too, of course.

Anything that affects their mortals.

And so, the unblemished skin of his face becomes puckered on one side, burnt by a fire specially made to be so unnatural that it could wound the very Sun. The scales that had been there damage, some fall off completely and some meld into his skin grotesquely. It leaves his skin patchy and scarred, and dry, and far from the beauty he had once prided himself in.

His right eye is lost to the flames as well. This, he doesn't mourn. He can't bring himself to care. Not with the gaping hole he can feel inside of him- both in his body and in his heart.

Word gets from his Moon to him, somehow. The servants, he thinks. Usually it would be too risky to do it, but with their Lord on the verge of giving up, it may be well worth it.

______________

The letter has been the only thing that has kept him going for longer than he cares to count.

Day after day. The one letter that has been able to slip through the tighter security put around his palace since his mistakes.

Now, it's worn to the point of being so fragile that he will have to copy it over again soon. He's worn through so many copies that it's obscene. He can't help it. The words and the one who sent it mean everything to him now.

The letter reminds him that even if he's lost greatly, someone shares that loss with him. And if he were to give up, he would cause him even greater tragedy.

'My Sun, We will be brought together once again. I am sure of it. Think less of our loss, as much as it pains me to say that, and think more of what may have been. Do not lose yourself in sadness in grief. Let your anger fester and pull you together and push you forward, so that we may be united again, as we should be. Hold on. The mortals will be the death of themselves one day, when the gods refuse to come to their aid. We will be released. Do not do this to yourself. You will take away the very last piece of me that the gods have not completely stripped away. Let me be that piece for you as well. Your Moon'

He will be holding on, for forever if he has to. He has to keep hope that he will be able to see his Moon again.

Not as much hope as he had last time. Not enough to make him foolish enough that he considers doing something about it himself again.

Just enough that he can convince himself that there is a reason to keep going.

_____________

More copies of the letter come and go.

More days.

More glimpses of night. Of the Moon Palace on the horizon, just out of reach.

Finally, word gets to him of the fulfillment of what his Moon had said would take place.

The Mortals will reach their end soon.

This is the first time in a long time that the servants kept in the Sun Palace see their Lord break down.

The current copy of the letter gets crushed to his chest, and the ink smears where tears dare to touch down on the creased paper.

Soon.

Soon, it will feel like this had all been for something, that his pain and perseverance hadn't been for nothing.

He will see his Moon soon, and he will be able to heal properly this time.

_______________________

“Moon”

----------

“My lord! My lord! Have you heard the good news yet?” A servant’s cry echoes through the palace, rushing into the throne room where almost everything is plated in or made of reflective minerals and polished well enough that you can see every thread of the staff member’s clothing as they scamper by.

“The good news of what? That my father will not be joi-”

“That the other gods have given up on the mortals!” The servant cuts their lord off, but such a thing is not worried about in the palace of the Moon. He does not care for the silly social rules the other gods put in place, even if the one he so sorely misses, does.

The god is frozen now- much like he has felt inwardly all these years, separated from his warmth. The gods- especially one like… him, Patton- giving up on their mortals? Now? Finally? It can’t be true. They uprooted whole lives, turned over everything and rewrote fate herself to put these mortals here.

“The gods have given up on their mortals? On their Earth?” “Yes! Remus says he’s heard the mortals are to die out within the week! He’s said you’re going to be allowed to leave your palace!”

The Moon Palace. More like a prison, he thinks. A silvery, reflective castle on top of gangly legs that does nothing more than stalk around the earth. A palace he had thought would never be able to do more than that. But with the Humans perishing, if this is true…

“You’re sure about this, Zero?” The servant hesitates when they’re addressed by the robed figure upon his throne. “I.. It’s hard to be certain. But I have heard this from Remus and his place by the throne in-”

“- Remus is far from where orders originate. Send word to the Light Council and ask for confirmation for me.” There’s no use getting his hopes too high just yet. He can’t afford to. He remembers what happened last time someone had stretched their hopes a little too far; a little too soon. It hadn’t been him, of course, last time. But it reminds him, all the same, to be much more careful with his feelings.

“Of course, Sir.” They bow before heading back out of the throne room; their steps echoing in the nearly empty halls. The Moon Palace isn’t one you would imagine a god would be living in. The walls empty, bare. Very few furnishings interrupt the mirrored structure of the castle, making the interior like a maze to all those who don’t know their way around by heart.

The servants closer to the god say that his castle is much like him. Unyielding for those not in his heart.

The god stands from his throne and goes to stand by one of the few windows in his home. He always sees the Sunset from here. His castle ever chasing after the Sun palace; his mind and heart ever chasing after someone he had once and may not be able to ever have again.

He can keep hope, now. He allows himself a small sliver of it.

Soon, he may get to be in the embrace of the Sun once again. Feel his warm embrace. Smell the slightly dusty, warm scent that not many mortals have the ability to catch a whiff of. Even the prospect of just catching a full glimpse of his Sun excites him.

It’s been so long. Ages. Epochs. Periods. Eras. Eons. Supereons. Further. He isn’t sure there’s a word for how long it’s been.

All he knows is that he’s only left with the faint memories of warm days and cooler nights spent with his lover, of the way they touched back when they actually could.

Of how he now is doomed to spend eternity only chasing after his Sun, never to catch him, for the sake of the mortals that reside on the Earth the Elder gods had given to him and his Sun.

The Moon resents the Mortals for the job the gods have given him, and resents the gods for having taken his Earth and placed mortals on it in the first place-- then having the audacity to ask for him and his Sun to do this; to be separated until their whims decided they could be together once again. He resents them for what they did to his Sun when they had said no at first.

The Moon will wait and bide his time until he is allowed to reunite with his Sun, for his Sun’s sake.

And then there will be hell to pay.

[stormcrawler75]

“You are trespassing here, human.” with Dragon!Logan please? To any of the others is fine :)

Logan watched the Human sneak through his cave. There were two pieces of cloth attached to each side of his chest like slings and Logan could see the bundles squirm every now and then but the man would shush the little bundles and continue sneaking through Logan’s hoard. 

His hoard was mainly old books, carpets and maps. But, in a nest made of soft blankets, there were vials of potions that Logan was taken from old mages. Logan treasured those potions though he would never use them himself. And it seemed that Logan’s little intruder was heading right to those precious items.

The intruder didn’t seem to realize that Logan was awake. The Human kept glancing at him anxiously but kept creeping closer to the potions. Logan growled deep in his throat and the Human froze. Slowly, the Human turned to face him, pressing protective hands on the slings sitting on his chest.

“You are trespassing here, Human,” Logan growled. He stood up, maps and rugs falling off of him as he did so. His wings stretched before dropping down against his back. The Human backed up from ginormous Dragon and Logan watched him intently. “You have snuck into my hoard and are here to steal my precious treasures.”

The Human’s heartbeat was going crazy and Logan could hear the Human’s breathing become swallow. “I, I came here to find something.”

“Find something,” Logan repeated incredulously. Annoyance sparked in him and he snarled, the Human flinching back at his sharp teeth. “You mean steal.”

‘No,” the Human cried. “I mean yes! Please, it’s very important!”

“This is my hoard,” Logan growled. “And you are a thief who has come in the dead of the night to steal from me! My books and my potions!”

“Please,” The Human begged. “I need something and it’s very important-”

“FALSEHOOD!”

The Human stumbled back as Logan lurched forward, baring his teeth. He had no real intention to eat the Human but he loathed when people tried to lie to him. If this Human wasn’t careful, he’d be taken for a flight before Logan allowed him to leave.

But, both of them stopped dead when a cry echoed through the cave. Logan’s eyes snapped down to the slings on the man’s chest and cocked his head at the whimpers and cried coming from them. The Human quickly started swaying back and forth, cooing down at the slings.

It sounded like Human Hatchling. But, why would the thief bring children with him?

“You’ve brought Hatchlings,” Logan mused. 

The man’s eyes snapped up and he tensed. For the first time since he had arrived, he looked ready to fight. “You’re not going to hurt them,” he snapped. “They’re mine.”

“And yet you’ve brought them to my hoard,” Logan said, leaning closer to try and get a better look. But the man stepped back and glared at Logan. “Let me see them.” When there was no answer, Logan softened a touch. “Please. I will never harm a Hatchling.”

For a few moments, the man didn’t move. But then the man stepped closer, slowly and nervously. Once he was close enough, Logan leaned close to look at the Hatchlings at he felt himself balk in surprise.

In each sling was a tiny little baby, one a little larger than the other. Both were identical in looks except for the scales on their faces. One had green and yellow scales on his left cheek surrounding a yellow eye. The other had far fewer scales than his twin. Underneath his eyes were vibrant purple scales that seemed to sparkle.

“Curious,” Logan breathed. “I did not know that Human Hatchlings had scales.”

“They don’t normally,” the man said. “But, well, they were cursed, you see. Their parents upset a local Sorcerer their children were cursed as revenge. They were abandoned to die but I couldn’t just let babies die.”

Logan watched the babies as they squirmed in their slings. The one with purple scales extended a hand toward Logan, eyes shining bright with interest, but his caretaker quickly pushed the hand back down. 

“How were they cursed?” Logan asked. “Is it just the scales? They can be rather tiresome but one can learn to live with them.”

The man shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t be here if it was just the scales. I love their little scales, they’re beautiful. The real curse is that the scales will keep coming. And coming and coming until they’re covered with them. And the day that the last piece of skin is covered is the day that they die.”

The Human ran gentle fingers over the larger baby’s green and yellow scales, coaxing a giggle out of him. “I don’t want them to die. They’re innocent and they’re mine.” He looked up at Logan with teary eyes. “I love them,” he whispered. “I can’t just let them die.”

Logan felt his heart thaw at the man’s story and he nodded. “I understand. I too once had a child. A son by the name of Roman. He is grown now and has a mate of his own. But if he was threatened in any way, I would do anything to save him.”

He sighed and flicked his eyes back down to the babes. “Do you know the name of the potion that you require?”

Tears leaked out of the man’s eyes and a relieved grin grew on his face. “Yes, yes! It’s called Praepediens et de Scales. I was told that it’s a very dense red potion. It won’t make the scales go away but it will stop any more from growing.”

Logan nodded and took a few steps toward the nest of blankets where the potions were kept. He heard the Human gasp as he stepped over him but the Human didn’t move as Logan gently picked up one of the vials in his mouth. He walked back and set the vial at the man’s feet. 

“Praepediens et de Scales,” Logan said, straightening back up. “Here.”

The man bent down and took the vial, holding it reverently. “Thank you,” he sobbed. “Thank you so much. If they’re anything I can do to pay you back, I’ll do it.”

Logan shook his head. “I ask for nothing more than you and your children’s names.” 

The man grinned at him, not bothering to wipe away his tears of joy. “My name’s Patton Heart. And this one,” he pointed at the larger baby with the green and yellow scales, “is Dee. This,” his finger moved to the smaller one with the purple scales, “is Virgil.”

“Patton Heart,” he said softly. “Know that you and your children are welcome back to my cave anytime.”

Patton left that day with several more thanks given and tears shed. The day ended with Logan being happy with the fact that he had saved two young boys from terrible fates, even if he had to have lost one of his vials of potions to do so.

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[ask-runaan-anything]

Three Moonshadow Lessons

A Moonshadow tale for you today.

When Runaan arrived at the bright blue door near the edge of the forest, Rayla’s mother was already leaning against its jamb, arms crossed, gray eyes sparking. He slowed his approach, reading her body language. Her hands were tucked into fists—never a good sign—but her shoulders were tight and she was breathing a little faster than normal. Worst of all, she was leaning toward Runaan from the shoulders up. He wasn’t in trouble. Rayla was.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Not wi’ you, obviously,” the veteran warrior sassed.

Runaan stilled and sighed. Rayla was a determined five-year-old, strong-willed and eager, and with the lull in hostilities, her parents’ best friend from battles past had become her favorite new playmate. But sometimes Runaan had extra duties that delayed his visits to her house, and Rayla would grow impatient and dart off to play in the forest without him. He’d tried to speak to her about safety, responsibility, and lying, but she hadn’t yet learned to differentiate those from the general Moonshadow concept of illusion.

And so, naturally, every time Rayla broke the rules, it was Runaan’s fault. He never minded, though. Having Rayla’s mother value his presence in her daughter’s life so much that she chastised him when it didn’t go as planned was a very Moonshadow compliment, and it warmed Runaan’s heart.

Runaan slid his eyes toward the shadowy tree line. “I’ll fetch her back. Which way did she go?”

Rayla’s mother tipped her horns and gave him a blunt stare. “One piece, Runaan. You know how sharp me blades are when I’m tetchy.”

Runaan’s goal had always been to bring Rayla back in one piece. The little elfling was a joy and a bright spark of life in his dark and shadowy world. Her mother, though, was far more like Runaan. He knew exactly how to sass her, because Rayla sassed them both the same way. “Yes, grumpy soldier ma’am, at your command.”

He flitted into the trees before Rayla’s mother could spin around and pin him with her steely death glare, and his grin rode alongside his determination into the shadows of the forest.

It didn’t take him long to find the direction Rayla had taken. The two of them had planted glow poppies together last spring, each color a row of glowing blossoms leading off into the deep unknown. Rayla always plucked a glowing petal from one of the flowers and left it on top of a big rock for him to find. Her impatience may have led her into the forest without Runaan, but she was never sneaking away from him—she wanted to be found.

Today’s petal was a bright purple, so Runaan followed the purple poppies deep into the woods, keeping his eyes and ears peeled as he perched in tree after tree. But Rayla wasn’t at any of her usual haunts. The deepwillow grotto lay hushed and empty. The moon moth hollow was unusually silent and dark. The Bramble Castle sat entirely abandoned.

The whole forest was hushed, in fact. Only one thing could do that. Runaan’s focus shifted like a whip crack, and he shot to his feet with all his senses on full alert.

A predator had come to the wood.

It’s not the only one.

Shifting back into assassin mode, Runaan yanked his hood up over his horns. He leaped from tree to tree, seeking signs from the forest and its creatures, letting the world speak to him in its bountifully silent way. A few miles from the village—Rayla’s endurance really was impressive—he leaped into a neat crouch on a broad tree branch and came face to face with Rayla’s fate.

Rayla’s little boot prints tracked across soft soil below. They moved slowly and steadily, as if she were practicing her stalking. Runaan could easily picture her small, stealthy movements.

And then her footsteps simply vanished. A tiny spray of dirt flung by her heel was the only indication of what might have befallen her. Runaan stared down at that vital clue, eyes glowing in the dimness beneath his hood. His jaw clenched, and his eyes slid back up to the trees.

The wind rustled the leaves in the forest and Runaan was gone again, a darting shadow leaping among shadows. He knew what he sought now. Everything in his being, every second of training, every beat of his heart, all focused on one goal: Save Rayla. No matter what it takes.

He landed silently on a tree limb and nearly brushed against the first true sign of evidence that indicated his target. One of his side tails fluttered out of his hood as he crouched, and he reached out and corralled it with a finger before it could get stuck in the thick white web that stretched from his tree branch to the next. Any sensation on such sensor webs would alert their maker to his presence. He’d landed at the edge of a vast early alert system, where every breath, every move, would announce his existence. Not only as a threat, but as a meal.

Rayla, what have you gotten yourself into? She always sought the greatest challenge, the hardest path, and found herself in the deepest trouble. She would be entirely unstoppable at whatever she chose to do with her life. If she lived that long.

Runaan scanned the rough clearing before him. A copse of dead trees offered spindly supports for a central node of webbing that nearly obscured them from sight, save for their thick trunks. The silk-wrapped snags rose high above his perch, and the late afternoon sun sparkled through the webbing, lighting it with soft shadows and glints. It was beautiful and deadly, and Runaan couldn’t help but appreciate its Moonshadow nature for a brief moment.

Silken strands stretched from the central web nest to living trees around it, creating bridges and barriers, criss-crossing in all directions, making a stealthy approach nearly impossible. And Runaan would need one, because there in the central nest, he could see the faint outline of the giant spider who’d spun herself this deadly dwelling.

A shivermist spider. Lean and tight in body, with long delicate legs, the black-and-gray shivermist would tower over Runaan if they ever came face to face on even ground. Runaan vastly preferred that they did not. A shivermist’s palps were more like tentacles, much harder to escape than other spiders, and the spider’s mist, produced from the needle-like spines that sprouted like a lion’s mane from its head, was designed to produce hallucinations and euphoria, making prey easier to catch.

Runaan took a deep breath and tried to analyze the situation logically. The spider would store Rayla in a web net for later consumption. She’d be a tiny meal anyway— At that horrible thought and the visualization that came with it, the entirety of Runaan’s chill fled, and an icy panic blossomed in his gut.

Stay calm, he told himself. You’ve been in dozens of battles, back to back with Rayla’s parents. You can handle a single spider.

The spider, yes, he replied. Not the thought of Rayla getting hurt. She’s… she’s done nothing to deserve such a fate. Unlike me. As that thought settled into Runaan’s chest, he knew what he’d be willing to risk to save Rayla. Everything.

With his determination firmly reset, Runaan bounded lightly around the edge of the webbing, careful not to touch a single strand as he leaped from tree to tree, seeking the safest approach—and the safest way back out. Finally, he spotted a clear tree branch that extended halfway toward the central nest.

He crouched at the spot where the limb met the trunk and studied his potential springboard. He could leap straight at the nest and slash his way in with his boot daggers. He could aim for one of the dead branches sticking out of the massive nest. But both of those approaches would shake the webbing and announce his presence.

Runaan leaned forward onto the fingers of one hand and glanced downward. A clear landing spot lay below on the barren ground. It would have to do.

He closed his eyes for a long moment in the shadow of his assassin’s hood and focused, clearing his mind of every worry, every concern.

There is only the mission: save Rayla.

Runaan’s bright turquoise eyes flew open, and he flowed into motion, running along the tree limb and hurling himself into empty space. His hood fluttered with the speed of his fall as he pivoted and tucked and twirled, avoiding strands of webbing that crossed his trajectory. Runaan landed in a perfect three-point position, eyes already on his next target: a narrow gap in the webbing around one of the dead tree trunks.

In three strides, Runaan was shimmying up the tree trunk through the narrow gap, keeping his eyes open for stray webs. As he climbed up into the vast shivermist nest, the bright daylight dimmed to soft shadowy hues that, despite the intense danger, Runaan found comfortably pleasing. The inside of the spider’s nest felt like being surrounded by bright moonlight.

Runaan paused atop a leafless limb and crouched warily, studying the inside of the nest as it ballooned up around him. Several trees arched up into its clouded height and faded from view, hidden behind internal silken sheets. Clear paths that the shivermist used to move from tree to tree offered Runaan the quickest way to travel, but also the greatest chance of being caught. The spider’s ominous shadow lurked far above, and she could descend at any moment, whether for defense or for that tiny elfling snack.

Runaan needed to find Rayla. His eyes scanned the white-on-white for any sign of motion.

A faint sneeze reached his ears, and he leaned a little to the left, spotting a dangling blob of webbing just behind a dead tree halfway across the nest, at least a hundred feet away.

“I said, ‘achoo’!” Rayla’s grumpy voice reached Runaan’s disbelieving ears. Fake sneezes were their inside joke during hide-and-seek. Hearing one deep within the shivermist’s nest drenched Runaan with a new version of reality as if he’d tumbled into an icy waterfall.  Rayla wasn’t even the tiniest bit scared. She even sounded impatient.

She knows I’m coming for her. She’s expecting me.

Runaan’s heart warmed so brightly that his hard focus wavered for a moment. His eyebrows raised in soft surprise, and a tiny smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

Not quite as foolish as I thought, Rayla. You know me very well. I am coming for you, even if it kills me.

Runaan’s focus sharpened once again, and he launched himself from his perch. A series of acrobatic jumps sent him leaping from tree to tree, climbing ever higher, avoiding the shivermist’s silken tripwires, until he clung to the side of the tree nearest Rayla’s dangling web. He braced himself against its dead and cracking bark with his feet and held on with one hand. Even so, Rayla swung just out of his reach.

He couldn’t see her through the thick silken cocoon that held her. Maybe she couldn’t see him, either. Just in case, though, he pulled his hood down off his horns and felt his long ponytail tumble down his back. Rayla was far too soft to see him in full assassin mode. “Rayla,” he whispered.

“Runaan!” Her tiny hands pressed against the webbing from inside, forming four-fingered impressions. “What took you so long?”

His heart rate skyrocketed, and he shot a wary look upward. Naturally, the most dangerous part of this rescue mission would be the five-year-old being rescued. “Rayla, keep your voice down,” Runaan hissed. “The shivermist spider is just above us.”

“Sorry, Runaan. Being captured by a giant spider is way more boring than I thought. Can we go home now?”

Runaan kept his voice light. “Yes, Rayla. I’m here to take you home. Swing toward me, and I’ll cut open your webbing. Then you’ll need to jump to me, or you’ll fall. Can you do that?”

“You bet.”

Such an eager response made Runaan grin again. This elfling, I swear to the Moon. He glanced warily upward. The shivermist’s vague outline had shifted, as if she were listening, feeling her webs for intruders. Runaan drew a dagger from his boot.

Rayla got her teardrop of webbing to start swinging, and the little grunts of effort she made while doing so were adorable. She was trying so hard to help him save her.

But the shivermist had grown suspicious. The great beast began easing herself down through the webbing, taking it slow, still uncertain what was going on.

Runaan glared up at its approaching bulk, still out of direct eye contact. His original plan of taking Rayla down the way he’d come in was useless now that the spider had sensed them.

Time for a quicker escape.

Rayla finally swung herself into reach, and Runaan delicately sliced the silk cocoon open, revealing Rayla tucked up inside like a pea in a pod. “Now jump!”

With a grin as wide as her outstretched arms, Rayla launched herself into midair and thudded against Runaan, squeezing him in a giant hug. He caught her and held her tightly with his free arm, reassuring himself with her sheer weight and warmth. A trickle of his tension faded away. He had her with him now. She wasn’t safe yet, but she was safer than she’d been a minute ago.

She pulled back and smiled up at him sunnily. “I knew you’d come, Runaan. I wasn’t scared at all.”

He kept his smile to a tolerant softness. “You’re very brave, Rayla, and I’m proud of you. But we need to work together, and swiftly, because the shivermist is coming. Are you ready?”

“Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it,” Rayla replied conspiratorially.

“Climb to my back and hold on tight.”

“Is that all?” Rayla replied grumpily as she began clambering over Runaan’s shoulder with all the agility of a crescent monkey.

Runaan felt the weight of his newly freed ponytail. “No, I need you to tuck my hair into my hood and roll it up tight. That will keep me safe from the spider webs.”

“Yes, Runaan.”

While Runaan kept his eyes on the approaching spider, Rayla locked her legs around his waist from behind and began tucking his hair inside his hood with deft little fingers. His hair probably didn’t need protection, but his escape plan was very do or die. Letting Rayla help would make her feel better, and it might actually prove useful—

The shivermist lunged downward through layers of webbing, breaking strands left and right, and Runaan’s prep time was suddenly up. Her long, spearlike feet reached for him. Those freakish tentacle palps warbled out a grotesque attack cry, and she shook her body, releasing a cloud of dangerous hallucinogenic mist that drifted down toward him and his precious cargo.

“Hold on, Rayla!” Runaan crouched and sprang off the tree, dagger still in hand, and felt Rayla’s little arms lock around his neck from behind. Her face buried itself against his neck, and for a fleeting moment, weightless in mid-leap, Runaan felt entirely buoyed by her fierce, childlike love.

Moon and shadow, I will absolutely die for this child. The realization blossomed in his chest, full of light and warmth. But not today. Today, we live.

Runaan’s dagger slashed hard against the dead tip of a tree branch as he leaped out of the shivermist’s long-legged reach. He caught the three-foot-long fragment in his free hand and twirled it through the thickest webs he could reach as he and Rayla plummeted toward the ground. Gradually, the straining silk began to hold his weight. Runaan’s initial leap had carried him straight toward the outer wall of the nest, and as the webs slowed his descent, he began to pendulum out toward the nest’s edge.

But the spider was clambering straight after them, howling her low, burbling cry. Rayla’s arms tightened sharply, and Runaan knew she was finally afraid. She wasn’t alone in her fears, but Runaan needed to focus. He shoved his feelings down and slashed his dagger through the nest wall. With a reluctant tear, the thick, tough webbing gave way, and Runaan and Rayla swung out into the clearing.

Runaan let go of the tree branch, but too much webbing had wrapped his hand along with the branch, and he only fell a few inches before it held him fast. He and Rayla began to pendulum back inside the nest. If they couldn’t drop safely to the ground outside, they’d be face to face with the furious shivermist spider in moments.

He’d given Rayla an easy task. Now she had the better angle for a critical one.

“Rayla, quickly.” Runaan handed her the dagger, and she took it, slicing sharply between his trapped fingers and the web-entangled wood.

They were falling, free.

Runaan slipped the dagger from Rayla’s hand and tucked it into his boot. He landed with a spinning skid that carried him halfway to the tree line around the clearing, and he glared warily back toward the towering nest, watchful for pursuit.

Rayla scrambled forward until her tummy rested atop Runaan’s shoulder and jabbed a tiny finger toward the monstrous creature. “Take that, silvermist spider! No one can stop Runaan! He’s the best Moonshadow assassin in Xadia! You should know better than to mess with him!”

The shivermist spider shrieked out at them and began to bind up the slash in her nest, clearly not interested in putting in even more work for so little food.

Rayla inhaled and jabbed her finger forward a second time. “And another thing—!”

Runaan clapped a hand over Rayla’s mouth, keeping his eyes on the spider. He eased out of his fighting stance, catching his breath. “Let’s claim the victory we’ve earned, little shadow. No need to get greedy.” But his chastisement was soft, just like he was in the face of her indomitable spirit.

Rayla giggled softly against his hand, and he pulled it away. She offered him a conspiratorial grin. “You did it, Runaan. You saved me.”

Runaan couldn’t help grinning back. He glanced back toward the spider. “Come with me, Rayla. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Soon, the pair sat on a mossy boulder near a creek that ran through the soft purple shadows of evening with a bright murmuring tumble. It reminded Runaan of Rayla’s fearlessness. Runaan sliced a corner of his tunic free and dipped it in the creek before using it to dab at smudges of dirt on Rayla’s face. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she said with a sassy pout.

Runaan raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Your mother will have my hide if you’re lying to me.”

“Your hide is safe,” Rayla replied. “The spider didn’t stab me with poison or anything. Look.” She held out her arms and turned them over for him.

Runaan desisted at her show of evidence. “Very well. Tell me, Rayla, how did the spider catch you?”

“She snuck up on me! It wasn’t fair!” Rayla crossed her little arms and made a grumpy face.

Runaan turned her chin to the side and cleaned off a smudge on her cheek, ruining her expressive moment. “And how did she sneak up on you?” he asked quietly.

“She was up in the trees, lurking. I was just exploring, and then whoomp!” Rayla flung her hands into the air. “Next thing I knew, I was swinging by my ankles from a sticky web and gettin’ dizzy from bein’ spun into a web cocoon.”

Runaan ran his cleaning cloth along one of Rayla’s horns, pulling sticky webbing off of it. “And what did you learn from that encounter?”

Rayla sighed again. “I didn’t learn anything. Spiders are dumb.”

Runaan sat back and rested his hands in his lap. And waited.

Rayla looked up at him curiously, then suspiciously. “What?”

He dipped his horns gently. “You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

But Runaan simply waited quietly. Rayla was a high-spirited and intensely determined elfling, and the best way to help her see new concepts was to challenge her to find them herself. And Rayla loved few things more than trying to figure out what Runaan was hiding from her.

Rayla put her hands on her knees and leaned forward, studying Runaan’s face as if it held all the answers. “Fine, I’ll figure it out,” she said. “I learned that… that… shivermist spiders are a thing. Their webs are super sticky, and touching them can tell the spider that you’re nearby. Also, yelling is bad, even when you’re happy to get rescued. And they can somehow fit up in trees. Probably because they have skinny butts. So… I should check the trees over my head more often, in case there’s something up there. Like a giant dumb skinny-butt spider.”

Runaan couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Well done, Rayla. That’s a very good first lesson. Let’s get you home.”

The elves trekked back through the woods toward Rayla’s house in companionable silence. Runaan slowed his long strides so Rayla could keep up, though he also found himself waiting repeatedly while she dashed along a fallen log or pointed out glowing mushrooms to him and gave them names. The tallest mushrooms were always named Runaan. Finally, just as the light of the village clearing came into view, Rayla said, “I’m sorry I ran off without you, Runaan. I knew you’d rescue me. I really did. But I should’ve waited for you, and I didn’t.”

Runaan tousled Rayla’s short white hair. “I knew you’d figure out the second lesson.”

Rayla stood taller under his hand and beamed. “Can you stay for supper?”

Runaan’s heart warmed, and he looked ahead toward Rayla’s house. To belong somewhere… What a gift. Rayla has no idea what she’s already given me, and now she offers more of it.  “Yes, I can stay for supper. But before we see your mother, we have an important decision to make.” At Rayla’s questioning look, he added, “How much of this adventure we should tell her.”

“But I want to tell her all of it!” Rayla protested.

“You do, hmm?” Even knowing that Rayla’s mother would probably draw at least one blade on him for letting Rayla get into trouble like that, Runaan couldn’t keep the fond smile off his face. “Very well.”

After their meal, Rayla threw herself into a spirited reenactment of the spider rescue story, playing the roles of herself, Runaan, and the spider. Her parents laughed helplessly at her terrible imitation of Runaan’s softer accent, while Runaan hid his blushing cheeks behind his hands and tried to stifle his chuckles. But he was impressed with her ability to mimic his movements with such accuracy. She’d truly inherited her parents’ battle skills.

Rayla’s mother turned to Runaan at the very end of the rollicking tale. With arched brows and a warning tone, she asked, “Well now, Runaan, is that really what you two got up to in the forest today?”

Runaan sat up straight and looked at Rayla, then at her mother. “Of course it was,” he said, too quickly. “That’s exactly what happened in every way.”

Rayla’s mother snorted and shook her head. “I should’ve known. Spinning tales and chasing shadows, the pair o’ you.”

The conversation turned, and Rayla looked at Runaan with baffled suspicion. But the assassin just shot her a quick wink. She sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. “That’s lesson three, isn’t it? Making the truth look like a lie so my mum doesn’t stab you.”

Runaan dropped a kiss atop her white hair. “A lesson in truthful illusion, little shadow. You got to tell your story, your mother didn’t get upset, and I didn’t get stabbed. Everyone wins.”

Overcome with glee, Rayla threw her arms around Runaan’s neck, surprising him with an enthusiastic hug. “You’re the best, Runaan. When I grow up, I wanna be just like you.”

After a stunned moment, Runaan returned Rayla’s tight hug, brimming with softness for her unwavering trust in him. I love you, too.