#suffering for it without even being allowed to have a chance to be heard

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Cop More than a Feel

Kinktober Day 10: Spitroasting Two DILF Cop Alpha Yanderes x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, omega discrimination, bigotry, a/b/o dynamics, musk, pheromones, abuse of authority, spitroasting, oral sex, threesome, knotting, general yandere behavior, reader fucked big stupid Word Count: 2k (Hope you guys enjoy this!)

You were in your car, a quiet moment of dread before going into work. It had become something of a daily tradition. You knew it would be another day of being belittled and harassed but if you gave up now it would be like admitting to all the people who told you you couldn’t amount to anything that they were right. You were an omega who had put themselves through the rigorous training to be a police officer, and you had managed to land a job in a short staffed department.

But no matter what you did or how many times you had proved yourself, you were still treated as a glorified secretary. The most dangerous thing you had ever been allowed to do was to go and get doughnuts and coffee by yourself.

It was humiliating. But it was not the worst thing that you had to put up with.

The worst of it were the snide remarks you could hear them make. Not even out of earshot, they didn't care if you heard. Awful comments about how you should be happy to even be a secretary around this kind of work. Comments about whose knot you should wind up bouncing on. Comments about what they thought your pheromones were like without your suppressants making them nearly undetectable. Comments about what your slick tasted like.

Those remarks made you angry, frustrated, and depressed. You wanted to scream and cry, but neither of those were options, lest you validate the emotional omega stereotype. It was pure gaslighting. But as ugly and bigoted as those remarks had been, they still weren't the end of things. It wasn't uncommon for a wandering hand to slide up your thigh when you had to sit by one of the alpha officers or grab your ass when you bent over.

The only time they didn't make any crude comments or get touchy with you were the times when the chief of police or the captain were around. You thought this was a hopeful sign that some of your superiors were open to the idea of an omega on the force and that they had told your other coworkers to treat you as an equal. At the very least, their commanding presence brought you some relief. They were ex-military, after all. This was not a just world, though, and you could not have been more wrong.

When you eventually mustered up the mental fortitude and could avoid it no longer, you went into the building.

For the most part, it was a standard and uneventful day, or at least what could be considered uneventful relative to what you normally suffered through. There were still comments and lecherous hands. Just not to the extent that there could have been. Though your day was fated to get much worse as right after lunch you were called into the chief's office.

Were you finally going to be given a chance to do some real police work?

No.

You entered to find both Chief Markey and Captain Nelson were present, and for some reason, the desk had been cleared. They did not look happy at all. It was a surprise performance review. This was not the first review that you had failed, but it was the one they were most negative with.

They said that while you clearly wanted to succeed and put in effort that it simply wasn't good enough. You were constantly jumpy and distracted, on edge constantly. Not to mention emotional. No major outbursts per se, but you were constantly glaring at your fellow coworkers. You tried to point out that your behavior reflected a hostile work environment.

Chief Markey raised his voice as he replied while Captain Nelson smirked.

"That proves you aren't meant for this job, you cannot even take responsibility for your own mistakes! Furthermore..."

He then went into great detail about how you made the men uncomfortable and then laid out accusations of you purposefully putting pheromones out to seduce or entice your fellow officers. Combined with your glaring, it was basically sexual harassment.

"This is insane! They get to grope and comment about me, but if I complain, it is my responsibility? But they get to just make up random bullshit about me, and I get admonished without proof!?"

"Calm down!"

"Yeah, you're being hysterical! Proving everyone completely right. It is obvious an omega can't be an officer."

Chief Markey scratched his well-groomed beard before smirking.

"But we have thought up a position for you..."

The position they had thought of was any that involved taking their knots.

Apparently, they were completely obsessed with you. A strong omega that would produce healthy babies, so resilient. But your place was riding one of their cocks, not in a dangerous job. It's why the other officers stopped harassing you when they were around. Markey and Nelson had marked you as theirs. They didn't like the others touching you, but thought it was a useful way to get you to break down, so they had an excuse to give you bad evaluations. Of course, they knew such a prideful omega would never just go along with being "reassigned," so they made sure you couldn't refuse.

They said that they'd plant evidence on you, get you fired from any new job, and track you down to the ends of the earth. No matter what, they'd ruin your life if you didn't submit.

"But don't worry, we'll let you wear the uniform and even keep the word "officer" in your title."

Nelson stroked your cheek and wiped away your tears with a rugged calloused hand.

"Yeah, you'll be our personal morale officer and take our knots every day when not working as our personal secretary."

Markey closed the blinds that hung in front of the large windows that overlooked the rest of the department and then locked the door.

"And look on the bright side. None of the other officers will give you any trouble after this."

You wanted to scream, to fight back, to run. Do anything, but take it. But that was all you could do. Well, that and cry. They had finally won. Captain Nelson wiped away your tears and pressed his lips to yours as you held back ugly sobs.

"Typical omega, so emotional. You'll feel better after you've had some good breeding."

Chief Markey made his way behind you and attended to the task of removing your uniform.

"No... no ple-"

You had started to protest somewhat loudly but were cut off by more unwanted kisses before Nelson spoke smugly.

"Now. Now. Don't want to protest too loudly and have all your coworkers hear, do you?"

You were shivering in fear.

"Don't be scared, it will all be over soon."

Markey rubbed a teasing finger around your hole.

"Oh, you're much too dry."

"We can fix that, though."

They each nibbled and gnawed a side of your neck, The Chief from behind and The Captain from the front. Your trembling in fear became involuntary quivers of pleasure.

They could tell the difference. Smell it easily. And then feel it as slick leaked from your hole and onto Markey's fingers. He left your neck to lick his thumb.

"Tastes ripe," he chuckled.

You were in such shock by the circumstances and physical stimulation that you didn't even notice when they had pulled down their pants and underwear, large throbbing cocks on full display and eager to be buried inside of you. One of them pulled out a thick blanket from beneath the desk and spread it out on top of it. They picked you up and laid you down carefully on the desk.

Ah... so that's why the desk had been cleared.

Chief Markey groped your ass while Captain Nelson held his cock in his hand and lightly smacked your face with it, smearing your face with its scent as you tightly closed your eyes. You gasped as Markey dipped his dick into you, your open mouth taken as an invitation for Nelson to slip his prick in. It tasted salty, probably from sweat and the near comical amount of precum he was producing. There was no choice but to swallow it  as he flooded your mouth.

Markey smacked your ass hard, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Careful! I don't want them to bite my cock!"

"Sorry..."

They started out moving in tandem, Markey's thrusts pushing you onto Nelson's cock and Nelson pushing you onto Markey. But that didn't last as they began to lose themselves and go a bit feral. It only spurred them onward when you started twitching and convulsing in the pleasure that had been forced upon you, betrayed by your own body.

Deep anxiety and dread bubbled within you, but even as it did, another instinctual part of you was demanding that you submit and let your alpha mates breed you deeply. As the small room began to fill with the pheromones of two alphas and their cocks continued to plow into you, you felt your body slowly relax and become pliant to their touch.

You flinched in slight discomfort as Markey's knot swelled inside you and throbbed as he filled you with his cum. Nelson followed suit, filling your throat with his seed, but careful not to knot your mouth and risk choking you. Though that didn't stop you from gagging a bit as his nuts emptied into you.

"Oh, you haven't gotten your release yet... can't have that. What kind of mates would we be if we didn't make you feel good?"

Markey rolled his hips, moving his knot inside you until you convulsed and moaned out softly. Once his knot deflated and unbound the two of you he and Nelson swapped positions until you were brought to climax and knotted by Nelson while Markey made you suck his cock, slick with your mingled juices.

They played with you in a few other positions for over an hour until you were just a limp little sex doll. They took you on the floor, against the wall, on the desk some more, on the chairs. Your hair, face, thighs, crotch, and butt were covered in musky alpha seed. It oozed out of your hole. You were left slouched in the chair and too fucked out of your mind to do anything but mumble and drool. You were the very picture of someone who was utterly debauched.

"So quiet and well behaved. Will definitely pass a new performance review."

"Just proves that omegas need knots and not a high stress job."

To complete your new look were twin claiming bites on each side of your sensitive neck. They wiped you clean as best they could but you still absolutely reeked of cum and musk, though they didn't want their scent removed from you anyway. Nelson clothed you and covered you up with his jacket, feeling that if you were in your right mind, you wouldn't want to be seen in this state. And while he was proud of fucking you into such a stupor, the sight was for his and Markey's eyes only.

To be honest, he hadn't really wanted to share you, even with Markey. But the two of them had been old military buddies, so they decided not to let an omega come between them.

Except for when they literally had you between them.

They had come to the agreement that they would switch who you lived with weekly and share you on weekends. And of course they'd have you at work as their assistant/secretary... and as their cumdump on slow days... Captain Nelson was given the rest of the day off to get you situated and inform you of your happy new homes. You were in no state to take in new information, poor dear, but you'd be better in an hour or so.

[maimaily]

the lads boys as kittens. 🪐 ‧₊˚ xavier

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time like a dog… right?

characters: kitty!xavier (other characters will be posted separately), mc as reader.

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

rafayel 🢒 zayne 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Xavier — Ragdoll How did he get to live with you?

You adopted him. He was going to be your first cat, so you wanted to make sure you were choosing the right one, and receiving recommendations from an adoption center was the best idea. You went there and heard of a slightly older cat who hadn't been adopted yet. A single look was enough to know he was the one. His bright blue eyes stared at you, and his paws tried to reach you as you got closer. A little nervous of scaring him, you gently allowed him to sniff your finger, and he then rubbed against your hand. It is not necessary to say you decided you'd give your life for him.

On the way home, the little kitty curled into a puffy ball of fur, sleeping peacefully after feeling safe in your warm arms ♡

Little did you know what this little thing really was !!

This kitty EATS. A LOT. You can easily win his heart with treats. He can smell them even before you open any can or package, but will wait like the good boy he is, with both front paws stomping cutely on the floor. However, you had to cut back on them because your wallet was starting to suffer the consequences of a gluttonous kitten. Poor thing got upset for a while, but the food was still yummy, so he adapted (he's not that much of a picky eater…)

Eepy baby. He's a sweetheart and always, I repeat, always cuddles to take naps with you. The kind of cat who climbs onto the bed the moment you flop down on it and makes his way between your arms to be cuddled and sleep. Purrs quietly and very softly, and will rub against your hands as he does. Rarely meows, but does it when he's being needy. Has fallen asleep while eating or drinking his warm milk more than once, his little chin all dirty, so you have to clean him (he doesn't like it!).

He follows you everywhere. Whatever you're doing, if you're walking around the house, he'll follow you like a loyal knight. His fluffy tail moves gently against your legs when you're standing, washing the dishes, brushing your teeth, or cooking. Sometimes he expects you to see him (you do) to pick him up (you always do). He's a needy boy! Needs lots and lots of your attention!

Talking about attention, he climbs onto your body when he feels neglected. You were happily cooking, humming the songs on your playlist, chopping vegetables for the new dish you wanted to try- and then oop! The weight of a fluffy hairball snags on the fabric of your hoodie back without warning. "Xavi! Don't move- Don't move!" you urgently exclaimed as you slowly moved back from the hot stove. Can you blame him? He just wanted to spend time with you :(

Great hunter in every shape! A cockroach? He's already smacking it with his paws. A fly? He already jumped to catch it. Mosquitos? He saw them even before you did. If by any chance there's a mouse or rat inside, be sure he's getting rid of it! And he's so fast! (Give him a treat afterwards, he deserves it.)

Grumpy if you wake him up. He hates the vacuum cleaner with his life, and hates it even more if you decide to use it when he's just fallen asleep. When you switched to an automatic one, he smacked it with his angry paws each time it bumped onto him. Doesn't hiss at you, he's too docile for that, but will meow very loudly until you comfort him back to sleep (and give him treats-).

His favorite place to make biscuits is your chest while you're lying down. If you're watching some TV, reading a book, scrolling down your phone, or simply flopped down on the sofa or your bed, he climbs on top of you and makes his way to your chest and starts kneading very gently. He never uses his claws on you, so you allow him to do it, it's his way of bonding with you and relieving some stress after all <3.

Sulkynator 2000. Baby boy gets UPSET to astronomical levels when you even mention other cats. Do NOT play with his little heart like this! :( Why are you watching cat videos if he's right there? He can do tricks too! Or why are you petting the neighbor's dog? He's dirty and too loud! Xavi is clean, he doesn't leave mud on your carpet, and doesn't bark in the middle of the night for no good reason! :(( You'll have to face a moody Xavier for a good time until you soothe his poor feelings.

It was a quiet Sunday morning. The weather outside was hot, and that woke you up, along with the blinding sun that entered the room from the window in front of the bed. You stirred, kicking the blankets away when a gentle paw touched your cheek.

"Morning, Xavi!" You baby-talked to your little prince cat, who had just woken up by your sudden movements, stirring with you and slowly opening his little blue eyes, struggling to keep them open for too long. "Oh no, what are we gonna do? My prince is too eepy to start the day!" You giggled, taking him in your arms and cuddling him once more, kissing his little face. He didn't even need to convince you to sleep five more minutes, his mere sleepy presence was enough for you to feel lazy again and go back to the bed.

But today was too hot to stay in, and you wanted to change out of your pajamas as soon as possible. With another kiss, you sweet-talked your lazy cat to wake up and have breakfast, but he just purred in response and kept his eyes closed. Accepting the impossible, you just got up, feeling his small claw clinging to your shirt; you couldn't sleep with him anymore, but you couldn't ignore his adorable attempt of keeping you close, so you cradled him like a baby, holding him in your arms and even rocking him a little.

If Xavier could blush, he would definitely do so at that right moment. He was a big cat already! But… your arms were so warm and he was so comfy… That's how you ended up carrying him to the bathroom, brushing your teeth with one hand and holding him with the other, then you made him lie against your shoulder, taking your hair products out.

"Mwraa," he protested when you set him down on the floor outside the bathroom. "I need to take a shower. Wait outside, breakfast will be ready in a minute." It wasn't really breakfast that his meowjesty was requesting, but his comfortable sleeping spot: you! But now he couldn't bring himself to be sleepy again, so he wandered around the apartment lazily, finding a good place in front of the balcony door to sunbathe.

When you came out of the bathroom with your hair still dripping wet, the first thing you saw was that adorable bundle of fur lying on his back with his little paws stretched faaar as he just finished doing the most exhausting job in the world. And maybe he did, carrying all that beauty had to be exhausting!

"My, look what I found!" You crouched down to him with a big smile, tickling his tummy, which he quickly defended by trapping your hand. "Is Xavi the prince enjoying the warm weather? Hm?" He got up in a swift move and rubbed against your legs, his long, fluffy tail almost tickling your nose. You picked him up, peppering his face with kisses before putting him down again. "Let's get breakfast, come on."

He happily followed behind you, passing through your legs when you leaned down to pick his empty bowl from the floor. The good thing with Xavier was that no food went to waste… which was also bad because it meant that tummy seemed to never fill. He meowed only once as he saw you open the wet food package.

"Almost done, Xavi. Wait a second," and he did, his little paw ritual bringing a smile to your face. When you put the plate down, he hurriedly took the first bite. "Enjoy, baby. Ah- I forgot to take out the trash." The hurried sense flooded through your veins as you saw the hour. "Wait for me, I'm back in a minute!" Your hands were quicker to pick up the smelly garbage bag and run out of the complex to dispose of it before the truck came by.

You did it just in time, sighing in relief as you walked back, until you saw an adorable stray kitten playing with a plastic bottle cap between his paws. "Look at you, aren't you having fun?" At the sound of your voice the kitten stopped playing but didn't run away, an act you took as an open invitation to get closer. You fawned over the stray, your voice melting into playful coos as you playfully ruffled its fur.

It wasn't until a loud noise from the street scared the small cat you realized you'd been playing with it for a long time. With a content sigh you dusted your hands off and walked back to the complex. Inside your home, Xavier had already finished his food, waiting patiently around the entry for you to come back, blue eyes locked on the door as if he was afraid to miss your arrival. When he heard the soft click of it, he meowed as a greeting, until… What was that?

"Ah Xavi. I'm back, did you finish your food-?" You hadn't finished your question when his fluffy body jumped right at your arms with an angry growl. It surprised you, honestly, he was always so calm and loving that this behavior only occurred when… Oh.

"Is someone jealous over here? You don't like that I- Ow! Hey!" He didn't scratch you, but he definitely was about to chomp that teasing finger you were wiggling in front of his very upset self. He meowed in protest, trying with all his might to rub himself against you once again! How could you do this? He works so hard keeping his scent on you, and now you come back after a fifteen-minute leave, invading his sensitive nostrils with another's cat scent? Oh no, he wasn't having it.

But you couldn't contain your laughter. He wasn't even scary and wasn't hurting you because he trusted you too much to do that, but he was madly funny when he got like that. "I see, I see. I made Xavier upset. I apologize, baby," you said, cradling him in your arms as you sat on the couch. "How can I get your forgiveness, hm?" Xavier acted like he hadn't heard you, wiggling his tail still in his petty mood, squirming gently in your arms as if trying to get away. "Ah ah ah. Don't you want me to be only yours, your majesty? Gotta stay here for that, then. What about I give you a small catnip treat I got you yesterday?"

His entire expression shifted. Oh well. You were right, of course you were, mm-hmm. He couldn't be mad at you all day either, could he? And now he moved closer to you, licking gently your cheek, bringing a smile to your face. "Now who's a good boy, huh? Of course you are, you'll always be."

Xavier held no grudges against you, he never did. After all, who else on this planet would love him as you did, after facing loneliness for so long? He was your good boy, and he'd be always there for you.

© MAIMAILY. Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize this work.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

I did it! I can believe the amount of time it took me to finish this, but it's been ages since I last wrote any kind of fanfiction or content for fandoms so I'm a bit nervous. I hope you like it, and if it's the case I'm so happy for that! I'm already working on Rafayel's version so don't miss it <3

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato and @v6que

[kumkaniudaku]

A Lovely Night

Summary: Terry and Patrice prepare for prom and a new level of their relationship.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: None

At the tender age of 13, with braces still on her top row of teeth and dreams of marrying a pop star who didn't yet know her name, Patrice came to three conclusions: she was leaving St. Pius after 8th grade, she definitely did want to be a teacher someday, and she was going to have a prom date before she graduated high school. 

The third conclusion came as she sat by herself at the 8th-grade formal, watching throngs of white children dance to censored hip-hop music in pairs and large groups while she was but a beautiful wallflower without the pleasure of being asked to attend. If not for her mother preemptively purchasing a dress before Patrice could confirm a dance partner for the evening, she would've stayed home and wallowed in her room. Better to cry in private than to suffer the embarrassment of visible loneliness in public. But, while she fought incoming misty tears threatening to smudge the mascara her mother had so graciously allowed her to use, Patrice swore that things would be different by her senior year. Her luck would turn. Shit, she might even be prom queen. 

Years later, when dreams began to catch up to reality, Patrice's 8th-grade formal debacle seemed primed for a remix. One month until prom and still no prospect for a prom date was social status killer number one. She'd worked hard in her senior year to reinvent herself, shed the reputation she'd inadvertently received as Terry's cute but strange shadow friend, and step into a new image as the senior hottie she was destined to be. Becoming Homecoming Queen was step one in the plan. Step two was senior class president. Step three, the hardest of them all, was having a small army of young men vying for a chance to take her to the ball. So far, only the weird junior from AP Calc had stepped up. Everyone else had slowly split into pairs, preparing matching ensembles, limo rentals, and after-party plans, leaving Patrice as a lone wolf destined to repeat past failures. 

"Is Napheesa really going to prom with Nate? Like for real?" 

Wednesday evenings were set aside for family spaghetti night and Calc homework with Terry via ooVoo video chat. She'd completed her first task of sharing something sweet and sour from her day around the dinner table. After lying her way into something sour that didn't include her prom woes, math with Terry was a welcomed distraction.

Patrice wiped away wayward red sauce from her mouth with her hoodie sleeve before refocusing on Terry's face taking up her laptop screen. "Yeah. He asked her Sunday when they were hanging out. It was kinda cute, really. I think he sang a song or something." 

Terry snickered. "Nigga swear he Trey Songz." He mocked Nate and the R&B hearthob's singing voice in one go, sending him and Patrice into laughter. When they finally calmed down, Terry settled into a more serious temperament. "Corey's going with Jasmine. I think they're wearing red."

"I heard. He showed me his tux. You know he's planning to wear red shoes? I told him he was gonna look like a Mississippi pimp, but he don't listen. Is the answer to number six 375?" As quickly as she'd delivered more news, Patrice was already on to the next thing. 

Terry smiled at how her face scrunched in confusion. "No. I think you miscalculated somewhere." 

"Shit," she whispered. "Don't tell me. Let me figure it out." Terry watched in rapt silence, enamored by Patrice's prominent features, which were made more striking by a neat ponytail showcasing her face as the main attraction. 

He waited silently as she typed the expression into her calculator again, battling whether now or in person was a good time to ask his question. If he waited again, he risked chickening out like he did before they parted ways in the senior parking lot to beat the morning tardy bell. He decided to strike while she wasn't looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. 

"So…uh…you going to prom with anyone?" 

She scoffed without looking up. "No. At least not yet. Usher still hasn't responded to my emails. I sent Chris Brown one, too, so maybe he'll come through." 

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. Nerves tried to caution him on moving forward. A rational, fully formed frontal lobe would've told him to quit while he was ahead. Teenage folly made him open his mouth to say, "Wanna go with me?" 

Patrice paused her work to look up and smile. "You sure? We don't have to. I wouldn't be mad if you asked someone else." 

"I'm asking who I want to go with. Unless you givin' me the run around like Phee did Cam." 

"No," Patrice cut in, rolling her eyes. "I was just saying!" 

Terry smiled. "So we're going to prom together? Me and you? In Carolina blue? You see how I made that happen? Creative writing really might be worth it."

A genuine, hearty laugh came from Patrice's mouth as she threw her head back in reaction to Terry's terrible attempt at an off-the-cuff poem. Or so Terry thought. Really, she'd released years of pent-up fear and expected disappointment. Finally, in the 11th hour, Patrice had a prom date. Sure, it was her best friend she'd been falling more in love with day by day with no indication they'd ever be together, but it was something. Dream realized. Victory. 

"Yeah, we're going to prom together," she confirmed after her giggle attack had ended. They stared at each other momentarily, basking in the implications of a night under makeshift stars in the swanky event space across town. Patrice fought to look back at her calculator and announce what had to be the correct answer this time. "It's 215. I multiplied by 23 instead of multiplying 2 and 3. Movin' too fast, I guess." 

Terry nodded proudly. "Yeah. You got it. Good job." 

As Patrice moved on to a new exam prep question and rolled through the math aloud, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction coated his tongue. The spark he expected from asking the girl he'd been falling deeper into what he knew of love with was nothing more than a quick flicker of excitement – fun but empty. He could do better. Especially if he wanted his true intentions of turning a friendship into something more substantial to stand a chance. 

Two mornings later, with a day separating Terry's promposal and the opportunity to back out before their paring was set in stone, Patrice bounced into Francis from a doctor's appointment with a new lease on life and big news to share with Napheesa. 

She opened her locker as usual before fourth-period English, looking for her orange class notebook and the assigned textbook. She found them both without issue and nearly pranced off to class with nothing but gossip on her mind until she noticed the index card taped to her locker mirror. 

Can you meet me in the library after school? 398.2. I'm sure you know what that means. 

The handwriting looked more feminine than Patrice was accustomed to, not matching what she'd seen from Napheesa's notes back and forth in class or from Corey, who'd mastered the forgery dark arts. Still, she tucked the instructions into her everything binder's inside pouch and kept it close until the final bell rang. 

Like a spy on a top-secret mission, Patrice dodged conversations from her classmates, threaded her body between students walking to and fro in the main hallway, and quietly ducked into the library on the hunt for the mysterious being requesting her presence. 

398.2. It took Patrice an entire class period to decipher what the collection of numbers meant. Too short for a phone number, obviously, she thought to herself. It wasn't a locker number or any other location in the school. Area codes didn't come with decimals. She thought long and hard, willing the answer into existence. Realization smacked her in the head with the full force of Mike Tyson on her way to Terry's locker to grab her sociology notebook. The Dewey Decimal System. More specifically, the section of the library dedicated to folk and fairytales. 

Led by an ironclad knowledge of the library's layout and excitement nearly pouring from her pores, Patrice speed-walked past the librarian's station at the front, waved hello to Ms. Wanamaker re-stocking returned library books from seniors trying to clear their outstanding balances before fines set in, and turned the corner onto her intended row. 

Snow White piqued her curiosity first. The book appeared to jut out from the rest, so she glanced around for any lookie-loos straggling nearby and pulled it off the shelf. Nothing. Patrice shrugged and put the book back before focusing on other possible answers. Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm turned up nothing. Some weird book of Greek myths briefly felt like cracking the code but ultimately fell flat. Patrice had been duped. Led astray. Lied to. She was sure someone was watching through shelves and laughing at how she'd been fooled in a scavenger hunt. 

Some hopeful part of her brain directed Patrice's annoyed attention to the book spine conspicuously sticking out amongst its neighbor. She thought about what she might do if she were to flip through another dud and settled on knocking everything down as she yanked the worn edition of Cinderella from its spot. Luckily, a quick flip to its front cover ended her search. 

I don't know if I'm your Prince Charming, but I want you to feel like a Cinderella for a night. Will you go with me to the ball? I'll have you home before the clock strikes 12.

She recognized this handwriting, slanted and slender, on another index card. Patrice ran her index finger over the words and gave them another full read, not noticing the tall young man slowly revealing himself at the end of the aisle with a smile on his face and the gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

"I should've done this the right way the first time," he spoke, startling Patrice. He lifted his hands in surrender and disarmed her with a smile. "My bad." 

Patrice smiled back. "Since when did you learn the decimal system?" 

"If I tell you, I can't take you to prom. So, you either gotta answer the question on the card or get the answer to yours. Which one is it?" 

"Give me your answer." 

Horrified confusion and feigned annoyance flashed across Terry's young, handsome face as he watched Patrice double over in stifled laughter. He chuckled and kissed his teeth as he stepped closer. "Patrice, be serious. Will you go to prom with me? I'm really asking." 

Terry's sincerity, both in his voice inflection and in how his brows knitted in anticipation of a response, made Patrice stand up to her full height and smile back at her best friend. 

"Of course, TJ. I will absolutely go to prom with you." 

A fist pump and smile in the back corner of the school library was as good as any contract signed in black ink with a felt-tipped pen and the appropriate amount of witnesses. It was official official. Terry and Patrice were going to prom together. 

News of the expected pairing spread through the halls like wildfire, the truth morphing into something of a fairytale itself as it passed from person to person. Terry had asked Patrice in the library on one knee or in the parking lot, and they kissed, or between classes, and Patrice cried. Actually, Patrice asked Terry! In one version of events, Terry had abruptly reneged on his promposal to Junior cheerleader Cierra and asked Patrice at the last minute. A messy affair in a messy love triangle between the messiest best-friend duo the school had ever known, according to some twisted version of events. 

Neither Patrice nor Terry cared to clear up rumors or refute gossip. They were too busy prepping for the best night of their young lives. 

Pin cushions and yards of organza covered Patrice's living room floor by Sunday afternoon, turning recently the replaced grey carpet into a sea of light blue as her Aunt Sybil eyeballed measurements and cut the fabric into careful shapes to match the pattern Patrice and Imani had agreed was perfect for a Cinderella-inspired gown. Glitter. She needed glitter tucked into every inch to turn an ordinary dress into one that sparkled in the right light. Rosalyn requested sleeves for modesty, and Patrice agreed, not because she wanted to, but because she knew compromise was her best friend. They settled on sparkling flower appliqué details on the bodice to bring in the event's garden theme, a dainty off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline with draped sleeves to satisfy her beaming mother, and a soft corset to create a ball gown illusion for the flowing, floor-length-skirt. A masterpiece in Patrice's eyes. Especially the hidden thigh-high split she and Imani schemed, plotted, and cried to have included when Rosalyn wasn't listening. 

Hair, makeup, nails, and fragrance were all Patrice thought about for days. She sat with Napheesa on Google for hours, looking for the perfect photos to show their beauty service providers when the time came. Every detail, down to the number of tendrils springing from her bun to add a little Princess Tiana into her Disney fantasy, was carefully crafted to fit the vision she'd had of herself since the 8th grade. 

Terry hadn't dived head-first off the prom prep cliff, but he was close. Marvin couldn't understand why his son was suddenly so hell-bent on switching to the younger barber and his creative cuts until Diedra pulled him aside for a quick update in the Richmond Girl saga. He couldn't have any old fade. He needed something to stop Patrice in her tracks and garner enough praise to fuel him until he was 21. He'd work every weekend until boot camp to pay off that extra $50 plus tip if it meant his haircut was precise. 

A trip to the tailor turned a baggy, hand-me-down wedding tux into something tailored for his brand new, 6'3" frame. Diedra watched with pride in her shining eyes as Terry stood tall and allowed the much smaller shop owner to stand on a step ladder and adjust the jacket's shoulders to Terry's proportions. Take in the waist here, lengthen that hem, get the fit of that cummerbund just right, not too shiny on the shoes or too dark on that blue – he's got a date with the prettiest girl in the world, and he can't get caught lacking. Another $150 withdrawn from his parent's bank account, another step closer to the best night of his short life. 

The final puzzle piece was the paramount matter of transportation. Terry's Explorer had been out of commission since October, both from punishment and mechanical issues. He'd improved his behavior, but the starter was still shot, and any indicator that his dad would fix it went away when Terry chose to sign his life away to the United States.

Terry knew the perfect set of wheels to act as a chariot for his princess. The creamy, off-white Cadillac with less than 40,000 miles and a sick interior parked in their garage would take him from best friend to boyfriend in 15 minutes flat. He just needed the permission. 

Slinking out of his room, Terry coached himself through a pre-planned script as he jogged down the front porch steps to the tall, greying, light-skinned man diligently trimming healthy green hedges per his wife's instructions. 

"Hey, Pop. You need some help?" 

Marvin looked up at his son, confusion sheening his blue-green eyes, and shrugged. "If you wanna, I won't stop you." A man of few words and enough brains in his head to know when his boy was about to ask for something.

Taking his father's half-hearted invitation, Terry slid on a pair of working gloves nearby, grabbed the garden hedge sheers lying in a pile of other tools, and began carefully chopping at his mama's award-winning bushes. 

They worked silently for several long minutes, two tall, slender Richmond men toiling away in the mid-April breeze until Terry mustered up enough courage to make his request known. "Dad, could I…maybe, um…drive your car for prom? Just that one night?" 

"The truck?" Marvin knew the answer but wanted to teach his only son a lesson in the type of directness that made boys into men. 

"No. The Cadillac. Our friends are doing the limo thing, but I want to – I'm just not trying to spend the whole night with them. It's easier if I can put the money for the limo towards dinner and really enjoy myself. With Patrice. Together for probably the last time." 

Marvin listened to his son's appeal without looking away from his task, mulling over the answer he already had in his head. He'd been in young love before and knew all of the fear and excitement from exploring matters of the heart. 

Terry watched his father continue to prune errant branches and leaves from the collection of perfectly green hedges, feeling the pieces of his plan for a magical night blow away in the wind. He'd already begun working through how to get $50 to Corey by the end of the night when Marvin set his shears down and started rifling through his coverall pockets. 

He pulled out a crisp $100 bill, allowed his neutral expression to brighten into a small smile, and extended his hand toward Terrence. "Hold that for dinner." Then he reached into another pocket to pull out a ring of keys to toss in Terry's direction. "And hold these for this evenin'. I gotta see you drive her before I let you off by yourself. You fuck up my Caddy, and you won't make it to Parris Island, Tybee Island, or Island Seafood down the street without a cane because I'm gon' need at least three toes for my car."

"I got it, Dad," Terry laughed. "I promise. I'll have it back a little after 12. Treece got a curfew.” 

"Mhmm. She got your little nose wide open, too. When y'all gon' stop all that playing and do the real thing?" 

Terry hoped he could return to his father triumphant by next Saturday night to proudly proclaim he and Patrice had finally decided to do "the real thing." He spent the whole week counting down the seconds until he could ask for her hand at the dinner table, confess his feelings, earn a big kiss, and walk into the event center as Francis Edwards High School's newest couple. 

Patrice considered the possibility of going from best friend to girlfriend all week but kept her fantasies locked inside her mind for fear of interrupting Napheesa's now 15-minute-long, one-sided conversation. 

The school week's events had long faded into vapors to make way for the dizzying sights and sounds of salon visits, light lunches to keep bellies flat, and gossip-filled chatter of prom preparation. Patrice and Napheesa sat side by side in massage chairs that made their bodies shake and jerk from an overzealous contraption while their feet soaked in bowls of bubbling lukewarm water. Their mothers had dropped them off for coordinated early morning nail appointments they both hoped would fit into 90 minutes. Napheesa had to be on time for her beautician or else she'd spend an extra hour at the hair salon. Patrice didn't have a fancy chair to sit in for her appointment. Still, Ms. Brenda's daughter liked to get off track in her kitchen studio, and she didn't have the time or patience for anyone to ruin her plans. 

Napheesa flipped through color swatches while she multitasked providing updates to her best friend and picking which shade of baby pink would match her dress best. "Corey said his after-party is invite-only, but you know how he gets when he get a crowd. Everybody and they mama gone be over there. You and Terry sure y'all don't wanna ride in the limo with us so you don't have to worry about finding a place to park in his neighborhood? I don't think he'll care about the money at this point." 

"Nope. Terry says he wants it to be just us, and I think he already got his dad to let him use the car." Patrice answered, smiling at the thought of being alone with him in a fancy whip. 

"Okay, then! You didn't tell me about the Cadillac, now! I'm jealous." Napheesa teased. She noticed her friend's bashful smirk and reached over to playfully push her shoulder. "How you feeling about tonight? You nervous? Excited? What?" 

All of that and then some, Patrice thought to herself before answering. "I don't know! I think I'm just ready to see him," she confessed. "We've never been, like, alone alone. What if I say something silly or trip and fall or something? Now the night is ruined, and I gotta come home by 8 o'clock." Patrice sighed and mentally settled on a classic French tip for her nails and feet. "I think it'll be fun. I'm just ready to skip to then."

"The way Terry acts like you're the second coming of Kevin Hart, I'm sure there's nothing silly you could do or say to make him end the night early. He might even fall down with you so you don't feel alone." The young ladies dissolved into laughter at the image of Terry's long, lanky body lowering to the ground just to make Patrice feel better about her blunder. "Just have fun, P. High school is almost over, and if you not with that boy by May, we not talking about his ass when we get on campus." 

Patrice feigned offense. "We'll still be friends! I can't talk about him at all?" 

"Not a peep. We only talking about fine college niggas after graduation. So, lock it down or get ready for orientatioooon." Napheesa's exaggerated body roll turned Patrice's giggling into a full-on cackle loud enough to eclipse the nearby whirring of an electric file. 

Patrice would've laughed herself into a stomach ache if not for the loud ringtone trilling in her purse. Napheesa didn't need to see who was awaiting an answer to their call. The slight smile on her friend's face and starry eyes were answer enough. 

"Hey, TJ," Patrice chirped as two nail techs rolled up to start their service. 

In his bedroom across town, Terry eyed his face in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which parts of his facial hair to tell his barber to keep. "What's up, Treece. Wait, are you out already?" 

"Yeah. I didn't want to end up late, so me and Phee decided to get our nails done early." Patrice passed greetings between her two best friends before continuing. "What's up with you?"

"I'm on the way to the barbershop in a little bit. I just wanted to tell you I'll be by to pick you up at 5:30 so we can get to dinner on time. The food's gonna suck tonight and I don't want you to be hungry. Think you'll be ready by then?" 

Patrice smiled and softened her voice. "Yeah. I'll be ready." 

"Um…" Terry cut himself short, smiled at the fleeting thought of seeing his Cinderella float toward him in something spectacular, and then picked up his thought again. "I'm excited to see your dress tonight and hang out. I think it's gonna be a good night." 

"Me too. I get to see you in a tie for the first time." 

Terry chuckled. "And this stupid waist thing my mama's making me wear. They're gonna follow me to your place, by the way, so be ready to take pictures for forever." 

"That's okay. You just make sure you don't come over there looking better than me," Patrice joked. A clean-cut, suited and booted Terry could rival Hollywood's finest leading man. She'd put money on that. 

"I could never. You win that battle every time." His compliment settled on Patrice's ears and heart like light snow coating freezing cold lawns in those Hallmark Christmas movies her mom loved so much. Terry smiled at her silence before noting his father's second honk in as many minutes. "See you later, Treece. I gotta get out of here. Love you." 

Patrice looked to Napheesa pretending not to listen to every word of their conversation then tried to lower her voice. "Love you, too. See you later." 

Another velvety smooth goodbye left a young girl with dreams of locking more than arms with her occasionally brooding, often sweet prince swooning in a building full of strangers and her amused best friend. 

"Cute shit, mom and dad." The parents joke had gained traction in the school hallways and grown legs to follow Patrice into the world via a sniggering Naphessa. Patrice looked over at her friend with a sour look and received gut-busting laughter in return. "Damn, y'all sound like my parents." 

"Shut up!" 

-----

Staring at her daughter in the small vanity mirror tucked in the room's back corner, Rosalyn had never seen a more beautiful girl in all her life. The baby she'd spent hours of grueling labor to usher into the world, her first of three pregnancies and two births, had grown into a young woman preparing to enter the world as a free bird spreading its wings for the time. 

Tears gathered in the inner corners of her eyes, threatening to garner a groan and quiet complaints for it was the third time in an hour she'd felt like crying. Leon joked with her the first two times, remarking that Patrice's eventual wedding might send her to the upper room if this was how Rosalyn would act for prom. 

Rosalyn twirled a perfectly spiraled tendril from Patrice's bun around her finger after removing the perm rod giving it shape and smiled. "You're such a pretty girl, P. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't. Alright?" 

"Yes ma'am," Patrice answered as she looked back at her mother through the mirror. She took careful stock of her appearance, trying to see what in her reflection her mother saw to say such a thing. 

Brown skin, smooth as luxury chocolate and covered in just enough makeup to highlight ancestral high cheekbones and youthful features, complemented shining eyes and mouth full of pearly whites her parents had paid a fortune for in middle school. She was pretty. Beautiful. A stunning amalgamation of her mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother long before she was a twinkle in the universe. 

A larger roller removed from the right side of her forehead unfurled a bouncing bang. Rosalyn kept it in place with a careful mist of spritz. "The next time I get to see you like this, you'll be getting a new last name." Patrice looked away bashfully, trying not to imagine wedding bells and a church full of family watching her walk down the aisle to the one she…loved? Loves. She did love him, she thought. She was sure of that much.

Rosalyn slowly slid the other large roller off Patrice's left side, giving it equal attention to the first. "Have fun tonight, alright. I know you'll be okay with Terry, but I'll tell you anyway: be safe. You know you can call whenever you need us. We'll come get you, no questions asked." 

"I know. I don't think I'll have to call. Terry knows to have me back by midnight, and we don't get into trouble." Partially true. They didn't get into much trouble. Nothing significant or life-changing. Not yet, anyway. 

"I'm not worried about it," Rosalyn said, fixing a small sparkling tiara to the base of Patrice's bun. "So…do you like him? From my vantage point, it seems like you like him, but I could be wrong. What's the scoop?" 

Patrice groaned. "Mamaaa!" An immediate desire to cover up the truth made her body hot with embarrassment. But something in her mother's knowing smile compelled her to come clean. "Yeah. I do. I like him a lot." 

"Ain't no crime in that. It's okay to like a boy. You know your daddy was a boy I liked at one point. We don't expect you not to like anyone. We just want you to be smart. Don't have no babies yet." 

"Maaa!" 

Rosalyn chuckled at Patrice's teenaged disgust and prepared to pour more on for fun's sake when two knocks rapped against the bedroom door before Leon poked his head inside. He took a sweeping look over his only daughter and smiled. "Look at my little girl. They should be putting you in the children's books, huh?" Patrice said thanks with a small, timid smile before Leon dropped off pressing news. "The Richmond boy and his folks are comin' in. Lookin' like it's time to make your entrance." 

"Thank you, Daddy. Can you tell him I'll be out in a little while?" 

Leon accepted his marching orders with a nod and smile, then disappeared to entertain the growing swell of voices filling the living room. 

Smiling, Rosalyn slid the cape shielding Patrice's glittering dress from debris off her daughter's chest and draped it over her arm. "Alright, pretty girl, it's your show now." She leaned down to press her cheek to Patrice's in a warm display of affection. "Knock his socks off, you hear? He's here to see you. Give him a show." 

Give him a show. While Patrice mentally unraveled what that meant, Terry stood in the living room rocking back and forth on his heels and checking his wristwatch for the time. Zorah and Zanah talked on the couch while Junior snuck glances at the two identically beautiful girls and tried to keep the camcorder upright to ensure he didn't get a slap on the back of the head from his mother. Diedra chattered a mile a minute to her husband and good friend, saying something about pictures and keepsakes that Terry didn't care to hear. 

He wanted to see Patrice. Weeks of waiting and dreaming every chance he got to let his mind wander came down to the soft tick, tick, tick of his silver link watch as the minute hand turned 5:29 pm into 5:30 pm—showtime. 

Terry heard a door close down the hall and listened for the footsteps moving in his direction before looking up to see Mrs. Rosalyn appear in the hallway's threshold. She smiled at him first then addressed the room. "She'll be out in a few. Just grabbing a few last things." 

"Oh my Gooood! I can't wait to see her. I know she'll be beautiful!" Diedra clasped her fingers at her chest as if it were her daughter preparing for a grand reveal. "Girls, come over here. I want you to see!" 

Zorah and Zanah moaned and groaned about their conversation being cut short but followed directions anyway to avoid what existed on the other side of disobedience. Junior tracked both girls with his eyes until a nervously rocking Terry cut off his sightline. He looked up at the young man confused. 

"Why you shakin' like that, Terry," he asked, genuinely unable to fathom why the boy might be nervous. "You seen Patrice a million times." 

But not like this. He'd seen her in sweats and a T-shirt or dressed up for school, but not like this. That fact became abundantly clear as her high heels tapped across the hardwood floor, stepping closer to reveal a modern marvel amongst mere pretenders. Whatever he'd dreamed up in the back of classrooms or while tucked in his bedroom at night paled compared to what stood before him. 

Shock. Awe. Amazement. Diedra squealed as if the Queen had walked into the room. His twin sisters whistled and gave praise like only pre-teen girls could. Even Junior had to nod in approval to give credit where credit was due. 

Terry could only see Patrice in all the noise. The way her dress shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the glass storm door at the front of the house. How her makeup made her look like a movie star in her greatest role to date. Heels helped her legs stand out from the hint of split peeking back at him. Her hair was beautiful, her nails were beautiful, her lips, shoulders, and eyes were beautiful – Patrice was beautiful.

Terry's hand was out beckoning for her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Wow," he breathed out as he gently pulled her closer. He had to will away the urge to know if the gloss coating her lipstick-covered pout had a flavor to say something coherent. "You look…wow." 

"You look like Cinderella! It's so cool!" Zanah said the most consecutive words she had spoken in ages at that moment, stunning Marvin. 

"Shoot, you really are something! You even got the mean one to talk!" 

All in the room laughed, leaving Terry and Patrice to admire each other openly. Patrice straightened the lapel of Terry's tux jacket, then moved on to his bowtie just to have a reason for stepping close enough to smell his cologne. 

He looked down at her, peering through thick lashes, and watched her go to work with a smile. Seeing her nervousness comforted him. They could figure things out together.

Patrice smoothed her hands over his shoulders and finally looked up to smile at Terry. "You look really handsome, TJ. Mean it." 

"You too." Terry immediately recognized his tongue-tied mistake and rushed to correct course. "I meant you look pretty. Beautiful! I'm sorry. You ready to get out of here?" 

They were more than ready. As they stood in front of the Ellis residence, pinning boutonnieres, sliding corsages on dainty wrists, and posing for more photos than they could count, all Patrice and Terry could think about was sliding into the front seat of their chariot for the evening and rolling off toward the sunset. They got their chance 40-odd grueling minutes later once their parents had done all their doting and laid down the rules. 

The first stop was dinner. Somehow, good fortune pushed Terry to pick the one Italian restaurant no other prom attendee in the city thought to cram into with their large parties clad in fluffy gowns and starched suits. That foresight got them a free dinner from a lovely Black couple enjoying a Saturday date night. 

His foresight also saved them from the disaster of a dinner at the venue once they'd wrapped up their make-believe date night and joined their friends for the last formal night of their high school lives. Luckily, the thrill of dancing and taking Facebook photos on a handheld digital camera removed the need to eat anything life-sustaining.

Together, they sang in each other's faces like maniacs, moved about the dance floor until their feet hurt, and forgot all the cares and problems of tomorrow. The only break came when the Prom King and Queen were announced after dinner service began. 

Terry and Patrice watched Corey accept his title like proud parents, recording him on their cell phones while hollering their support from across the room with the rest of the crew. All the work they'd collectively put into his campaign made his triumph feel like a win for the table, not counting Corey's angry date. She stormed off into the hallway moments after an innocent dance between the royal couple went from an innocent sway to Corey reveling in the attention of a young lady with at least six inches of height over him. 

The DJ for the night quickly cut "Slow Jam" by Usher and Monica off at a faculty advisor's request once Corey got a little overzealous and transitioned into Chris Brown's "Winner" to invite all who were willing to sway in each other's arms to the dancefloor. 

Patrice sat in her chair, watching couples slowly float to the dancefloor. She smiled at nothing in particular and bopped her head to the familiar song. Terry watched her like a hawk, suspended between being mesmerized and the pressure of knowing his time was quickly running out. 

Nerves at dinner convinced him to stay mum about his feelings and enjoy Patrice's fun facts about focaccia instead. When he rested his hand on her fingers in the car, and she didn't pull away, he thought about pulling over for his rehearsed speech, but they were already behind schedule. Part of him wanted to whisper how much he loved her into her ear as she pressed her back to his front for official photos. He let the feeling pass, though. 

Now, with the center of the dancefloor free for the taking and the time left before his princess needed to be returned to her home dwindling, he took a deep breath and scooched closer to her. 

Baby, you're a winner

Didn't even take you twelve rounds to do it

You got the title now

I'mma tell the whole world 

To give it up for my girl

"You wanna dance?" Terry meant for the question to sound more confident and less like a creep whispering into his date's ear. So, he scooched even closer, slid his hand around her waist, and tried again. "I'd really love to dance with you. Please." 

Patrice turned in her seat to look back at Terry's eyes pleading for the chance to take her out on the floor and felt goosebumps spring up on her forearms. How could she say no to such a perfectly handsome face? She wouldn't if given the chance. "I'm following your lead." 

Hand in hand, Terry and Patrice sauntered out into the center of an empty dancefloor, receiving applause and encouragement from people and friends who had caught wind of something special unfolding before them. They ignored the ruckus as best they could while arranging limbs around necks and waists. 

If he were being honest with his mind and body, Terry wanted Patrice closer than what school officials would deem appropriate for a sanctioned event. Having his fingers gently grip her sides while they swayed too slow for the music felt like torture, but he persisted for the sake of the moment. He'd have his chances one day soon. 

Patrice hoped Terry couldn't feel the wild thump of her pulse against her wrist as they draped near the nape of his neck. Being so close to him, smelling the residual mint of his gum mixed with whatever heavenly fragrance he'd borrowed from his father was enough to send her body into overdrive. So this was what attraction felt like? This was what all the Ebony and Cosmo articles meant when they discussed the scientific responses of women to men and vice versa. This was infatuation, unshakeable physical longing, and…love? Separately, they were manageable symptoms curable by time away and deep breaths. Together, in the confines of the small square they'd created with sync movements, they were too much and threatening to spill over into utterances she wasn't sure she was ready to release. 

Terry dragging his thumbs up and down along Patrice's waist snapped her out of a deluge of competing thoughts, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled. "What you thinkin' about?" 

"How bad a dancer I am," she joked, allowing self-deprecation to be her scapegoat for the nerves bubbling inside. 

"It's not you," he chuckled. "I wasn't really listening to how fast this song is. I just wanted to get you away from everybody else so we could talk." 

Patrice tilted her head in curiosity. "About what?" 

A quick scan of the immediate area to confirm there were no eavesdroppers or class gossipers helped Terry gather his thoughts. He had plans for something grand, something unforgettable for the rest of their lives. But when he looked back down at her brown eyes, waiting for his next move, he could only confess, "Patrice, I love you." 

"I love you, too, Terrence." 

For a split second, through the strobing neon lights creating shadows on their faces and hiding actual reactions, Terry thought he could see a flash of connection in Patrice's eyes – a hint of unspoken confirmation that what he'd shared was received in full without explanation. 

Patrice hoped he understood the added "I" or the addition of his entire first name to mean what she was too afraid to vocalize beyond a few simple words. 

They had more to say and share to ease the weight on their heavy hearts and minds. Things too sacred for the dancefloor, back at the table with their friends, or in the parking lot as everyone loosened their ties, switched out their shoes, and planned to reconvene for the party of the century. So, they left their I Love You's with Chris Brown and darted into the night for sweet treats separate from the group. 

Underneath real stars in a dark blue sky, they rambled on, recapping highlights over two cups of fresh churned Oreo ice cream, trying hard not to leave the evidence behind on his father's interior. 

"Corey lucky he around all them people, or Jasmine would've kicked his ass," Patrice laughed. "Oh, and did you see Chris and Diamond leave together. I knew they had something going on!" 

Terry chewed through a chunk of Oreo and shrugged. "People could say the same about us. Shit, people do say the same about us." 

"Yeah, but…this is different. We're friends. Right?" 

"We are right now, but…I don't know if I want to stay that way." Growing serious, Terry placed his half-empty cup of ice cream in the cup holder and turned in the driver's seat to face Patrice. He reached for her hand, and, for the second time that night, she didn't pull away. He took it as his sign to proceed. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. As more than my friend." 

Patrice nodded, understanding, and tried to wish away the tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. "I know. I did, too. I…I love you." 

That spark, the small burst of magic that had fought for centerstage all day, was back and bursting into fireworks above them, daring someone to make a move. Terry took the bait and brought Patrice's knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She watched him close his eyes to savor the feeling of her skin on his mouth, thinking of all the ways she'd explain this to Napheesa when they had a moment to debrief. 

"I want to be your boyfriend. You know, if… that's cool with you." He chickened out in the end, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted more than one-armed hugs and childish giggles with Patrice. He wanted a real relationship. As real as it could get for two people at the precipice of adulthood. 

Patrice sucked in a deep breath, unsure of how to force an answer through a throat tightening by the second. All she could mutter was a quiet "TJ…" 

"It's okay," he smiled. Breaching the center console between them, he leaned to kiss her cheek. Patrice's eyes fluttered closed and reopened in enough time to catch Terry returning to the driver's side, preparing to start the engine. "Just think about it, okay?"

Patrice thought about dating and a wedding, Terry's fingers threaded between hers, his thumb softly caressing her knuckles, the butterflies in her belly, and what it meant to be in love as he drove them through familiar streets. It was all she could think about. It was all she wanted to think about. 

Thoughts of finally letting go battled with the fear of what the end may look like and stuck with Patrice as they walked into Corey's "quiet" house party. Neither of them would ever understand how he could convince his parents to allow teenagers around the county to dance, scream, and be merry in their two-story home, but they didn't complain. 

Corey was the first to point out their joint arrival and holdholding, only to be shooed away to spread the news amongst the others. 

"Phee is in one of the rooms changing, I think. Or fucking with Nate. I don't know what's going on, bro, I'm not gon' lie to you." 

Terry shook his head at his friend's antics, then turned to Patrice. "You want a drink or something? Water?" 

"Water would be nice," she answered through a broad smile that Terry mirrored. "Can you grab a straw, too? I don't want to mess up my lip gloss." 

"Cool. I'll find you." 

Only God could pry their hands apart and send Terry on a mission for cold water and straw in a house where he could barely move without bumping into someone. Patrice watched him disappear around a corner before dashing down a hallway for sound counsel. 

She opened doors to coat closets, bathrooms, and bedrooms, which were occasionally filled with people sneaking sips of alcohol, but they came up empty. Panic settled into her bones as she frantically asked for Napheesa until some generous partygoer pointed her toward the family sunroom. 

There, she found Napheesa sipping something in a red cup and massaging her aching feet like a mother who'd had a long day at work. When she saw Patrice barrel through the threshold, her face brightened. "P! I was -" 

"Terry told me he loved me!" 

Napheesa choked on air as her eyes bugged out of her head. "What! Wait, wait, wait. Start from the top!" 

"We were dancing, and he said he loved me; I said it back because, like, I do love him, right! We say that all the time! You hear it! But then he said it again while we were eating ice cream and asked me to be his girlfriend! Well, really, he asked to be my boyfriend, which is like, somehow more romantic than the other way around, and Napheesa, I don't know what to do! What do I do?" 

Patrice spoke a mile a minute, not stopping for breaths or input until she'd unloaded her full stream of consciousness, like word vomit, all over the floor. Napheesa stared blankly and answered matter-of-factly. 

"Just say it back." Plain and without flowery language, she offered sage advice. "Say it back. You just said you love him. So, say it back to him. Why are you making this hard? Do you love him?" 

"Of course I do!" 

Napheesa laughed in confusion. "So say it back, crazy girl! Go ahead. Do it." 

"Okay. Alright," Patrice started. "I love Terry. I love him. I love Terrence Richmond. There. I said it." She listened to the words return to her and tried them out again. "I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry!" 

"See how easy that was? You really need to see somebody about all that worrying, girl. Want me to ask my mama who she goes to?" 

Patrice sighed and chuckled away her nerves. "No. I just-" 

When Napheesa's eyes flickered up to the sunroom entrance and stayed, Patrice turned around to find Terry caught like a deer in headlights with two cups and a straw in his hand. 

"They didn't have bottles, so I just put some ice water in these cups," he announced. "Am I interrupting girl talk? I can come back." 

"Nope. I was actually on my way to find Nate and get some water." Napheese looked back at Patrice, winked her encouragement, and then stood to brush past Terry and back into the action. She pulled one cup out of his hand on her way out. "Thanks for the water. See y'all later?" 

One cup down and thoroughly annoyed, Terry stepped into the sunroom and took Napheesa's previous spot opposite Patrice. He extended the cup and straw in her direction. "Here. This one's for you. Don't tell Corey I went through his mama's kitchen drawers." 

"Your secret's safe with me." 

Terry smiled as Patrice mimed a lock motion over her lips. She never dropped her smile or sipped from her cup, striking him as odd. "You okay?" he laughed. "Why you smiling so hard? Did Napheesa say something about me?" 

She shook her head no but answered, "Yes!" 

"Yes, what?" Terry questioned, confusion knitting his brows together. 

Patrice placed her cup on the ground and grabbed both his hands, threading their fingers together like he did in the car. He gripped them tighter, looking into her eyes like they held all the answers. 

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend. Because…I really, really want to be your girlfriend. You know…if that's cool with you." 

Shock kept Terry glued to his seat, disconnecting his body from a mind turning somersaults in triumph. Patrice watched in amusement as his eyes darted across her face before he shot up and pulled her along for the ride. 

They'd hugged each other plenty of times – to say goodbye and hello, for comfort when the other was feeling down, to be close for no reason at all – but they'd never embraced as more than friends. Patrice had never experienced how good it felt to be fully wrapped in his arm and pressed into a heart beating with love for her. Terry didn't know how having Patrice wrap herself around him would trigger a desire to shower her in never-ending affection. 

Terry tried the feeling on for size, pulling away to kiss her cheek and then her forehead. "I love you." If given the chance, he could say it a million more times. 

"I love you, too." Easy enough. Practice would make perfect, and Patrice was ready to put in the work. 

An unseen force, the same magnetism from their shared Christmas joy in Patrice's bedroom months ago, pulled them closer for another go at a kiss they'd been putting off for far too long. 

Eyes blinked closed. Tongues ran across lips to moisten them for an eventual meeting. Hands tried to wander south and close the gap between their hips. All their pining and preparation had come down to one mo- 

"Hell yeah, P! Kiss your man!" 

"Terry! Terry! Terry!" 

"I knew it! They almost kissed on the dancefloor, too!"

Thwarted again. A small crowd of familiar faces had gathered at the threshold, excited to see their favorite pair finally go the distance. Embarrassed, Patrice hid her face inside Terry's suit jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her as an act of protection. 

Laughing, he tried to shoo the onlookers away. "Man, get out of here! Y'all ain't ever heard of privacy?" 

"Nigga, this my house! Ain't no privacy," Corey laughed. "Go ahead and kiss. This everybody moment! We been waiting forever!" 

The small group agreed, but Patrice wasn't interested in the spectacle. She pulled away from Terry, slid her hand in his, and began leading them out of the room. "And you'll wait some more. This ain't a damn zoo! I thought we were here to have fun!" 

They were. And they did. Disappointment quickly faded, making room for more singing, dancing, and aching feet into the late hours of the night. 

Patrice had long ditched her heels for flats, extending the life of her party animal personal until a quick glance at a perfectly positioned wall clock indicated a quarter til midnight. She roughly pried Terry's drifting hands, trying to pull her backside closer to his front from her waist, and hurried him back to the car in hopes he could make up the distance with some expert driving. 

Both of them prayed all patrol units were busy elsewhere as Terry guided them down empty streets and quiet neighborhood rows to return Rosalyn and Leon's precious cargo by midnight. Terry pulled into Patrice's driveway, cutting time dangerously close, opened the passenger door in a flash, and hurried her to the front door like the Secret Service escorting the president. 

He watched Patrice shuffle through her purse for the housekey, wondering if now was a good time to return to that kiss. "Patrice, can I -" 

"Found it! I really need to put this on a ring." She looked up at Terry and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you gonna say?" 

Terry shook his head free of previous plans and settled for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Treece. I'll text you when I'm home." 

"Good night, TJ." Patrice looked at the light turn on in the living room through the glass panels on the front door, then back at Terry. "I love you." 

"I love you, too. Go ahead. Don't get in trouble." 

A blown kiss and one more wave sent Patrice back into her humble abode and Terry to his horse and carriage for the night. As he backed out of the driveway, looking both ways for traffic that would never come, he noticed the heel of forgotten shoes in his back seat. 

Terry smiled to himself, recalling the story of the dazzling beauty and her lost slipper. Luckily, he didn't have to scour the city looking for the beautiful belle of the ball that stole his heart. He knew where to his Cinderella.

------

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[vole-mon-amour]

After everything that has happened to Johnny, his body autonomy is such a huge and interesting topic for me. It should be WAY more present in the game.

In Phantom Liberty, they barely touched the surface of his military trauma and other traumatic events throughout his life, let alone Johnny losing his human arm and getting a prosthetic that sent him over the edge with cyberpsychosis and a messed up, traumatized psyche (as if it wasn't bad enough before that).

Cyberpunk 2077 is already such a great game, but it could have been an absolute masterpiece if they let us get through to Johnny and his trauma. V tells him he's a softie and Johnny replies with a "fuck you"—because how many people have been kind to him before that, really? How many people tried to genuinely understand him, especially since he pushed them away over and over again?

The game should have allowed the player to push through his "fuck you" that is actually a defensive mechanism, his awkwardness at being seen and exposed to those human feelings. The game should have allowed the player to help Johnny, to "Don't bullshit me, Johnny, I'm here for you whether you like it or not. Don't want me? Let's go talk to Kerry. Rogue is also an option, y'know?" (And judging by the way Johnny acts during a date with Rogue, and by him telling Rogue about V's death, Johnny still trusts Rogue enough and is, to a point, ready to be vulnerable and truthful with her.)

I mean, I'm sure Johnny and Kerry had many heart-to-heart conversations, but Johnny still built up a wall and pushed people away, even Kerry (his best friend, mind you).

And after the war? Drugs, alcohol, anything to drown the pain. The way he used sex to manipulate and to cope while he was also disassociating? I mean, he already has an arm he hates, that is still a foreign object, why not use his body, too?

You've heard this from me before and you'll hear this again: Johnny Silverhand deserved better. The Temperance ending remains the best canonical ending for me—he gets that second chance at life, to heal, to live. Even though he has to live in V's body, has to get used to it and that there's no V anymore, that the body fully belongs to him now. There's another question of body autonomy because Johnny's consciousness/the Relic overwrote itself on V's psyche, so technically he stole the body and killed V without meaning to. But then again, it was V's choice to give Johnny the body. It was V's choice to tell Johnny, "Don't fuck this up. Heal. Live for me to the fullest."

And so he tries, with his immense guilt and grief. He genuinely tries, otherwise V's sacrifice was for nothing. Otherwise it was only a waste.

Of course, in my head V is alive. Johnny gets his body back, his rehab, his healing—because's Johnny's actual body is so tired, is so used to every kind of poison, he NEEDS time to heal. It's going to be a process. It's going to take years. But it's important for him to get help.

But that's not canon. Canon is that Johnny is suffering all the fucking time, lying to himself that he's good, and then during events of Phantom Liberty and any kind of heart-to-heart with V it overwhelms him to the point of him holding back tears.

"I was totally ok with that, until now."

Yeah. Sure you were, darling.

Anyway. Body autonomy for Johnny Silverhand 2k25.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

MY LITTLE OMEGA

KINKTOBER DAY 26 - OMEGAVERSE WITH RAYMOND LEON

Pairing.| Raymond Leon x fem!reader

Summary.| You go into heat early and your Alpha is forced to come home to relieve you.

Warnings.| Dubcon, heat, rutting, abo, slightly degrading, p in v, biting.

Word count.| 2k

Notes.| Okay I never read or write this type of thing, but it was interesting to do.

You shamefully humped Raymond’s pillow, his shirt covering the entirety of your head as you heavily inhaled his scent. But it was never enough, you needed him completely. When he entered your shared home, you immediately picked up on his strong sweet scent of midnight rain. The Omega inside of you wanted to run to him, but the anger you could sense in him made you loudly whimper as your hips rocked in a sloppy manner. 

The smell of your heat was fierce to Raymond’s nostrils, the scent of wet rocks infested his body as he strided down the hall. His head snapped to the nesting room, his jawline sharp as he stomped to you. The door was already wide open, your body completely bare as you mewled out, trying to reveal yourself of your agony. 

His menaceful Alpha voice rolled out your name. Like he casted a spell on you, your body froze, his damp pillow locked in between your thighs. Slowly, he stepped to you, his compelling blue eyes lingered over your exposed backside and how quickly it trembled to his touch. 

“I could smell you from across town, you’ve gone into heat early, why?” Raymond questioned, his tone threatening as he dropped to his knees onto the mattress of the platform bed. 

His large hand pulled the shirt off of your head. As you looked back at him with fearful eyes, he blinked at how full of tears they were. You were lost for words, stammering like a child caught eating from the cookie jar. 

“I-I don't know” you stammered quietly. 

“Don’t lie to me…” Raymond growled in a low volume, clicking his tongue as his hand rolled up and down your spine. 

“I forgot to take my meds!” You easily confessed, your voice full of guilt and humiliation. 

Raymond snarled at you, you whined painfully in return. 

The reason you were on suppressants was because Raymond had a busy month of work. If you went into heat likewise to him going into rut, it would ruin his schedule completely. But with him traveling down south without you, you were highly emotional of being all alone in your home. Even though Raymond would just blame it on you, it was a common side effect of the suppressants to be dependent on their bonded mate. The thoughts of him being gone for almost two weeks put you into a state of despair.

When you woke up from a deep sleep to realize you had forgotten to take your suppressants, your heart raced. It was only an hour late, but you had heard stories of Omega’s missing out on the time frame of only a few minutes and suffering the consequences. Those were only rumors though. Yet the chances were low but were now your reality. 

The moment you felt the first sign, you were in denial and continued on with your day. But when the fever sweats began to drip, cramps formed into a blade under your skin and slick trickled down your legs, you found yourself stuck in mayhem on what to do. 

The obvious solution was to call Raymond. But the knowing answer of him punishing you felt too horrifying and humiliating. Raymond did not allow you to possess any toys. For his arrogant behavior questioned why you’d need such mechanics when you had him to relieve you. So you just tried to block it all out. Two days you successfully spent in agony before he finally had a chance to call you. 

He could hear it in your tone despite the fact that you chose to use minimal words. 

“Little one, is there something you need to tell me?” he replied, resisting his growl over the line. 

You confessed immediately and Raymond almost hung up the phone just as quick. If his primal urges didn’t pull him back towards you like gravity, he would have made you suffer alone. But instead, like a good Alpha, he sped back home to care for you.  

Those silk-like hands teased your skin. Trailing up and down then side to side over your skin. Your back arched as you murmured out his name, almost foaming at the mouth. Suddenly, he slapped your rear harshly, making you yelp. 

“You’ve ruined my investigation little one… Do not think this will be enjoyable for you” Raymond growled. 

“I’m sorry Alpha!” You cried and lowered your body onto the bed as you hid your face in shame under his pillow. 

“How long have you been in heat?” Raymond tilted his head towards you as he slid off his leather jacket. 

“T-three days now” you spoke in hushed tones. 

“Fucking stupid bitch” Raymond muttered to himself. 

But you heard him perfectly, you whined loudly and squirmed over the mattress. Raymond quickly stripped nude and wrapped his front against your back. You purred out, his warmth eased your pain, bending your neck back as your back arched, you moved your ass into his erection.

“You’re so fucking lucky I wasn’t the only one on the case. But like they’ll be able to sniff out shit without me” Raymond snarled, nipping his teeth at the skin of your neck. “You’ve gotten my cock all riled up, your scent is fucking intoxicating!” He groaned out, burying his nose into your soft hair. 

“M’sorry!” You repeat yourself loudly.

“You’re gonna have to beg me for it” Raymond whispered into your ear. 

“No Raymond please! M-M’sorry! I’ve already been suffering for days!” you exclaimed, shaking your head at the thought of him tormenting you again. 

During many of your heats together, Raymond enjoyed playing with your state of agony at first. Your performance of begging for his touch was exhilarating. Whimpers and whines were likewise to angelic music to his ears. The way your needy hands tried to pull him towards you was amusing. 

You tried to wiggle your ass against his crotch but he held you down and kept his hips at distance. 

“You should have called me the moment you felt it” Raymond lectured.  

“I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought I could hold it off!” You explained pathetically, mewling like a baby. 

“Stupid Omega” Raymond insulted. Immediately, you whined again and Raymond pouted at you. “This is why you need me, little one…” he explained in a condescending tone. 

A hum was your only response as you nodded your head eagerly. It was true, you depended on him the moment you laid eyes on him. The bond was heavenly, the way your heart skipped a beat as you caught him watching you, almost ready to eat you alive. But it didn’t take you long to realize how frightening he could be, but then he could also be so loving. If you remained good, he’d treat you well. So it was time to comply and be his good girl. 

“Now, beg” Raymond ordered. 

“Alpha” you mewled dramatically.

“Yes Omega?” He teased. 

“Please! I need your cock inside of me, my walls are clenching so harshly! I need to squeeze around you” you spat out, licking your lips at the idea of his dick buried inside of you. Your eyes were fluttering, you felt like you were already drunk on his cock. 

“Sounds like a you problem” Raymond grinned.

Your scent was matchless, like the uncharted sanctuaries of earth that all explorers desired to uncover. Secretly, he could spend days pressing his nose to your hair as his hands would caress your waist. 

“Alpha please! Show me my place, remind me who I belong to” you begged, twisting your upper body to look back at him.  

“Remind you huh?” Raymond grunted, possessiveness flashing through his ocean blue eyes. You shuddered, fearing that you had made a poor choice of words. Trying to steer his suspicions elsewhere, you ended up just stammering to yourself. “You forget who you belong to?” Raymond tilted his head at you. 

“No!” you denied fearfully. 

“But you tell me to remind you, so you have forgotten, have you not?” Raymond questioned, his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. 

“No… I’m just trying to-” you squeaked, becoming too timid to speak. 

Raymond flipped you over and licked his lips. Your eyes felt almost compelled to look down to his member and you grumbled out, eagerly desiring to devour it. How could he make you beg in a moment where he craved you just as desperately. 

“Look at how fucking pathetic you look, drooling over my member…” Raymond scoffed condescendingly, his body stood tall as he smirked down at you. 

“Can I touch it?” you asked softly, eyes stuck on his throbbing member that leaked of precum. 

“Yes little one” he spoke softly, warmly. 

Quickly, you moved onto your knees and your hand reached out. You stroked him softly and slowly, gradually you picked up the pace and firmness. Raymond breathed out, his eyes fluttering as he watched you please his cock. 

After maneuvering you onto your back, Raymond kissed you passionately as he lined himself up to your entrance. Whilst keeping eye contact, Raymond pushed his member inside of you effortlessly, you were always so eager to take him completely. Then your muscles would contract after you had consumed him. 

Like animals, Raymond pounded himself into your clenching walls. You cried out in relief as you felt the tension in your core be replaced by pleasure. In your ear, Raymond whispered sweet words which had you gasping for more. Your fingertips ran up and down his broad back, nails teased at his firm skin. 

Other Alphas laughed when they found out Raymond had bonded with a Omega. Because well, Raymond lacked that caring trait. However, Raymond quite enjoyed being bonded with a Omega. Were you unbearable dependent on him? Yes. But Raymond had dated Alpha’s in the past and it felt like a constant battle for dominance. 

You however always submitted to him. You always knew your place. He’d never admit it, but Raymond enjoyed the comfort you gave him, likewise to the nurture he’d show you. The moments of intimacy and comfort you shared were relaxing and reassuring. 

“I haven’t taken my pills” Raymond confessed. 

Usually it was the females who took birth control. But Raymond’s ego made him believe that they would disobey him and stop their medications in hopes of being bred by him. But after being bonded to you, the idea of you being bred excited him. He had no worries that his offspring would be anything besides Alphas. 

“Do you think you’re ready to bear my pups?” Raymond questioned sternly.

“Raymond?” You whimpered, panic flashing through your eyes. 

“I’m going to breed you this heat. You’ll carry my child, you got it?” Raymond made known. 

“Yes Alpha!” You replied, immediately submitting yourself to him. 

This is what you wanted, this is what you were made for. To be his little obedient Omega and raise his children. It had felt like an eternity since you’d met him, even though it had only been a couple of months. 

“Good… You’re so fucking compelling, you know that right?” Raymond groaned out, feeling his rut pulsing. “If any other Alpha dares to sniff in this direction I’ll rip his fucking head off” Raymond snarled, a wave of jealousy and possessiveness crashed over him. 

“I belong to you Raymond!” You assured, cunt squeezing him so tightly. 

“Good girl, my obedient little Omega” Raymond praised with a wicked grin. 

Swiftly, you’re flipped onto your stomach and Raymond buried himself in completely. You moan out as your orgasm crashed over you, His teeth latched directly in between your shoulder and neck and you whined out, but the pain was coated in extra pleasure. 

Raymond groaned onto your flesh as he felt his member expand inside of you. His movements were forced to slow down to a complete stop as his seed shot deep into your womb. With the both of you painted in a coat of sweat, you’re carefully shifted onto your side, Raymond’s body connected to yours. His teeth release your skin and Raymond kisses your heated cheek before he buried his head into the crook of your neck. 

“I love you Raymond” you sniffled, eyes still blurred from your post orgasmic state. 

“Shush… Go to sleep little one” Raymond murmured.

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

Masterpost #1

Topic: Cassian is an abusive bastard

- Told Nesta everyone hates her

- Told her he couldn't understand why her sisters loved her

- Harassed her even when she continuously told him to leave her alone

- Followed her home

- Locked her up and acted as her jailer. Forced her to train as a warrior because she was using sex as a coping mechanism and proceeded to abuse that coping mechanism and have sex with her when she was at her most emotionally vulnerable

- Had sex with her at a time he had so much authority over her he dictated what she ate

- Purposely had Azriel pack a heavy bag so she would physically suffer on the hike

- Didn't stand up for her or even blink when Rhysand threatened to kill her

- Realized she was suicidal and continued to force her on a hike with lethal drops and didn't bother to look back at her for hours and days until she fainted

- Didn't tell her that Feyre wasn't angry with her anymore, leaving her in mental agony for days

- Forced her to physically exert herself while simultaneously using mental abuse until she collapsed physically and had a complete mental breakdown

- Had sex with her after her mental breakdown as some sort of reward for finally breaking for him

- Sexualized her and focused on her boobs after pointing out that she was emaciated from not eating because she was so depressed

- Used her fathers death against her because she *checks notes* wouldn't eat her plain oatmeal

- Put hands on her directly after finding out about Tomas and wouldn't let go until she physically hurt him the only way she could

- Planned for 10 minutes how to rile her up and argue with her and then villainized her

- He has built their entire relationship on spite, he treats her like an obligation something broken he needs to fix but never with understanding or empathy. Something that was forced on him pursued her against her will while ignoring her boundaries. Their entire relationship is based on power plays and asserting dominance over her

- Borderline violent and degrading sex with no aftercare while she is at her lowest

- Using her body to calm his own frustrations while blatantly ignoring her emotional state

- Emotional manipulation. He consistently uses her vulnerability against her, pushes her to get better on his terms while simultaneously throwing her failures in her face, making her feel unworthy, abusing her coping mechanisms, laughing at her pain. Perpetuating that she is only worthy if she falls in line with what he and the IC want from her. He consistently attempts to mold her into being someone more palatable (Feyre) rather than accepting who she is and helping her for who she is

- He contributes directly to her ultimate breakdown. He does nothing to help when she's quite literally begging for support and even goes so far as to worsen her situation repeatedly

- Villainizing her even when she's being perfectly placid. Eg. During the solstice scene she is pleasant, she wishes Feyre HB, thanks Elain for her gifts profusely, speaks nicely with Azriel, sits back and allows them to exchange gifts without interfering (though they forced her to be there and got her nothing), kisses Elain fondly before leaving, she mostly just sits their the entire time and Cassians POV afterwards?? "He'd had enough of the coldness, the sharpness. Enough of the sword straight spine and sharp stare." Not that she was blackmailed into coming, ignored all night and had gifts flaunted in front of her and was STILL pleasant

- Agreed with Mor when she equated Nesta with her borderline evil abusers. AND thought about how he was blown away by Mor's beauty while she sat there saying that Nesta should be tortured in a dungeon

- Affirmed her insecurities every chance he could

- Heard about how she was groomed and preyed on at 14 and made it about himself

- Judged her for being a child and not parenting another child the first second he met her even though she allowed him into her home

- Sees how strong her emotions are for others and then later claims that "she barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain"

- Laughs when she falls down the stairs, she has bruises and a black eye from this fall

- Doesn't correct her when she voices her feeling that she isn't good enough for him and doesn't deserve him

- Laughs behind her back that Rhysand is happy she will hate the hike

- She collapses every day on the hike and never speaks and all he says is "at least remove the pack so I can cook myself dinner"

- Works her to the point of literally fainting face first and he yells at her

- When she breaks down finally and tells him how much she hates herself, he tells her how much he loves Rhysand

- Claims there is nothing broken to be fixed yet he forces her to obey him and change everything about herself and behave in the way he approves of

- When she attempts to be open and communicative with him and explains how mate doesn't mean to her what it means to him because she's still human at heart he dismisses her and says it's bullshit

- When she calls in her bargain he doesn't respect it and immediately thinks of a way to get around it. He does not respect her or the boundaries she attempts to set. She says she wants a week alone yet he shows up the very next day and acts like she just wasn't clever enough to evade him

- While she is terrified and hoping he will come rescue her from the blood rite he says he even if he could he wouldn't

- He never says I love you NOT ONCE

- When Rhysand yells at and threatens Nesta for helping Bryce, Cassian does not defend her and even joins in and snarls at her

- Says he can take whatever she throws at him and then literally two seconds later he fucks her out of it for saying something mildly rude about Rhysand

The fact that I could keep going and going but I'm just too angry. Cassian sucks and anyone who likes him is perpetuating the forgiveness of abusive men. I don't care if he is a fictional character, he is a carbon copy of real life abusive men and the support of him and blatant ignoring of his abuse is disgusting and harmful. I'm sorry but anyone who claims to love Nesta but loves Cassian?? Uh YA LYING. If your best friend or your mother was being treated the way Cassian treats Nesta would you be happy with their relationship? I don't think so.

Inspired by @kataraavatara because she slays

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 13)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2331 words)

tw: cyprus kissing you without consent, a bit of injury , afab reader

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 14

You apologized.

He was silent, focusing on maneuvering the car safely, but you caught how his stern, grey eyes widened a bit in surprise. But aside from that, there was no other reaction from him.

You looked out of the window and curled yourself to the door. Cyprus continued driving quietly.

You nodded off, closing your eyes, and allowed your body to gently sway along with the movements of his car. The constant humming of his engine is making you sleepy, or maybe it was your eyedrops? Or perhaps it's the fact that Cyprus isn't talking for once. Whatever it is, you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

Eventually, you managed to wake yourself up again as you detected a change in your environment; the car stopped moving. You blinked multiple times and focused your bleary eyes, realizing you were back in the underground car park. You grumbled, about to rub your eyes, but resisted when you realized what you were suffering with. So you endured the discomfort and unbuckled your seatbelt.

Then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Making you turn around without thinking, only to have your lips mashed with his. You let out a muffled scream, and Cyprus seized his chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't escape, because Cyprus was progressively climbing over to your seat, trapping you against the door and his muscular chest. His hands were fervently rubbing all over your body; a hand roamed under your shirt and another pushed the back of your head towards him. Your hands were free, but your hits and scratches did nothing to him, or maybe you were holding back and not causing actual harm.

He positioned himself until you're sitting on his lap, you could kick all you want but it's only harming the air. It's fueling your chagrin that he angled you in such a way, that you couldn't even deal any damage towards his car.

You opened your eyes the entire time, noticing that Cyprus had removed his glasses. It's unfair that he has such long, pretty, and dark eyelashes, it's especially accentuated when his eyes are closed and you're this physically close to him. It's also frustrating that he's actually a god at kissing, it's undeniably enjoyable despite being a violation of your autonomy. He knew where to run his tongue to send tingles down your spine, he knew the pace to mold his lips with yours and he knew where to touch with his fingers to fluster you to the maximum.

Sensual smacks and soft moaning occasionally slip through the gaps between kissers filled the car, shuffling and rubbing of fabric also could be heard. But not to the world outside. And you are eternally grateful for that.

You ran out of breath, hitting him a bit harsher than usual. It did the trick, Cyprus got the hint and reluctantly parted his lips from yours with a very audible pop. His grey eyes fluttered open to see you disheveled and dizzy, your cheeks were heated up to an almost uncomfortable degree, and it's not due to a fever. You're panting and gasping greedily for air, it's jarring to see how Cyprus is breathing fine as if he didn't hold his breath for about a minute and a half. A slappable smirk found its home on his handsome face as he chuckled at you.

"Apology accepted." He said as he wiped excess drool from the corner of your lips with his thumb. "And you really need practice; you ran out of breath already?" Cyprus continued as he hugged you close, nuzzling his nose against the side of your face. You whined, trying to pry him off you, but all he did was laugh and press a kiss on your jaw. "You are so not getting through foreplay. You were right, we should just fuck right away instead."

You yelled that you're not going to have sex with him. He still wouldn't let you escape his arms, though, keeping you in place as he peppers your head with appreciative kisses. "Of course, you're not. Because we have a farmer's market to explore. Though, I don't mind a quickie..." He purred in your ear.

You called him shameless. "Only for you." He replied wittily as he gently groped you in different areas.

You called him disgusting. "Ouch." It was a nonchalantly teasing response. You then told him you don't care about his feelings or well-being, if your words hurt, then it's too bad. He merely smiled and hummed; "Mhmm..." Yet, he still wouldn't let you go from his bear cuddles.

You told him that he shouldn't have too much contact with you, because you have pink eye.

"I have grey ones. Your point?" He snickered, kissing the crown of your head.

You said he could get infected!

"And?" You stared at him incredulously.

You said that he's going to get sick and miserable!

"And?" His grin grew the more you talked.

You said that it wouldn't feel good and-- then you saw what he was trying to get you to admit. You couldn't believe that you fell for it, twice.

Cyprus simply laughed, he didn't even need to tease you for caring about him despite saying otherwise. You're humiliated enough and he didn't want you to burst into tears right before exploring the market.

"You know, princess. One of the steps to kicking an addiction is to find another coping mechanism." He stroked your hair while staring at you lovingly.

You asked him where is he going with this conversation. But your words were cut short when he pushed your head into his broad chest, making you take in his scent.

"I don't need to carry a pack with me anymore. But I'm now addicted to you." He mumbled into your hair, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he relished in your presence. "I'm not complaining, you're definitely way healthier than cigarettes."

You were about to say something, but he cut you off. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, baby. God, I can't imagine my life without you in it."

You wanted to snark back, however, something stopped you. And you think it's due to the serenity he held in his face.

"You make everything so good. How does my pretty girl do it?" He rambled on. You didn't reply, because you knew it was just a rhetorical question.

He continued cradling you in his arms for a few more minutes.

--

"Princess."

He called to grab your attention. You were distracted by the live animals being sold.

You turned your head to the side, only to have a piece of orange press against your lips. Looking up at his face, Cyprus had his sunglasses clipped on and he was chewing. No doubt, he was eating the orange he bought earlier; it's impressive how he could peel them while walking, and not drop a slice or its outer covering.

"It's great. I never see this variant in stores and I have been hunting for it for a while now. Try it." He prodded your mouth with the juicy piece, you're not going to lie, it does look succulent and sweet.

You hesitantly took it in between your teeth, he let it go so that he could peel more of the oranges for you and him.

It was delicious and seedless too, and you secretly wanted more. But you don't think it's a good idea to try and ask something of Cyprus. You don't have to, as if he read your mind, he wordlessly fed you another piece.

You and he strolled through the stalls, Cyprus was mindlessly feeding you and himself the peeled orange slices. Well, he's mostly feeding you at this point, and you didn't even realize you ate three whole oranges already.

You could see why he wanted to come here, they sold a variety of different fresh produce. Most of which you have never seen before. A unique take on street food, pickled goods, and handicrafts were also prevalent there, it's an overall lively place. Maybe it isn't that bad after all, you liked the vibrant colors, the smell of pretzels and blooming flowers definitely gave you a new experience. The air is much cleaner and lighter here, unlike the polluted city.

Cyprus trailed behind you, peeling another orange for you while enjoying the sights too. He stuffed the peels in the plastic bag where the oranges were from. However, his eyes were mostly trained on you: the sight he enjoys the most.

You felt his hand getting closer to your face, thinking that it was another orange segment, you swallowed the remnants of the previous one and parted your lips for the fruit to enter.

"Ow!"

That wasn't an orange.

You apologized in reflex for biting his finger, but then you blamed him for sticking his index in your mouth, why would he do that?

He rubbed his digit with his thumb while laughing, unclear at you or at himself. "Did you really need to bite that hard for an orange piece? It's not like the damn thing would bite back."

You said that doesn't matter, you wanted to know why he did what he did.

His response was to shrug. "I just wanted to see something."

He wanted to see how strong of a bite force you have?

"Yeah, maybe. That's not all, though." He smirked, bending down to peck you on the forehead. Cyprus dodged your swats effortlessly.

You asked if it's a sexual thing.

"If you want it to be, but I usually prefer to do the biting." He lets out a guffaw when you tried punching him on the arm.

You asked again, why he did that.

Cyprus smiled at you. "I know you trust me."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. That's such a false statement, it's sickening. He couldn't be further from the truth, Cyprus is the last person you would trust with anything. Why did he think that way of you?

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pressing you to his side as the two of you walked.

"You weren't paying attention when I fed you for twenty minutes, baby. I could have fed you dog shit but you didn't see me in that light. It's cause you trust me not to fuck you over. That's why when I brought my hand to your mouth, you bit me- thinking it was just another slice of orange."

You blinked owlishly at his reasoning. What? Isn't that... the bare minimum? Even strangers wouldn't feed you something so terrible, why would he be any different?

There was an amused look on his face as he snorted. "So you're telling me... if a random guy just starts poking your lips with an orange slice, you'd just... eat it? And let him feed you for a full twenty minutes?"

You think you can see the grave you somewhat dug yourself in. You just said yes just so you could save whatever face you have left in this rebuttal.

And that made him laugh out in glee. "You're so fucking funny, doll. Admit it, I grew on you. And you like it when I take you out on dates like this. Even if you had to be a whiny brat at the start."

You immediately deny it out of reflex.

"Yeah right. You're blushing." He playfully ruffled your hair.

You deny it again, you're feeling increasingly embarrassed as time goes on. Damned Cyprus and his teasing.

He chuckled, kissing you on the temple as you tried your hardest to defend yourself. But you end up stuttering and making more of a mess than it already is.

"You know I love you, right?" He muttered in your ear, brushing his lips on the shell of it, making you shiver.

You didn't reply. This only made his smile wider. "I know you love me too."

You said you don't.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Keep denying your true feelings for me, it totally wouldn't come out sooner or later." Cyprus rubbed your arm up and down. You feel deflated, but you must keep walking to keep the foot traffic flowing.

Then, a food stall caught your attention. They're selling your favorite treat but with a creative spin on it. Their products look edible enough for you. However, the prices were absurd, it was written in chalk, on a blackboard easel next to its food truck.

"You can just say you wanted that." You were snapped out of your thoughts. You turned your head to see Cyprus was already fishing his wallet out, to retrieve the money needed to purchase a dish. "The amount of mind reading I have to do..." He grumbled under his breath.

You lied and said you didn't want it. He paused, putting his hands on his hips and giving you an unimpressed look. "Really?"

You said yes, really.

He rolled his eyes, clamping his hand around your wrist. "Come on, we're getting you one of those." Cyprus dragged you in the direction of the food truck.

You said you really didn't want it!

"Yeah, and I'm Chinese." He retorted sarcastically. "I know that look."

You asked, what look?

"It's like you're physically incapable of telling me what you want. I had to adapt and find ways around it. Come on, a line is forming behind us, which one did you want?" The sun was shining too brightly, so Cyprus stood in front, blocking the scorching rays for you.

You and he stood right at the front of the food truck, where the attendant looked at you expectantly. Her fingers are already positioned on the screen of the digital cash register.

You sighed and pointed at the item on the menu.

Cyprus smiled with satisfaction, he went ahead and told her your order.

You watched him pay for the overpriced treat as if it were a piece of cheap candy.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

You Truly Are A Merchant of Death.

Warning ⚠️; mention of human sacrifice, mention of the future end of the world, blood, grief. 🔞

Pairing; Tony Stark/ Cult!Leader!Male!Reader

Summary; You were an enigma, a mystery that Tony never really understood. That was made your charm. That was what made him fall and allow you to pull him in the dark.

Note; How the hell did I write that Mastodon??? I think that is the longest story I have written until now. I think I am like around 3k words if not more but that is because I love Tony ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~

The coldness was infiltrating the armour and Tony could feel his fingers and toes going numb. His body shivered, trying to keep him warm to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. He was stuck in his amour waiting to die.

No one had come for him and Tony doubted anyone would.

That was until he heard his armour cracking as someone tore it open. Tony blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light when his mask was taken off before his eyes fell on you. Leaning above him, he could see the sparkle of joy in your eyes behind your own mask. Your gloved hand rested on his cheek for a second before you spoke to him.

- “Who did that to you, Tony?”

Your voice was soft, gentle like always but there was an edge to it like you are trying to hide your anger. He tried to talk, to tell you everything, but Tony only managed to cough, his throat way too dry. You hushed him like a scared child, fingers brushing off the blood on his lips.

- “Okay, don’t talk right now. I’ll get you out of that thing in no time, and will speak when you are better.”

Tony wanted to ask you how you were going to free him but never had the chance to open his mouth. With your bare hands, you ripped apart his amour, being so careful around his ark reactor. Once he was free, Tony sat, panting while you petted his back telling him to breathe deeply.

His eyes stared at what was left of his armour and noticed it had corroded as if you had used acid. No, not acid, Tony corrected himself mentally, but magic. How could he forget that you could use fucking magic, something he didn't understand, to do even more weird shit.

Tony had so many questions, among which why were you here? You were his enemy, a villain that he had tried so many times to stop and failed to. You had no reason to help him. But here you were, taking off your ceremonial robe to put it on him. Tony couldn't hold back the sigh of relief when he felt the warmth from your robe enveloping him.

You helped Tony to stand up and he leaned against you, feeling frail. Which wasn't a surprise when he had passed the night in the cold and was probably suffering from hypothermia. Yet, Tony felt his body turn to ice when his eyes landed on the dozen of silhouettes standing around the two of you. They were wrapped in the same kind of ceremonial robes masks, but of a different colour than yours.

Your followers.

The members of your murderous cult.

Tony tensed as he felt your arm wrapping around his waist as you kept him close to you. Your body radiated heat, more than any human should be able to. You looked at him and Tony felt all his fear and worry disappear. He was safe. Which was a weird thought since you had murdered more than a hundred people. Sacrifices for those things you called your Gods.

- “Come on. Let us bring you home, Tony. You went through enough for now, you need to rest so you can tell me all that happened.”

Your velvet voice was hypnotic and Tony found himself nodding before he followed you. Your followers began humming something he couldn't understand as all around you things began to transform. The walls melted and the ground cracked. Slowly, everything transformed and before he knew it, you two stood in his lab.

You helped him sit down before going to grab him a bottle of water. Without thinking about it, he took it from your hands and drank it almost all while you sat by his side. It was the first time you two weren't fighting and Tony didn't know what to think about it. He was supposed to stop you and make sure you couldn't kill more people, but instead here he was, being cared for by you.

Tony groaned when he saw you summon the first aid kit. You patched him up, without a word but your eyes spoke for you. He could see sadness and anger flashing in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, you were the first to spoke.

- “Tony. What happened?” You asked with a honeyed voice. “Who did that to you?”

- “Roger.” He croaked, his eyes staring at the floor as he felt tears building in his eyes. “It was Roger and Barnes.”

And just like that, he told you everything. From the botched mission in Sokovia to the murder of the Wankada’s king to the Accord, without forgetting the tensions in the team. Tony closed his fists as he recalled Steve’s betrayal and the battle that cost Rhodney his legs. He chocked telling you about the video of the Winter Soldier murdering his parents and then his battle against Steve and Bucky.

He told you how Steve hit him in the chest with the shield and then abandoned him.

You sat next to him, hand gently caressing his back as you listened to his story. You squeezed his shoulder when he finished his story.

- “I am sorry, Tony. Very sorry about your parents, they didn't deserve such an end. You were right to be angry at Steve for hiding it from you.”

Tony could only nod, chasing the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of your robe. It smelled like you with a touch of blood and sea. A bit fishy too.

- “Anyway, how did you find me? Why do you care?” He asked, blunter than he intended, but you only chuckled.

- “The hows aren't a mystery, I simply used magic to localize you. And how couldn't I care? We are friends after all.”

This time it was Tony who laughed. Friends? Friends? He had tried so many times to catch you and even fought you, severing your limbs and hurting you, yet you called him your friend?

He looked at you only to see honesty in your eyes. Gods, you were serious.

He snorted and looked away, wondering how in hell did you managed to see him as a friend after everything. You were sicker than he thought.

- “So what now? You expect me to stop trying to conter your plan of world destruction and just stand watching while you butcher and sacrifice people?” Tony asked, sarcastic, making you chuckle.

- “No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop me Tony. You could throw me in a bottomless pit and the end will still come. The fate of our world was written a long time ago and there is nothing we can do to stop it from happening. If it isn't me who will free Them, then it will be someone else.” Your voice was sweet as you finished cleaning his cheek. “But fear not. You’ll be long dead when it happens. The stars won't align for a few more centuries.”

Tony sighed as he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Your words sounded like a dead sentence, like there really wasn't anything to be done and that opposing you was useless. So many death. None that could be avenged.

- “I don't expect you to stop, Tony. I know you won't, but I wish you would pour your energy into something more rewarding.” You added when he didn't answer you. “You have the greatest brain I ever met and you put much of yourself into everything you create. You could do so much more if you didn't focus on me.”

Again, you were right. You knew him more than he thought.

Sighing, Tony shook his head, feeling anger rise in his heart.

- “Yeah, and what did it get me? Ultron was a terrible mistake that took too many lives and even destroyed a whole city. The Sokovia Accord? It tore the team apart and got me a fucking shield in the chest!” Tony snapped and threw the empty bottle of water against the wall. He felt tears fill his eyes. “Whatever I do, whatever I make it only leads to destruction.”

- “You truly are a merchant of Death, Tony.”

Your words were like a slap in the face and Tony fought back a sob. No matter what he did, he would always be stuck with that title right? Burying his face in his hands, he ignored yours squeezing his shoulder.

- “Don't be sad, my friend. Some of us are cursed with a terrible fate, it is not your fault.”

- “Shut up. Just fucking shut up! You are not helping.” Tony hissed, fingers digging in his scalp.

And you did. You fell quiet but stayed close and Tony knew it because he felt your eyes on him. He tried to fight it, but failed as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was an idiot. A moron who destroyed everything he touched and always disappointed his friends. He couldn't forget what Barton had told him, couldn't forget Roger choosing his parents’ murderer over him. After everything, he had been thrown away like a dirty tissue.

He sobbed as he felt your arms wrapping around him. His first reflex was to try and push you away but instead melted in your embrace. The warmth of your body sank into his, chasing away the coldness from the hypothermia and your smell was familiar, like stepping on his balcony facing the sea. Except you also smelled like fresh blood.

Tony tensed slightly when he felt one of your hands on his as you slowly forced him to let go of his hair. Then, you passed your finger through them, massaging his sore scalp.

- “Don't hurt yourself, Tony. You don't deserve this, you didn't do anything wrong.” You whispered, making Tony scoff.

- “Everything I do is wrong. I’m a walking disaster.” He hissed, looking away as you held him closer against your chest.

- “That is false and we both know it.”

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he rolled his eyes before closing them, resting his cheek against your chest. He sighed when he felt your chin on top of his head, but decided to allow it. It has been so long since he was held like that and since he felt like someone actually cared for him. Which was weird coming from a psychopathic murderer like you.

But Tony couldn't deny that you never hurt him. No matter how much he wounded you, severing your limbs and tearing you apart with his beams, you never used your magic against him. You would talk, tease him about your immortality and then disappear with your goons and sacrifices. Sometimes you would take the beating while talking about your beliefs and Gods, not caring that Tony had his hand right through your stomach.

You truly were an enigma, a mystery that Tony didn't truly understand and a part of him didn't want to.

After what felt like an eternity, you gently nudged him, forcing him up. Tony didn't have the strength to fight you, so he simply followed as you led him up. He sighed as you pushed him into the bathroom and he understood immediately; that he had to shower.

After you got him clean clothes and left the bathroom, Tony took his shower. He stayed longer than necessary under the warm jet, trying to forget everything that had happened but couldn't. The damn video kept replaying in his mind with such accuracy that he threw up a few times, bile burning his throat. Yet you never intruded on his privacy.

When he left the bathroom, he found you had pulled a chair to face the door. You sat with your legs crossed reading one of Tony’s books about engineering. Behind your mask, he could see your curious eyes moving with each word you read and the joy in them. You were enjoying the book and didn't knew how to feel seeing you so… human.

After a few seconds, you raised your head and Tony threw your ceremonial dress at you. It landed on your head and you laughed, thanking him before putting it back on. He ignored you and went to his bedroom, guessing where you wanted him to go next. His wounds burned as he had taken off the bandages, yet didn't want to go through making them again.

He was surprised when you didn't follow him as Tony had expected you would make sure he was resting. Getting under the cover, he sighed realizing you really weren't going to intrude in his private place. He didn't notice when he fell asleep, but Tony hadn't had such a restful sleep in a long time.

He woke up hearing a soft knock on his door. Blinking, Tony sat on his bed and frowned as silence filled the room. There was no light as night had fallen. Through his window, he could see the moon. Large and round, it was almost hypnotic. He shivered has the knock repeated and coughed as he tried to speak. After a few seconds, he managed to call you in.

You entered, your ceremonial robe dancing around your feet as you walked in the moonlight. Like a cat, your eyes reflected it and for a second Tony thought he was facing a predator.

You sat on his bed and rested your hand on his forehead. Tony slapped your hand away, only making you chuckle softly as you were amused by his childish behaviour.

- “I am happy that you rested, Tony. You look already better, even tho those bruises seem painful.” You said, voice gentle and low, as if you thought speaking louder would give him a headache.

You would be right. His whole body was sore as if he had been hit by a train. Groaning, Tony passes a hand on his face, wondering what you wanted, and why you woke him up. As if you could read his thoughts, you laughed before offering him your hand.

- “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

In the dark of the room, Tony stared at your hand, weighing the good and bad of following you. For all he knew you could lead him to his dead. Maybe you had decided he would be the perfect sacrifice tonight. Maybe you planned on devouring his corpse after stabbing him in your unholy altar of debauchery.

Yet, Tony thought, nothing you would do could be more painful than what he had experimented on lately. With a sigh, he took your hand in his. He almost shivered when you squeezed his hand as you got up, waiting for him to do the same.

Tony wondered if he had lost his mind. He followed you as you led him across his house and then outside. Barefoot, Tony shivered as he felt the cold damp sand against the soles of his feet. The sound of the waves crashing had something calming and eerie at the same time.

You stopped close to the water, close enough for the tide to tickle his toes. Your thumb gently strokes his hand, making small circles before you let him go, entering the sea silently. Tony can do nothing but stare at you. Under the moonlight, your ceremonial robes seemed to glow slightly. The broderies at least. They formed strange designs, some alien to him and others weirdly familiar as if they were memories from a dream he had since long forgotten.

He watched as you pulled out a round piece of golden metal from your sleeve. You murmured something, like chanting, but so low Tony couldn't understand anything, then dropped the piece of metal. The sea swallowed it up and a soft light began to glow from the water. A pulse of energy disturbed the waves and water while a soft buzzing sound rose like a bee flying around his head.

- “Fear not, Tony. I won't let anything happen to you, you are safe by my side.” You said and Tony almost wanted to believe you, even tho he didn't know what you were protecting him from.

In the distance, Tony saw a small boat rocking with the waves. There were flickering lights coming from it and Tony recognized them as coming from lanterns or torches. He opened his mouth, ready to ask some questions, but before he could chants broke the silence. They were loud and made the air vibrate. Turning his attention to you, he watched as you moved your hand. A maelstrom began to form, becoming bigger and bigger until a tunnel formed.

- “I am not bringing you in for the choir, Tony, but for something way more exciting.” You said, offering your hand once more in an invitation to follow you.

For a second, Tony hesitated and almost stepped back, but his feet moved against his will and he grabbed your hand. The sea was cold and he felt the water soak the bottom of his pants. Normally it would bother him, but right now he didn't care. His eyes stared in awe as the tunnel closed between them while the current made them move like a treadmill. They move without walking.

Around them, Tony can see the fish swimming. For a quarter of a second, he even spots a great white shark killing its prey. He is so fascinated by everything that Tony doesn't even realize that time and space fold around them. Before he can understand what is going on, the tunnel comes to an end as everything turn black.

The water took a gloomy greenish tint and seemed to even glow slightly as if a few glowsticks had been thrown in it. Stepping out, Tony realized you had taken him into some kind of cave. But it is not really a cave as he looks up and sees the night sky. No, not a cave at all, more a crater. The moon is hung above them, enormous, so big Tony thought it was about to crash on Earth. The strangest thing was that some stars seemed to be black and yet shined brighter than Northern Star.

- “Where are we?” Tony asked, his voice wavering as he walked around, not looking where he was going occupied he was staring at the weird stars. “I’ve never seen stars like those. How are they black and shining? That doesn't make any sense.”

- “There are things in this world that don't make sense, Tony, and which would make you go mad if you tried to understand them. As for where we are, we are still on Earth. I just took you home.” You replied to him, walking by his side and looking up too. “What you are seeing are the stars of Carcosa.”

- “Carcosa…”

The name rolled on Tony’s tongue, but he couldn't pronounce it right. He heard you clearly yet his tongue refused to cooperate. He frowned as it almost felt familiar. Yes, Tony had heard that name before, he was sure.

- “Along the shore the cloud waves break, the twin suns sink behind the lake, the shadows lengthen in Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies but stranger still is lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, where flap the tatters of the King, must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead; die thou, unsung, as tears unshed shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa.” You sang before turning your attention to him and Tony plunged his eyes into yours. “Cassilda’s song describes it pretty well in a beautiful poem. You might have heard it from The King in Yellow, a play from around 1895.”

- “Maybe… I don't know, but the name is familiar.”

Without another word, Tony began exploring the place. There are desks and bookshelves filled with books and scrolls and even school boards covered in a language Tony doesn't understand. It's primitive and yet complex.

Something else caught his attention.

An altar of black-greenish stone covered in offerings of incense and meat surrounding an idol. The thing was made of a green stone and looked terrifying. It had the appearance of a mix between an octopus, a dragon and a parody of a human. Sitting on a throne of the same colour, the creature seemed to be looking directly at him with its many eyes.

- “Cthulhu, Priest of the Great Old Ones, he who sleeps in R’lyeh dreaming, waiting to be free once more.” You said as you walked up to the altar, fingers brushing the idol almost lovingly.

Tony approached as well, his gaze drifting to the mural behind the altar. The gravure represented aquatic creatures as massive as the whales they hunted. They looked oh-so human and yet so far from one. The gravure had the same style as the idol and seemed almost as old.

- “Those… those are the things you are worshipping, aren't they?” Tony asked, feeling sick. How could such abominations exist? How could they be real?

- “Indeed. This mural represents the Deep Ones, inhabitants of the bottom of the seas and oceans and servants of Dagon.” You explained pointing at the creatures. “Sometimes they pass a deal with mortals. In exchange for gold, they get to reproduce with humans. When they reach maturity those offspring then join them underwater where they live and serve Dagon.”

Tony didn't know if he was supposed to be horrified or impressed that people were ready to fuck those things for gold. How far were people ready to go for money and riches? Even he would never stoop so low, not even to save the world.

As if you had read his mind you laughed and shook your head before signalling him to follow you. Again, Tony did. Why? He didn't know, but something, like a little voice in his head, was telling him to just do it. You showed him around, presenting more idols and gravures, even books and scriptures.

Tony’s curiosity and scientific mind won over his disgust and mistrust as he listened to you speak about your cult and its history. You had the books and scrolls to show as proof and Tony felt overwhelmed when you mentioned that your Great Old Ones were extraterrests. Memories of New York flooded his mind and Tony felt dread fill his head. He barely calmed when you rested your hand on his shoulder. Tony grabbed your wrist, holding so tight he knew he was going to leave marks on your skin.

- “Everything is fine Tony. They aren't the same kind and you have nothing to fear from my Gods. They cannot hurt you and I promised you to keep you safe, didn't I?”

But Tony couldn't answer. His lungs refused to work, preventing him from breathing and his heart was racing so fast in his chest that Tony thought he could feel every single piece of shrapnel around it. Gasping for air, Tony fell to his knees, tears threatening to escape his eyes. When you wrapped your arms around his trembling body, Tony grabbed you for dear life. A gasp and whine escaped him when he finally could breathe again.

- “That's it Tony, deep breathe. Do not stop breathing my dearest, you got it. I am right here, you are not alone and you are safe.” You whispered in his ear, gently rocking him and trying to help calm his panicked state.

Your hands on his body burned his skin through his clothes, but Tony didn't care. It had been so long since someone had held him like that and it felt just right. Your body fitted his just perfectly like the missing piece of a puzzle. Closing his eyes, Tony focused on you and your voice.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally calmed down. He felt so tired, his body empty of any form of strength or energy. He could fall asleep in your arms if he was given the chance, which was strange because he didn't fully trust you with his life. Even tho you were the only one who never hurt him.

- “If you feel the need to rest, do so Tony. I will carry you back home and lay you to bed.” Your breath tickled his ear and Tony shook his head, not wanting to embrace Morpheus. “Hush now, I won't abandon you my dearest. I will be only a whisper away from you and who knows? Maybe you shall have good dreams tonight.”

Tony rolled his eyes when you called him your dearest. What a flirt you could be some time.

After that, you took him home with the same trick you used earlier, but this time you held him against your chest. Your hand rested on Tony’s hip and he swore it was burning his skin through the pants of his pyjama. The walk back to his place was quiet, but the good kind. Tony didn't feel uncomfortable or anxious, but fine and relaxed.

As he went to bed, he watched you put some books on his desk for him to read later. It was strange how in your place you seemed as if you belonged in his room. Tony quickly chased the thought away as you turned toward him.

- “If there is anything I can do for you, just ask me, Tony. I will happily help you in any way I can.”

Tony looked down, away, almost ashamed of what he wanted to ask. The video of his parents’ murder and his fight against Roger kept replaying in his mind. He couldn't forgive Steve for lying and keeping such information a secret or for choosing a murderer over him. Especially after everything they went through and what Tony did for him.

- “I want Roger… I… I want you to find him and Barnes and bring them back to me.” Tony said, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

Silence fell between the two of you as you took in his request. For a moment, Tony feared you would refuse to help, but then he heard your footsteps then felt your hand on his shoulder.

- “If this is what you truly want, then I will. Rest my friend, I will contact you once I get my hand on them.”

Tony opened his eyes the second you moved your hand away, but you were already gone. He was alone in his room.

The night passed, then days which soon turned into weeks. Tony had no news from you and he didn't dare call or even whisper your name. He regretted asking for Roger and Barnes, not knowing what you were going to do to the two men. You weren't the kind type after all. Well, except with him.

Tony also took the time to read the books you gave him. They were theologic and historical about your cult and its beliefs. Tony was surprised at just how old it was, not expecting it to be as old as the Mesopotamian era. But here it was.

He also had to deal with Ross. Tony didn't want to expose you, to tell the world about your existence and that you stood by his side. It was selfish of him and for once Tony didn't care or feel bad. He didn't even care that Pepper wasn't around anymore, too focused he was on thinking about you.

But Ross bothered him day and night, so Tony finally admitted being in contact with you. Explaining to Ross what you were and your capacities wasn't an easy task and convincing the man that you were on his side was even harder. Yer he managed it. Someone like you was a dream come true for Ross surely.

Then he had the most surprising visitor, someone he never thought he would see again; Doctor Stephen Strange. Unlike before, Strange has changed his tuxedo for weird clothes that reminded Tony of yours. The second Tony laid eyes on Strange, he had a bad feeling.

- “Stark, we need to talk.” Strange had said with such a serious voice that Tony thought he had committed a war crime… again.

- “What do you want, Strange? Money? You clearly must be desperate to come to me wearing that. I pity the poor clown you stole it from!” Tony had replied, unable to content his sarcasm.

He didn't expect anyone to come find him as he admired the sea. Ever since that night, Tony couldn't see the sea or ocean the same. How could it when now he knew what swam deep under the surface?

- “Your friend, that's why I need to talk with you before you do something stupid again. Do you even know what he is? What he plans to do?” Strange asked, voice harsh almost angry as he stepped in front of Tony.

They've just started talking, but Tony already wants to punch the man in the face. Who does Strange think he is to come to his place and talk to him like that? He did nothing wrong. It's not his fault he can't stop you.

- “Yes I know who he is, I know what he can do and what he plans to do. What do you want me to do about it? I literally can not kill him or even cut his limbs, I know I've tried in the past.” Tony snapped, walking away and turning his back to Strange, who kept following him.

- “If you know all that already, then how can you stand there and let it happen? How can you be friends with such a monster?” Strange asked, raising his voice as his anger exploded on Tony.

That was enough for Tony to snap. Before he thought about it, Tony turned on his heels and the next second his fist collided with Strange’s jaw, knocking the former surgeon to the ground. They both groaned in pain and Tony held his hand, massaging his bruised knuckles.

- “Son of a bitch! You know nothing, nothing, about the fucking shit I've been through and why I do what I do! And who the fuck care? It's not like people expect me to do anything else than fuck up and blow shit up! Right?” Tony snapped, kicking a rock with his shoe and sending it flying away. “I just make mistakes and get people killed all the time! That's why they call me the damn Marchant of Death, right? So yeah, I ain't doing shit because it will among to nothing!”

Panting, heart racing in his chest, Tony stared at Strange as the man sat, spitting blood on the floor. God, Tony thought, he really hit the man harder than he wanted. Not that he had wanted to punch him! Yet, Tony didn't regret it.

- “Now, leave me the fuck alone and go back where you come from. I owe you nothing, Strange.” Tony spat before quickly going back to his home.

What wasn't his surprise when he found a letter resting on a tuxedo in his bedroom. It was written by you, an invitation to join you for a surprise. After so long, Tony knew what it was; you had gotten your hand on Steve and Barnes as you had promised. For a second, Tony stared at the letter and the clothes, wondering if he should join you. Why not? He had nothing left to lose and Steve wasn't his friend anymore, the veteran had made it clear.

After changing his clothes, Tony put on his armour and went to the dress you gave him.

The address him at a church facing the ocean. Made out of stone, it seemed to be centuries old and yet still stood proudly. As he landed and approached the doors, the bells began to ring above him as if announcing his arrival. With a deep breath, Tony opened the double doors.

The first thing he saw was you, maskless and standing proudly behind the altar. You opened your arms in an invitation for him to approach, which he did. Every banc inside the church was filled with your followers. All of them had taken off their masks and hoods, some looked at you while others had their head bowed and prayed in a language Tony didn't understand.

Then he saw them.

Steve, Barnes, Natasha and Clint were kneeling, tied with what looked like slimy tentacles and looked beaten up and starving. Roger had lost the spark in his eyes while Barnes had his eyes turned so far away, that Tony wondered if he was still sane.

- “Our most important guest had finally arrived! Welcome, Tony. As promised, I have found your former friends and your parents’ murderer for you.” You said, voice echoing in the church.

His former teammates raised their heads, staring at him in confusion and surprise. Especially Steve who looked both hurt and betrayed. Bastard. After everything, he dares act as if it was Tony who had stabbed him in the back?

Swallowing his anger, he ignored the rest of his former team and turned his attention to you. You circled around the altar and walked up to him, arms still open as if you were going to hug him. Which, thankfully, you didn't. No. You just rested your hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently.

- “I am happy you joined us, Tony. It wouldn't have been the same without you my friend.”

- “I asked for Barnes and Roger, not Clint and Natasha. What do you want to do with them?” Tony asked without looking at them.

- “Tony, you know him?” Steve’s voice was weak and harsh as if you had him swallow a galleon of sand. “Why…”

- “I haven't decided yet, but after all the pain they caused you? I will find the perfect punishment.” You said as you both ignored Steve.

Your words filled Tony with warmth as he sighed softly. It was still so strange to him that you cared so much about him after everything. You were doing more for him than anyone else ever did, being ready to hurt his former friends just because they hurt him. They were the true heroes, he was just a mistake and yet you choose to stand by his side.

Tony looked at Steve, feeling only anger and betrayal. Gone were his softness toward Captain America, replaced by hate and disgust.

- “My father was your friend, he believed in you and knew you were alive. He tried so hard to find you and how do you thank him? By siding with his murderer. You are disgusting.” Tony spat, voice filled with more venom than he wanted.

- “Tony, you don't understand…” Steve tried to talk, but Tony shook his head, stopping him.

- “I don't care. I don't give a fuck if he was brainwashed, used against his will. He still did it. Why does he is forgiven when none of you ever forgave me even when the same happened to me?”

There were no answers. Of course. What did he expect? They never cared, only saw him as a mistake and a liability, wasn't worth their forgiveness.

He was about to jump on Steve when you squeezed his shoulders again, catching his attention. Your benevolent eyes were filled with compassion as you stared at him and Tony felt like he was about to cry. Why did he find a friend in a fanatic murderer?

He looked away as you touched his cheek before you turned your attention on his former teammates.

- “Shame on all of you for the hell you put your friend through. You who used him like a puppet, like something not alive, see what you did to a man who only tried to do good. Did he make mistakes? Yes. Yet where you can find the strength to forgive a brainwashed assassin, you cannot do the same for a friend.”

- “Tony, what are you doing? Why…” Natasha tried to speak, but the tentacle wrapped around her moved to her mouth, gagging her.

- “Tony, you gotta stop this madness!” Clint snapped as he tried to untie himself only for the tentacle to constrict tighter and tighter around him.

Tony could only remember Clint’s last words, how he was a backstabber. He didn't feel anything toward Clint. Nothing. In fact, as he looked at all of them, he realized he had stopped caring. They meant nothing to him anymore. He was just tired.

- “Why? After all, that all I can do right? Stabbing people in the back once they trust me.” Tony said coldly tilting his head as you cupped it in your hands.

They all looked at him, their face twisted with shock and surprise. All, except Barnes. The man was crying silently, eyes staring absently at the ground.

- “I am… sorry.” Barnes said, voice croaking as he had difficulties talking. “I am so sorry. I never meant to do any of this, but please, take your anger on me, not them. They have nothing to do with us, not even Steve. He is just trying to protect me like I use to do with him.”

Tony didn't know what to say and just looked while Steve argued with Barnes, refusing to abandon him. It filled Tony with pure rage. Why wasn't he worth such love and loyalty too? Why was he always abandoned?

- “Really, what do you have planned for them? Are you going to sacrifice them to your Gods?” Tony asked, ignoring Barnes.

- “My, yes! They would make a great sacrife I think.” You said, letting go of his face.

Tony sighed and shook his head, for once not agreeing. He could accept any other kind of punishment, but death? No. For Barnes, death would be mercy.

- “No. Don't kill them, it wouldn't be a punishment. They are veterans and assassins, they are expecting it.” Tony whispered his eyes on them.

- “What would you have me do then?” You asked softly, taking his hand in yours and kissing his fingers. “Whatever you want, I will do my dearest.”

- “Make them read that cursed book of yours. You have it, don't you? The Necronomicon.”

You fell silent, gently squeezing his hand in yours as his fingers were still against your lips. He felt you sighing before you nodded your head.

- “As you wish, but you must know, Tony, that their mind won't survive it. They will go mad and won't ever go back to normal. That book isn't a toy and even I read it with causion.”

- “I know. That is what I want, that is what they deserve. Except Barnes. Let him watch, let him live with his guilt since his mind had already been destroyed.”

Tony turned his head to look at you. He felt tired, and empty and even revenge wasn't making him feel better, but looking at you did. There was so much understanding in your eyes as if you knew his pain. You had accepted him even with all his flaws and errors, calling him your friend and dearest when he had hurt you horribly. You had forgiven him without him giving any kind of excuses.

You were all he had ever wanted, except for the cult and sacrifice thing, but Tony could look the other way. After all, he too had blood on his hands and he knew that with you, whatever the future held, he was going to be fine. You would keep him safe and sound no matter what.

He didn't care about his former friends pleading. No. The only thing that mattered was the taste of your lips on his as he abandoned everything, choosing you as his future.

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Fifth Course: Watching his delish life in pictures comes with a sense of dread. Isn't it vexing that he's living the life while you're out there vomiting in pungent public restrooms? 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Good 4 U

wc: 543

genre & warnings: angst like yn is really mad lmao, nonidol!san, yn is drunk af, mentions of alcohol and drinking, cursing, lovers to exes, betrayal, mentions of vomit etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"Y/N, you really should stop drinking excessively y-"

"Shut the fuck up!" you slurred, slumping on the wall of your bathroom and glaring at your ex whom your friends did the honor of calling to get you home safely.

San sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he's had enough of your childish antics. You two have already broken up a few months ago so really, you are not supposed to be his responsibility.

Still, he's not that merciless. He can't just allow you to go home by yourself where potential danger could get you killed. Unless your liver suddenly decides to give up on you.

His kindness does nothing but to further aggregate you, though.

No, not kindness. Consideration.

Yes, that's the right word.

It infuriates you to no end that even in the middle of the night, he comes running to the bar and picks you up to get you to your apartment in one piece.

But what you hated more is seeing him in a state of good life.

After all the shit he's put you through. You're here still suffering the repercussions of his actions while he's out there being happy and lovey-dovey with your former best friend.

Truly a vomit-inducing situation even without the help of alcohol.

Imagine, back then, if you would have known that they'd get together after he dumped you for no reason then you wouldn't have trusted them.

Fucking hell.

It did you no good to remember that shitty place that you promised not to visit ever again. But life ain't that easy, because if it is, then you'd be rich and happily married to the love of your life.

You were snapped out of your maddening stupor when his phone rang, not paying attention as he excused himself and chose to fixate your gaze on the crack of your bathroom floor.

Then again, sometimes, you hear bullshit when you don't need it the most.

He's talking to her. In your house. In a very loving voice. The same tone that he used to utilize whenever he speaks with you, now reserved for someone else.

"Yes baby, I'll be home in a while, okay? Okay. I'll see you later. I love you so much."

Disgusting, vile creatures that are incapable of feeling guilt. Oh, how you wish you could just strike them with thunder so they can finally go to hell, where they can burn together.

"Y/N I will h-"

"Get out here." you mumble lowly, standing up from your position and he frowns.

"What's your problem?" he asks, confused as to why you're acting sober and gloomy.

You laugh weakly, coming closer to him only to push him out of the bathroom, "My problem is none of your business. So, get the hell out of my apartment and do not ever, fucking ever show your face to me again."

You did not give him the chance to reply as you shut the door on his face, your whole body flopping on the cold tiles.

Soon enough, you heard the main door of your apartment close and you can't help but chuckle despite the tears streaming down your face.

It really is not difficult for him to leave you after all.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @xdannix @nsixns @heartssol @vixensss @shakalakaboomboo

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[cc--2224]

So It Goes

Pairing: Kit Fisto x F!Reader

Summary: After you express your unrequited feelings for a friend, Kit Fisto notices your distress and helps you to forget about them.

Warnings: This is very much 18+! Minors do not interact! Reader is a bit self-deprecating, hurt/comfort, smut - fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), maybe slight rough sex? Jealous/Possessive Kit if you squint

Notes: I think I've decided that I need more Kit fics, and if i have to be the one to write them, so be it. I was also going through it when I started this, so idk if it makes sense but, enjoy lmao

Word Count: ~4.7k

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

It wasn't a good night.

For whatever reason, you just couldn't stop yourself from crying.

Okay, not for whatever reason, but the reason was completely childish.

After all, it was their choice. If they didn't feel for you the same way you did for them, that wasn't something you could fault them for. You just wished you hadn't said anything to them at all.

But your aversion to rejection wasn't exactly a fan of the outcome. Especially when not long after your confession, you had seen them out with someone else, someone beautiful. They walked together hand-in-hand, clearly on a date.

They smiled together as their date held their arm close to them. They both pointed out different restaurants, deciding where they wanted to go.

Once you had seen the person you had just poured your heart out to kiss their date, you decided then that it was a good time to go back to your apartment. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, and you did not want to draw that attention to yourself.

As you ran through the crowds of people, you were focused only on not allowing the tears to fall. You didn't even notice Kit waving at you.

Kit Fisto had been a close friend of yours ever since you had met by chance when he was tracking down a gang in the understreets of Coruscant. Somehow, his sources led him to your apartment, but thankfully, it didn't take much convincing for him to believe you weren't the one he was after.

There was a time after getting to know the Nautolan that you felt yourself falling for him. He was charming, maybe a bit of a flirt, and he was good at flattery, but he was genuine and kind. He never said anything he didn't believe to be true.

But it was almost as if you had met at the wrong time or under the wrong circumstances, and most of all, the Jedi Order worried you. Any feelings you had begun to harbour for your friend had soon become repressed, fearing the consequences if they became known. You couldn't have your dear friend dismissed from the Order after all.

Instead, your focus shifted to the person you had just learned never had any interest in you.

He watched as you ran past him and narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. Without a second thought, he began to follow after you.

As soon as you made it through the threshold into the security of your home, you broke.

Tears that had been building up in your eyes had begun to stream down your face. You sat on the floor with your back to the door, cradling your head in your hands.

Why? Why weren't you good enough? What could you have done differently?

A sob racked your chest at your own thoughts. You knew you were being irrational, but you just couldn't get the thought of them together out of your mind.

Unbeknownst to you, Kit had made it up to your apartment. He waited in the corridor, hesitating. He didn't know if he should knock or if it was even his place to be here at all. He could feel the hurt you felt, and he desperately wanted to help you, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by overstepping a boundary.

He was about to turn and leave when he heard your sobs from behind your door, and he knew he couldn't let you suffer through whatever was upsetting you alone.

The knock on your door startled you. You tried to stay silent, so whoever was on the other side would just go away.

But then you heard a familiar voice call out your name.

"I know you're in there. Please open the door." You heard him say after another knock.

You scrambled to your feet and hastily wiped your tears away on your sleeve before putting on a smile and opening the door.

"Kit! What brings you here?" You knew it was futile. Your voice was too chipper. Even without the Force, he'd be able to tell you were lying.

His eyes met yours, unconvinced. He didn't have a chance to say anything before he noticed your lip twitch just slightly.

"My darling, what has happened?" Was all he needed to ask to get you to fall apart again.

He stepped through the door and brought you into his arms, leading you toward your living room after closing the door behind him.

"Sit, please, tell me what happened." He sat on the couch and pulled you down next to him. His hand cupped your cheek as he wiped a tear from your face.

You took a deep breath, feeling suddenly comforted in his presence.

"Do you remember the person I told you about... from the bar?"

Kit nodded, "Yes, you had told me they gave you their information, and the two of you became close."

You looked down at your lap, tearing your face away from Kit's hand. "We had gotten close, or at least I thought we had, but... a few days ago, I told them that I had feelings for them."

Kit's jaw clenched slightly, too subtly for you to notice.

"They told me they weren't interested in seeing anyone like that, which was fine, but then I just..." tears filled your eyes once more, and you hastily tried to wipe them away. "I just saw them on a date with someone. Holding hands, kissing, laughing... and this person they were with was beautiful. And I–"

Another sob cut off your sentence. You covered your face with your hands, and soon you felt Kit's hand on your back.

"It wasn't that they weren't interested in anyone. It's that they weren't interested in me. Why couldn't I have been good enough?"

His hand stopped its circular patterns. "My darling, you mustn't think that way."

"But it's true! You should have seen them, I've never seen someone like them before. Why would someone even consider seeing me when someone like that exists? Maybe if I was prettier–"

"Look at me." Kit's voice was firm, and you were compelled to do as he said. "You know that I would never lie to you."

You nodded hesitantly, unsure of where he was going with this.

"You of all people do not need to compare yourself to someone else. Other people have certain qualities that some find appealing, but so do you, both inside and out. I may have honeyed words, but I would never be less than genuine, especially with you."

"What are you saying, Kit?"

"I'm saying that you are beautiful. I have always believed so. And this is only one of your many qualities that draws me to you: your mind, your humour, your kindness, everything about you. If they don't see you the same way that I do, then it is truly their loss."

His hand found its way to your face once again, and you felt him drawing you toward him.

"I hope you don't think I'm taking advantage of the situation, but I have always cared for you, and if you'll allow it, I would love the chance to make you forget all about them."

Your eyes widen at his words, and despite your confusion, you allow yourself to be pulled in.

"But, what about the Order? I don't want to get you in trouble."

He smiled at you as he gave you a sincere look. "I have loved you for much longer than this, and I remain a Jedi."

"You... love me?"

"For quite some time now. Will you allow me to show you?"

You didn't answer directly. Instead, you decided to throw caution to the wind and close the distance between you. His free hand landed on your waist as your arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

His lips were soft against yours, and you could feel him smile into the kiss.

Always smiling.

The hand that rested on your cheek traveled down, caressing your jaw before brushing down the column of your neck, stopping at your collarbone.

You arched your back, and your chest rose toward him in an attempt to encourage him to continue.

He smirked against your lips, and his hand traveled further down toward your chest. He squeezed your breast gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, and even from under the layers of clothing you wore, he felt it begin to pebble.

His hand traveled further down to rest on the other side of your waist, and in one swift movement, he pulled you on top of him without breaking the kiss, and you sat straddling his lap.

You broke the kiss first, leaning back to get a good look at him. Your hands absentmindedly brushed along his tendrils as you searched his eyes.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, ensuring there was no uncertainty.

"Why tell me now? Why not before?"

He frowned for a moment in thought before answering. "I suppose there are a few reasons. First and foremost, I didn't know if you would return my affections. Even if I cared for you, I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship. But there's also the reason that, if I had said something earlier and then something happened to me, I could not bear to leave you here alone. But, I just couldn't sit back any longer without telling you how I felt."

"And it has nothing to do with me being an emotional wreck right now?" You asked, half-joking.

"I would say ultimately it does, again not because I intended to take advantage of your emotions, but because I'm honoured that you trust me with them, and because I never want to see you in this much pain. I can feel what you feel, and I want to take it all away from you."

"I just wish I had known sooner. I had always had feelings for you, but it felt like it was a situation where we met at the wrong time.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways. I believe we met when we were supposed to, even if I lost the lead I was chasing in the meantime.”

“The Force shouldn't have brought you to my apartment then.” You said with a laugh. “But I'm glad it did. Although I am surprised by your feelings, I didn't think someone like you would ever think of me in such a way.”

He rested his hand on your cheek. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Maybe then you’d know of all the thoughts I have of you.”

He pulled you so that your chest was flush against his, and his lips found yours once again. You felt his tongue brush your bottom lip, and you parted your mouth slightly, letting him in, and his tongue immediately found yours.

As he continued to deepen the kiss, his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt. You shivered at the feeling of his flesh against yours, but when he paused to see if it was okay, you have him an encouraging nod.

He slowly started removing your shirt, only breaking away from the kiss when he had to get it over your head. After tossing the shirt off to the side, he looked at you with adoration in his eyes, taking in the sights that he never thought he'd see.

It doesn't take long for him to attach his mouth to your torso. He littered your skin with kisses and gentle bites anywhere he could and whispered praises to you between each one.

His hands looped around your back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor, and his focus went to your breasts. He wrapped his hand around one, prodding at the soft flesh, while his lips found the other.

Heat coursed through you, dampness began to spread in your panties, and you could feel your core throb with anticipation and need. You whined quietly as you arched your back again. Your hips shifted forward on his lap, and you could feel his hard length under his robes.

While he alternated between your breasts, you rolled your hips against him, desperate to feel friction against your core. He looked up at you, and his hands found their way to your hips, holding you in place for a moment.

"Before we continue, I need to know if this is something you want or if you're only doing this for me."

"Kit..." You tried bucking your hips again, but his hold remained firm. "Please, I want– I want this."

He searched your eyes, looking for any kind of hesitation, and found none. His gaze became more mischievous.

"What do you want?"

"You." You answered too quickly. You were slightly embarrassed by your eagerness, but you were also too aroused to care.

"And what do you want from me?" His grip loosened on your hips, but his hands stayed there.

You rolled your hips against his. "I... I want you to bring me to my bedroom, and I want you to fuck me."

"That I can do." He picked you up by your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him, stabilizing yourself as he began walking you to your bedroom.

You kissed him as he walked, starting at his lips, then his cheekbones, his brow, moving toward his gills.

When your lips made contact with his gills, he slammed your back into the nearest wall, his mouth crashing into yours.

"You don't know how good that feels." He said between kisses.

He kept you there for another moment before he continued walking toward the bedroom.

When he arrived, he threw you onto your bed. You giggled as you landed on your back, but when you noticed the expression on his face, you felt yourself clench around nothing. The damp spot in your panties continued to grow, and you had to stop yourself from clenching your legs together.

He pulled you by the legs toward the edge of your bed. You inhaled sharply from the sudden movement but gave him a nod when he hooked his fingertips around the band of your trousers.

He pulled them and your panties off of you together at once, and his focus turned to your glistening cunt.

Kit knelt beside the bed, keeping your legs draped over the side as he slotted himself between them. He kissed your thighs, and you moaned when you felt his sharp teeth graze the sensitive flesh, biting into you only firmly enough to leave a mark.

But he didn't make you wait too long. He also couldn't wait. He needed to taste you.

He buried his face between your thighs, and you could barely begin to describe the feeling of his tongue against your folds.

He lapped at you, making obscene noises as his tongue met your arousal. He moaned into you at the taste, and he reached up to hold your hips firmly so he could bury himself further.

"Gods, you taste so good, so sweet, you're perfect." He said, finally taking a moment to collect himself before diving back in, shifting his focus to your clit this time.

His rough tongue circled around the sensitive nub, and you couldn't stifle the moans it pulled from you. The sounds you made seemed to spur him on, as he soon wrapped his lips around it and sucked gently.

"F–fuck, Kit, you're... you're so good at this," you whined.

Kit looked up at you from between your thighs and grinned, your arousal shining on his face, and soon went back to lapping at your slick folds.

One of his hands slid down your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, rubbing his thumb over the mark he had left with his teeth, and before long you felt his digits between your folds, gathering up your juices before he slid one of them inside you.

You moaned at the subtle stretch, feeling the way he curled it against your walls, and you had only just adjusted to that one before he slid a second in.

He pumped them in and out of you as his tongue circled your clit, moving them in a scissoring pattern, pressing them against your walls.

Your core began to tighten. You felt the pull in your lower belly as you teetered closer to finishing.

"K-Kit, keep going– f-fuck, I'm close," you told him as he continued lapping at you. "Feels so good."

Your moans were growing louder, and he could feel your walls start to tighten around his fingers.

"I want you to come on my tongue." He told you as he pulled his fingers out of you. The empty feeling was short-lived as he pushed his tongue into your hole. His fingers now circling your clit as he ate you from the inside.

"K–Kit–" You panted, barely able to get words out, "I'm–"

Your body jerked and twitched, and you felt the coil snap as you finally tumbled over the edge.

As the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, you half expected Kit to climb up onto the bed next to you, but instead he grabbed your hips, holding you up so he could continue burying his face into you.

You felt his tongue slide up and down between your folds again, drinking you in, before he clamped his lips around your clit.

The overstimulation you felt as you continued to come down from your orgasm made you shiver and jolt with every nibble or flick of the tongue he gave you. You bucked involuntarily into him, and he held your hips steady.

Before you could even register it, he was pulling another orgasm from you, white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he kept using his tongue to ease you through the aftershocks.

He crawled up on the bed, hovering over you and caging you in beneath him as he leaned down to kiss you, his tendrils acting as curtains framing your head. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, and your hands rested against his chest for a moment before you reached down and started fumbling with his belts.

You finally managed to unclasp his belts with shaking hands, and you hastily moved to push his robes off of him. He helped you by removing his tunic, and once it was gone, you couldn't help but stare at his chiseled torso.

"You're beautiful." You told him earnestly, looking into his eyes as a hand reached up, fingertips ghosting down his chest.

He smiled back, "Why is it so easy for you to see my beauty but not your own?"

Instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down so you could kiss him.

He moaned into the kiss, bucking his hips into your bare pelvis. His pants were doing very little to hide his excitement, especially without the robes to help.

You could feel yourself start to ache again, wanting to be filled up by him, wanting him to fuck you, to use you, to take you however he wanted. You whined as your hips met his, and you bit down on his lower lip.

"You seem uncomfortable, restless. Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked, sounding a little too innocent.

"I already told you." You stated.

"Well, you said you wanted me to fuck you, and I did, with my mouth. Is my darling needing something else?"

You bucked against his hips again, hoping it would answer his question.

"I need your words."

"Please, Kit... I want you to..." You couldn't think of the words for the dirty thoughts you had of him at this moment.

"One benefit of my sensing pheromones is that I know how completely aroused you are, I know the effect I have on you."

"Then you know what I want from you."

"You want me to make love to you." He said, rolling his hips against you.

"Not this time."

He stopped and stared at you, an eyebrow raised. "This time? There will be more?"

"If you want there to be."

His smile returned as he leaned down to kiss your lips, then your cheek, moving closer to your ear to whisper to you. "So if I'm not making love to you this time," His voice sent shivers down your spine. "What am I doing to you?"

"I want your cock, the rest I'll leave up to you."

He kissed your ear gently before shifting himself to take his pants off. Slowly. Tantalizingly.

You took this time to shift yourself to a more comfortable place on the bed, but you looked back to him just as his cock sprang free.

Your mouth watered as he presented himself to you. You pushed your thighs together, now desperate for friction.

"I could fuck your mouth, but, I don't know how well that's going to help with forgetting that hydrosnake."

Your mouth instinctively opened at the idea, and he smirked.

"Is that something you want?"

You swallowed, pushing yourself off the pillows to get closer to him

He gently pushed you back down into the pillows with a quiet laugh. "Next time. After tasting you, all I want to do is bury myself in you. If you'll allow me."

Kit glanced down to your closed legs, and you separated them for him. He put his hands on your knees, pushing them up toward your chest, opening you up further for him.

He coated his length in your arousal, and made you twitch every time he made contact with your clit, before lining himself up at your entrance and pushing himself in.

You threw your head back, feeling the pleasure begin to overtake the slight pain. He was bigger than you thought, and the way he stretched you open began to feel incredible. Your mouth hung open as he gave you more of him, inch by inch. He moved slowly at first, waiting to see how much of him you could take. But when you said nothing, he found himself pushing further until the angle allowed him to sheath himself fully inside you.

His thrusts started off slow. You met his pace, bucking your hips to meet his each time. Your hands slid down his chest and around to his back, gripping his rough skin.

"You feel so good," He whispered, slowing his thrusts. "I could stay here all night."

He halted his movements, still seated deep inside you. He stared down at you, smiling as you met his gaze. He leaned down and kissed your lips gently, trailing his lips down to your jaw, and then your neck.

"Please," you whimpered quietly.

"What was that?" He asked, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Please move," you asked. Your voice came out as a whine, and you were embarrassed by your desperation but beyond the point of caring. Him being buried inside of you only spurred your neediness.

"So impatient," He sighed. You gasped when you felt his teeth on your soft skin as he began leaving a mark on your neck, but whatever pain it caused was instantly soothed with a kiss when he was done.

One of your hands began moving down to your core, figuring that if he didn't move, you could at least relieve some of the pressure yourself, but he caught your hand before you could reach. He grabbed you by the wrist and pinned your hand above you before doing the same with the other hand, holding them both with one hand.

"Don' you worry, my darling. I will take care of you."

Before you could respond, he snapped his hips forward, and the unexpected movement made you moan loudly, not being able to stifle it.

He gradually quickened his pace, drawing whimpers from you each time his hips met yours.

"Kit, please, fa– aah, faster, please," you whined, wrapping your legs around him.

"As you wish," His hand tightened around your wrists as he braced himself. He pounded into you with quickened thrusts, no longer seemingly worried about being delicate.

Your head turned into your shoulder, trying to use it to silence yourself, but he stopped you.

"Look at me. You don't need to stifle any sounds. I want to know you're enjoying this."

You did as you were told, and as he continued to slam his cock in you over and over again at a brutal pace, you allowed your moans to fill the room.

"Fuck, feels so– ," Your words were becoming incoherent as you neared another release. The hot coil in your belly began to tighten. "Keep– keep going, I'm s–"

He moaned as he felt your walls begin tighten around his cock, he knew you were getting close by how you felt around him, but he didn't slow down, he continued fucking you fast and hard.

Kit watched you writhe underneath him, felt you bucking your hips to meet his at each thrust, and he felt honoured that you could desire him like this. He wanted to keep showing you what it meant to him. To show you how he had always felt for you. He wanted you seeing stars, he wanted you begging for him to fuck you again in a way no one else ever could, but most of all he just wanted you.

He looked down at you, taking note of your blissed out expression, the beads of sweat rolling off your soft skin. The way your tits bounced every time he drove himself into you. The soft sounds you couldn't stop yourself from making.

You were absolutely breathtaking to him. He truly couldn't fathom how someone could have caused you such pain.

You would never have to worry about that with him. He would never hurt you. He would remind you of how perfect you were every single day if he had to. He would take you out on proper dates and kiss you as if his life depended on it. You would never question whether or not you were wanted and loved. He would be there at your beck and call, he'd be yours, he was yours already, and you'd be his.

The thought of you being his and his alone sparked something in him, and he could feel his own release incoming.

Your walls continued to constrict him as you cried out his name. Suddenly the coil snapped once again, and you moaned loudly, hips spasming and your pussy clenching around his cock, feeling waves of pleasure flood through you once again.

You panted as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, and it didn't take long for him to teeter on the edge of his own. He moaned as he pulled himself out of you in time for his release to shoot out of him, coating your stomach.

"Fuck," He said, catching his breath and letting go of your wrists. "You're incredible."

"You too." Your heavy breaths finally began easing up as you wiped sweat from your brow.

Once he noticed the mess he made on you, he quickly got off of you, headed to the refresher for a towel to clean you up.

When everything was wiped away, he crawled back onto the bed next to you, holding you, your back pressed tightly against his chest.

"Look, I know this was for you to forget about some idiotic person, but.. " He trailed off, his voice sounding almost uncharacteristically timid.

You turned around in his arms, reaching up to stroke his face. "Kit..."

You brought him into a gentle kiss and then began caressing his tendrils.

"I was upset at the start of the evening, yes, but truthfully, I forgot about them the moment you told me you loved me. I meant what I said about there being a next time, or next times, if that's something you want. Because I love you too."

His eyes widened at your confession. "You do?"

You nodded. He held you even tighter to him, burying his face in your neck.

"My darling, I will have all of the next times you want to share with me." He looked at you with a mischievous look in his eye and a smile on his face, "How about now?"

"Let me catch my breath first, and then we can go from there. I think I need a shower first, though."

"No reason those should be mutually exclusive. Besides, I do much better in water." He told you with a wink.

Kit kissed your lips again before getting out of your bed, whisking you up in his arms to bring you toward the refresher.

You were in for a long night.

[thornsinwinter]

Tamlin Week Deleted Scene - The Meeting

Lucien stood at the far edge of the circular chamber, feeling every bit the outsider he was. The High Lords and their closest advisers had gathered in Thesan's palace, neutral ground for what promised to be a contentious meeting. Five years since anyone had seen Tamlin. Ten since Lucien himself had left Spring Court.

The chamber itself reflected Dawn Court's ethereal beauty—curved walls of pale stone that seemed to capture and hold the light, ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow. High Lords rarely gathered like this. The last time had been after Hybern's defeat, when the future had seemed hopeful. Now tension thickened the air, making it hard to breathe.

"The borders continue to deteriorate," Tarquin said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. The High Lord of Summer Court placed a scorched leaf on the table between them. "Three of my sentries died last month. Whatever grows there now isn't natural."

Lucien's mechanical eye whirred as it focused on the leaf. Even from this distance, he could sense the wrongness in it—Tamlin's magic, but twisted, feral. His stomach clenched. He'd heard rumors, of course, but seeing physical evidence made the situation undeniable.

"Autumn reports similar incursions," Beron stated, not bothering to look at Lucien. His father never acknowledged him in these gatherings. "Trees that kill. Creatures that shouldn't exist."

Rhysand, seated beside Feyre, leaned forward. "The question before us is what to do about Spring Court."

"There are three options," Thesan said as he rose. "First, we do nothing. Let nature take its course."

"You mean let Tamlin die," Feyre said quietly.

Thesan nodded. "Without intervention, yes. My healers believe the High Lord of Spring is losing himself to his beast form. Reports suggest he hasn't been seen in fae form for years. The court's magic is unraveling. Eventually, the power will either kill him or he will wither away entirely as his magic spreads."

Lucien's fingers dug into his palms, hard enough to draw blood. He'd known things were bad, but hearing it stated so clinically made it real in a way the rumor hadn't.

"The second option," Thesan continued, "is to take matters into our own hands. End his suffering and allow a new High Lord to rise."

"Murder him," Lucien said, the words escaping before he could stop them.

All eyes turned to him. Kallias of Winter Court raised an eyebrow. "You would call it murder to end the suffering of a feral beast? One who endangers the borders of two courts?"

"He's still Tamlin," Lucien insisted, meeting the Winter Lord's cold gaze. "Still High Lord of Spring."

"Is he?" Rhysand asked, his voice neutral.

"The third option," Thesan continued as if there had been no interruption, "is intervention. We send someone to Spring Court. Someone who might reach whatever remains of Tamlin."

"A suicide mission," Eris scoffed from his position behind his father's chair. "Whoever goes won't return."

"I'll go," Lucien said. The words fell from his lips before he'd fully formed the thought, but once spoken, he knew they were right.

Beron laughed, a harsh sound. "Of course you would volunteer. Ever the loyal dog."

The barb struck deeper than Lucien wanted to admit. He'd spent centuries being loyal—first to Autumn, then to Spring, then to the Night Court. What did he have to show for it? Exile. Scars. Loneliness.

"I know Spring Court," Lucien continued, ignoring his father. "I know Tamlin. If anyone has a chance—"

"You haven't set foot in Spring for a decade," Tarquin pointed out. "What makes you think you'll succeed?"

Lucien met the Summer Lord's gaze. "Because I abandoned him once. I won't do it again."

The admission cost him something. Acknowledging his own part in Tamlin's downfall wasn't easy. He'd had reasons—good ones—for leaving. But sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, he wondered if things might have been different had he stayed.

"Noble," Rhysand murmured, "but foolish."

Beron leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "And what's to keep you from lying to us? From telling us all is well to save your friend while our courts continue to suffer?"

Lucien met his father's gaze directly for perhaps the first time in centuries. "I swear on my mother's name that I will report truthfully."

A ripple of tension passed through the room. Beron's face hardened at the mention of his wife, but he didn't respond. Lucien had struck a nerve.

"We vote, then," Thesan said. "The first option: we leave Spring to its fate."

Helion raised his hand. After a moment, Kallias joined him.

"Two votes for non-intervention," Thesan noted.

"The second option: we intervene directly and end the High Lord's suffering."

Beron's hand shot up immediately. "One vote for direct intervention."

Lucien felt bile rise in his throat. His father had always hated Tamlin for giving Lucien sanctuary after his exile. This was just another opportunity for revenge.

"And the third: we allow Lucien to attempt contact."

Tarquin raised his hand first. "If there's a chance to save Spring without bloodshed, we should take it. However, if this plan fails, for the sake of my Court I'll have to vote direct intervention."

Rhysand, after a long look at Feyre, raised his hand as well. 

"Two votes for the third option." Thesan looked around the room. "That leaves my vote to break the tie between non-intervention and attempted contact."

The Dawn Court Lord studied Lucien for a long moment. Lucien felt exposed under that gaze, as if Thesan could see every doubt, every fear, every hidden motive. "I vote for intervention," he finally said. "But with conditions. Three days. You will have three days after you arrive to show that Tamlin is of sound mine and that Spring can be wrangled. After that, we meet again."

Lucien nodded, his heart pounding against his ribs. He'd gotten what he wanted—a chance to save Tamlin. Now he just had to find him.

As the meeting disbanded, Tarquin approached. "Be careful," he warned. "The Spring Court I've glimpsed through the border isn't the one you remember."

"I know," Lucien replied. "But I have to try."

Hours later, as he prepared to depart, Lucien found himself wondering what truly drove him back to Spring. Duty? Guilt? Or something he hadn't dared name, even to himself, in all the years since he'd left?

Tomorrow, he would cross the border into Spring Court. Tomorrow, he would learn if anything of Tamlin remained to be saved.

.....

I wrote this yesterday when I should have been doing other things. I just really had fun with this scenario. Thank you again @tamlinweek for all your amazing work

[authorautumnbanks]

Wish I Could Curse You (14)

Series Master list

"You killed us!"

"Murderer!

Suguru flinches. His chest is tight. The room is too bright. Too hot. He is sweltering under the weight of their anger. It feels like he is drowning. He wants to open his mouth and defend himself, but how can he? It's true. He killed them. He doesn't need to see their faces or put a name to them to know it's true. He's done so many horrible things over the years in the pursuit of a better world for sorcerers and sorcerers alone.

His head throbs. He can't help but to think of his fellow sorcerers and how easily they are discarded on missions. How they give their all to save humanity, but no one ever stops to think if they need saving.

"You should have died!" the voices scream.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice raspy. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, not used to apologizing, at least not sincerely. But if given the chance, he will get down on his knees and plead for forgiveness. He will do it for Kagome. For Satoru.

"Sorry?" a man chortles, the sound hollow. "You're sorry? That's rich. If you mean it, then give up."

Suguru lifts his head. He recognizes those voices. It's been years since he's heard them, his parents. "I am sorry, but I can't do that." He can't muster up a smile or even a look of remorse to ease them from their suffering.

He can't give them what they want.

"I have to make it back to her. To Satoru," he says to no one in particular because he knows his parents don't care. When have they ever? He sighs, shoulders drooping from the weight of it all. He needs Kagome. Needs to bask in the warmth of her light again. Needs Satoru, too. Needs to feel his darkness surging through him, keeping him balanced.

He needs them both.

"You think she'll love you after what you've done?" His mother sneers. Her face twists into something as ugly as a is splattered on her plain pink shirt. Her eyes are a dark brown, but they may as well be like looking at a pit. Her hair is long, pulled back into a low ponytail. Suguru swallows back the bile and tries to ignore the sting of her words. There's a chance Kagome will want nothing to do with him. No, he's positive she'll scorn him and turn him away, but he can't live without her, so even if it's just a slight chance he has to hold on with both hands.

"She'll always love me," Suguru says, lowering his eyes. "Just like you still love me." He isn't so sure he believes himself, but the one thing he is certain about is Kagome will always love him. She may not like him at times and she won't be thrilled when he tells her the truth, but she'll always love him.

He will ensure it.

"Y—you!" His mother barks out a laugh. The kind of laugh that hits you in the quick with the utter dryness of it.

Suguru digs his heels in. He will not falter. He will not allow her to get to him.

"I am sorry," he repeats. "For not being upfront or open about what I was going through. For taking matters into my own hands and killing you both." He lifts his eyes and stares at them. They look the same as the day they died. He wonders if they deliberately chose to appear that way or if the afterlife takes you as you were instead of in your prime. Suguru averts his eyes and takes in the white void.

This isn't a room. There is no other way to describe it than as a void. The light comes from all angles. He frowns. This cannot be it. He can't be dead. No, he rejects this. Rejects the notion. His cursed energy swells in his gut. Whatever this is—wherever he is—he will make it back to Kagome and Satoru, no matter what it takes.

Whatever this place is. It is not the end for him.

"You think a few cheap words can erase what you have done? What you took from us?" His father his mother, blood is splattered on his shirt. His eyes are as light as Suguru's and yet as dull as a rusted blade. His hair is cut so short, it may as well have been buzzed. "After all we did—"

"Fuck off," Suguru says, cutting his father off. "After all you did? You may not have abused me like the villagers did the girls, but you resented me. Resented and were afraid that I could do what you couldn't. Don't talk to me about what was taken from you." He tries to walk away, done with this conversation. He apologized. What else do they want from him? His death? Not happening. "The only thing that matters is Satoru and Kagome," he repeats.

"She'll never forgive you, Suguru. Just give up and come home." His mother stands in front of him.

Suguru's brows pinch together. How did she get in front of him? He takes a step back, but when he does, she's right there in front of him as if he never took a step at all.

Screw this place. He is over it. Over standing here and listening to his parents go on and on about things he cannot change.

If he could, he'd go back and stop himself from killing Kagome's family. He'd make amends with Satoru earlier.

But.

He wouldn't change how he dealt with those villagers. And as far as his parents go, then he would have gone on pretending they were dead instead of taking their lives. He'll admit he could have kept the status quo between them and ignored them like they did him.

But. If he hadn't gone down this path, would he have met Kagome?

"Give up, Suguru. Just come with us. We will give you the love you wanted," his mother says, softer. Her words are sweet, but they are laced with poison.

His fingers twitch at his sides. "When have you ever known me to give up?" He can't give up. Kagome and Satoru are out there, fighting. He needs to get back to them. There's still the will to fight within him. He can't give up and leave them alone, not when he has something to live for. "And I don't need your love. Not now."

His mother glares. "You will come with us, right this instant!" She reaches for him and stops short. A wall of blue fire separates them. A man with auburn hair and green eyes appears next to his mother. He grabs her wrist and tsks, waving a finger in her face.

"You are not to interfere," his father speaks up. "It is his time, and this is Geto business... not whatever you are here for." His father straightens his shoulders but falters under the weight of the man's glare.

"Fraid' I can't do that," the man, no demon, says. His upper lip curls up, showing a hint of his fangs. "Looks like this does affect me."

A warning.

But why? Maybe he's going to hell after all. Suguru bites down on his tongue. Dying with regret is not what he sought out to do. He just wishes Satoru will be enough to keep Kagome from falling over the cliff and vice versa. At least they will have each other. At least he got to experience Kagome's love.

"You'll be punished!" his mother cries. "You'd risk that for him? You don't even know him."

The man smiles, but there's something mournful hidden behind that smile. His green eyes are dull. Tired. Something about him is familiar, but Suguru can't place his finger on it. It can't be Shippo. This demon in front of him is too old.

Shippo's father, perhaps? And if so, is this because he took the attack meant for Shippo?

Suguru places a hand over his heart. He would do it again. The admission stuns him. He would jump in front of an attack to save Shippo's life, even at the cost of his own. When did he start to see the fox demon as one of his own? It doesn't matter. He would risk his life again and again for Shippo, just like he would for the girls.

"Go back and fix this," the demon says, pulling Suguru from his thoughts.

Suguru throws an arm up as the blue flames flare. He closes his eyes for a moment, but a moment is all it takes to leave him disoriented. His body is as light as a feather. He feels as though he is levitating. When he opens his eyes, Kagome is the first person he sees. Suguru goes to open his mouth and pauses. It's far too quiet. Kagome is looking at him, but she isn't moving. He cracks a smile.

No response.

Odd.

Suguru grunts and turns his head. Is time frozen? No one is moving. Satoru is on route to them. He glances back to Kagome and Shippo and frowns at the distraught on their faces. Right. There was a blade in his throat. The battle is still going on. He wraps his hand around his throat.

Huh.

There's no hole.

He drops his hand and stares at the blood staining his palm. There was a hole, but there is none now. He flexes his fingers and sucks in a breath. There's something different about him. He feels... renewed? Suguru stands and glares at the monks. He glares at the other demon, who is running away, whatever his name is. Will time resume if he summons his curses?

It's a chance he'll have to take, so he stands in front of Kagome and Shippo, blocking them from the monks, and then first summons the demon he captured, followed by a horde of curses. They slither over to the monks, placing their grotesque hands and mouths on them. The demon goes for the other one.

He wipes his bloody hands on his robes and then picks up his weapon. He must have dropped it in the moment.

All at once, the battlefield turns into a frenzy with the monks screaming. The demon pleads for his life. It's as though someone hit the resume button, and everything flares back to life.

"Suguru?" Kagome cries. "You were just?... I don't understand."

He turns to the side, keeping a watch on the monks while his curses run amok, taking glee into tearing them apart. Satoru stops mid-run and then scratches his head, confusion etched on his face.

Yeah, he doesn't get it either, but he isn't going to waste this opportunity.

"I'm fine now," he says, lips turning up into a small smile. He can't rest until every single monk is dead and that hairy demon, whatever it is, is under his control. He holds out a hand, activating his technique, and subjugates the demon. The ball glows blue like its eyes. "Better than fine," he says, right before swallowing it.

"Priestess," Sesshomaru says.

"... I know. It's fine."

Suguru raises a brow. "What's the problem?" So, is this what it feels like for Kagome when he and Satoru communicate without words?

"The problem is you gave us a scare!" Satoru bellows, marching over to them. "Who told you to take a fucking sword to the throat?" Satoru pokes his finger into Suguru's chest. "Huh? There was a barrier."

There was?

Suguru looks away. "I just reacted." He shrugs, trying to downplay it if only to calm everyone down. "I wasn't going to stand there and let Shippo get hurt."

"The fox was never in any danger," Sesshomaru says, flicking the blood off his sword. He sniffs and then narrows his eyes. "Seems you and your mate have something in common, priestess." Sesshomaru sheathes his sword and gives Kagome a look that Suguru can't decipher. "Pulling yourselves back from the land of the dead."

Wait? Kagome died?

Suguru turns and grips Kagome's shoulders. "When was this?" His voice rises, frantic. Was it during a time when he wasn't with her? Had to be. Had to be when he was dealing with stuff back at the temple. He should have pressed—

"When I was fifteen. Relax." Kagome leans into him and sighs. "You do smell like fire."

"Smells like Pa," Shippo remarks. "And fox fire."

Satoru leans to the side and presses his face closer to Suguru. "Well, I'll be damned, ya did it." Satoru leans back and crosses his arms. "Ya feeling any different? High?"

"... No, I don't feel high?" Suguru shakes his head. "I just want to return to our room and then home." He wants to get Kagome away from these monks, but is home any safer? How does he know there aren't descendants of these monks around? What if they are just hidden away like jujutsu society is? How Kagome was?

"Ya sure about that?" Satoru presses his lips together. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine." He lifts his hand from resting on Kagome's shoulders and brushes the concern from Satoru's brows. "Honest. I'm fine. Just thinking. This can't happen again." He slides his hand down and cups Satoru's cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. Satoru seemingly melts into his touch.

His heart pounds. He wants to kiss him. Suguru eyes Satoru's lips.

Later. He'll kiss him slowly to make up for lost time.

"I don't think it was us they were after," Kagome says, pulling away. "Those monks we met couldn't have known we would visit Sesshomaru. We weren't even headed in his direction." She readjusts her bow. "Still, can you sniff out if there are any villagers?"

Sesshomaru flicks his hair back and strides forward. He steps on the arm of a dead monk and then on the head of another.

"Come on." Kagome takes his and Satoru's hands. Shippo jumps onto Suguru's shoulder and rests his arm on his head.

Maybe he's paranoid, but Suguru opts to keep a few flying curses around them. While he doesn't feel high, as Satoru so eloquently put it, he does feel different. Refreshed as if he just woke from a nap between Kagome's thighs. He bites his tongue. This is not the time to think of that.

"And how do you know where to go?" Satoru questions.

"A cave is not difficult to locate," Sesshomaru deadpans. "Nor is the scent of humans."

"Do you think we could ask Royakan why he betrayed us? I'm guessing that's why you went after him."

"He was running away..." The admission sounds weak. It's possible the demon was simply afraid and got caught up in the moment, but in the brief moment when time was frozen and Suguru had the opportunity to turn things around, he couldn't take that risk. Couldn't risk Kagome. "He came asking for help, but ran when we were surrounded. I didn't trust it."

Kagome stares up at him and then turns away. "I'll leave some shikigami behind. There may be some clues left by the monks."

Leave some shikigami behind?

Suguru glances at Satoru, who shrugs. Got it. Satoru doesn't know what the hell Kagome is talking about, either. She must use some type of talisman then to summon a shikigami.

"Do you think five will be enough?"

Sesshomaru stops and tilts his face up. "No, summon at least thirty to scout the area. Should this occur again, we will simply lead with that."

"Got it." Kagome clasps her hands together. Suguru wants to poke her. Wants to draw her attention to him. Thirty seems like a lot, though he could summon thirty curses at once if need be.

Satoru lets out a low whistle. "You keeping shikigami like Suguru keeps curses?"

"Nah," Kagome quips. "I just created these guys from scratch." She steps in front of the small army. "Can you search the area for anything that looks suspicious? The monks set an ambush for us, or, well, Sesshomaru most likely."

A ripple of affirmatives breaks out as the shikigami disperse and head back to the village.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Suguru questions. He can't wrap his mind around the shikigami Kagome just summoned. How they look like regular humans... well, most of them. Some had other features like wings and claws, but for the most part, they looked like humans and could probably pass as one, too. He can't get over how they understood her and how they could talk back.

"Depends. Are you going to explain how you met Shippo's father?"

"I died?" Frankly, he doesn't know where the hell that place was or how Shippo's father came into play.

"The fox bid you time to heal." Sesshomaru resumes walking, not waiting to see if they are following. "How curious that he would interfere knowing the consequences."

"Is Pa going to be punished for helping Papa Suguru?" Shippo asks.

"This Sesshomaru assumes so, though perhaps the sentence will be light as your father is connected to the priestess."

Suguru blows out a breath. And what the hell does that mean?

"The priestess is favored by the gods."

"Aw, you think so?"

"You would not be permitted to travel back and forth if you were not," Sesshomaru replies. "And the way you seem to escape death is perplexing."

Kagome rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, are you still smarting over that?"

"Hn."

Suguru flexes his fingers at his sides. He wants to grab Kagome and whisk her away. All this talk about gods, demons, and shikigami has his skin itching. This desire—this need— to keep her at his side has always been there, but the force of it is nearly enough to bring him to his knees.

Is it too late to turn back?

He glances at the ground and then at his hands. Should he have pleaded for time to be rewound instead of stopped? Gone back to that day and stopped himself from taking their lives? Would she have trusted him easier if they had met under different circumstances? He drops his hands and peeks at Satoru from the corner of his eye. Would Satoru have come around?

No.

Satoru was able to make a move because Kagome didn't take him seriously back then. She wouldn't have gone for Satoru if they were serious, and then he wouldn't have Satoru and her in his life.

"Suguru?"

"Yes?" He cracks a smile he doesn't quite feel, but hopes it is enough to put Kagome and Satoru at ease.

"Don't give me that fake ass smile," Satoru snarks.

Or not. Leave it to Satoru to not have any tack after all these years.

"Just thinking," Suguru says with a sigh. "Is this the cave? It doesn't look all that remarkable." He narrows his eyes. Shippo shakes from his spot on Suguru's shoulder from anticipation or fear. "I could send a curse inside to disarm any traps, but they may not last against holy energy."

Frustrating.

"In that case, I could summon another shikigami."

Satoru grumbles off to the side. Suguru makes a show of rolling his eyes skyward, because why is Satoru throwing a pissy fit over not being used?

"I've got infinity," Satoru mutters.

Kagome gives Satoru a look. "Behave."

Satoru flushes pink and then coughs. "Right. We'll just wait out here for a signal."

"Papa Satoru smells funny," Shippo whispers.

Smells?

"Don't worry about that," Suguru says. He's got a general idea of what Shippo is smelling based on Satoru's reaction to Kagome commanding him. "Tell me more about your father while we wait." He listens as Shippo tells him stories about how his father was but a simple fox demon, not power-hungry like Sesshomaru and not stupid like Royakan. Shippo goes on and on about how he enjoyed family baths with his parents, but what sticks out to Suguru is when Shippo mentions how his father, though departed from the world, could use his fox fire to save him and Kagome from harm.

So, this isn't the first time Shippo's father has interfered with living. Suguru crosses his arms. Not once has he thought about what happens when one dies, and based on Satoru's reaction, he must have not experienced the afterlife when he fought Toji and figured out how to use rct.

The shikigami, a woman with short brown hair and a simple kimono with paw prints on it, walks out of the cave. She dips her head in acknowledgment and steps to the side as children, demon children, walk out.

So that demon wasn't lying about the young in the cave. Maybe he was telling the truth.

"Where is Royakan-san?" the children question. They huddle together, looking every bit like a mismatched group. Some have horns, others have tails, while some look human if not for their red eyes. Suguru runs his tongue over the front of his teeth in contemplation. What should he do? These five have no village to return to and it's not as though he can take them to the present.

"Did Royakan help you?" Kagome squats in front of the children and wraps her arms around her legs. "He came asking us for help."

"He told us not to worry," a boy says with a sniff. "The humans took their lives. We didn't do it! Promise!"

It must be in the way they tremble or the way they try to comfort one another, that has Suguru believing them. People are known to take their lives for less.

Sesshomaru strolls forward. "Interrogate the wolf." He walks further into the cave, leaving them behind to deal with the children. Suguru frowns. Interrogate the wolf, huh? Can he do that? He summoned the other demon briefly to deal with Royakan, but he didn't exactly stop to see if it still had its wits about it. Should he really try that in front of these kids?

He turns to Satoru. "I'm going to ask the wolf over there, away from them." He points to the hill and how it slopes down. He leaves some curses behind, though he does not sense anything in the area. Once he is down the hill and slightly hidden from the others, does he summon Royakan.

The wolf demon immediately lowers himself into a bow and starts sobbing. "I am so sorry!" he wails. "I didn't know it was a trap. I should have." He sniffs and when he lifts his head, snot flows from his nostrils.

Suguru grimaces.

"Are the children okay? Please tell me they are okay!" Royakan reaches a hand out but stops himself. His eyes are so large, it's off-putting, but this answers Suguru's earlier question. The wolf has some sense to him still.

"They are fine. Alive. Why did you try to run?"

"... I don't know. I've never been surrounded by so many monks." Royakan sniffs, sucking some of the snot back into his nose. "I lost the will. It was like something sparked a chord within me and the fight fled as soon as they made their move." He lifts his hands and stares at them. "These hands failed me. Failed the children. Failed Sesshomaru-sama. You should have killed me for being such a disgrace. A coward."

Suguru pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and glances skyward. What to do with this demon? He has to be telling the truth since he's been subjugated. Suguru sighs and scratches the back of his head.

"The children have no home and the humans are dead. What will you do if I let you go?"

Royakan smiles and there is something oddly dog-like about that grin.

"Plead with Sesshomaru-sama for mercy and to help raise the young to be strong, capable fighters." Royakan stands and clenches his fists. "I have heard rumblings from the forest about how the monks are moving. I didn't realize how organized they were."

"Rumblings?"

"I protect the forests alone. I do not live in a pack as the other wolf demons do, so I gather my intel from the forest. The trees speak of what goes on in their midst."

Suguru nods, though he doesn't quite understand, since Royakan is the only wolf demon he has encountered. "I've never released a curse or a demon, so I don't know if it is possible, but I can let you be."

And if need be, he can always call upon Royakan... and if it somehow hurts Royakan for them to be centuries apart, then so be it.

"There is one ask I have, and that is for you to continue to gather intel on the monks and what they are planning. I will call upon you when the time comes." Suguru turns to the side and motions for Royakan to follow him back up the hill and to where the others are waiting. He needs to know if the monks are still a problem in his time and if so, he needs to get rid of them.

Nothing and no one is going to threaten the lives of those he loves.

"This Sesshomaru will travel with you to the village," Sesshomaru says in a tone that sounds more like a command than an ask. The wind blows, lifting Sesshomaru's hair.

How can one so deadly look so angelic? He wants to hate Sesshomaru, but the dog demon hasn't done anything worth hating on.

Suguru gets the impression that Sesshomaru is not one to ask for anything. At the very least, they were able to eat something after rescuing the children and leaving them in Royakan's care. Still, Suguru longs to have a moment alone with Kagome and Satoru. The adrenaline is still pumping in his veins. There are no more monks to satisfy this blood lust.

He eyes Satoru and quips his lips up into a smirk. Satoru can handle the brute of it.

"Now?" Kagome leans closer to Suguru. He inhales, trying to calm his racing pulse. They are finally at the point where she seeks his touch for comfort. Not even death can keep him from her and when he tells her the truth... not even she can keep him away. He can't live without her. The thought of going back to a life without her is too much.

"Yes. There is no reason to delay, as this affects him as well."

A cloud forms beneath Sesshomaru's feet and spreads until it is under their feet as well. Suguru glances over at Satoru. The cloud doesn't quite reach him. Off to the side, Jaken grumbles about stupid humans and how it is an honor to have Sesshomaru transport them.

"Satoru, you're holding us up," Kagome says.

"Huh?" Satoru glances down at his feet. "What is this exactly?"

"Transportation."

Satoru wrinkles his nose, but must relent because the clouds spreads under his feet. Suguru wraps an arm around Kagome and then his other, pulling her closer to him. This transportation is more comfortable than using one of his curses, so he will give Sesshomaru his props at least when it comes to this.

"If you hadn't used that healing technique, I would have asked Sesshomaru to bring you back."

Bring him back?

"As a demon?"

"No." Kagome laughs. "Back to life. He has a sword that can resurrect like a hundred or a thousand souls in one swing."

Suguru blinks. A demon with a sword that can bring someone back to life seems like a joke.

"But I would love you as a demon if it came to that."

"What about me?" Satoru complains.

"You act like one," Sesshomaru cuts in. "Perhaps it is due to that cursed energy."

Is he picking a fight?

"You think so?" Kagome questions. "What are the other sorcerers like?"

"They keep to themselves, though there was a time in which they ran rampant, having petty squabbles as humans tend to." Sesshomaru continues to look forward. "If one could subdue a demon like your mate, then this Sesshomaru would not be surprised if there were not offspring created between the two."

Suguru presses his lips together. Surely Sesshomaru is not implying what he thinks he is.

"That's possible," Satoru admits. "The cursed paintings came about because there was a woman who could give birth to curses and then Kamo Noritoshi..."

"Raped her," Suguru finishes. Discomfort swells in his gut. This trip to the past continues to smack him in the face with the hypocrisy of his fellow sorcerers. The only pure one seems to be Kagome, but she also doesn't seem to mind getting blood on her hands. Are all beings destined to be stuck in a cycle of violence? The conversation comes to a halt. He inhales again and enjoys the free ride.

The sun is setting, casting a glow over the trees and ground. Maybe they should return home in the morning, if only so he can show Kagome the stars. Everything seems so simple here in the past.

"Kagome!" a woman calls. Suguru struggles to remember her name.

"Sango!" Kagome jumps off the cloud and runs towards Sango. They embrace and look one another over. "Where is everyone? We need to talk."

"We can meet at my house," Sango says. "It has the most room." She loops her arm with Kagome's.

Satoru steps to his side with Shippo in his arms and Kagome's oversized backpack on his back. "I didn't pay attention back then, but she doesn't have any cursed energy. Or holy energy," he adds. "She's like Toji."

"Sango is a demon slayer," Shippo says as though that answers everything.

"We call those like her as having a heavenly restriction," Satoru says.

"What about me?" Sango looks over her shoulder. Her eyes are honest and there's no malice in them. Her sleeve moves back and Suguru eyes the armor underneath.

"You have no cursed energy," Satoru says. "Thought that was interesting."

"Oh? Well, a lot of us didn't have any." Sango turns her head and continues to lead them through the village. "I mean, some did, but the majority of us didn't, which seemed to put some of the monks and priestesses at ease when we came to assist with slaying demons."

"But you had some people in the village that had cursed energy?" Kagome asks.

Why are they talking as though the village no longer exists? And why does it sound as though Kagome isn't sure? Did she really not question the differences?

"Of course. We didn't turn people away. Just because they couldn't slay demons didn't mean they couldn't help the village. It was a group effort. Someone had to cook." She motions to the villagers carrying baskets. "Someone had to watch the children. Someone had to stay behind and protect the village while we were out taking on missions."

Satoru tilts his head and hums.

A village full of people with zero cursed energy.

"Where is this village?"

Sango stops. "There's only two of us left. We were wiped out." She blows out a breath. "Well, here's InuYasha's hut."

The hut in question is slightly larger than the others and seems to be closer to the outskirts of the village. There is another house further down. That must be Sango's home, since she mentioned her place was larger. It looks as though it started as a hut and then grew into a small home.

"I'll go in," Kagome says, more to Sesshomaru if her warning look is anything to go by. She lifts the flap and goes inside. A squeal follows.

"She simply wished to see the pup," Sesshomaru says.

Kagome comes out of the hut beaming. She holds the flap open for InuYasha and a plain-looking woman with brown hair and brown eyes. He assumes her to be Hana, InuYasha's wife. There's nothing remarkable about her.

There's nothing remarkable about InuYasha either.

Fine. He's a little annoyed that Kagome is still close to her ex.

"What's goin on? Why's this bastard here?"

"The only bastard here is you," Sesshomaru says coolly.

"Let's talk at Sango's," Kagome cuts in. "Hana, are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"My legs are a bit weak," Hana says with a small laugh. She clutches her child, wrapped in a blanket, close to her chest. "Do you mind holding Inumaru?"

Kagome reaches for the baby before the words are out of Hana's mouth.

Suguru swallows. Does he wait until she is pregnant or until she gives birth, and he knows it's his child? He glances at Satoru. It's not about not accepting Satoru's children as it is about having a way to bind him and Kagome together. He needs that anchor.

"Aww, you don't have the cute dog ears." Kagome fusses over the baby while they make their way to Sango's home. "Is Miroku at the house?"

"Yes, he offered to take care of dinner tonight so I could stretch my legs and relax."

"Oh, remind me to bring you back some lotions and other skincare. Sorry, I was so caught up thinking Shippo was in trouble."

"A kitsune trick?" Sango laughs. She slides the door open and motions for everyone to follow her. The cat, nekomata, lies off to the side next to the man, cooking over the fire. "Are the twins sleeping?"

"Yes," the man says, glancing up. "They should wake soon." He lifts a brow. "Rin and Kohaku will be back soon, Sesshomaru-sama. They went to a nearby village to deliver some herbs for Kaede-san. They left this morning and should be back later tonight in time for dinner."

"This Sesshomaru did not come to retrieve them." Sesshomaru leans against the wall, next to InuYasha, who holds his wife in his arms. "Tell me, monk, do you know what your brethren are up to?"

Kagome gives the child back to his mother and then steps next to him and Satoru.

Miroku pauses. "My brethren do not care for me and my... quirks." His lips twitch. His gold hoops move as he tilts his head to the side. There's a slyness about him, Suguru can't quite place. His robes, purple and black, look far more extravagant than the robes of the other monks.

"Miroku is a pervert," Shippo whispers to Satoru and Suguru. "He's so bad that he couldn't make it up Mount Hakurei. It was a mountain where only purity could go, so no demons or those with lust in their hearts."

"You will understand when you are older," Miroku says with a sniff. "My beautiful Sango was wearing her tight, form-fitting..." Miroku motions with his hands. "Uniform and her a—crash!

Suguru blinks. Where the hell did that giant boomerang come from?

"Don't mind him," Sango says. "He's alive."

Miroku twitches. There's a lump on his head. "Sango, my love!" he cries. "I cannot help but be captivated by your beauty." He wraps his arms around her legs and brushes his cheek against her. "My beautiful, strong wife," Miroku coos.

Sango falters and gives in to her husband's praising. This must be the norm for them because no one bats an eye.

Sesshomaru sighs. "The monks are preparing for a war. They attempted to ambush this Sesshomaru and attacked the priestess's mates. As well as kidnapping priestesses who are set to be wed and simply going after those that are not like them. One village has been wiped out. This Sesshomaru assumes there are more that have been wiped out and we have not received word."

A hush descends.

Hana clutches her child tighter and trembles. Suguru bites his tongue. The fear coming off her will contribute to a curse down the road, but he can't find fault in her fear. Her child will be targeted, though it is more human than demon.

"Oi," InuYasha speaks up. "Kagome. There ain't no demons in your time."

Shippo makes a squeak and then covers his mouth with his hands. His green eyes widen with fear. Suguru grits his teeth. Jaken squawks and drops to his knees.

"We'll find a way," he says, not stopping to dwell on his words. "We won't just let them kill off all demons."

Satoru's brows raise. The we will hangs in the air between them.

"We'll find a way," Suguru repeats. These demons are important to Kagome and... he glances at Shippo again. He isn't going to let anything happen to his son.

***

A/N: The whole time I was writing this chapter, my brain wanted to write smut. Couldn't make it work though or this chapter would have been like 12k words lol. They will be back in the modern world next chapter. We'll see more of Ayumi and more of what Kenjaku is up to. Kagome did a good job of holding it together in this chapter.

I'll post more pics as the puppies get bigger. So, we were expecting only 3-4 puppies, but my dog had six. We lost the first one and the last one. The first puppy was twice the size as the others. It's common but doesn't make it hurt any less. Husband and I are currently taking shifts because that's the kind of dog parents we are lol.

Not sure which story will be updated next, though I know the final chapter for Twisted Desires will be long. Take care of yourselves! Make sure to get plenty of rest and drink lots of water.

[dagondelrio]

So I have been thinking about the Wisdom Saga, obviously. I had some thoughts that I wanted to share. Sorry for the angst. Spoilers for the Wisdom Saga.

So we all know that Hermes is going to be the one to get Odysseus off of Calypso's Island while Athena is recovering? dead?. After having begged Athena to help him at the end of Love in Paradise.

Odysseus must have some complex feelings towards that. No doubt, he is relieved to finally get the chance to go home or die trying after seven years of being trapped there, stuck with his own guilt and grief. On the other hand, he knows that Hermes is there only for his own amusement really. Yes, he helped with Circe, but he straight up told Odysseus that this might fail and he would die and made it clear he really couldn't care less. Not to mention, Hermes is a trickster god archetype. Odysseus likely will listen to Hermes despite all that because any chance, no matter how slim, is worth listening to Hermes. Also, he knows better than to piss off another god.

Odysseus also doesn't know that Athena got extremely hurt? killed? to free him as she didn't speak to him or any indication that she had heard and was going to respond to his prayer and help free him. Hermes might mention it to Odysseus, but based on what little I know about Dangerous so far, Hermes won't, and ultimately, it makes sense as Hermes has met Odysseus This isn't Apollo coming to help with a throw away line like "Oh, I wanted to see the mortal that Athena risked her life to help" that would at least clue Odysseus in on Athena being responsible for his freedom. Odysseus wouldn't even ask about Athena as, for as far as he knows, Athena is still pissed at him and ignoring him.

If Hermes did tell Odysseus, imagine his reaction. First, it will depend on how much he knows. Does he know that she went against Zeus for him or that she was just responsible. If he knew that she went against Zeus and suffered greatly? died? imagine what that would do to his survivors guilt. He has already caused so much pain to those he cared about. His son had to grow up without a father. His wife is running a kingdom and likely filled with grief. His mother died waiting for him to get home. He got his entire crew killed either directly or indirectly. Then his mentor, the one who scorned his friendship, put herself in danger for him and suffered/died for him. If Odysseus only knows that she was the reason but not what Athena did, he'll likely be both glad and hurt. He'd be glad that she had heard his prayers and that she chose to aid him. Hurt that she was too proud to face him and didn't come to him herself. I think this one would be the easiest version for their relationship to repair.

Now, if he doesn't know, he'll probably be mad at Athena for abandoning him when he truly needed her. Her would be resigned as he knows he screwed up by not listening to her and likely thinks that there is no repairing their relationship. There is also anger at himself for allowing himself to believe that Athena would come to his aid after she made it clear in My Goodbye that she didn't really care about Odysseus and wanted nothing more to do with him.

Now, in the Odyssey, Athena disguised Odysseus as a beggar so that he could kill the suitors. Epic of course, is its own work, and this moving forward part depends if Athena is dead. (I know Calypso says goddesses can't die but remember she is talking to a mortal who has no divine abilities or divine aid vs the king of the gods fighting hisi daughter) Hermes really could fit this role as he is a trickster god. If Athena helps well, that is where it gets interesting.

Odysseus wouldn't refuse her help. As he knows not to piss of the gods and he at least kind of knows Athena's intentions. I don't see Athena mentioning the risk that she put herself in for Odysseus. She is prideful. I doubt that she would be willing to admit that she had been beaten by Zeus for Odysseus. I don't see either of them bringing it up. I imagine that Odysseus would be bitter now that she is helping when he had previously begged her for her help, and as far as he knows got nothing from it. However, he won't have any allies, and Ithaca has changed since he has left, so he won't refuse her aid. I doubt their relationship would ever truly recover.

Now imagine when Odysseus finds out that Telemachus made friends with Athena. On one hand he would be relieved. He would be glad that at least someone was looking out for his son when he couldn't (also a little bitter that he couldn't be the one protecting Telemachus). On the other hand, imagine how it must feel to have his friendship with Athena dismissed, where as far as he knows, she only saw him as her student, not a friend. That his son got to have that relationship with her. That she was so quick to replace him with someone else. Imagine Odysseus wondering where he went wrong to not get that same relationship from her that he had wanted.

[shakespeareallanpoe]

Talks With Father

Word count: Idk

Warnings: none, unless you're terrified of Bruce being a good dad 😕

Dedication: @purp1e-ph0enix & @bradshawsbaddie

_____________________

"You mention her often."

Damian turned to look at the vigilante beside him, his finely tuned senses and years of knowing his father filling in everything Batman didn't say. There was no prompt, no segway into this conversation. They were sitting in the Batmobile while the computer program inside was rebooting and nothing but comfortable silence between them only a few seconds previously. It was offered as conversation starter and Damian knew Batman wouldn't push. In his own bat-way he was telling his son he was aware- the greatest detective in Gotham City was always aware.

Damian didn't put much stock into his father's experience with relationships, and they both knew Batman wasn't offering advice. Damian could leave it there. Batman wouldn't tell anyone and his son knew he would likely never mention it again. Damian almost took it, and if it was a couple years ago he would've. But since he had joined and left the Titans, Damian had seen the effects of allowing relationships to deepen beyond the surface level his league training always taught him to maintain. Being back with the league as their leader, he saw just how inhuman they had expected him to be. Damian rarely got the genuine moments his younger self always scoffed at, and he knew his mental and emotional health wasn't benefitting from it.

It's how he found himself occasionally visiting Gotham. At it's worst it was a filthy city that reeked of crime, and never failed to have some crisis or another. Damian was a hero here. He knew he was violent and brash but that's what the city needed when the police failed. Gotham always needed him for who he was, and Damian remembered telling his father these things go both ways. He needed Gotham as well. To take a break from the league, when that world got so toxic it became hard for him to breathe. Hard to see the man in his mirror.

Only Alfred and his father knew. Of course they knew. But Batman put a great deal of effort for the sake of his son, and allowed Damian to come and go as he pleased. It was hard for the man with trust issues and severe paranoia, but a week before he passed Dick had spoken to Batman about letting Damian go. That he would fly true if he was given the chance to spread his wings. And everyone knew the bat was trying to live by his first son's final wishes.

It didn't weigh on Damian's mind for long. His relationship with his father had greatly improved, to the point that they now worked together during Damian's visits. His father already knew. And self growth could only make a person stronger for it, so why not?

"I want to know how she is. She has yet to leave my... heart."

Batman exhaled, a sign that he'd heard his son's even response. Damian never reached out to his old teammates, but he did occasionally inquire as to how they were after the spilt. Batman kept tabs on them for these moments, and while he knew little about Raven, what he did know he always shared. Despite it hardly ever being good news.

"Raven is strong. She is with Kent at the moment and doing all she can." Batman's dark voice offered.

Damian didn't hesitate. "Just because the burden is carried well does not mean it is deserved. She is innocent, suffering, and still trying to save those who are the same. Magic is the only difference between the people and their hero."

Batman knew he and his son's tendencies towards philosophical pessimism would only darken their conversation. This world was a mess and those who fought for justice rarely got justice of their own. His first son was dead. His biological son existed because someone he cared for took advantage of him without remorse. But Batman, in his heart, desperately wanted the best for the youth of his city. All the children who could have lives he never could if only he sacrificed himself in every way for his city.

Looking across the Batmobile which had 4.33 seconds left in it's update, seeing the face that looked so much like his own at the age when he was lost in his determination to become the hero his life never had, Batman smiled softly at his son. "That doesn't mean she isn't cared for."

Damian, halfway lost in his own mind, truly a mirror of his father, had no response. Raven deserved so much more. She worked so hard and never gave a sign of the pain and pressure she had to endure. This world was a mess and those who fought for justice rarely got justice of their own. Damian's oldest brother was dead. His father hated him in the beginning because he was the physical reminder of how cruel the world could be. But Damian, in his heart, desperately wanted the best for Raven. He wished he could rewrite her fate, which seemed to be carved with blood in the stars, and give her the peace she sacrificed herself for in every way for her world.

Damian eventually found his own voice breaking himself from his musings, spilling from his mouth as if it took no thought. "Please help them. Save her."

Batman nodded, his finely tuned observation filling in everything Damian didn't say. The older man silently handed his son the keys to the Batmobile and moved to get out of the driver's seat. "Damian. The things that mean the most to us are the things we sacrifice everything for. You both care for the world and one day, you have to believe that the world will give it back to you."

"Tt. That sounds like a Hallmark marathon in the Wayne Manor was finished recently." Damian shot back lightly, grabbing the keys with a grin.

"It might have been." Batman replied evenly, holding the driver's door open while his young superhero climbed in. "I expect the car in perfect shape when it inevitably returns past your curfew."

"High expectations. We'll see what the criminal underbelly of Gotham has to say about that. Could be a rough night."

Batman stood back from his car in anticipation for his youngest's depart. "Shouldn't be a problem then. But if you want your first date to be a seaside picnic on the Wayne Beach with Alfred's cookies, I look forward to seeing the Batmobile in good shape tomorrow morning."

Damian blushed- only faintly- as only a teenager talking to his father about his crush would. "Perhaps your Hallmark movies do provide a potential benefit, however miniscule and insignificant."

Batman smiled almost teasingly. "There's no need to suffer through the cinema you don't enjoy. I've already collected quite the list of romantic outing ideas I think the two of you would like."

"Father! Do not meddle with my life!" Came Damian's indignant and completely flustered response from the interior of the giant black vehicle. He didn't want to know how long his father had been collecting romantic ideas for a potential future he may have with his Raven.

Batman snorted. "Alfred's idea. Told me to put my time in the theater room to good use. Kate is the one who went out of her way to buy Raven a series of date night dresses. I believe she called them 'adorable' in her description to me. Do you think Raven would look suitable in them?"

Damian in that moment was busy thanking every god he didn't believe in that the blackout window was up to hide his scarlet face as he violently shifted the car into gear and raced out of the batcave.

Do NOT think about Raven in an adorable purple dress

Do NOT think about Raven in an adorable purple dress

[circetalia]

It's done! I played around and wrote my Grey warden! Illario fic! Or at least the beginning, when he became blighted and was conscripted.

You can read it here on Ao3!

You can also read it under the cut!

Words: 2k

Right of Conscription

The cell was damp and dingy–a stark contrast to the other buildings around and in Treviso that were normally adorned with vibrant decorations and warmth. The window provided a nice, clear view of the city, that is it would’ve if the city weren’t blighted. It instead showed the clear view of the blight spreading, the dark orange sky polluting the city, and the sick, wounded, and Crows’ fight against the darkspawn. Blight tendrils reached up towards the sky along many buildings in the distance, alongside the canals, and among the building the cell was nestled in, creeping inside via the windows, cracks and crevices.

The moans of the infected could be heard from all around, the guards showing no sympathy for them. Prisoners, as they were, weren’t allowed to even have a chance to fight the blight. Some of them were killed the moment the blight showed up in them, others were toyed with and left to suffer until they were either about to turn or turned.  The ones who lived long enough without catching the blight either chanced the water or outright didn’t drink at all. Death by dehydration was better than being blighted, after all. Less painful and faster than the blight most of the time.

Illario sat upon the poor cot the prison was supplied with, hands against his head. It was hard to think with all the cries around him, even if outside people seemed to be celebrating.

‘Celebrating?’ He thought. The blight was everywhere, in his city, and they were celebrating? That could only mean one thing: the Gods, everything, was dealt with. That they had all won. He slightly turned his head to glare out the window–to see what was going on. The cacophony of noise was only getting stronger, and with his situation it was only making his head ache worse.

People were dancing, laughing, and cheering out in the markets. He didn’t have a full view of it, but enough to see the slight celebration that was going on. His eyes wandered back down to the ground. If he had been successful in his plan, he wouldn’t be here. But then again, people wouldn’t be celebrating the way they were. Instead the city would’ve been overrun by Venatori, and Antaam most likely. It was only a guess if the Antaam would’ve been dealt with or not if he succeeded, but most likely the forces would’ve combined. Maybe Treviso would’ve become like Minrathous, or what he heard of it at least. Blocked off from the rest of Thedas, a testing ground for what the Gods’ plan was.

He sat there in his cell listening to the coughs and moans of the sick and infected. A stark contrast from the cheers and yells from outside. Death only awaited them inside. The coward that couldn’t even bring it quick and smoothly. He reminisced on the night he was brought there, what he had rambled off to Viago as they neared the cell.

‘Death would’ve been preferable,’ he said as the Fifth Talon dragged him along. ‘The blight’ll catch all of us anyways. Locking me up is more cruel than death in these conditions. He’s a coward.’ Viago just grunted in disgust as he dragged the wounded man along. 

‘Turns out the demon does have a heart.’ Illario remarked as he was thrown into the cell. He didn’t say much afterwards. There was no point.

The sound of the guard angrily yelling at another prisoner broke him free from his mind. Another one turning, another one dead. The sound of the blade was quick, the gurgles of the prisoner as they choked on their own blood disgusted him.

‘That’s going to happen to me, isn’t it?’ he thought. Death would’ve been a mercy to this. He didn’t even think the prisoner was blighted, just the guard was on a power trip and proving a point that he could do whatever he wanted if he so much as chose to. Illario just quietly sighed and leaned back against the wall. It was all he could do, sit there and stare at a wall or stare at the blight. It was pointless to fight back.

The guard made his way towards each cell, a singular piece of bread in one hand and water in the other. Almost every prisoner had given up, took it without question. But Illario? Something about the cheers outside flipped a switch in him.

When the guard came to his cell, he accepted the bread and refused the water.

“It’s water.” The guard sneered at him. “Drink up.”

“It’s blighted.” Illario remarked back. The guard didn’t move. Instead he smirked.

“If it’s blighted, you’ll turn. Then we can dispatch of you. But if it’s not, then it's the Makers’ will, no? Drink it, the blight will catch you anyways.” The guard thrusted the cup into Illario’s hand, turning on his heel and going towards the next cell. He didn’t think the guard was a pious man, however the statement proved Illario wrong otherwise. Either that or it was just a manipulation tactic. 

He looked down at the cup in his hand as he questioned what to do. On one hand, he could chance it and end up fine, beating the dehydration he had been fighting against for the past week. On the other hand, he would become blighted. A slow, painful death was what he had in mind for that, since the guard seemed to like to toy with everyone who was blighted recently. He looked back out the window–at the blighted sky– and sighed. If his cousin wasn’t going to give him the mercy of death, he might as well do so.

He could taste the blight in the water as he drank it, his face contorting in a sad disgust as he swallowed. He threw the bread slice out the window, knowing that it would only take a few days for the infection to start showing. Why eat when you’re already knocking at Deaths’ door?

───────────────

Days or weeks passed, Illario didn’t know. He stopped counting after a while, he wasn’t getting out anytime soon and it just made the time go longer. He had been suppressing coughs that wouldn’t stop coming, a sign that the blight had taken hold. The guards started avoiding his cell too, another clear sign he had become infected. And just like he thought, he wasn’t killed the moment it had started showing. He didn’t know what he looked like, how the blight had twisted him. Even the simplest of vanities was impossible to do in the cell. His hair had become a twisted mess, no longer in his updo he usually does, his clothes dirtied and tattered. The blight surely made him look ten times worse.

The celebrations died down and now people were out and about fighting the blight, but he had stopped paying attention. Instead he lay on his cot just staring up at the ceiling. In the time it took for the blight in the water to take hold, the blight had creeped into his cell–twisting and turning its way up the walls and across the ceiling. It was oddly beautiful, in a way. If only for the fact it was one of the only things he had seen growing in the past year. Like twisted, black vines, just without the leaves.

His eyes closed as another violent coughing fit came about, blood coming out of his mouth and onto his hand and splattering on the floor. The guard on duty glared in disgust at the sight, and got up to yell at him when the door to the prison opened. Illario didn’t see who came in, but he could tell from their voices it wasn’t the prison warden.

Instead, it was a female and male’s voice. They talked to the guard at the door for a while, yet he couldn’t hear what they were talking about. After what seemed like ages, the guard finally came up into the middle of the room.

“Alright, it’s your lucky day! The Grey Wardens have come to help fight the blight, and they’re willing to take any blighted prisoners with them.” His voice boomed as he gave the announcement. Illario’s head jerked up as he squinted out of his cell. It was just like the stories he heard growing up. Warden’s saving people who caught the blight, taking in anyone for a path of redemption. He slowly sat up as he clutched his side in pain.

He noticed there were two Wardens next to the guard. A tattooed dwarven woman and a scarred elf man. The elf was smiling and looking at the dwarven women as she spoke.

“The Warden’s take in anyone, prisoners or no. With the fall of Weisshaupt, the Wardens are stretched thin. While the Final Blight has passed and we won’t be needing as many Wardens as we had in the past, we still need to bring up our ranks. So we’re enabling our right to conscript,” the dwarven woman explained. “However, given the situation Treviso is in, we won’t be taking everyone in this prison. We’re taking only the blighted and infected ones, the people we can save.” As she finished, the elven man brought out a vile and a chalice. He poured the vial into the chalice–a thick, red liquid coming out. Illario had killed enough to know what it was: blood. He also knew the Grey Wardens kept a lot of secrets, and if having to drink blood was the way to join, then they were more cult-like then he had thought.

Two prisoners went before him, and he heard the slight thuds of their bodies hit the ground shortly after they had taken the chalice from the pair. He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe they were squeamish, or maybe the vial was a poison instead. When the pair reached him, they handed him the chalice the same as they did the previous prisoners.

“Drink this,” the dwarven woman said. “It’s the blood of darkspawn, plus a little of an Archedemons’ blood as well.”

“If you survive, you’ll accompany us once we have the rest partake in the ritual as well.” The elven man chimed in.

“If I survive?” Illario’s eyes widened. The elven man chuckled softly, trying to settle the mood.

“Ah, yes, well, the Joining can kill you. If you aren’t resistant enough. But it’s still a better death than succumbing to the blight, non?”

That’s what this was, a mercy killing. Two ways out, either way, but one offered a quicker death than the blight. He hesitated while grabbing the chalice, sighed and then took a sip. What followed was indescribable. The most searing headache, terrible nightmares and visions, and the want to claw one's own eyes out.

When he came back to from the visions, his head still pounding, the pair had two other prisoners’ next to them. The elven man noticed as Illario slowly got up, slightly swaying as he grabbed the wall for support.

“You survived!” He exclaimed as the guard unlocked Illario’s cell door. The elven man rushed in to help him gain his balance, leading him to the group.

“You’re officially a Warden now. Only three survived–including yourself–but that’s normal. Unfortunately. Not everyone is cut out for and can handle the ritual.” He pointed enthusiastically at the group as the dwarf cleared her throat. 

“I believe introductions are to be in order. My name is Evka Ivo, and this here is my husband, Antoine Ivo.”

He introduced himself to the pair. The other two prisoner’s mumbled their names, Illario didn’t pay attention. He wasn’t interested in making friends with them. But he recognized the Wardens after hearing their names. They were the ones who worked with the Veilguard and against the blight. He heard some of the Crows mention them, as well. If they were the ones conscripting him, then he might have an even better chance at redemption than he thought.