#What if I force him in a position too suffocating without any way to salvation

[sun-catch]

The heartbreaking fanfiction that sits in my drafts and gets updated every hundred years about Jeremy Knox is literally my most priced possession.

[thevoilinauttheory]

Winter Sound

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 24: Illustrious ]

[ Content Warnings: None! ]

[  [ Maximiloix learning magic, something something title lol - Earth - Water - Fire - Lightning - Wind - Ice ]

==

They had camped out in the snow, huddled together in their small tent for warmth; all in the comfortable glow of each others’ company. Neither of them were early risers, and so they stayed curled up until the day had reached its warmest part. Or, as warm as winter could get. Then it was shaking out the shivering cold as they packed up their belongings to continue on their journey. Caromont had led them back through a passage to the Western Highlands, to avoid getting comfortable with the city before finishing Maximiloix’s training - though trudging through the deep snow to the northernmost part of the highlands proved difficult, even hazardous. Maximiloix was fairly used to it, and he gave what lessons of his own he could give to survive the harsh climate; this was typical of the winters of Coerthas, and nothing he hadn’t faced with less before. Of course, it was the trek into the Slate Mountains that gave them the most hardships - having barely been prepared for a journey up the steep slopes and rocky climbs (Caromont faced incessant nagging for that one).

It took them another two days to make it to their next destination, but once they were there, it was a sight to see. The skies were clear and free of clouds, offering a pristine view of the snow-draped fields of Coerthas; the sun glittering off of the ice in a rainbow of colors. All they had to do was turn their heads upwards to see the islands of the Sea of Clouds and the wondrous beauty of unknown flora growing upon the emerald grass. “Gods, ain’t this somethin’ else…” “I do not think I could have asked for a better vista than this, it is beautiful up here… if it were not so *swiving* cold, it would be perfect.” Maximiloix snorted - the temperature still bothered him little, though he was beginning to believe it was more than just growing acclimated to it - Caromont rarely cursed, being composed most of the time, though that was how he knew it was *truly* cold out.

“C’mere.” Maximiloix sat himself down on a sturdy rock, then reached his arms out for him; to which Caromont took without hesitation, curled up in a blanket and tucking himself against his husband for more warmth. “Tell me ‘bout th’ice while y’warm up.” “Ice is an Umbral aspected element, making it the closest to the dark element you can get… they tie hand in hand. Though… I have noticed that it ties closely to the light as well, and I believe it is the best balance between the two.” He lifted a finger. “I suppose I should start with… everyone has an innate affinity for certain elements, one more than others. It bolsters the potency of the spells of that element, as well as making it far easier to use with less. You would not think it, but my body has a natural affinity for the wind element - thus, if I *had* to cast a spell without a catalyst, I would attempt keeping my spells to wind-aspected. My body would be able to handle the strain easier and keep me from using too much aether at once, I would drain less for more.” “Mm… what’s that s’posed t’mean fer learnin’?” “Well… you have an affinity for ice.” “Do I?” “Let us start with the fact that you are hardly bothered nor inconvenienced by the cold temperatures - now, most with an affinity for ice would feel it still, but find it bearable. Maybe not *this* much, however. Which brings me to the next point: what you are.”

“...” Maximiloix let a huff out from his nose, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows - he was never a fan of the topic. The fact that it was being brought up so casually made him uncomfortable, to say the least. “A shield from the cold and ice in the form of scales - the fact that you are susceptible to the heat and fire solidifies that you are not Dravanian of origin, as dragon scales are resistant to them.” “Thanks, I guess.” He rolled his eyes. “If ice is a balance between light and dark, it would only make sense that you have an affinity for it. The dark of your scales, and the light of your blessing.” “So instead o’ bein’ heretic, M’full on blasphemous, is what yer sayin’?” Caromont laughed. “I suppose so! That does not mean anything bad, I assure you. Simply that you are different in your own way - it is not what the being is, but how they are; and you are far from a bad person.” “Y’never know!” “Maxie, we have been together for seven years now, and married for one! I think I would know, hm? *Especially* me.” Maximiloix rolled his eyes again, then huffed out a small laugh. “Fine, fine. Guess I gotta believe ya’. So… there’s more t’th’lesson, yeah?”

“Oh! Yes, there is. Ice is used in thaumaturgy to lean the caster’s aether towards an Umbral aspect, allowing them to recover while they are in a passive state - when charged towards an Astral aspect, it can cause just as much destruction as fire can. It shouldn’t be underestimated simply because it is typically used for the recovery of energy.” He pulled himself away from the warmth of his husband’s body, standing up to stretch out, then meandered over to the near completed lance to finish the job with one last crystal. “So. Let us practice.” Maximiloix nodded firmly, doing just the same - he stretched as he stood, then found himself at Caromont’s side to take the lance from him. He smoothed his hand over each one, now imbued with a myriad of colors and emotions, tiny memories stored within his weapon. He smiled at the thought of them. “This time, I *will* let you use your all.” “Heh?” “I wish if I was correct in your affinity, if it truly is as strong as I believe it to be.” “Then I certainly ain’t usin’ it on ya’ this time!” “Oh, hells no. I am not that ignorant nor foolhardy, you will make a target of that rock there, some distance away. Now, stance yourself as if you were to use a fire or lightning spell.” He did as he was told, positioning himself to draw the aether from the crystal itself - then focused from there. What was it that he was supposed to focus on? Destruction was the only thing that came to mind, since his spell was aimed for a target rather than his husband. He focused on that point as if it *were* a person, how the skin would feel, how the ice would cut and burn and blind.

He could feel the chill running through him, it froze his blood in its tracks, choked his breath as it found its way into his lance - as deadly as it should have been, it felt *free*. It felt so free and wild, tamable by only his hands; power was but an understatement. This feeling had nothing on power and force, it was so much *more*. He could feel the cold wind whip his hair about, give frost to the edges of his skin, crawling over the scales that formed on his face. Then there was the pulse, the fabric of his being drawn out by the thread; how the cold made a home in the dark, the air about him thickened with it, stifling the light of the sun. His foot shifted slightly back, bracing himself for the magic that he was about to expel. With a push of his lance, and a hand gripping towards the dark sky above, was that spell released - crushing and shattering the rock in just a blink. Once the ice and darkness had shrunk in on itself, did it implode instead - where there was once the suffocating dark, it was now a brilliant and violent light that blinded them. The force of such a spell - even if it was a distance away - pushed him back, sliding across the slickened pile of snow until he lost his footing completely. He let out a yelp as he found himself tumbling down the rocky slope with his only reflex to cast another spell about him - one that focused on his protection. Ice shattered too easily, and so he was left with the cushion of the perfect mingle between light and dark; it covered him, cradled him, kept him safe until he came to a stop a few yalms down from where he was originally.

“Ughh… ow…” “Maxie!” He could hear Caromont call for him, but his head was still spinning not only from the fall, but the excess of aether he had spent on one spell. He blinked as he tried to look up. “Caro?” “Oh, thank the gods, you are alright; hold on, I will be down in a moment!” Caromont clamored down the mountain side as quickly as he could without slipping up himself, jumping over and across jagged rocks until he reached the bed of snow Maximiloix had flopped down into. The sun was shining again, it reflected oil-stained rainbows off of his scales, and he stared at the sky as if *it* would be his salvation. “Gods! I was glad I had time to prepare, ‘else you would have flung me off the mountain with you! Are you okay?” Caromont knelt down beside him, checking over him for any injuries, and thankful to find none. “Maybe I should be careful of what I ask of you next time, hm?” Laughter bubbled out of Maximiloix’s throat, that same child-like glee as he had when he cast his first spell. “Did ya’ see that! Holy shite! I’d do it ‘gain if I could move!” He continued to laugh, but his body truly would not move no matter how hard he tried. “Love, I don’t think that’s a good idea, regardless of whether or not you could move.” Caromont laughed as well, plopping himself down beside his husband. “That *was* impressive, however. But maybe we should keep the impressiveness to a minimum from now on - I made the mistake of underestimating your all.”

[heartwoodventures]

Flaming Hearts

It was nearing nightfall by the time Aislinn and Rolanda returned to Camp Drybone. The desert had a way of cooling considerably after the sun went down which made Aislinn all the more thankful for the leather duster she wore. The two women had been assigned to scout out Red Argos’ next ritual site in the crumbling ruins near Highbridge and though they found it just as Momori directed, there was little they could do in the way of disrupting what was already in place. Sigils writ into the stone had been hidden with aetheric wards so well done that Aislinn could barely sense the magicks below them, let alone dispel them. At best, all she could do was take a guess at where each one lay and write an absorption shield over top. It was arcane math done on the fly with no assurances her variables were correct.

But, if Momori’s information held, the ritual itself was going to take place that night. They would be rejoining a contingent of Heartwood and leading them back to the ruins. The group assembled near the aetheryte in twos and threes just as their linkpearls buzzed with a great deal of static. 

“Is everyone gathered at the aetheryte? I have news everyone should hear.” It was Momori. 

Aislinn looked around and counted heads before tapping her pearl. "Most...of us. What news?"

There was a pause, and one could assume Momori was nodding at the linkpearl. “Signal’s good on my end as well. Let’s get right into it then.” the lalafell continued, her voice tinny through the pearl. “Highbridge is no stranger to being besieged. The place is attacked daily by Qiqirn, bandits, and Amalj’aa. Usually, a few passing adventures are all that the local guard needs to fend off such attacks. Tonight....is different. Fire and chaos have broken out on Highbridge. Someone has drenched the place with alcohol and set it ablaze.” she delivered the news without much of a pause or feeling.  “...Think of it as you will. But the Brass Blades squadron originally set to reinforce our attack at the ruin site have been rerouted to deal with the more visible, and pressing threat.”

"...Nothing ever goes smoothly does it?" Jorgund sighed, looking around at the rest of them. 

"Somehow, I doubt it's a coincidence." Aislinn hummed in agreement. 

"Tis not a coincidence at all in my eyes." Haila said, turning to look at the woman. 

Momori laughed on her end. “As smooth as Raubahn’s beard stubble, I’d say. I agree with everyone’s sentiment. The timing of this attack on Highbridge is far too convenient for our pirate friends.”

"So what is the plan now?" N’ana asked. 

“.....It depends. Do you think the Brass Blades capable enough to repel the attack on Highbridge? Or would we go forth with our original plan and disrupt the ritual?” Momori hummed to herself. “If it were up to me, I would press on to the ritual site.”

Haila lowered her head, "Although the humanitarian choice would be to help the Brass Blades... My vote would also be to press on."

Aislinn snorted. She had no love lost for the Blades. "The trouble at Highbridge is what the Blades are paid to handle."

“A choice I can get behind. I believe two of us have already been to the ruins? By their lead, let us make haste," Momori said, and then the static cut off.

Following Aislinn and Rolanda’s careful lead, Heartwood navigated their way to the ruins beneath Highbridge. As they passed, the smell of smoke, even at a distance, was suffocating The sound of guns firing, of steel clashing, could be heard above the fire’s roar. It was only somewhat quieter below as everyone stepped into the ruins.

The ritual site itself was a wide, crumbling courtyard that overlooked a dizzying drop down the cliff-face. From the shadows of the corridor, Heartwood spied a small crowd gathering around the six sigils that had been masked earlier. A skeleton crew of six Seawolves and one hooded fellow, significantly shorter than his escorts, kept their six victims in check. Each of the victims had a bag over their head and a gun to their back. They were being forced into a circle around the mysterious robed figure. A familiar sight to those of the Company’s number who had come too late to the other two rituals, and a prelude to a coming disaster.

Jorgund kept his voice extremely low "Alright...how do you figure we go about this? Gotta decide quickly, though."

"I don't like any of it at all..." Haila muttered, slipping on her goggles for a moment. "How about a quick distraction, pay back what they did with our backup?"

"That's one option, but there's a chance a loud entrance will make one of them panic and shoot their captive. That's preferably avoidable." Jorgund countered. 

Aislinn tilted her head. "Seems they need those people. I bet if they shot one, they'd ruin the whole thing they got set up here. I think the guns are more of a scare tactic for the victims than anything."

"I agree with Aislinn on this one. They have needed the sacrifices for the ritual in the past. Perhaps we can call their bluff.” Rolanda added. 

"A distraction might be good actually, if you can all distract them I can sneak in to grab those that are captive." Nyscera pointed out. 

In the end it was decided that if Haila and Jorgund could stun the pirates from a distance, that would be the best shot they had to retrieve the victims unharmed and to halt the ritual in its tracks.

The hooded figure wasted no time in raising the Helm, and it floated above their head, the crystal bringing light to the dark. A feeling of comforting aether washed over everyone present, and for a moment each of them could swear they could hear the gentle mutterings of a mother spirit, promising paradise and salvation. Time was running out.

To varying degrees, the Company members shook off the soothing voice. Not wasting any more time, Haila climbed to higher ground, setting up into position. The Viera reached for her gun, tampering with a button or two until she was satisfied. "Everyone ready before I start shooting?" she asked into the linkpearl.

For her part, Aislinn wondered why there was any need to do anything at all. They should all just sit down and relax. She was about to do just that when some instinct, sharpened to a ruthless blade’s edge, took a hold of her and shouted she was crazy. One look over the edge of the cliff was enough to drive the voice from her head and the fear of the Twelve back into her. 

"Right. Yes. Ready." she said into the linkpearl.

"Ready" came Jorgund’s whisper. 

"Do it" and Rolanda. 

"We are waiting on you!" N’ana huffed into the pearl. 

Aiming carefully from her spot, Haila focused first at the grunt closest to the hooded figure. Taking a deep breath, she shot at the grunt, followed by two more shots in succession at the other targets. 

Before the first shot, the smallest of the Seawolf escorts tensed. She raised a hand over her victim and the glow of aether leaves her palm. No...could it be? Though ever so faint, she could feel the touch of someone else’s magick above her own ward. Her eyes opened wide and she dashed to the hooded figure at the center, casting a hasty shield around them both. “Kurr!”

Haila’s shot hit the still figure, paralyzing them and bringing them to their knees before the shield could be raised. Her second shot hit as well. The third grunt, with two others brought down, was wise enough to dodge the shot by dashing under cover, leaving their captive behind. However, they didn’t expect fire from above. And Jorgund fired an arrow that hit his target, the stoneshot shattering and knocking the grunt out cold.

Seeing the shield go up, Rolanda did what she always did in these situations, and shot an arrow at it. "Take that you magical jerk!"

The arcanist’s shielding ward holds, though it flickered against the attacks. She huffed, the force of her magic blowing back her robe and hair. “Kurr! We must needs retreat! We cannot afford to lose the Helm!”

Aislinn watched the activity from her hiding place, her attention zeroing in on the small Seawolf who had seemed to be able to detect her magick. That was the arcanist. And, recalling Wyda's words on her last visit to the jail, the highlander used Momori’s device to take a snapshot of the woman.

Suppressing fire down, N'ana charged in at the remaining grunts and with a jumping slash tried to cut one of the men in two.

Quick on the miqo’te’s heels, Aislinn rushed in, using N'ana's charge as a distraction in a bid to get some of the victims down the corridor and out of the way.

The remaining grunts attempted to let loose a covering fire, but one was forced to stay behind stone by Jorgund’s suppressing fire. This left Heartwood dodging the gunshots of one foe, who primarily shot in Aislinn and N’ana’s direction. 

Seeing the gun, Aislinn drastically shifted course, dodging swiftly behind the nearby pillar. With a hasty calculation, she drew her own aetheric shield around herself. Pulling the firearm from her back, she cocked it and checked for the man's position once more.

She needn’t have worried. From the darkness, Nyscera shot forward in a blur and went straight for the man shooting at her company members. Her hand snatched the grunt’s arm and twisted it with a sickening snap of bone. With her other hand she placed it behind the grunts head and sent him down with enough force to collide with the stone below. Once that was taken care of, the Xaela went back to hiding and waited for the next attack.

The threat had been summarily handled. Gun held in a protective stance, Aislinn hurried to the victims and began pulling the hoods from their heads.

"Someone see if they can break that shield! Having the Helm would be nice!" she called out into the chaos as she ushered victims down the ramp to safety. The men and women hugged the wall, the ledge and a fall into the canyon’s depths was just a few steps away. 

Taking advantage of the ongoing commotion, Haila fired another set of shots, all aimed at the mage's shield rather than the rest of the grunts in an attempt to wear it down enough to face against the pair that was left in its protection.

"Nothing I have with my bow could break it without potentially electrocuting you all, which isn't ideal!” Jorgund yelled down to Aislinn. 

"You know what, good call! I appreciate that!" the highlander yelled in reply. One could never be sure, but it was possible the woman’s words had a sardonic bent. 

Rolanda continued loosing arrows at the shield as quickly as she could manage, in an effort to put pressure on the mage.

"I'll keep the one behind cover pinned until you can incapacitate him!" Jorgund offered instead. 

A detail that was swiftly taken care of by Nyscera as she came out of hiding once again. The grunt groaned as they’re dealt with by the Au Ra, an invisible threat to their eyes. The arcanist looks around herself, cursing...and in that moment of distraction, her spell wavered. The onslaught shattered the ward,  leaving her open to N’ana’s blazing sword attack. She made a guttural sound and hit the floor, still breathing, but downed.

The hooded figure hissed and raised a frail, finned hand up. “Shhhorewalker foolsss...You dare raissse your arms against we messengers of the whhhorleater?” He brandished the Helm, channeling its power through himself and releasing it as a powerful torrent of water aether. It crashes down like a tsunami, washing anyone in the courtyward level back with the force akin to the ocean’s mighty waves.

Jorgund and Rolanda could only look on in helpless horror. 

"Shit!" he yelled. 

Rolanda braced herself against the stone pillar as the waves crashed into her comrades. "NO!" she shouted, attempting to get a glimpse of anyone through the deluge.

Haila cursed under her breath, the current would have easily dragged her away, had it not been for the thick pillar she had been hiding behind and she held onto it for dear life.

When the shield fell, Aislinn attempted to raise her weapon but she wasn’t quick enough. The wave knocked off her feet and sent tumbling down the ramp. If not for the victims at the bottom, who scrambled to catch her, she would have gone over the side and disappeared into the canyon below. 

N'ana tried to hold her own against the deluge but fell to her knee and planted her sword to anchor her as the water poured over her. 

Nyscera felt herself get pushed back, grabbing her daggers she stabbed them into the stone to hold herself in place.

Haila, Aislinn, N’ana, Nyscera. It was too much for Jorgund to simply sit and watch. 

"...Well, a good a time to test this as any, I suppose." Jorgund sheathed his bow and drew his sword, taking a breath, and whispering a single word, infused with aether "...justice." At the word, the sword came alight with fire along the blade. He took another breath, focusing his aether into his flesh and bones to toughen himself "...please let this work" Jorgund leapt off the ledge above and plummeted down towards the hooded figure, raised to slash downwards as he reached them.

Jorgund’s sword hit, severing the hooded sahagin’s arm clean off. It flew aside, glowing white blood trailing its arc, before being washed away by the water. Surprisingly, the sahagin turns to Jorgund, giving a wicked and rotting smile to the man. “Ahhhh...thissss one. Thissss one hasss moxie...”

Jorgund grinned at him, already steadying himself from his fall. "You're goddamn right I do."

Nyscera shakily let go of one of her daggers and the Xaela summoned the water that the pirate had used on them to herself. It swirled around her before targeting the hooded figure staring Jorgund down, trapping it in what would be a water prison. "Shoot it!"

Haila jumped into action once more, knowing that would be her cue as she shot at the sahagin, hoping that the stunning properties of her shot would be just as effective on it.

Aislinn was ushered back to her feet by the victims, and breathlessly clambered back up the ramp just in time to see Haila's shot.

The wind picked up, reaching a fever pitch. An invisible force hovered nearby, forcing dust into the air. At this, the one-armed sahagin blinks, and grabbed his downed comrade by the neck. Haila’s shots sink into the sahagin’s face, tearing deep holes that bled white with unnatural blood. “....Ssso you all mussst be our ssstalkerssss...you hhhave done well, thisss time.” His body moved, as if propelled by some external force, ripping legs through the water in a self-destructive manner.

"That doesn't seem good...!" Jorgund yelled, falling back a step. 

Aislinn stared at the sight in bewilderment. "Seven hells?"

"What in the world...." Haila muttered, lowering her gun knowing that more of her shots wouldn't be enough to stop it.

"No you don't!" N’ana lunged forward and swung her blade to strike the creature's head.

The strike sliced the sahagin’s head off, and the body remained, puppeted by invisible strings. It seemed slightly inconvenienced as it bent over to retrieve its own head, forcing the flopping thing back into the stump of a neck it had left.

“...Hhhave this sssmall victory. We concede thessse sssix lambsss...” With the arcanist brutally held by her neck, the sahagin, radiating aether, stepped off the ruins’ ledge. He turned, standing seemingly on nothing but air, and stared back with a dead fish’s eyes, before disappearing into the air with a slam.

Aislinn stared where the Sahagin had just disappeared. "Seven Hells?!" she repeated, just a little bit louder this time.

"...Now I've seen some strange shit. But that's amongst the weirdest..." Jorgund said. 

"We seem to be running into more and more questions each time..." Haila commented, coming out from her hiding spot.

"At least we saved the six..." He said as he lowered his blade. 

Aislinn holstered her firearm and turned to look down the ramp at the victims. "Aye. There is that."

Jorgund sighed and relaxed a bit but suddenly paused. "...wait, did we deal with the one behind cover?"

Nyscera pulled her daggers out of the ground and secured them to her hips again, her glowing orbs looked the group over. At the mention of the hidden target the Xaela's gaze snapped into the direction where the grunt was hidden.

Adrenaline shot back through Rolanda’s already adrenaline-ravaged veins as she noticed the remaining guard. "OHWHATTHEHELL" she hurriedly nocked an arrow.

Following the Xaela’s gaze, Jorgund turned to walk casually behind the cover, holding his still flaming sword up towards him "...you wanna come quietly?"

Aislinn turned quickly to the sight of her companions closing in on the remaining guard like a pack of wolves. "We should hand them over to the Yellow Jackets. Supposedly they're Red Argos, the -real- crew the Maelstrom is looking for." Such a thing could go a long way to securing Wyda’s release. 

"I, personally, don't kill. Not unless absolutely necessary. I don't, however, have an issue if they rot in a cell forever.” Jorgund locked eyes with the remaining man. "Nor do I have an issue with beating the seven hells out of someone."

The Seawolf glared back at Jorgund, and brought a gun to his head. “Till sea swallows all, ye dirty ‘heroes.’” A shot is fired, echoing off the mountain walls...when the ringing stops, the Seawolf is...dead.

"...Twelve above." Jorgund said, his voice quiet. 

Aislinn was anything but. She cursed. Loudly. And vehemently.

That left one paralyzed grunt, and six victims. Very wet, very confused, and very afraid victims.

No longer concerned with the victims, Aislinn strode across the courtyard and secured the last remaining grunt, kicking his weapon off to the side. "Fine. One to turn in to the Yellow Jackets."

"Grab the paralyzed one, let's bring the captives to Heartwood to get them looked over by G'lewra and get a meal in them. We'll get them home once they're no longer in shock." Nyscera said, dishing out orders to her team. 

Aislinn nodded once to Nyscera. "I can get the grunt to Aleport."

The six victims, a mix of hyur and Seawolf, were in varying states of shock. Some simply stood and watched Heartwood with dead eyes. Other rocked back and forth. But they were all well enough to follow the company to wherever they needed to be brought. They were certainly ready to leave this place behind. 

[404fmdminjung]

full lyrical verification for dark clouds 

summary: downpour season marks korea’s july — cue minjung and notebook sitting in the corner of her veranda, playing with the droplets of spilt coffee while writing a rap verse. a song for the people around her if she’s ‘okay’ after each and every single tumultuous breakup. @fmdkami warnings: none wc: 1008 (without lyrics)

there are sunny days in the summer time — the temperature peaking over thirty-six, her limits tested. it comes as an obstacle that hinders her from stepping outside the doors on a day off, finding peace and coolness in the safety of the walls that trap her and the nespresso machine that lends itself a bit short from her normal routine of a walk narrowing to blue bottle. 

then, there’s the season of sonagi, downpour that doesn’t cease. five days of the week, a heavy rain for two days of the summer heat — another obstacle. yet, there’s no bitter resentment for the rain, the wash away of people clashed below and full on emptiness that leaves nothing but the white noise of droplets smashing against her window pane.

and she doesn’t complain, nor badger her phone screen for a quick delivery an full succumb into a first world issue. minjung makes the most of her time, perched in the corner of her veranda where the separation between the outside and inside leaves her dazed and the only thing she does is sit still with a straw pressed between her lips and eyes staring out into the void — 멍때리는 재미이라고 해야하나? (is this fun out of doing nothing? rough translation bc 멍때려-ing idk i can’t find a word for it)

she remembers each person that asks the same question programmed during the aftermath of a breakup — are you okay? and she sees herself to be like the dark clouds in the outside — cloudy, dreary. moments of recollection haunting her, and she’s left to shut out the outside voices and hungry noses hinting at their next topic of gossip.

i wish it would clear up, or at least a cool breeze would show it’s gray all day today, gray clouds follow me.

the words scribble themselves on paper, and she thinks the breakup to be a looming cloud of misery — a constant reminder of love and broken feelings, no longer valid. a void that’s meant to remain never to be filled. time doesn’t do much to anyone, nor does it hide away the complexities that entangle her with memories. what she wants to call for is salvation in the form of fresh air, or something less suffocating — a clear ray of sunshine, promising better tomorrows. but in reality, what she gets is the trail of gray clouds that hover over her.

i ignore my friends calls i answer after a day it’s obvious they’ll all ask ‘how do you feel’ and i’ll force a smile, do i have to do this?

and it becomes a product of routine, she realizes while writing this down. a product of a to b, x to z. the woe is me role she’s placed in when the tears of an ending lodge themselves like a heavy weight pressed against her throat — and all she wants is silence. nobody asking ‘how do you feel’ because in retrospect, if she flicked them all the middle finger asking them how they feel amidst the violent force of a heart being pulled directly out of the chest. they’d answer the same way anyone else would with a heart out of the body, barely beating. dead.

it’s a sarcastic story she writes today, a big ‘fuck you’ to all who ask about the decline of a relationship. she’s at fault, a love that doesn’t necessarily keep up and pin to her mind. in her eyes, she’s the wind — never pressed to one place nor allowed to accept the notion of permanency. she wants it, craves it. yet, it’s always unforgiving.

clouds above my head trying to cover my smile rather, can’t it just pour? drip drip drip drip (뚝 뚝 뚝 뚝)

it pulls the edges of her lips into a smile, the way the contrast of 뚝, the sound of fluttering raindrops and the onomatopoeia of tear drops of how children are told to ‘stop crying’. in reality, she just wants something cathartic, no longer held back by the presence of pretending to be something. and maybe, if she gave a middle finger while crying then people would leave her alone to be the lost girl sad.

they all say time is the balm glided over wounds, and she knows it’s no save-all for broken hearts. it’s a distraction, a numbing effect — a blurred image of old-vivid paintings. and that’s when she can swallow the bitter pill that she’s fine, yet her mind pulls into place the people that ask. suddenly, the blurred outlines detail themselves into finite lines, perfected and shaded. and she writes her response in one simple statement.

now i’m fine, don’t ask about him there’s more things to talk about why do you just hit it where it hurts the sky is clear now, i’m really fine i used all my emotions and i’m numb. so stop worrying about me.

she knows she’s lying through the smirk on her lips and the edges of the pen dancing along the paper. ‘i’m fine’ is a scapegoat, a hideout away from the harrowing pain held around her heart. a wish for nobody to worry, and maybe she’ll stop thinking to each press of her lips against milky skin and the depths of rooted talks grounding her soul to theirs. 

so, she writes down the only words of honesty that come straight — the words that she means to say, yet held back by the pride that keeps her facade strong and sturdy away from the rocks of pitiful stares and sympathetic hums. 

actually i think i held it in too much i wanna cry because of me, everything around me becomes darker in hindsight, i’m the dark cloud

a bit self-depreciating, but it’s the way she views herself. a terrorizing wrecking ball ready to stir chaos and devastation to any hint of kindness or any flinging fledge of love thrown her way. she knows how to love, a heart that only shows slivers of itself in moments of vulnerability. big picture — she’s got a heart too big for the world, capable of too much love that it scares her into sliding into a faux fixture of a dark cloud, encompassing everything around her.

—

she scribbles down whatever’s left in her head till she’s left in the same position of a dazed headspace. a continuation on a coffee she’s sipping, and the same visions of racing droplets against the window as she cheers for the straggled one at the top to win.

[uchiuzus]

there are just some things you shouldn’t see

i. cursed observation — shikamaru (2,270 words, sasunaru // shikamaru has thoughts on sasuke and naruto’s relationship)

Shikamaru is a lot of things, but nosy isn't one of them. Rather than nosy, he'd like to call it observant—as in, he just so happens to see a lot of things that may slip under the radars of others. One example is how Sakura and Ino will disappear together during their breaks at the hospital. Another is how much time Hinata spends with Kiba and Shino instead of her own clan, and how they can be found playing with Akamaru in the training fields more often than not.

Another is how Lady Tsunade will pop a vein when Naruto so much as breathes Sasuke's name in her presence.

He understands—sort of. The esteem Lady Tsunade holds Naruto in has always been... high. Shikamaru has no place to say it, but Naruto is to Tsunade what Asuma was (still is) to him: a driving force. Something to work for. As close a point of salvation as one could find in their lives. Sure, Lady Tsunade could murder Naruto with a flick of her finger, but that's not what he means.

Her stubbornness is notorious; he'd heard the stories about her, about the Sannin during the second Great War and each of their aftermaths—how she refused to treat anyone anymore. How she fled the village in fear and self-loathing and then subsequently avoided it for decades for the same reasons. Shikamaru doesn't blame her because he's not sure he'd do much different in her position.

Then came Naruto with his big dreams and even bigger mouth, and she's practically putty in his hands. That's kind of... his thing. Thing, capital 'T', proper noun. There's no better way to phrase it.

Naruto doesn't come with simple explanation—gather up the greatest scholars this world has to offer and they could never conclude with anything coherent, but they would all leave affected. (Shikamaru has been affected, too. He hasn't met a single person who hasn't been. It's contagious.) What Naruto is, the world has never been prepared for. It's easiest to leave it at that.

The point is... he's very important to Lady Tsunade, so Shikamaru surmises that it ruffles her favorite boy, her heir, want someone like Sasuke.

As for Sasuke himself, it's not like Shikamaru has much personal against him���in fact, none of them do. Their feud with him had to do with the village, its protection, and the protection of its people; reasonable. It's complicated when the whole story comes into play. Sasuke had always been a good—not great, kind of an asshole, really—guy, and the way he'd fit into his team was just like a missing puzzle piece. They'd never been friends before and that sure as hell didn't change when he came back.

Still, Shikamaru thinks of Sasuke in terms of, What if I were him? He can't say he would or wouldn't turn out the same, but with baggage as heavy as Sasuke's (the weight of the world, heavier than anyone knows, more crushing than Shikamaru has ever wanted to know), well... It does things to a person. In hindsight, it only seems natural that the strongest person any of them has ever known would help shoulder that weight.

Most people think it's odd; why would Naruto go to the ends of the earth for someone he hated and hated him in kind? Hate isn't the right word, Shikamaru thinks. He'll never claim to know them better, but they've never hated each other and everything they did never made the idea cross his mind. Sure, they've been at each other's throats all their lives, but even when Shikamaru was young and didn't have as wide a scope of emotional comprehension and how to apply it to people in unfortunate situations, he thought of it more as... desperation.

It's never been any of Shikamaru's business and he's never wanted it to be any of his business, but he remembers that desperation with stifling clarity and how it showed itself throughout their childhoods; little things others either didn't notice or didn't want to. Naruto watching Sasuke during their first Chuunin Exams. Sasuke's absolute need to chase and hold down Naruto when he got himself into dire situations. Naruto's determination to followup a hundred times more powerful to meet Sasuke. Sasuke's—

—attempts to separate himself from Naruto.

(Naruto's desperation to chase after Sasuke.)

...Shikamaru, more or less, remembers when he realized Naruto was not Naruto without Sasuke. It was the day they left on his first mission as a chuunin, as a squad leader—the day they were sent out to retrieve Sasuke. To see Sakura cry hurt in a way he didn't understand (though now that feeling stands in parallel to seeing Ino in pain), but Naruto's reaction had been shock—and then an odd look of empathy and compassion. Right then, a lot of things clicked into place.

"Because of Sasuke, you're in pain. I can understand."

Losing a teammate like that—not to death but to their own volition, which had to have led into questions like, What did I do wrong? Was I not good enough? Why couldn't I stop them?—is dark stuff and Shikamaru doesn't have the audacity to even try putting himself in their positions, but that one look from Naruto... He can almost imagine it. Even when Naruto had returned to the village with Jiraiya, that pain wasn't gone; layers of determination (desperation) had just concealed it.

Years later and the rancid bitterness in the back of Shikamaru's throat has still yet to leave.

These days, when he spots them strolling to village together like they've never been separated once in their whole lives, that expression flashes through his mind. What would Sasuke think with those photographic eyes of his if he had to recall that face in perfect detail? Maybe it's nasty of Shikamaru to say, but that guilt would be warranted (but Sasuke isn't such a stranger with the suffocating feeling anymore, is he? They can all see it, but no one says anything.)

Times come when Shikamaru feels like a thief after clandestine moments, so he puts a lot of conscious effort into not noticing more than he should. Wasted efforts. Can he be blamed? Those two practically radiate their crooked devotion; Sasuke with his glances of wonderment because Naruto might just be a dream, or Naruto's longing gaze that makes it seem like Sasuke will disappear any second. For gods' sakes, it's embarrassing.

Here he is, trying his damnedest to turn the other cheek, but it's like... being forced to peek through a keyhole into a world forbidden. They're just so obvious that it hurts. (If anyone shares his position, they don't mention it to each other either. It's the kind of burden one has to carry alone, drag to the grave in fear of divine punishment.)

Others are blissful in their ignorance of this thing that just is and he sure wishes he could join them instead of this miserable intrusion that he wants nothing to do with. More than one occasion has heard him cursing his natural observation skills, but at this point, he's convinced that some god above wants him to bear witness to all of this and be the one who sees it play out. To not be someone important in their lives but be an audience to what there is between them... It's a nauseatingly high mantle.

Their weird little bond is so potent that he has to notice these things even from a distance (he's so unlucky); the looks, the touches, the unsettled issues, the tied-up loose ends. The rest of the world is willful in not wanting to see it, but he has to and it's...

It's Naruto beaming at Sasuke like the sun. It's Sasuke and his subtle touching of Naruto like he's his lifeline.

(It's so much. It's too much.)

If possible, it's worse when they're apart. Their holes gape, are so flagrantly obvious that they might as well scream their time apart from the rooftops. Shikamaru has to see Naruto's hurry to return. He has to see Sasuke's glances to catch sight of bright blonde hair. They're always in such a hurry to get back, and—Do they even know how to be their own people anymore?

(That's unhealthy.)

Naruto and Sasuke. Sasuke and Naruto. What's that thing people say? Distance makes the heart fonder? Then they must be what happens when one chases the other for years, finally catches up, and then is staunchly unwilling to let go. Does distance actually make the heart grow fonder, or does it stretch the heart to its limits and produce some kind of separation anxiety?

(Probably. It also seems to come with blowing each other's arms off, but semantics.)

It makes Shikamaru a bit sick.

How the hell do they deal with it? He's never known how to be anything but his own person, even as a continuation of a tradition that stretches back for generations beyond imagination. Ino and Chouji may as well be his everything, but for Naruto and Sasuke, it's—different. Extreme, he'd might say.

(Then again, neither of them seem capable of anything else but extreme. When you're the two most powerful shinobi to exist, why hide?)

Their lines have blurred to the point where now, they simply are. Are as one. Extensions of each other. Two halves of a whole. Staggeringly so. It's such a romanticized notion that everyone wants for their own, but they don't understand what it actually means to be a part of a bond like that. Even his own flimsy understanding allows him to know better than to think of wanting it; he knows that no one else should want it. If they were forced to see it like he is, surely they wouldn't anymore.

It is, in a word, terrifying. That they seem at peace with not knowing where one begins and the other ends baffles Shikamaru to the point where he doesn't want to think about it, and how the hell can they not care about losing themselves like that? He's not sure how they cope, how they face such an absolutely fucking terrifying existence.

(Together, he supposes, like they always have. Like they always will.)

Do Naruto and Sasuke even know what they look like to the outside world? To not know would be cruel of them, Shikamaru thinks, but with that impenetrable... whatever the hell it is enveloping them when they're together, that barrier, their ignorance wouldn't be surprising. It's like the rest of them simply exist in a simulation made for them. What a powerful thing it is; too powerful to be aware of, but—

There have been times when Shikamaru has seen Sasuke—and Sasuke has found him in turn, caught his reluctant studying red-handed. With his single-eyed gaze, dark and effortlessly cognizant, he'll pin Shikamaru in place like he's using Nara jutsu against him—and Shikamaru, for all that he's never been intimidated by Sasuke, will not move; will find that he can't move.

He knows. Sasuke knows exactly what they look like to outsiders. Even when Naruto is there and blabbering in his ear about one thing or another, he has enough awareness to look outwards. He's aware that yes, there is a world that exists outside of them and yes, they come in a set no matter what—he just doesn't care. (Why should he? It's pretty obvious to Shikamaru that, sickeningly enough, all he needs is right next to him.)

And he'll smile. He'll smile and his eye will curve, because he knows.

(Shikamaru thinks he knows Sasuke well enough to know that he could use it as a weapon in his pride, which would be a whole lot more unsettling if it were anyone but Naruto at his side. Shikamaru isn't one for dramatics, but Sasuke's force of nature is only countered and balanced by Naruto's, protecting... well, everyone. If Naruto is aware of that, he doesn't show it. He's always been the oblivious idiot who no one gives enough credit.)

This understanding of how Naruto is not without Sasuke and Sasuke is not without Naruto strains Shikamaru; not like a complex puzzle that has catharsis in completion, but more like a high-stakes disaster on the horizon that the fate of many rests on. Frankly, it's going to give him early gray hairs.

Still, for all that he's aware of this daunting truth, relief is handed to him in that Sasuke seems to realize it too and has completely accepted it. Thrown himself head-first into it. Probably never wants to come back from it. The point is, it lets Shikamaru separate himself from it, though he might not ever be able to push it out of his mind completely. Small mercies. Really... small fucking mercies.

Relaxing and having time to oneself is something Shikamaru greatly appreciates, so for those two to seem not to is—ugh.

But...

Practically cursed or not, overwhelmed by their attachment or not, he's got no room to judge them. Maybe he even admires the fact that after all they've been through, they still want to be together. It's a marvel, to say the least.

A marvel, a miracle, all those words that try to explain what's beyond human comprehension—and none of his business. He'll eventually get around to scrubbing his hands of the troublesome, earth-shattering truth, happily scrubbing until squeaky clean and free of the burden.

(He doubts the shackles of his instincts to take in every detail possible will allow it, but... It's the thought that counts.)

[punkakess]

Can you write Natray - strip club au?

Sorry it took so long, I’m a slow writer. It’s probably different of what you had in mind but I couldn’t help myself^^

His knuckles as well as his face hurt. Those kinds of fights were always the most difficult. His opponents would give everything they got, just like him. They all had something to lose, to leave behind, after all. That’s why all of them were there in the first place. For themselves, or an specific goal or someone.

Gray was Natsu’s someone. Gray was the person who made life worthy something. Without him, life as they knew, living in The River Break, the most dangerous neighborhood in Magnolia, was meaningless.

A glass of whiskey appeared in front of him, round rocks of ice floating on the amber liquid. He didn’t need to be told it was on the house, night like this were common here. Mira would smile sweetly, hiding her sadness as best as possible. He thanked her, turned around on his stool and scanned the area of the pub, searching for a familiar face.

Gray was leaving the dressing-room, wearing indecent clothes like Natsu had seen a million times already and secretly wished none of this people were able to see. The raven stopped short on his track when his blue eyes fell upon the pink haired young man, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs at the same time a relieved smile adorned his handsome face. And Natsu already knew what he was thinking.

The moment passed as fast as it came and Gray was moving again. Shoulders squared and posture confident. A light but enticing wiggle to his hips as a cherry on top of the cake. He approached a familiar man, with white hair, glasses and a crude smirk adorning his face.

Invel, Gray’s most frequent client.

Natsu drank his whiskey in two big gulps and gritted his teeth while watching Invel caress his boyfriend’s thighs and butt. Doing beyond what he had any right to. But the guy had money and that’s what matters inside Fairy Tail Pub. Or on that neighbourhood to be more accurate.

The dance lasted 15 minutes and Natsu endured those excruciating minutes by smoking, half listening whatever Sting told him. He would watch Gray grind and press against Invel, biting his lip and smirking seductively. However Natsu knew what was hidden behind that fake naughty smile. All the disgust and bitterness. Gray’s body always tensed up when he had to give a private dance, trying to fight of a flinch when strangers’ hands touched his bare skin.

Most nights were like this and it pained Natsu he could do nothing about it. He couldn’t be the one to rescue Gray from that hell hole. There’s no way you can pull someone up when you’re in just as deep. And they were too deep, it didn’t matter how much they tried to climb, slipping and hurting themselves, every push up the walls of that precipice seemed it just got deeper.

Gray stood up when the time was over, eager to put as much distance as possible from that man. A hand stopped him, however, and forced his body back on its privious position on Invel’s lap. He immediately tensed, knowing from experience what would follow.

“Stay a little bit more, Gray.” Invel’s fingers squeezed his waist rougher than normal, pushing the stripper’s butt down on a disgusting erection. His breath ricked of alcohol and his pupils were dilated.

“The time is over, Invel. Lemme go.”

“To where? Bac to that pitiful brat of a fighter? I can take care of you like a real man.” Gray gritted his teeth and squirmed, forcefully trying to get up. He couldn’t punch the guy or else Laxus would have a reason to punish him like he have been wanting for a while now. And Gray refused to do that, refused to give his body to some random person.

He tried to avoid look at Natsu, fully aware that if the pinkette realized he was with troubles, he would try to help and it could end up with him being the one punished. They couldn’t have it, Natsu fought most nights of the week and was constantly bruised, more fights could put him on the hospital and they didn’t had the money for that.

Gray squirmed again and bit his tongue to prevent a growl of anger. It was just perfect, something to close the shitty night. His resolve crumbled down with a yelp, when he felt Invel’s hand attempted to enter his latter shorts, fist moving out of its own volition and lifting high on the air, ready to reign punches on the abusive client. But once more he was stopped by a hand, this time around his wrist.

“Don’t you dare, Gray.” Laxus stood tall, hovering over them with ab annoyed expression. It’s not my fault, he wanted to argue but the blonde owner was already speaking again, “The time is over Invel, Gray is just a stripper. You want to fuck a hole, we have people for that. But it’d be really nice if Gray here take the job, huh?”

Said raven only reacted with a roll of his blue eyes, which widened when the screeching noise of a stool scratching the wooden floor and heavy stomps resounded on the deadly quiet pub. Natsu was coming and he was probably very mad. “You stop right fucking there, Natsu.”

Laxus threw him a menacing stare and was rewarded with an equally ominous one. With a harsh pull the blond forced Gray out of Invel’s lap and on his two feet. He brought the raven closer and examinated his pale face with cruel eyes. “If you threaten another client, I’ll put you to fuck with them. Do you understand, slut?”

Before Gray could even respond, a strong arm circled his waist and a tanned, wounded hand closed in a fist around Laxus wrist, which was holding on Gray’s. “Let him go Laxus. He was just defending himself.” Natsu’s face was pulled in a snarl, green eyes burning with barely concealed anger. Laxus glared at them both but let go anyway, his blue irises never leaving the couple.

“The next mistake and you’ll be punished, both of you. You work for me, you belong to me. Don’t think you can go around doing what the fuck ever you want.” Gray twitches on his arm and Natsu brings him just a little bit closer, trying to find support.

Nodding is like stepping on their own pride – not like they have a lot left – and make humiliation all the more intense. It’s like drawing, you can’t breath, barely can see, the water force its way in your lungs, flooding your body with despair. Yet you stay alive, suffering.

Natsu doesn’t know if he should be happy for not taking this blow alone or if he should be sad that his lover is going through such embarrassment.

“Get out of my sight, you whimps.” And that’s what they do. Walking away from the place in quick steps, only stopping by the dressing-room so Gray could change.

The smell of rotting food and moist, old bricks from the alley on the back of the pub felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating air of the pub. It was a relief to leave the place they once thought was their salvation and ended up being only a door to another room in hell.

It wasn’t their fault really, they had been both dumb teenagers, desperate for money and Makarov showed up like an angel sent from heaven, offering jobs. Natsu and Gray accepted in a heartbeat, only to later learn that Makarov was more of a demon then an angel and once you take on his offers, it’s almost impossible to get out.

The couple walked in silence with hands intertwined and steps hurried. Eyes and ears alert to any possible danger. A shot was heard from a few blocks down and they both jumped at the sudden noise, exchanging careful looks and wordlessly agreeing to walk faster.

Upon arriving to their building Gray let out a relieved breath and Natsu watched as steam caressed his slightly purple lips. It was really cold. Turning the heater as soon as they entered their cramped apartment was the best choice. This way they could move around comfortably. Unfortunately, they needed to turn it off before laying down or else the energy bill would come too expensive by the end of the months. The covers and each other’s body heat would have to do until they had enough money to leave the town.

Natsu went straight to the kitchen intended to prepare some sandwiches and warm up the hot chocolate he had made the day before. All the while Gray counted the money they had made that night, sorting it out according with their needs. A little bit to pay the bills, an amount to eat and another for their savings.

“Just a few more month.” The raven mumbled and smiled softly.

They ate their snack and showered together to save water. Exchanging chest kisses and scrubbing one another’s back, easing the tension of the day out of their tired muscles. After getting out, Gray stitched a couple of ugly wounds on Natsu’s body, leaving sweet pecks on each of them.

The heater was turned off and they lay down, shuffling on the mattress until they found a comfortable position for cuddling. A few minutes passed by with them staring at each other, Illuminated only by the moonlight coming from the window.

Natsu was the first one to break down. His expression, hardened by the years of struggling twisted with a sniff and suddenly his eyes were watery, fat tears running down his no longer chubby cheeks.

“I won the fight, I killed another man, Gray.” He whimpered pitifully and it ripped a piece of Gray’s heart. The raven hugged Natsu tight and soon enough he was also crying, burying his face on the thick, pink locks.

“It’s okay Natsu. I’m glad you’re alive, I’m glad you came back to me.” The street fighter blinked repeatedly, trying to will the tears away.

When he realized Gray was also crying, Natsu embraced him even closer, circling his arm around the slender torso. His warm hands stroking the raven’s back with small but lovingly circles, under the fluffy sweater.

It was hard on Gray too. While Natsu was there fighting and getting hurt and every Saturday had to battle for his life, Gray was at the bar, worrying about him while enduring lustful touches of people who he didn’t knew and wasn’t interested in. They both lost their pride in some way working for Makarov, and Laxus didn’t made it any better. Always running the pub with cruel intent and never letting his employees forget about their “owner” as he liked to call himself and his grandfather.

But no matter what happened and how bad life was, Gray and Natsu would never give up. The both of them were too stubborn for that. They would get out, run far away, find a new place, build a new life and a family. Always carrying the weight of their past but never letting it disturb their path, instead using it as a guide for a better future.

Their adventure was far away from finishing. The ride would be wild and tortuous, however they had each other to hold on. They just couldn’t lose their fighting spirit.

I’m sorry for any mistakes and i hope you enjoyed it. Also this last paragraph i took from a song called Missing You by All Time Low.

[a-curious-aquarius]

SCM: Immortal Soul

(So this got wildly out of control… but I just had too many feelings about Leon and the MC, seriously. He might be my favorite voltage guy ever, and you can tell he loves the MC SO MUCH. I hope I conveyed that.)

(Also… a ridiculously long nsfw ending. You have been warned, my children.)

Leon had never been one for sentiment.

Before meeting you, his time in the heavens had been marked by loneliness, by solitude and false idolization. He had no need for nostalgia, for fond reminiscing - there was no warmth to be found in his past.

Back then, if you had asked him about his life, he would have feigned contentedness with that cocky smirk of his. After all, he had never felt his soul at peace; he had never known true happiness. He couldn’t miss what he never had.

And then you stumbled into his life, head-first and gracelessly. At first, he had thought you to be a nuisance, nothing more than a tool to be used for his salvation.

But now, as he lay beside you in bed and watched you sleep, he couldn’t help but smile as he held you. You were so much more than he could’ve ever fathomed back then, so incredibly dear to him. He brushed a stray tendril of hair off your face, and at his touch, you whispered his name into the silence instinctively.

“Mm… Leon…”

He felt his heart constrict painfully at the sound, revelling in the pressure of your small body pressed against his own. He loved you more than he could comprehend, more than he had ever thought possible.

As he let his mind wander to his past, to your shared past, he couldn’t stifle a soft smile. Every moment you had ever shared was precious to him, even when you had frustrated him beyond belief or unintentionally brought him pain.

For once, he cherished his past. And for once, he eagerly awaited his future.

Only with you.

He found you in your apartment one morning, your gaze locked on the reflection in the mirror. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared, making him cock his head inquisitively with a smirk.

“Becoming a bit vain, are we?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your face flushing before you could hide your embarrassment. “Leon!” you exclaimed in greeting, in surprise, your flustered tone of voice only heightening his amusement. “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh-ho, ordering a god?” he simpered, approaching you with that predatory look in his eye. “How brazen you’ve become.”

Shaking your head quickly, you pressed the palms of your hands to your burning face. “I was just… um.”

Leon cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. When you didn’t, he felt a spark of frustration in his chest as he narrowed his eyes. You can never just be honest, can you? “You know you can’t keep anything from me,” he boasted, crossing his arms pointedly.

You looked at the ground, suddenly very interested in your shoes, though he knew that your eyes were already filling with tears. “I found a grey hair,” you murmured. Your voice was so dejected, so despaired that Leon couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why worry about such a trivial thing?” he asked confidently, moving even closer to where you stood. You stared directly at him with widened eyes, your tears freely falling. “Obsessing over it will only make more appear,” teased Leon.

“No, that’s not…” you tried to explain, feeling your confession catch in your through. “I know I’m only in my 20’s right now, but what about in the future?”

He felt the corners of his mouth tug down slightly, already dreading what you would say next. He had thought about what you were insinuating many times, and he didn’t need to hear it from you, too.

“What about it?”

“Will you still-” You looked away from him now, your reddened eyes closing and forcing out more tears. “Will you still want me when I’m old and grey and…”

He frowned deeply, displeasure evident on his face. “You truly think I’m so fickle?” he challenged, lifting his chin to look down on you in irritation.

You didn’t answer as shame flooded through your body, though it was still masked by the potent uncertainty weighing you down.

Leon sighed, eyes softening as he took your face in his hands. Gently, he wiped away your tears with his thumbs and offered a comforting, sweet smile - the one he showed to you alone.

“You are the one who taught me to love,” he explained softly, shaking his head at you. What an infinite, impossible fool you are. “Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.”

“But you’re just so beautiful, and I’m only-”

Impatiently, he claimed your lips with an aggressive kiss, effectively cutting off any of your frustrating, fearful words. Deep inside, his heart was in disarray, despairing as he thought of the future, of you growing old and flickering out of his life as quickly as you stumbled in.

Your time together was as long as your life - and his was so, so much longer than that. Infinite, in fact. The thought of ever living without you threatened to choke him, so he forced your mouth open, tasted you like a starving man, drank you in greedily while he still could.

You were panting when he pulled away, eyes wet as you stared up at him. “You are mine,” he finished your sentence, gaze steady and never leaving your own. “And you will always, always be beautiful to me. Nothing could ever change that.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’ll always love you. Only you.”

“Forever?” you asked hopefully, and he had to stifle a laugh at your absurdity.

“Of course, even if you didn’t want me to,” he replied haughtily, though his words were punctuated by a tender kiss to your forehead.

Your sigh caressed his face, all the tension in your shoulders dissipating from palpable relief. “I love you, Leon.”

That was more than he could ever hope for.

“And I love you.”

Until the end of time.

Despite his attempts to avoid it, Leon couldn’t help but obsess over your conversation. He started to have repeated nightmares of chasing you, trying to hold onto you just to have you slip out of his fingers.

He would awaken, panting, only calming once he felt your solid warmth in his arms. Most of the time, your presence was enough to soothe him, to make him feel safe and secure. But once or twice, he would feel so suffocated by despair that he would kiss you awake, just so he could take you and sate himself on you, just so he could fill in that terrified, terrible hole in his chest.

After a while, he stopped sleeping and simply watched you. To him, you were a work of art - imperfect but carefully crafted, so beautiful that you took his breath away. To think he would ever not want you… it was an absurd thought. You were an absurd woman.

Weeks later, he was still weighed down by these depressing thoughts, and you were starting to notice. He tried to put on a brave face as he kissed you and headed off to the heavens, but he knew you saw right through him. You were the only one that could.

But how could he possibly tell you these fears? You were already such a sensitive human, even without his input. No, this was something he would keep to himself, something his heavy heart would bear alone. After all, if he spoke his thoughts aloud, your mortality would somehow become real, tangible.

Your endearing existence, beautiful but brief - there was no way he would ever find anyone like you once you were gone. Not that he’d want to. You were irreplaceable, irresistible, intoxicating. And he was yours, irrevocably, despite how proud he appeared. You had him so tightly wound around your little finger, had him more than willing to do anything to keep that smile on your face until the moment you were… until you…

He scowled as he left the mansion, eyes stinging and red. How annoying.

Leon had been summoned by the king that morning, a meeting to go over the state of the Department of Wishes and all the gods that Leon watched over. Meetings like these always bored him immensely - so he simply wore that casual smirk and indifferent air despite the turmoil in his heart.

“Is that all?” he asked sardonically as the summons came to an end. He tried his best to look positively unenthused, hoping that the King would take pity on Leon’s bored, suffering soul.

The King lifted his chin, staring at Leon’s face until the God of Leo felt small under his gaze. “Wild lion of the heavens,” the King began, “your heart is in disarray.”

“Oh?” Leon responded sarcastically, offering a lazy smirk. “And what could make you think that?”

“The Goddess of Fate,” the King said, not truly answering Leon’s question. “I can see that fearful thoughts of her are heavy on your heart. You are… disquieted, to say the least.”

Immediately, Leon’s face fell, an irate scowl replacing his grin. “And?” Suddenly, he wanted to flee. He wanted to run from whatever the King would say next, from the finality of his divine words.

“You have nothing to fear,” the King said vaguely, giving Leon a knowing look. “Just understand that nothing is impossible.” He stopped, smiled. “Why not ask Scorpio?”

Leon’s mouth fell open in surprise at the King’s implications, feeling a blossoming hope warm him from the inside out. The king simply winked at the wild lion before turning to leave the room, leaving Leon alone to process the King’s words.

Nothing is impossible. You have nothing to fear.

He rushed back to the mansion, heart pounding heavily, hopefully, fearfully. He was disheveled, unwound, practically panting as he practically ran to his room, desperate to see you and have his fill.

You were perched on his bed when he found you, a worn book in your hands, though you practically threw it in surprise when he slammed the door open.

“Leon?” you breathed, unsettled by the manic look in his eyes, by the way he gaped at you.

With a few long strides, he was sat beside you on the comforter, reaching out to grip at your waist. You gasped as he rolled over you, settling himself between your legs as if he belonged there.

“…Leon?” you murmured again, wide eyes gazing up at his own in confusion. He had no doubt you saw the hunger on his face, the desperation in the way he looked at you, and he felt pride swell within him when you shivered in his arms.

Before you could say anything more, he had claimed your lips - wet, sloppy, demanding. You immediately responded in kind, body relaxing against his as you wrapped your arms around his strong back. This time, it was him that said your name, practically a moan as your hips lifted into his. Body against body, friction building up in the space between your clothing.

One of his hands slipped under the material of your skirt, stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh. Your head fell back against the pillows with a heady whine, disconnecting your lips from his. Though he was irritated to be separated from you even slightly, seeing that look on your face was worth it. Eyes fluttered closed with bruised, parted lips heaving ragged sighs. He could feel his desperate body respond as you writhed beneath him, and he knew he was done with waiting.

Of course, he usually took his time with these kind of things, savoring every revealed piece of skin as he dragged your skirt down, unbuttoned your blouse with a feral grin. But tonight, he was greedy for every part of you, as if his soul would rend in two if he wasn’t buried within you.

With a snap of his free hand, you were both completely bare in an instant, the sudden touch of your naked skin doing unbelievable things to his head. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, eyes blinking open to stare into his eyes.

It was in moments like these that he could swear you saw straight into his soul, past the haughty demeanor and stars in his eyes. You looked at him like you knew his every thought, every fear, every desire and need and emotion. He fell apart at the way you stared, the way you stripped away his walls and left him entirely vulnerable.

It wasn’t a bad thing, though, to let you in. Quite the opposite.

“Why are you…?” you began to speak, surprised by your abrupt nakedness. You paused, lifting your small fingers to press against his cheek, staring at him even more intently. With furrowed eyebrows, you asked, “Are you alright?”

Leon let his head fall into the crook of your neck, somehow unnerved by the question. You were so soft, so frail, yet you always thought of him first. Impossible, impossible fool.

He couldn’t give you the truth, of course. Wouldn’t. The King had given him such comforting words, and yet… Leon knew he shouldn’t share them with you. You would only worry, obsess about the human life you would leave behind, about the people you would outlive with newfound immortality. You weren’t ready for this yet, but that was okay.

Because he knew, now - you were his. For eternity.

After leaving a soft bite on your shoulder, he lifted his head to gaze down at you. He couldn’t seem to ease into his confident, cocky smirk, completely overcome by the swirl of emotions within him - relief, joy, desire, desperation. And, of course, the greatest of these - his unending love for you.

He could tell you knew something was different by the way your lips parted, as if you were on the edge of another question. But he was okay, he was. Just… overwhelmed. Overflowing.

He needed…

Leon gripped your thighs with trembling fingers, (thankfully, you didn’t notice), hitching them at his hips. For a moment, he trailed a finger along the curve of your waist, revelling in the way your breathing hitched at his touch.

Without another word, your mouth was on his, conveying a heated hunger you were often too shy to show. But you felt emboldened, for some reason - encouraged by the need to comfort him, to wrap him up until he felt completely secure. You needed him to feel, through your touch, that every piece of you belonged to him.

He opened his lips to you, giving you a brief moment of control before he stroked his tongue along the curve of your bottom lip, claiming what was his with renewed vigor.

Pulling away, he moved his hand down between the two of you to brush against your sex, to stroke the most sensitive part of your body. You couldn’t suppress the cry that ripped out of your throat, though he swallowed the sound with his lips.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth, quickening his skilled fingers. “Let your body feel me.”

“Ah - Leon!” you groaned, fingernails digging into the skin of your lover’s neck. “Don’t… don’t tease me.”

Finally, a small smile broke through the serious expression on his face. Everything about you was just too endearing - that flush on your cheeks, your fluttering eyelashes, the way your breathing quickened as he brought you even nearer to the edge. Before you could fall, however, he pulled his fingers away from where you needed them most.

You blinked up at him in a daze, confused as to why he stopped. “Leon, please.” You were so tightly wound, and you needed-

Well, he knew what you needed. He needed it, too, after all.

“Not yet,” he soothed, kissing away your frustrated tears. “I need to feel you around me when you come.”

Then he was pressing into you slowly, watching your face as it contorted with unadulterated pleasure. You were still so close, and he could definitely tell in the way your body clenched around him, welcomed him in with every movement.

Leon set a leisurely pace, let himself enjoy every flicker of emotion in your eyes, the feeling of your body pressing solidly against his, the way you threatened to undo him with every soft sigh.

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, trying so desperately to hold in any noises as you neared the edge again. He was enthralled by your own rapture, feeling a flush of heat race up his spine at the expression on your face.

“Don’t hold back,” he commanded, brushing his thumb against your lip and forcing you to release it. “I need to hear you, hear those sounds meant only for me.” He picked up the pace as he spoke, each thrust more punishing than the last.

“Ah-ahhh, Leon…” you moaned, unable to restrain yourself. “More, I need-”

Bringing his hand to slide down your body, he obliged, taking you with all the desperation and relief and joy within him. He saw that little scrunch of your nose, the one that you made before you came completely undone. Only seconds later, you were crying out as you fell to pieces, your mind blank to the pleasure.

He would never get enough of that.

Leon shattered you seven more times within the next few hours, the way he made love to you just as punishing as his personality. But it was never too much - no, this was Leon’s love, the love he saved for you alone, and your body happily welcomed every moment.

By the time early morning sunlight crept through the curtains, he had his face buried in your hair, unable to slow his erratic pace. Your body, your sweet nothings, your kisses and dizzying moans had absolutely wrecked him these past few hours, and he couldn’t control himself any longer.

“Mm,” he moaned, your name slipping from his lips. “I love you so much, I love you.”

You pulled your trembling fingertips through his hair, tugging slightly to bring him down to your lips. Wrapping his arms under your oversensitive body, he pulled you flush against his chest, his ragged breaths interrupting the kiss.

“I love you,” you murmured back, “forever.”

Forever.

The word, the truth of forever was his undoing. He spilled inside you with a harsh moan, pinning your hips to his as he shuddered his release.

“…Forever.”

Afterwards, you were nothing more than a sleeping, sweaty mess in his arms, but Leon still thought you to be the most beautiful creature in existence. He pressed his lips to your forehead, unable to keep himself from touching you, memorizing you, remembering that you weren’t going to slip through his fingers.

He once thought your life to be a flame, after all. Bright, warm, but flickering. Doomed to flash and fizzle out.

No.

You were a raging, eternal fire, unable to be extinguished by forces of darkness or vengeful goddesses or the cruel passing of time. You, made of constellations and stardust and heavenly fire…

You were immortal, in your own right.

And yet, you gave yourself to him - every single atom of your imperfect, immortal soul.

He would spend the rest of eternity fighting to deserve you.

(Please tell me what you think, seeing as this was my first scm fanfiction. I’m going to start working on more Hades stuff next, though I think I will definitely do more of the gods (and Leon) in the future.)

(…also I’m a slut for italics don’t judge me)