#//Who’s to say he didn’t already have that darkness within him; even considering the circumstances of that moment

[dutybcrne]

Sometimes Diluc does wonder if the Delusion left a lasting impact on him, outside the never-fading scars on his arm. That if every time his temper flares or he deals a particularly cruel blow upon his opponent, it’s due to the Delusion’s lingering influence, that it may have altered him to be a crueler person as a result of his near half a decade-long dependence on it.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #13: Sun from Shadow

Prompt: confluence || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Timeline note: set at some point in early Heavensward, during a reasonable lull in MSQ. Contains references to “Chance Encounters” from FFXIV Write 2018.

--

Aymeric was a son of Ishgard, raised by loving parents who did their best to prepare him for the den of hungry scalekin that was the mix of Ishgardian nobility and the highest echelons of the Halonic clergy, and even he was bewildered by the series of events that had led the remainders of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to seek refuge within Ishgard. The wheels within wheels were utterly astonishing, the depth of Ul’dahn greed, even more so…and all of it upended because the Monetarists had forgotten, or overlooked, the combat prowess of the Archons.

And now five people who had been instrumental in ensuring Eorzea’s salvation from the encroachment of the Garleans were missing, possibly even dead, and the six remaining of the organization’s core considered fugitives from Ul’dahn justice.

There could be no question about how awful a situation it was for the Scions, and yet Aymeric had to admit to himself that he was selfishly glad for the opportunity it had presented himself.

He had been genuinely fascinated by the stories surrounding the Warriors of Light, first from what Haurchefant had shared from his meetings with them, and then via the tales that filtered north from the rest of Eorzea. Four women from disparate backgrounds who had already had a long history of friendship and seemingly stumbled onto the path of heroes of the realm, rendering aid not for glory but because it was the right thing to do. Adventurers had been a staple in Eorzea for decades, but their tale was like something from a storybook.

The meeting in Camp Dragonhead had not been the ideal situation in which to meet people he had come to admire from afar—politics had been the name of the day, and winding circles around young Master Alphinaud was hardly the best of impressions. But he had been grateful for it, anyway, the small chance to interact with the Warriors of Light.

Each of them was striking to behold: Alakhai with her dark skin and darker scales, deep mulberry hair, and wicked knives hanging from her belt; Rereha’s riotous pink-and-white hair like a peppermint candy, blindingly white smile, and the jaunty stockman’s hat in sky blue perched atop her head; Dancing Heron and her great height, the cool blue of her assessing gaze almost aglow against her russet skin. But it had been Synnove and her brilliant emerald eyes, the straightness of her spine, the absent tapping of her elegant fingers against the grimoire on her hip, that had captured his attention. Aymeric couldn’t quite say what about her had so entranced him; she had featured equally in all the stories he had heard from Haurchefant, and many of her virtues were shared by her sisters.

(He would point to the immediate aftermath of the meeting, with the discovery of the massacre Galette had enacted on the refreshments table prepared by the camp kitchen, and how Synnove had gone from scolding summoner to fondly exasperated mother to the smug carbuncle, as the real turning point in his fascination with the woman.)

But Aymeric had expected their contact to be sporadic, extraordinarily circumstances such as the battle on the Steps of Faith notwithstanding. Now, however, he had the chance to properly get to know Synnove, even as he acknowledged the unfairness in what had led to the chance.

Not that he didn’t attempt to get to know the other Scions, too. Master Alphinaud had taken a terrible blow to his pride—and Aymeric couldn’t help but wonder if the other Scions would have let the situation get as far as it had with the Crystal Braves if Alphinaud weren’t the grandson of Louisoix Leveilleur, consciously or not—but at his core, he was as kind as the Warriors of Light. Aymeric enjoyed speaking with him, recognizing another idealist in the young man, even if at the moment it was hidden behind wary grief.

Mistress Tataru he had yet to make proper acquaintance of, unfortunately; the Scions’ coinkeeper apparently had taken to the Forgotten Knight, and if his agents’ reports were correct (and they had yet to be otherwise), she was both familiarizing herself with the denizens of Ishgard and gathering intelligence for the Scions’ use. Alakhai was her frequent shadow, both as guard and agent, and while the Xaela preferred not to speak unless absolutely necessary, she still had a wicked sense of humor. The one time Aymeric had been able to escape his office to the Knight for lunch a few sennights past, Alakhai had been present, and had picked his pockets clean of even lint and dropped everything into his empty stew bowl on her way to haunt the Brume.

Dancing Heron and Rereha had ended up gravitating more towards Lucia, of the knights they had met. Heron he was not surprised by; the Hellsguard and the Garlean had similar personalities and in this case in a way that meshed rather than repelled, and both had been delighted to acquire a new sparring partner (and in the case of Lucia, a new person to sic on the Temple Knight squires to clean up their forms). Rereha had been a surprise, if only because he so rarely saw Lucia let out her playful side in public, and his own sister-by-choice was fond of indulging the bard’s over the top flirting, especially when she could send the rumor mills careening off in directions that kept the gossipmongers occupied and ignoring the real information lurking in the corners of the Congregation.

Though that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting to know both ladies better himself. Heron was an excellent chess player, and they were both content to let a game pass in silence or in quiet conversation about history or combat. And while Rereha may have worn the title of shameless hedonist with pride, that didn’t mean she was a fool, as so many seemed to think: the lalafell bard was well-read and sharp as a stiletto, providing witty commentary on music and poetry and politics, assessing the nobles of Ishgard she had met with a blunt tack that made Alphinaud blush bright red and Aymeric himself laugh out loud.

It was Synnove who was the odd one out in the group. While a scholar like Alphinaud, she wasn’t politically minded—far from it, as he learned early on, her expression falling into a mask of blank politeness when the topic had slid that way during a dinner at Fortemps Manor and her participation falling by the wayside. And while Aymeric loved Ishgard, he well knew that the city cared little for any science or craft that did not advance the war against the Dravanians, and their arcanima tradition was non-existent. Tactics were a topic she could speak on, and at length, but it wasn’t her passion.

But it left her wandering the city, and after running into her in the Crozier admiring earrings with her carbuncle unceremoniously shoved down her winter coat, Aymeric had found himself wandering the city more often in the hopes of coming across her and her carbuncles more often. Oh, sometimes he paid visit to her at Fortemps Manor or formally requested her company on some walkabout or for coffee at a café…but he most enjoyed those times where their meetings were spontaneous.

In those moments, Synnove seemed the most open and at ease, speaking more freely of herself. It was how he first learned of her aunt, Angharad, and her mentor at the Arcanists’ Guild, Mhaslona. It was how he first heard her laugh, loud and unashamed and only a little rueful as Galette crawled out of Synnove’s coat and hung half out of it to stick her face into a cup of hot chocolate. It was how he learned of her own sweet tooth, mulling over a display of pastries on a day he had a craving for a bit of sugar himself. It was how he began to learn more about her research—and how he began to curse Ishgard’s lack of an arcanima tradition, if only because he couldn’t easily learn the right questions to ask to keep her going and have the chance to listen to her husky contralto pitch into wondrous enthusiasm.

Aymeric spoke of himself to her, too; more than he ever had to any man or woman he had tentatively thought about courting in the past. And even in those moments he still found all his attention on Synnove, and he could learn how she listened, quietly absorbing all he had to say, emerald eyes on his icy ones, the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth drawn upwards by the curve of her soft smile.

But so far, his favorite thing he had had the chance to learn about Synnove was that their strides were just about the same length, be it matched in a brisk walk to escape the crush of the Jeweled Crozier at noon or in a quiet, leisurely stroll in one of the parks in the afternoon.

Betrayal and tragedy had brought this ray of sunlight in a woman’s skin to the grey stone of Ishgard, but Aymeric couldn’t bring himself to be wholly sorrowful, not when it meant he had the opportunity to bask in her radiance. He could only hope now that when she was able to retake her rightful place in the world, amongst the shining white spires of Limsa Lominsa, that it would not mean the end of all he could learn of her.

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT (NSFW)

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

i have a mad thomas x reader request where reader is forced to marry thomas (idk how just-) and is disgusted about it but eventually ends up liking him.(? idk how to explain myself:’)

No one look at me,,,,,,,,,,also this is heavily inspired by the Scarlet Letter and was supposed to be a tad darker but I copped out (also someone asked for a pregnant reader recently so this + that = this fic)

A Lie They Would Believe (Mad Thomas x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: dark themes, 1600 standards, values, and laws, affairs/cheating, ex-relationship with the pastor is mentioned, Thomas is Thomas, mentions of drinking, webs of lies, public humiliation, AFAB and Fem reader, pregnant reader, pre-marital pregnancy solved a la shotgun marriage, twisted win-win situation turns into love?, slow burn(?),

Word Count: 3.7k

You could accept your punishment with a turned cheek, you told yourself over and over again.

You could stare out at the audience of towns people, even as the sun beat on your face. You could stare out into the angry faces of the elders, into the pitying faces of your friends. Into the ashamed faces of your parents. But, you could not look at Cyrus Miller.

You'd missed your blood two months ago. You'd begged, prayed, everyday that it would come. But, the only thing that came was the morning sickness. You'd tried to hide it, tried to think of what to do. But, when you placed your hand over your stomach, you couldn't bring yourself to find the hag in the forest. And, when your mother held your spotless, white sheets in your face, you'd crumbled. You confessed in the privacy of your room as if you were confessing in church. You told her everything.

Well, almost.

"Tell us his name!" Cyrus said, a voice that you couldn't force to fall into the background. "Tell us the name of your accomplice and you shall suffer no more." He said, and you wanted to believe him. You let your eyes close for a moment, but your lips did not move. Your mouth did not open. "Tell us the father's name, so that your baby will not be born a bastard!" He said, and his hand reached out to grab your arm. His grip was strong and tight, unlike the caresses you'd become so accustomed to with him. While his words begged you to say the name, his name, the action spoke differently. You peeled open your eyes and looked up at him, at his raven hair and kind face. His dark, soft eyes. Tears pricked the corners of your own eyes, hard and glassy as you looked up at him. But, you were silent. Even as some of the townspeople yelled for you to confess.

But, how could you tell them that it was your persecutor who was the father of your child? That your pastor, the leader of this town, had sinned so egregiously? He had a wife, a daughter. You'd known both of those things when you'd fallen for him, but it was harder to ignore in the harsh sunlight. When both of them stood in front of you.

You knew you'd have to face punishment. Sex before marriage was a crime after all, completely forbidden. To think they didn't know you were an adulterer also. You didn't know what it'd be, but you knew you'd have no option but to accept it when it came. You'd already made your peace with it, made your peace with whatever God could condemn you to. Perhaps, you'd have to live alone, wear a scarlet letter on your breast. Perhaps, they'd cast you out completely, and you'd be shunned. Perhaps, they'd hang you. You touched your stomach at that thought. Perhaps, there were certain punishments you couldn't bear.

Your lips only fell open when a voice yelled,

"It was I." And a gasp fell from your mouth. Your head turned, snapped towards the voice. Towards the sea of faces that was the crowd. But, you knew that voice. "It's my child." He said, and your eyes fell on a face you knew all too well. And, at that moment, you knew exactly what type of punishment God had set out for you.

Mad Thomas.

***

The day had gone by in a blur.

Over and over in your head, one question repeated itself. Why? It was almost loud enough to drown out the constant whispers, the stories being spun by every person who seemed to have a tongue.

Union couldn't seem to stop talking about it. Of when it started, how long it'd been going on, when the pair of you had even had time to sneak off. You'd even heard a young Constance Berman whisper about how she'd always known something was going on between the two of you, only to be shushed by her older sister as you passed. As you'd been let free of the top of the church steps.

You'd been left outside, left out in the sun. Inside the church went your father, the pastor, and Thomas. You had no idea what Thomas was going to say, what lies he was going to spin.

You couldn't bring yourself to leave, to speak. You felt as though a blanket of white noise had covered your ears, covered your mind. You were surprised, to say the least. You'd thought a wave of devastation had washed over you the first moment you'd realized you were with child, but this? It made it seem like ripples in a pond. The only thing you could do was stare at the church door and wait for them to come out. But, you felt a warm arm wrap around your waist and you turned to see the face of your mother.

"Come," She said, and you looked back at the door blankly. You didn't want to leave. You wanted to be there when they came out. But, you couldn't find the words to say or the strength to keep your feet firm. So, you let her guide you away from the crowd, and towards your house.

It was only later that you were told you and Thomas were to be married by the end of the month.

***

You and Thomas were never allowed a moment alone. You didn't know whether to be relieved or not, but Thomas, a man who you quickly found was far more confusing than you thought, was playing a charade. He brought you flowers, carried your water pail for you, and even took you on chaperoned walks. You, however, were stony and stiff, barely able to contain your disgust for him. It was on your first walk that you whispered,

"Why? Why are you doing this?" And, for a moment, the incorrigible man seemed to pretend not to hear you. He glanced over his shoulder, as if the wind was at his ear instead, and you saw him cast a sly glance to the man behind them. It was one of your father's friends, walking only about two yards behind you. Finally, when he decided he was far away enough, he responded,

"Would you rather I had let them cast you out? Let you and your child starve in the woods?" Thomas said back, the most sober you'd ever heard him. It seemed that apart of your father's deal with him was that he cut back on the drink. He didn't even stumble as he walked.

"Don't pretend you did this out of charity. Why, Thomas?" You asked, and you, for only a moment, reached out to touch his arm. You pulled it back just as quick, hoping that your chaperone hadn't seen. Thomas looked down at the action, before he smirked and shook his head.

"Aren't we a perfect match?" He asked, and you gave him a look of confusion. He continued with, "You think I don't know what people say about me? Don't you see, girl? It doesn't matter if your father is the best woodworker, or the richest in Union anymore. No one would have you, or your bastard child. Except me." He said, and you almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He continued, his words a whisper now, "Besides, it's a lie they would believe." You stared at him, flabbergasted by his words. Flabbergasted by how right he was.

Thomas had, well, a reputation. It wasn't out of character for his wedding to be one out of necessity, and perhaps it earned you some pity from the townspeople. How many women had Thomas seduced? And how many of them could truly judge you? Not to mention, his words left one thing clear.

So, it was my dowry, you thought. It wasn't an unheard of reason, and it made sense given the man you were talking to. Your father had been avoiding selling you off, even as you reached far into your womanhood. And, surely, your father would never have considered him under any normal circumstance, but now...You didn't seem to have much of a choice.

Thomas paused, picking up one of the wildflowers and handing it to you. You took it, knowing now that you had to play along. That you had to act as if he truly was the father of your child, and not someone as foreign to you as the land outside of Union.

"Your father was going to start building us a house. I was thinking right here," Thomas said, his voice only slightly louder for the chaperone to hear, but you barely paid attention. You were staring down at the yellow flower in your hands, before you glanced up at the man in front of you.

He was tall, but his hair was lighter. His cheeks were stubbly and his eyes- They were a clear blue. Almost the same shade as the sky above you. You watched as he talked, as he laid out his plan. And, while the idea of being married to anyone that you didn't love sickened you, you tried to tell yourself that it wouldn't be as terrible as you felt it would be.

***

You and Thomas sat out in the sun, where you were making a flower crown and he was rambling about one thing or the other. You'd gotten very good at pretending to be in love, even in the span of only a couple of weeks.

You gave him smiles and laughter, and he gave you gifts or stole a caress. It was enough to stir the people of Union so no one would be the wiser. And, with your father at his station a short way across the field, the pair of you could be somewhat alone. But, still within viewing distance.

"You're not listening." Thomas said, and you smiled to yourself for a moment. You looked at the finished crown, before you looked up and reached over to where he was laying on the blanket. He was half-sitting up, and you placed the flower crown atop his head as you said,

"Yes, I was." You replied simply as you adjusted it, and Thomas stared at you and gave a small scoff. He caught your hand as you went to pull it away, his grip loose. He held it almost gently, and said,

"Then kiss me." And your brows drew together. A quick,

"What?" Fell from your lips, and you watched how Thomas smiled. He laughed, letting your hand go as he said,

"So, you weren't listening-" But you were quick to interrupt him.

"Why would- Why?" The idea- the simple idea was preposterous. Why would you kiss him? In broad daylight no less? The suggestion made you nervous, made a weird feeling start in your stomach. And, you ignored how this feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar.

"They're going to expect us to kiss on our wedding day, girl. Shouldn't we have some practice?" He said, and you thought perhaps the first time he proposed it had been kinder. You stared at him, thinking over his words. Thomas waited, reaching out to touch your skirt. It was only to pick at it for a moment, before he drew his hand away.

You couldn't tell if that was the only reason Thomas wanted to kiss you, if there wasn't some ulterior motive somewhere. You wouldn't put it past him. But, really, he was right. Not to mention, while the pair of you had been affectionate, had you been affectionate enough?

That's what was so aggravating about Thomas. He was always right. He saw clear through whatever facade anyone put up, and saw the truth. Perhaps, that's why he was such a good liar.

Perhaps, that's why he was staring at you.

"Fine." You said, before you looked over your shoulder. You were in the field, but you were more or less a public spectacle. You could hear Thomas draw closer, feel the warmth of his hand reach for your arm.

"Let them look." He said as he gave a tug on your arm, and you turned back to face him. It was strange to hear him say that, such a stark difference from what you were used to. To have him so close was different than before, but Thomas didn't close the gap. You supposed he was waiting for you to do that. He whispered, "Well?" And, finally, you did. It was a short kiss, a quick stolen one. Still, it made Thomas smile. "So chaste." He let out a small laugh, and it was your turn to scoff. "Are you sure-" And you could guess what he was going to say. You kissed him again, if only to silence him. It was deeper, firmer than your last had been. And you hated to admit that you didn't hate it. Thomas was well-practiced, and the feeling of his thumb grazing your cheek was nearly as warm as the feeling of the sun on your back. It made another feeling start, one that you tried to stamp out that very second. You pulled away again, cutting it short. Thomas, for just a moment, tried to follow you before he pulled back. He had a small smile on his face, one he didn't try to hide as he pushed his hair back.

"You're practiced." You said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you could give him. You'd heard rumors of him galavanting with the likes of Abbi Berman and some of the others. Perhaps, there was some truth to them. Thomas glanced over, and returned the words,

"Aye, so are you." When he smiled and glanced down at your belly, you knew the jab had been intended. And, unfortunately, he'd managed to make you laugh.

***

You knew it was coming. You had prepared yourself for it. Before the wedding, the pastor would counsel both of you. And, he was going to counsel you first.

You stood in a dress your mother had made, with your corset done loosely as not to press on your stomach. You'd been staring out the window, at the cloudless day and the happy faces of your town. Why shouldn't they be happy? It was the day for a celebration.

You'd even caught glimpses of Thomas. Your mother was fussing over him, and Issac had swiped his pouch. He looked- Well, you could tell he'd been scrubbed down. Most of his teeth were still black, but in clean clothes and with a clean face...Perhaps, he didn't look terrible. You tilted your head, and, almost as if he could feel you staring, Thomas' head turned. He caught your eyes, and reflected your posture with a tilt of his own head. It made you smile, something you found was less forced the more time you spent with him. Your head turned from him when you heard someone come in.

"Wonderful day for a wedding." Cyrus said as he closed the door to the chapel, and you tried to manage a smile. "Sit." He said, and gestured to one of the pews. You did, and you both kept your distance. The chapel was dim, only lit by the light outside. The pair of you were silent for a moment, before Cyrus said, "The magistrate is here. He seems eager to start. Do you," He paused for a moment. "Do you have any doubts?" And you felt that the question was not quite as empty as anyone else would think.

You'd been staring at your hands, and you finally lifted your gaze to him. To his deep, dark brown eyes. After a moment, you found your voice.

"None at all. Thomas is- He shall be the father to his child, and he shall be my husband. I shall do my duties, and, I- I love him." It was hard to say, at least when Cyrus sat in front of you. "What is there to doubt?" You asked, your question equally as heavy. While none of you would say it plainly, you knew from the way he looked over your face that he understood you perfectly. The pair of you would never confess your secret, and you'd let the hatchet be buried. Forgotten.

"Does he know?" Cyrus asked, and you knew what it sounded like. In case any of the others were listening. Like he was asking if your soon to be husband knew you loved him. The question couldn't be more disguised. Really, his eyes said, Does he know about us?

"Yes. Or, I think he does." You replied, and you watched how Cyrus reached to touch his clean-shaven face. His face was half hidden by his hand, but you could see his eyes were disturbed. A secret was harder to keep the more people knew, but you said, "And he loves me. He'd do anything to keep this union." You told him, and you hoped he got your meaning. When Cyrus glanced at you, you guessed he did. Silently, your eyes said, If he does, Thomas won't tell. And, after a pause, Cyrus let out a sigh.

"Then, there seems little I have to counsel you on."

***

"Have you thought of a name?" Thomas asked you, and you hummed.

You were picking at your sheet, looking towards the window. It had been months, five if not nearly six. Your baby was due in only a few weeks now, and you still hadn't decided. Your husband, a word to describe him that didn't seem so weird now, laid besides you facing up towards the roof.

Thomas, well, he was not what you thought. He had a good, if not sometimes strange, sense of humor, and did not bruise easily from even the harshest words. He could take care of himself, after years of doing so, and, subsequently, you as well. Your mother and the mid-wife still came by to make sure you were in good health, but Thomas had most of it handled. He was a little lazy when it came to work, especially the work your father tried to give him, but he seemed to find that the work that came with having his own house agreed with him. The pair of you had become- Well, familiar. That was the word you would use. You couldn't say, nearly six months later, that it was still just pretending.

Still, Thomas didn't touch you in any way you wouldn't want him to, and you had to lift your head to throw a glance back to him.

"I have some ideas. Perhaps, if it's a girl," You paused, a sly grin coming to your face, "We could name her Abigail." And you watched him scoff and roll his eyes, even lift his head off of his arm for a moment as he said,

"Absolutely not." And you snickered to yourself as you went back to facing away from him. It was just a jest, a reference to an old dalliance of his, but Thomas, if anything, was fun to tease. The only issue was that Thomas was just as sharp when it came to his wit. "Y'know- Fine. Then, if it's a boy, we shall name him Cyrus." And you let out a noise of protest. You tried to roll over, declaring,

"No!" And now it was Thomas' turn to laugh. He placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to ease you back down. You let him, and even reached to hold his arm. To pull him closer. He followed, and you guided his hand above your bulging stomach as the pair of you adjusted. "Fine- Neither of those names. But, we must think of something." You told him, feeling as he stretched his fingers over where your baby grew. He held you, his warmth against your back. His hand rubbing your stomach lightly.

It made a strange sense of warmth fill you, one you couldn't blame from body-heat. And, it wasn't so terrible that you tried to push it, or him, away.

***

"She cries like no other child in Union." Thomas said as he climbed into your bed. You were supposed to be resting, healing, even weeks, nearly two months, after your child's birth. You felt like you'd been confined to your bed for so long that you were starting to become a part of it. Thomas was only here for the break your father gave him half-way through the day. Still, you smiled to yourself from where you laid on your side, and said,

"Perhaps, it is your smell that disturbs her." You said, your voice thick with sleep but a cheeky grin working onto your face. You shouldn't have prompted him, because he took the opportunity to drape himself heavily over your back.

"Oh, should I sleep outside tonight then?" He asked, and you giggled when you felt his stubble tickling your cheek.

It was already long into the day, and you'd become lazy from bed-rest. It felt far too nice to have his warmth wrapped around you, to where you nearly wanted to fall asleep. You had grown too used to it now, and you could barely imagine a night without it.

"I never said that." You responded, and turned your face back towards the softness of your pillow. You felt Thomas' hand raise, his fingertips brush against your cheek. He was being brave, especially when you felt his lips brush against your neck. It made you bite your lip, a twinge of something not so unfamiliar swirling in your belly. You wondered if he would continue. Hell, you wanted him to. But, it was nothing more than that.

Thomas, to your surprise, had more restraint than you would've assumed. He kissed your cheek, went to stand, and excused himself with,

"Your father will begin to wonder where I am." And you lifted your head to watch him step away, before you settled back down. He was clean, cleaner than he had been when he'd been sleeping in the outhouse. His hair was softer and longer, tied away from his face. And his arms seemed stronger, perhaps from the days of working with your father. He was, if you dared to think so, a kind sight to your eyes now. "Sleep. I'll be back by the time you wake." He told you, and, as he left, you found yourself hoping he was right.

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

[r-ando-m-w-rite-r]

-How You Make Me Feel-

-This is my first time using this, so please don’t judge if I do something wrong lol-

You looked up at the slowly dimming sky through the two holes in your Black Ops mask. You were currently on a ANBU mission with your teammates Saruna and Kakashi. They could be heard talking in the background, and it made you smile. Having them on the mission was more than you could ask for, considering the circumstances. 

They were tasked with assassinating a dangerous hit man from the island of the Land of the Waves, who was seeking to destroy the region by taking out the leader and taking over the economy. Just hearing of him made you shudder; he had to be stopped.

“Y/n!” You heard Saruna call your name, and you turned around to look at her. Her long, black hair hung slightly over her blue dog-shaped mask, hiding her face completely due to her hair also covering up the side openings of the mask. “Come help us gather firewood.”

You sighed, peeling yourself away from the content spot you were at, walking over and bending to snatch up a few twigs. You bent over once more, going to grab a larger limb, when Kakashi’s hand came into view, going for the same one. You chuckled, withdrawing and letting him get it. He, however, didn’t make a sound. 

You cocked your head at him after straightening. Was something up? He was just joking with Saruna a minute ago. Nevertheless, you walked over to the large tent you guys had pitched, dropping the firewood not too far from it and stepping inside the tent. 

“Where are you going?”, Saruna asked behind your back.

“Just fixing up dinner. I’ll call you once I’m done.” You heard her make a satisfied grunt, and you smiled. Walking over to your bag, you pulled out pre-made ramen and some grapefruit. Laying out a towel, you placed the food on it. Next you grabbed three wooden cups from the bag, placing them down as well. Grabbing a bowl, you exited the tent in search of clean water.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You returned to the tent, clean water sloshing slightly over the bowl’s side. Pouring it into each cup, you put the remaining to the side and walked back to the opening of the tent, peeking your head out. Both Saruna and Kakashi noticed you. “Dinner’s ready. Wash your hands.”, you said simply. And with that, you withdrew your head back into the tent.

You heard Saruna scoff, saying, “She’s not my mother.” Kakashi’s rumbling chuckle followed, and you rolled your eyes. But you still heard their voices fade as they walked down to the river, despite Saruna’s protests.

They soon returned, and after everyone had sat, they took off their masks and began to eat. Saruna’s smile reached from ear to ear as she carefully watched Kakashi pick up his chopsticks to eat. You already knew that it was impossible to see Kakashi eat, as he would just shove the contents into his mask too quickly to comprehend. But Saruna hadn’t witnessed it yet, so you were going to let her.

As predicted, his hand moved with lightning speed, and the ramen was gone from between the pinched chopsticks within a second. Saruna sighed, her gaze lowering to the food below her. You and Kakashi couldn’t help but laugh, and after a moment, she joined in, too. 

The meal soon wrapped up, and you got up to use the restroom. Excusing yourself, you left the tent and disappeared into the underbrush. Emerging after finishing your business, you gazed up at the sky, which was now a shade of dark purple, going on black. Silver stars winked in and out of your vision, and the moon was almost completely visible. It was truly a breathtaking sight.

“Y/n.” You turned to look at Kakashi, who had emerged from the tent, his mask back on. “Saruna is taking care of the leftover food and dishes; I’m going to take the first watch. You two decide on the second.” His voice sounded oddly strained, even a little tense. What was up with him? He had been like this the entire mission so far, two days to be exact. Saruna said it was uncharacteristic of him, and he hadn’t acted like this during the last mission. 

That made you suspicious alone, as you hadn’t been on that mission in particular; someone had taken your place on the team. In fact, you hadn’t been on any of the missions since wintertime, since you had broken your wrist during combat. Was it you?

Clearing those thoughts from your head, you nodded to the silver-haired man, walking past him and into the tent. You would ponder on this later; for now you would focus on the present.

You helped Saruna finish packing back up and getting ready for tomorrow’s travels, plus laying out the sleeping mats. Saruna hadn’t yet put her mask back on, even though she should have already, so you saw her blush as you pushed the straw mats together. She obviously wasn’t keen on sleeping that close to Kakashi, even if it was for warmth and precaution, so you offered to sleep between them two.

Saruna was new to the ANBU Black Ops; she had just joined a few months back, about right before you had broken your wrist. She had been your childhood friend since birth. It was a shame when her mother died and she had fallen into depression. That was why you had suggested she join the ANBU, as she was already a Jonin and the missions would help her move on from the tragedy. Now that she was here, it also gave you a second wind of motivation; you wouldn’t let anything happen to her, no matter what the cost.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had only been ten minutes after saying goodnight to her that you heard Saruna snoring beside you. She must have been pretty worn out from traveling today. You two had agreed on the watch times; you were lucky. She would be taking the second watch, you the third. At first she hadn’t wanted to, as she didn’t want to have to fall asleep twice, but after some persuasion, it was settled that you would be taking the second watch the following night. Saruna had then told Kakashi the watch times.

You listened to the chirping of crickets and the sound of the wind rushing and weaving between the trees. As you slowly revolved around topics in the back of your mind, the whole Kakashi subject came to you. You had told yourself that you would come back to it later, so now was the time.

Let’s see, what could have ticked him off enough to where he was practically ignoring you? Well, you had stolen his porn book the one time he came over to see you at the hospital. Nah, he wouldn’t still be upset over that. What about when you wrote in ink on his mask the one night he fell asleep over at your place? No, you ended up washing it. You couldn’t think of anything else, and you sighed, frustration blooming within you.

Time had gone by for sure, but you weren’t sure how much until you saw Kakashi emerge from behind the flaps at the entrance of the tent. He walked over to Saruna, you observed, and shook her shoulder gently. She awoke with a snort, rolling over and immediately sitting up.

“Danger?!”, she half-whispered, half-yelped. She obviously wasn’t used to ANBU missions yet. 

“No, no.”, Kakashi murmured to her. “I just woke you up for your watch.” Saruna slumped slightly at this, evidence of relief sketched onto her face. Kakashi helped her up after a moment, and she put on her mask, shuffling outside. 

You felt Kakashi lie down beside you, and you pretended to sleep, but it was no use. He must have seen you awake, because after a moment, he whispered into the darkness, “Y/n? Are you awake?” You stayed quiet, seeing if he would leave you alone, but he just persisted. “Y/n, I know you’re awake.”

“Then why did you ask?”, you finally said, opening your eyes and turning onto your back. Of course you already knew, as it was out of courtesy, but it was still the point.

When he didn’t answer, you turned on your side to face him and was met with his masked face and eyes. He looked shocked, then you noticed a blush peeking out from underneath the piece of cloth. So, was that why he was so quiet? Or was it something else? Either way, you were going to find out.

“Hey, Kakashi?”, you said, looking down. You could almost hear his eyebrows raise.

“Mhm?”, he replied.

You took a breath, then asked, “What did I do to you that you are ignoring me?” You heard him suck in a breath, and you knew you screwed up right away asking. “N-Not in a rude way, but-”

“Y/n.”, Kakashi said, grasping your chin softly and forcing it to look up and into his eyes, one deep red with a scar running over it. The Sharingan. “You have done nothing wrong to me.” You felt your eyebrows raise, both at the sudden contact of skin and the fact that he said that. Then what was wrong?

“But then why-”, you started, but he cut you off.

“I’m not ignoring you.”, Kakashi quickly said. “Y/n, don’t ever think that. The truth is I-I’m shy.” This shocked you. Kakashi was shy? “I missed you on our missions, Y/n. Man, the things you do to me that make me long for you.” He rubbed his thumb across your lower lip and raised his other hand to push the hair out of your face.

You were too paralyzed to stop him from touching you this intimately, but then again, you didn’t want him to stop, either. Secretly, deep down, you kind of longed for him, too. And when you were unable to participate in the missions, it made you long for both him and Saruna as well. 

Kakashi slowly leaned into you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You followed suit, except around his neck. He crashed his lips with yours, mask and all, and you didn’t pull away. Well, except for when you took your hand and pulled his mask down. Then you kissed him and didn’t pull away.

Thanks for reading! I’ll be making more soon! :D

[hellsbellschime]

Why Will Dany Burn King’s Landing?

Although most fans of A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones understandably aren't keen on revisiting the sloppy final season of the TV series, season 8 of the show is actually home to some of the most interesting indications of where the book series may or may not be going.

Season 8 was largely so confusing because the series was attempting to get across the finish line as fast as possible, but many of the messier aspects of the show were also clearly driven by the fact that Game of Thrones had already significantly deviated from the story that George RR Martin was trying to tell. So, when the time came for the TV series to end, the show had to push its characters into their decided endgames despite the fact that many alterations to their prior arcs now made those endings somewhat nonsensical.

George has already directly stated that the broad strokes of the ending will be the same in the books, but I think it stands to reason that the most controversial aspect of the series end, Daenerys' decision to burn King's Landing, will likely be significantly different within the books.

There are a lot of theories about how Dany's dark, or at least slightly darker, turn is going to go in the novels. Many fans unsuprisingly have come up with speculations that alleviate most of Dany's responsibility for the destruction of the city, but I think the notion that someone else will burn King's Landing or that Daenerys will burn the capitol by accident are extremely unlikely.

I can't envision a world where George RR Martin lets any of his main characters off the hook for the most destructive choice in the entire series, and frankly it has always been completely in character for Daenerys to justify any amount of devastation and destruction if it's in service of reclaiming the Iron Throne. And honestly, despite the fact that Game of Thrones retconned most of Dany's darkest book decisions and characteristics, even within the TV series itself, burning King's Landing was largely a logical extension of Dany's habit of killing anybody who gives even the slightest indication that they might not follow her.

However, it also seems undeniable that the burning of King's Landing is almost certainly going to come about due to different circumstances. And, it seems extremely likely that the omission of one significant character in the books, Young Griff, will be one of the key differences in the destruction of King's Landing and the entire Targaryen dynasty.

While I don't think Young Griff's non-Targaryen heritage is nearly as undeniable as many other fans do, one thing that seems very probable is that regardless of whether or not Aegon is really Aegon Targaryen, Daenerys will not believe that he is the long lost son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

Cersei becoming Dany's greatest rival never really made sense considering how few legitimate supporters she had. But on the other hand, someone like Young Griff, who has spent his entire life training to become the best king possible, seems like the kind of person who will likely win at least a significant amount of support among the lords of Westeros and the common people, who at this point would honestly prefer anyone other than Cersei anyway.

But, if Dany arrives in Westeros and there is a Targaryen who she doesn't believe is a Targaryen already sitting on the Iron Throne with the backing of a multitude of kingdoms as well as the common people, clearly she's going to be pissed. And obviously she's going to have a huge axe to grind with the boy who she believes has usurped her throne.

Dany has always been prone to violence to begin with, but now that she seems to have decided to go full fire and blood, it's not that difficult to figure out how she is likely going to handle Aegon the Sixth. But, I think that the penultimate episode of Game of Thrones may have already explained exactly how that is going to happen.

Like most fans, as soon as any information about the final season of Game of Thrones was released, I thought about what it could possibly be referring to or what it would mean. And one aspect of season 8 that seemed to not quite fit into anything within the rest of the series was the title of the episode "The Bells".

What initially interested me about that name was that not only was it the title for arguably the most important episode in the entire show, but that it referred to something that has a lot of thematic relevance within the books but that has been barely mentioned within the TV series. Bells are mentioned constantly in A Song of Ice and Fire, but they've only gotten a few nods within Game of Thrones. And I was even more surprised that, when the show actually aired, the ringing of the bells didn't seem to be hugely relevant to the episode itself either.

Yes, the bells do seem to trigger Dany's decision to burn the entire city down, but they aren't important before or after that, and when there are so many possible titles that are more connected to the series and the story, it still seems strange that "The Bells" was called "The Bells".

However, while bells are a bit of a perennial theme within A Song of Ice and Fire, I think one particular bell-themed subplot might be the exact history that is going to repeat itself when King's Landing burns to the ground, and I think that Daenerys might defeat Aegon in the second Battle of the Bells.

Jon Connington is another fantastic character who was completely omitted from the TV series, but it's interesting that the most fervent supporter of House Targaryen who was on the front lines fighting for Rhaegar in Robert's Rebellion seems to believe that the war wasn't actually lost in the Trident, but in Stoney Sept when Jon failed to root out Robert Baratheon.

JonCon's perspective on Rhaegar and on the entire war is undeniably warped, and in retrospect House Targaryen's dynasty was always destined to fail. Rhaegar may not have had the violent impulses of Aerys, but a dude who lets the entire realm devolve into chaos because he really needs to impregnate a teenager who is dubiously consenting at best was not going to bring peace and prosperity back to the realm. And in a broader sense, the Targaryen values of isolationism, superiority, subjugation, and consolidation of power seem to indicate that no matter what happened, as long as the Targaryens stuck to their beliefs then they were never going to hold on to the Seven Kingdoms.

But still, it seems incredibly important that Jon Connington believed that the Targaryens lost the Iron Throne in the Battle of the Bells, and it's even more important that he's almost certainly wrong. A Song of Ice and Fire has been pretty consistent in its portrayal of brutality. It has proven to be an effective tool in the short term, but it seems to have disastrous results in the long run. And, given that George RR Martin is an ardent pacifist, it's obvious that JonCon's belief that if he had only been crueler and more violent in Stoney Sept then the war would have been won for House Targaryen is a belief that is bound to be undermined.

The fact that Prince Aegon's greatest Westerosi supporter is so strong in this belief though seems to be an obvious setup for a clash in the future. It seems unlikely that the boy who Varys wanted to be the perfect king would be as brutal as someone like Tywin Lannister, and honestly, most people are not that violent nor do they believe that the only goal is winning no matter the cost.

But, it also seems to be a setup for a clash between Young Griff and Daenerys. After all, while most people wouldn't do absolutely anything to get what they believed was their birthright, Dany absolutely would. She internally justifies every action that she takes in service of getting the Iron Throne, and there doesn't seem to be a limit to the violence that she would excuse if it meant taking what she believes is rightfully hers.

The descriptions of the Battle of the Bells in Jon Connington's POV chapters are all very interesting, and it's telling that even in these few glimpses into his mind, this battle is so vitally important. But, Jon's memories are at their most interesting in the chapter "The Griffin Reborn," when he discusses his failings with Myles Toyne.

Jon tells himself that even Tywin Lannister couldn't have done anything more than what he did, but Toyne disagrees. Blackheart says “Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at the breast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all. When the fires guttered out and only ash and cinders remained, he would have sent his men in to find the bones of Robert Baratheon."

And while Myles is undoubtedly right that this is exactly what Tywin Lannister would have done, the particular description of the violence sounds undeniably Targaryen in nature. It literally sounds like fire and blood. And frankly, it sounds pretty close to what Daenerys did in Game of Thrones and is likely to do in King's Landing in A Song of Ice and Fire.

Conceptually, it's actually quite simple. Jon Connington will fight the Battle of the Bells once again, except this time he's going to be on the side of the new Robert Baratheon. If Young Griff is a remotely capable ruler who wins the hearts of the people, then it's entirely believable that the citizens of King's Landing would give him quarter when the dragon queen comes looking for him. And given Daenerys' typical patience level, it seems incredibly likely that Dany would just burn the traitors and find the bones of the usurper in the ashes.

Jon Connington has returned to Westeros operating under the belief that he is going to have to be tougher and more brutal to ensure that Young Griff ascends to the Iron Throne like Rhaegar never did, and to ensure that he's never overthrown like the Mad King was. So then, it would be a pretty perfect twist of fate if everything that Jon believes now winds up being proven wrong and he finds himself and the boy who he has vowed to defend to his last breath relying on the kindness of strangers to hide them from the Targaryen ruler and her armies who are searching for them.

And ironically, Jon will not do what he has set out to do, succeed for the son where he failed for the father, precisely because the enemy that he's facing now will be ready and willing to use the brutality that JonCon originally shied away from in Stoney Sept. If Young Griff and the elder Griffon were actually dealing with a rival who was similar to the younger Jon Connington, someone who wasn't willing to wreak havoc and destruction in order to find their enemy at all costs, then they might have a chance at at least surviving.  

But, because Dany is the type of person who serves up fire and blood to anyone she thinks even might be her enemy, any of King Aegon's protectors will be treated with the brutality that Jon currently believes is necessary to win, and Young Griff will be killed anyway. And of course, while Daenerys will almost certainly win the battle against Aegon the Sixth, her decision to be as violent and swift as possible in order to root out her enemies will also lead to her ultimate downfall and a truly irrevocable end to the Targaryen dynasty.

Thematically, the repetition of past mistakes, the false belief that great violence in service of a supposedly greater good is worthwhile, and the false belief that brutality is strength, all fits in well with A Song of Ice and Fire and George RR Martin's political point of view. But obviously, given that Aegon Targaryen, Jon Connington, and their entire branch of the story was omitted in Game of Thrones, none of this could have ever happened in the TV series. And perhaps the title of the penultimate episode was a subtle nod to the climax that the writers know will be coming in the books.

[spidernana]

Day 4: Tired

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34214341/chapters/85306531

Some days it was good to be a basically invisible, ephemeral being. It came in handy when snatching things out of unsuspecting monsters' pockets, drawing on people's faces while they slept, and sticking gum in obnoxious do-gooders' hair.

Chara still hadn't forgiven her for that one... heheh.

But some days, Frisk was convinced that it was the hardest thing in the universe. Those days were ones like these, when her absent-minded floating around the chimney tops in Snowdin Village (not any one in particular... the skeleton brothers' just happened to have a great view over the forest) was interrupted by a louder than usual slam of the front door, so hard the windows shook in their frames and several drifts of snow slid from the roof and to the ground below.

Couldn't have been Papyrus... she'd seen the lanky layabout slouching off towards Waterfall with Chara hours ago. They'd be sure to be gone til the night cycle, at the very least... Chara loved to watch the crystals in the dark, and her skeletal bone-friend loved to distract her from them as best as possible.

Tsk.

So it was Sans... and he was in a mood.

Not that that was an unusual event. Sans always seemed to be in a mood, ranging from gloating giddiness to tempestuous rage, and liked to inflict his varying tempers on everyone in his vicinity. On top of that, his personality was overwhelming and electrifying, despite his stature, so it was nearly impossible to even pretend to ignore him, he was just too magnetic for that.

You could say that she, in particular, need not play party to the older skeleton monster's vacillating moods... he should, among all others besides Chara, not even know she existed. And yet she tossed away a scrap of paper she had been reading, an advertisement of some sort for a fortune-telling monster bearing an evil grin and three eyes, drifted through the roof of the large, two-story house, through a dusty and disused attic chock full of lovingly packed boxes of photographs and baby monster toys (he had been a very doting older brother, while raising Papyrus... she'd looked over nearly every one of the pictures in her boredom), and through the ceiling of the room where she was certain Sans had stormed off to anyway, because despite all logic, despite her shock and trepidation over the fact... Sans could see her. He always had been able to, from the moment he spotted her hanging around behind Chara's shoulder, that first day on the snowy roads in the forest.

She didn't understand it... she'd been dead, and long forgotten, surely, by just about every monster in the Underground. The taste of that fact was a bitter one, one that had, at first, brought to life a vengeful hatred... but Chara's kind heart, and Sans' ability to see and speak with her (whether he wanted to or not; she'd hung around him almost incessantly since she'd discovered his ability, despite his explicit and violent demands that she be gone), had stilled her vengeance, and awoken something she hadn't felt in ages gone.

Curiosity.

This was what brought her to the captain of the Royal Guard's bedroom late in the evening, peeking through the plaster and paint cautiously to ensure he wasn't... busy (neither spoke of the time she had found him occupied, for lack of a better term... though she thought of it, on occasion), and found the skeleton monster, oddly still wearing his armor, collapsed face first on his extravagant and lusciously made-up bed. All the blacks and reds blended in so well that she nearly didn't spot him lying there, and wouldn't have but for the long and weary groan he let out, muffled by the pillow he seemed to be hugging.

The mischievous grin that had grown across her face, in anticipation of annoying the prickly monster further, vanished as she watched him hug the pillow to himself tighter, the plates of his armor catching the light of the one lamp he had bothered to turn on.

This wasn't like him at all. Something was wrong.

Slowly, so slowly that she almost felt silly for doing it (it's not as though her movements made any sound... she just had the strangest inclination not to disturb him ), Frisk glided down from the ceiling to the floor, to dither uselessly at his bedside. The crack slowly but surely marching its way over the top of his skull seemed to grin at her, from this angle, mocking her inability to help anyone now, and for a moment, a long, silent moment that carried and echoed and stung, she considered just leaving again. He'd never appreciated her presence, not really... she liked to hang around just to get a rise out of him, honestly, and he was always willing to give her that.

But now... there was no desire to pester him now, and in the lack of her usual occupation, she was uncertain of what to do. She could offer him little comfort... that sort of thing was outside her wheelhouse. Should she go to Waterfall, and tell Chara that her best friend was in need of her company (more than the mutt, at least...)? Maybe she could-

“If you are here to mock me, princess, I would like for you to get on with it and leave me. I am not in the mood for much more distress than I've already dealt with today.”

Frisk jolted, any remaining fragments of a soul she still had nearly leaping from her ghostly chest. Sans hadn't moved from his position, face still buried in his pillow and legs curled nearly up against his chest, but had somehow known she was there.

Another curiosity...

“I'm... I'm not gonna do that today,” she managed to whisper, once her shock had settled, and sat on the edge of the bed, as near to him as she felt she could without upsetting him further. For a monster his age, and an unmated one at that, Sans was rigorously insistent on propriety, and had nearly shouted himself hoarse the first time she'd welcomed herself into his bedroom, despite the fact that she was all but literally a ghost. He'd given up that fight awhile ago, after she'd made it clear she didn't intend to listen to him on that account, but she did allow him the space he insisted two unmated people required between them.

Not that her touching him would do anything. No one had ever felt it when she'd tried to make contact with them before... she had the ability to touch and manipulate inanimate objects, but had never been able to exert her will enough to affect anything living.

Maybe if she touched their souls... but that was another thing entirely. Off-limits. Taboo, and akin to possession, more than likely.

She was getting lost in her thoughts again. Damnit.

When she withdrew from her own, slightly see-through head, it was to face the monster she had sat beside head on, his cracked and narrowed sockets, lit with fiery pinpricks of scarlet magic, watching her with clear and disdainful mistrust. It was always such a rush, to know he could see her... Chara could feel her presence and hear her, but Sans was the only one that had ever actually looked at her, after she'd woken up as a spirit.

“You'll forgive my skepticism, considering your proclivity to bother me at every possible moment,” he scoffed, laying his skull on the pillow again but keeping his face turned towards her, and Frisk could only shrug. She had no way to refute that, in all honesty... it was true.

Why did it leave her aching, in the strangest and most impossible way?

“Fair enough. You just... don't seem okay. Are you? ...okay?” she replied, tapping ethereal fingers against a nonexistent knee, and Sans flicked the flecks of light in his sockets over her face, his mistrust lingering for another, tense moment before, alarmingly, he seemed to buckle, the tension in his body falling away. His sockets turned away, to consider his intricately decorated duvet, and his arms clenched more tightly around his pillow, until she could almost hear the cotton within complaining.

“...You are possibly the only person I can tell this to, with full confidence that it will not leave the room,” he murmured, his jaw, lined with sharpened fangs, gritting as he chewed over whatever was going on inside his skull, and Frisk leaned closer, now more than rapt.

Sans sighed, not even glancing up to look at her, and squeezed his sockets shut, as though his words hurt for him to even be able to consider seeing them realized.

“The queen has been facing criticism for giving Chara refuge rather than killing them... and she has decided to blame me for it. All I have heard for the past two weeks have been calls for my head, or at the very least my resignation. I have no intent to back down, and I can more than defend myself, but...” he paused, his words falling away and his expression hardening.

“But I doubt myself. Did I truly have a good reason to spare them? Was I blinded by foolish sentiment? And my brother... would it have been kinder for Chara to die before he knew they were soulmates? Losing her now would kill him, but then... perhaps it would not have. I do not know. And it irks.”

He turned his face away again, pressing it deep within the comforting embrace of his pillow.

“I am weary of it all, princess. More tired than I ever have been,” he murmured, Frisk could only stare at the back of his skull, at a complete loss. She knew her mother could be petty, but this was just disgraceful. Mercy was a new sentiment for most monsters, certainly, but Toriel couldn't really be so cowardly as to throw the only person that stood up for a helpless human amongst literal monsters under the bus.

Well. Maybe she could. She'd been cowardly in much more pressing circumstances too...

Frisk teetered there, for a moment, on the brink of simply leaving him to his difficulty (who was she to give advice? She'd utterly failed where he had succeeded, she had no right or ability-)... before letting out a ghostly sigh of her own. She reached out a hand, from a long dead but still present instinct, to touch the back of his skull comfortingly, knowing full well that he wouldn't feel it but wanting to do something all the same.

“As... as someone that went that road... made decisions that cost monsters their freedom, and someone dear to me their life... I can tell you that you made the best possible choice. Chara deserves to live, and monsters can find another way, rather than through hate. I didn't see it then. But you did. Don't doubt yourself over that, not when you've done more good than anyone,” she muttered quietly, rubbing her thumb over the back of his skull, and then let out a chuckle, shaking her head as she pulled her hand back to her own custody.

“And as gross as it is to see them together... Chara and Papyrus deserve the love they have. I don't think you really believe it would have been better for him to never have felt that way. Not with how much you care about him,” she finished, smiling despite herself, and fell silent when Sans, his armor clanking against itself solidly (that stuff must weight a ton... crap, how strong was he?), sat up and turned to look at her, almost through her, so hard that she felt she shouldn't have said anything at all.

She thought she saw his hand start to rise to touch the back of his skull, for an ironically breathless moment, hope singing through her so quickly and suddenly that it made her ghostly head spin (what...? Why did she want him to be able to feel her so badly?), but he merely adjusted the seating of his armor on his shoulders before folding his arms across his chest and raising his cracked brow.

“Surprisingly insightful, for you. I must say I am impressed,” he snarked, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his fanged mouth, and Frisk rolled her eyes, pushing off the bed and into the air with a crude snort.

“I've got more where that came from too, if you'd ever do more than cuss at me. Don't you know how to talk to a lady?” she sniped, sticking her tongue out at him, and Sans barked out a laugh, smirking fully up at her now.

“Let me know when a lady is present, and I will treat with her appropriately,” he replied cattily, and Frisk, with a huff and a blown raspberry, glided her way up through the ceiling without another word, though, for some reason, their banter had left a warm and permeating glow within her, spreading from her invisible fingertips to her ghostly toes.

She'd seen another side of Sans today... one that had surprised her. Maybe she should try to talk to him more, rather than just pestering him constantly. She could ease back on it...

Heh. Only a little, though.

----------------------------------------

Sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, suddenly alone and feeling a little more empty for it, Sans looked, for a moment, at the spot that the ephemeral vision of both loveliness and irritation had sat in only a moment before, and raised a gloved hand to rub at the back of his skull.

As she had spoken to him, words of wisdom that had touched his soul more than he cared to admit, he had felt... something, though he wasn't sure what, glide across the back of his skull. More than a breeze, and less than a caress... could she have touched him?

She was an odd enough being, for a ghost... maybe she was able to. Or maybe she was something else entirely...

He brought his hand back around, rubbing his fingers together and looking at them intently, as though expecting something, some sort of proof, that it had really happened. Of course, nothing was there... but the sudden and aching sensation of disappointment was such that he had to hold his hand to his chest for a moment, thrown by how much such a short and simple meeting had affected him.

Perhaps it was nothing.

...or perhaps it was everything.

[milliedazzledust]

Unspoken (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request by @screechingdreamercollectorsblog : the reader lost all her family and also a twin sister. She’s in love with Bucky but he doesn't know and no one knows her story except Steve but he never told it as it was her decision. One day Wanda tells her "you don't know what it’s like to lose somebody especially a twin." And Reader said "Actually I do." And then She walks away. Bucky heard It and goes to talk to her and also they confess each other feelings. Also She starts an amazing friend ship with Wanda.

Words: 3183 words

A/N: So many ideas, I feel like this needs to be a several part story. Thanks for the request, this was fun to write -

She thought a lot about her family. The memory of their death, the circumstances that led to it, the guilt. It was all a constant reminder, every day, of what she lost. She often felt like she was walking with a shadow on her back, consuming what was left of light, making her into this gloomy person everyone was so afraid to get close to. In a way, she was glad. Her guilt made her believe living this way was her sentence and she couldn’t allow anybody else to carry her burden. One person knew though, the only hope on her pathway. Steve Rogers. He hadn’t been bold enough to ask her up front but instead waited, close enough so she knew he was there, until she was ready to confide in him. Late one night, he had found her crying on the rooftop of the Avengers tower. Silently, he had put a blanket on her shoulders and had sit next to her. Without looking at him, she had told him everything. There had been no judgment from the Captain, not even a look of pity. He promised he wouldn’t tell a soul and after that, she grew closer from the man she considered now family.

That’s how Steve picked up on what was happening in front of his eyes before anybody else. Everyday, he would catch Bucky’s eyes lingering on her. The Soldier often asked Steve about her, he could guess the sadness behind every broken smile. Behind her cracks, he could almost see his own. She reminded him a lot of what it had mean to become the Winter Soldier, of the pain his mind had endured as Hydra tore it into pieces. While he was curious of her past, he also understood that whatever it was, she hadn’t dealt with it. The grief was evident and he wanted nothing more than to help her anyway he could, but every time he took a step toward her, she took three more backward. Steve assured him it wasn’t his fault. They both could see the internal struggle within her, the raging battle between self-inflicted pain and sheer will to live again. So far, she hadn’t give in and instead opted for an illusion only Steve and Bucky weren’t falling for.

She wasn’t the only one feeling the overbearing weight of grief. That specific day marked the one year anniversary of their battle in Sokovia. There was an eerie, gloomy atmosphere inside the compound. For the Avengers, it was the reminder of a difficult battle, of many lives lost, of victory. For Wanda Maximoff, it was the day she lost her brother. She had barely left her bedroom and no one dared go speak to her. Natasha and Vision had gone to see how she was doing but she had refused the company. They could all hear her crying and had collectively silently agreed that it was better to let her process her feelings alone. Y/N was debating wether she should follow their example. She had been standing close to Wanda’s bedroom door for the past hour when she felt a presence next to her.

“You should go talk to her” She heard someone whisper.

She turned her head, her eyes landing on a pretty concerned Captain.

“Wil it really make a difference ?” She asked.

“She’s hurting” Steve answered. “Just like you”

The woman dropped her head.

“I’m not sure, I .. I won’t know what to say”

“You’ll know exactly what to say, Y/N. You’ve both lost a lot”

“So have you. So have everybody here”

He sadly nodded.

“Why does it have to be me ?”

“Because we’ve all grieved. We made peace with whatever happened to us. We don’t feel sadness, anger or guilt just thinking about whomever we lost.” He explained. “You do. Just like her.”

She pursed her lips.

“I can’t pretend to understand, Y/N, because I don’t. I see the mountain that is your pain everyday when I look into your eyes. And, behind this door is a friend who’s going through the same loss you’ve experienced. Even if you haven’t dealt with the death of your sister, you know what it was like for her to lose Pietro, to live without him, to not be capable to let yourself be alive when half of you isn’t anymore”

Hearing his words was enough to reopen the gigantic wound inside her chest. She knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, encouraging her with a soft smile.

“Alright. I’ll go”

She glanced at Wanda’s bedroom before looking back at Steve and swallowed the lump in her throat. Taking a deep breath, she closed the distance and knocked. Not waiting for an answer, she walked inside. She knew if she had ask Wanda, the Witch would have let her wait without an answer until she left.

The young woman was sitting on her bed, her gaze drifting into space. Y/N wasn’t sure she had even acknowledge her presence. All she could see was her soul bleeding an ocean through her eyes. When she sat next to her on the bed, Wanda tried to brush the tears away but it was useless. She couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry you lost him” Y/N whispered.

She cursed under her breath, knowing those were in no way comforting words.

“If you came to tell me you understand, you can leave” She replied with a thick accent.

For a moment, Y/N did not say a word. She was thinking hard of something that could appease her friend, but her mind was blank.

“Are you also going to ask me if I’m okay” She heard Wanda say.

“What is the point ? I know you’re not”

She sighed.

“I’ve always hated that question. How are you suppose to know how you are if all you can feel is emptiness… It’s easier to say yes, put on a smile and turn your head”

“Is that why you’re here ? Are you expecting a yes or the truth ?”

“I already know the truth”

Wanda humorlessly chuckle.

“Are you going to pretend you know what I’m feeling ?” She told her with irony

“That’s the thing. I don’t need to pretend”

She felt her friend tense beside her.

“You should leave”

“Wanda…”

“No!” She shouted, getting up to put a distance between them. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m gonna be alright! I don’t need to hear it will hurt less with time, that I will forget ! Because I won’t, okay, I won’t!”

She started sobbing. For a split second, Y/N thought about hugging her, but she knew that this wouldn’t be a good idea. When her sister died, she couldn’t bear the hugs. They were so full of light and hope, such a bright contrast to the dark that was surrounding her. So she stayed on the bed, and watched her friend break down. Wanda needed the pain, she needed the anger, because they would inevitably lead to the last stage of grief. To life.

“Stop pretending to get this … this torture, because I can assure you, you don’t” Wanda vehemently told her, pacing around the room. “My heart is broken, okay ? It’s … It’s shattered. Not even in pieces, because he took those with him when he died.”

“Wanda …”

“No! You don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody !” Wanda yelled back. “Especially a twin!”

“Actually, I do”

Wanda instantly stopped walking and turned back to her friend, surprised. She watched Y/N playing with her hands, trying to keep the tears at bay, her eyes fixed on her lap, refusing to catch a glimpse of pity when she’ll start talking.

“It.. It doesn’t stop. The pain, I mean. It’s like this overbearing weight that crushes you every single minute of every single day. And when you get a moment to breath, a moment where you don’t feel your heart might explode of sadness, you feel guilty. So all that’s left of you now is pain and guilt. I can’t tell you it’ll get better, because it never did for me.”

She brushed the tears on her cheek as Wanda slowly sat back next to her.

“The world stopped when I lost her, my twin I mean” She continued, starring into space. “And I try, I swear I try to make it work again, but to this day all I keep asking myself is why her … why her and not…me. She was so much stronger than me, she deserved …”

A sob escaped her lips, preventing her from speaking.

“Steve told me I would be able to help you, because I understand your pain. But I can’t. What good would it do to you if I told you I feel like dying every time I think about my memories of her ?”

She humorlessly laughed.

“What good would it do if I confess I don’t want to live because I’m scarred of forgetting ? That I can’t breathe because each breath feels like I’ve cheated death ? That I’m becoming a void of darkness silently sinking ?”

They stayed silence before Wanda’s hand slowly came to hold hers. They spent a short moment without talking. Two woman with broken soul that understood each other on a level no one else’s could.

“You know ..” The Witch started to mutter. “Vis’ told me something once, and it stuck up on me ever since.”

“What was it ?”

“What is grief, if not love persevering”

A tear roll down Y/N’s cheeks, the words stabbing her right through the chest. Suddenly, she was up on her feet, alert and disoriented. This was sheer pain like she had rarely known, wide open scars bleeding through her soul.

“I can’t” She breathlessly told her friend. “I … I’m … I’m sorry Wanda I ca..”

And she fled the room. As soon as she stepped outside of it, she bumped into a muscular chest. Stopping in her tracks, she looked up. That’s when she saw it, what she dreaded the most. A look of pity. Bucky was standing in front of her, searching her eyes, his mouth open like the words were on the tip of his tongue yet he couldn’t voice any of them. He raised an arm toward her, a reflex to comfort the woman he cared the most about, but she was gone in a second. He turned back to glance at Wanda. The woman sadly smile and shook her head.

“Go get her” She simply told him.

And just like that, he was gone. He started by her bedroom, but she wasn’t there. He went to the lab, asked Tony and Bruce if they had seen her, but she wasn’t there. He passed by the gym, than their living room, but again, she was not there. He was almost running inside the building, going anywhere he could think of, but there was no sign of her. He was very frustrated when he crossed path with his best friend.

“Wha …” Steve started to ask.

“Y/N” Barnes only answered, almost out of breath.

The Captain hummed, watching his distress, knowing it was a bad time to ask him about it.

“She’s on the roof”

Bucky didn’t wait, not even hearing what Steve said next, and fled. He didn’t take the elevator and rushed up the stairs. It was a long way up but he did not care. All his mind was focused on was closing the distance between them. Finally, she was there. Sitting on the edge of the building, the sun shining so bright above their head.

“Please tell me you were not thinking of jumping” He said, half joking.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. She had felt his presence before he was even near her.

“The thought crossed my mind” She admitted.

He didn’t want to know if she was joking. Quietly, he stepped next to her and sat on the border, his legs dangling in the air.

“What happened ?” He inquired.

“I just … I thought I could help Wanda and…”

“That’s not what I’m asking” He cut her. “What happened to you Y/N ?”

She pursed her lips, turning for the first time to look back at him. She was almost expecting to see the pity in his eyes, but instead it had been replaced by worry.

“I had a family before the Avengers”

“A family you’ve lost” He guessed.

“…Yes. I couldn’t save them”

He raised his head toward her. She could see the millions of questions he had behind his stare. He was too polite to ask her but she knew he wanted to know. So she turned back to look at the garden in front of the compound, focused on the daisies Tony had insisted to have, and started to tell him her story.

“My parents were … scientists. Experts in genome manipulation. They were working for the government, for Shield. They discovered something important, something they wouldn’t tell us anything about. They started to get edgy, paranoiac, always looking over their shoulder. Whatever it was they found, they were scared. We fled America at the time. My sister and I, we didn’t understand what was happening, we didn’t get that … that they knew they were gonna die. That they were trying to keep us alive”

“What did they find ?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here”

“I don’t understand”

She closed her eyes, remembering them.

“They experimented it on me”

“What ?”

He was shocked.

“We were in Stockholm at the time. One night, they took me to their lab, they said they needed me to work. I was seventeen, just so happy to be with them, so I said yes. Four days later, I woke up alone, surrounded by ashes and no memories. I found …” She stopped for a second, her lips quivering. “I found what was left of their bodies. My sister was there too. All of them, dead.”

Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“I was convinced I killed them, I couldn’t move, I was just … stuck. So I stayed there, laying on the ground, next to their bodies, until Tony found me.”

“That’s how you came to live with Stark”

“Yes. He took me in, changed my name and my story, made me swear to never talk about this”

“Why ?”

“He helped me figure out what happened that night. My parents did succeed in their experiment. They made me … enhanced. That’s what they called it anyway”

“They gave you your powers” He guessed.

“Yes. The same day, Shield found them. While I was under, they put a bullet in their head. My sister was supposed to be sick, at home. But she sneaked out and hid in the lab. She just wanted to be with us. Shield tried to make it seen like it was an accident, a malfunction”

“An explosion”

She nodded.

“Yes. They blew up the lab, with all of us in there”

“But you didn’t die”

“I absorbed the blast”

“Oh…”

She brushed the tears off her face, looking at her trembling hands. It was useless to try to make them stop.

“I never found out who was behind their assassination, or what I am suppose to be”

“What you’re suppose to be ?” He repeated, surprised.

“They put their secret inside me, that’s how I came to be. But what is it, and what am I?”

He frowned, his mind working a thousand miles an hour.

“Do you really think this changes who you are ?” He asked her.

“I lost my identity, Bucky. I lost the person I was. Those powers, they turn me into something I’m not”

“Are you saying I’m the Winter Soldier? That I’m … not a person anymore but a program design to kill ?”

He knew the answer to that question, but he needed her to understand.

“Of course not!” She vehemently answered.

“This is the same fight, Y/N. Hydra might have wiped out my memories, but Bucky Barnes reappeared each time they tried to erase him, because this is who I am. My strength, my arm, my alter-ego, they don’t define who Bucky is. The kid that grew up in Brooklyn does”

“Do you really believe that ?”

“I believe we’ve been broken. But it doesn’t mean we can’t be fix”

His metal arm moved to hold her hand. When she turns around to look at him, he gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with his human hand before brushing his fingertips on her cheek, wiping her tears away.

“I don’t know how many times you’ll need to hear this, Y/N, but we’re not beyond repair” He whispered.

A shiver ran up her spine at his whole demeanor. His shoulders held high, his eyes boring into hers, all she could see was his rage to live, his will to rebuilt stronger foundations around their broken pieces. No it was not pity anymore, nor was it worry. All she saw now was admiration.

“You and I, we are survivors” He said with force.

He was a warm light she had yearn to feel, fresh air she thought would never touch her skin again. Wordlessly, she laid her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes. She didn’t want this feeling to go away and wished to hard she could bottle up this moment with him forever. They stayed like this, her body against his, his hand entangled in her hair, his chin resting above her head, and for a moment none of them spoke.

“Why do I feel so guilty to have you” She muttered so low he almost didn’t hear her.

“Because you know I can bring you peace” He honestly answered next to her ear.

“If I let you in, if I take the risk to be hurt again and I lose you…”

“You won’t”

“You don’t know that for sure”

“I know I’ve got strong feelings for you, and they won’t go away”

“And I feel the same, but we’re gonna get hurt”

“Isn’t that what love is about ? Navigating between feelings so loud they can’t be shut down, even after death. Stop being so afraid to keep on living, Y/N.”

“Bucky …” She called, slowly raising her head to look at him.

“I’m not giving you a choice, doll.”

Before she could talk herself out of this, he closed the short distance between them and laid his lips on hers. Suddenly, what was a flame became a raging fire in the pit of her stomach. She could feel her heart pumping all the way to her ears, feel the tingling sensation of his fingertips against her skin, a sense of peace finally. This was raw emotions they were sharing, sparks of electricity they were making as their lips were moving. Their own world they were creating. A promise they were sealing.

“You’re gonna be okay” He assured her, kissing her forehead.

“Promise me you’ll stay, Bucky”

“For as long as you’ll let me” He finished.

She looked up at him with hope.

“I promise”

[spencers-renaissance]

Shovel Talk

Summary: Hotch and Emily find out about Derek's relationship with Spencer and decide it's time for a chat.

Tags: fluff, humour, est. rel., protective!derek, emily, and hotch, relationship reveal, mentions of past hurt spencer

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Inspired by this post by @penemily that I couldn't stop thinking about. Honestly I love this fic so much lol.

Derek isn’t quite sure how he’s found himself in a vacant office after hours, crowded into an office chair with broken wheels as the two most intimidating FBI agents he knows stand over him.

“Either of you want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Derek asks, bewildered by how quickly his evening had changed. One minute he’s sneaking looks at Spencer over his computer screen, and the next he’s hauled off to a private room like some sort of hostage.

He’s not scared, but he’s definitely a little pissed off. It’s nearing 10pm and all he wants to do is go home with Spencer, curl up on the sofa and eat take-out in front of the TV as they celebrate closing a case in their own way. He used to celebrate by going out for a drink, falling into bed with a stranger if the opportunity arose, but a quiet evening on the sofa with his boy in his arms is surprisingly satisfying these days.

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “We know,” he says simply, something fierce behind his words.

Derek’s heart skips a beat. It’s not hard to figure out what it is he’s talking about. He and Spencer had started dating a couple of months ago but had decided to keep it under wraps for now; something so young and beautiful was too precious to expose to all the inevitable eventual complications just yet. They’re so ridiculously smitten, though, that he’s not exactly surprised two profilers paying close attention had figured it out.

Ignoring the quietly humming nerves starting up in his stomach, he mirrors Hotch’s raised eyebrow, trying not to look as affected as he feels. “So… what? You wait for Spencer to go to the bathroom to lure me to an empty office to beat me up?”

“Maybe,” Emily replies, voice dry.

Behind the nerves and the posturing, Derek can’t feel a small twinge of hurt. “Look, guys, we expected it to be a bit of a shock, but we thought you’d at least be happy for us—”

“It’s not a shock,” Hotch interrupts.

“What?”

“It’s not a shock,” Emily repeats. “Everyone saw this coming a mile off. We’re not surprised.”

Now, he’s even more lost. “Look, can you guys just sit down? You towering over me is creeping me out, man.”

“Good,” Hotch says easily.

Irritation takes over, and he stands up. “You know what, if you’re gonna be funny about it, I don’t actually have to be here.”

Before he can actually make to leave, though, Hotch is shoving him back down into the chair, old metal and plastic creaking under the force of his caught-off-guard body hitting it again. “Stay.”

“What is going on?” Derek explodes. Maybe under different circumstances he’d be able to profile the situation but as it stands, he’s stressed and confused, desperate only to be allowed to leave this dark, cramped room and take Spencer back to his place. It almost surprises him that all he craves in such a weird and unfamiliar situation is cuddles and a nature documentary, but he’s been with Spencer long enough for it to be approaching normal. The younger man’s probably back at his desk by now, wondering where he is, and Derek would hate for him to be worried. He just wants to go home.

“Derek, we are happy for you and Spencer,” Emily finally explains. “But we couldn’t in good conscience let this go on without having a… chat.” Her face twists into the faux charming expression he’s watched her use to disarm unsubs countless times. It stings a little that she’s using it on him.

He splutters a little as a realisation dawns on him, equal parts bemused and offended. “This is… this is a shovel talk!”

“Yes,” Hotch says with a straight face, his expression tight and intimidating as he tilts his head to the side slightly, clearly entirely unaffected by Derek’s emotions. “This is a shovel talk.”

Derek feels himself relax, tension easing slightly. “Guys, I appreciate the sentiment, but Spencer’s my boyfriend; nobody wants to protect him more than I do. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m pretty sure we could give you a run for your money,” Emily says, her expression quickly transforming into something far more dangerous and challenging than only moments previously. “Spencer has something every single member of this team would die to protect. And if you get in our way, then we’re going to have a problem.”

“Emily, what, we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, shrugging easily, “and I love you. But Spencer is my little brother, and I would do anything to stop him from getting hurt. As long as you don’t interfere with my primary mission, we’ll be fine.”

Hotch speaks before Derek can get a word in. “Derek, I knew Spencer long before you did. I remember the first time Gideon brought him to one of our lunches, and I saw something in him that made my heart ache. It didn’t take me long to realise that what I saw were the scars left by incredible deep-seated pain. Spencer has been through hell and back throughout his life, and he’s been hurt repeatedly by people who were supposed to protect him, including Gideon. I would do anything to prevent him from getting hurt by someone like that again, you hear me? Anything.”

As confusing as this all is, Derek can’t help but feel touched by Hotch’s earnest, emotional speech. Most of his nightmares these days revolve around Spencer getting hurt, and it’s kind of reassuring to know that he has so many people in the world who will stop at nothing to prevent those horrible dreams from spiralling into reality.

He can’t help but smile a little. “I’m glad he has you two,” Derek says honestly, looking between them, “but I can assure you that if I ever hurt Spencer for some unfathomable reason, your services wouldn’t be needed. I would hate myself enough for all three of us.” Even just considering the hypothetical possibility of hurting Spencer makes his stomach turn: it’s enough for him to know that he wouldn’t need Hotch and Emily to hold him accountable to that, his own self-loathing would be punishment enough.

It seems to appease Hotch and Emily, who Derek realises look sort of like intimidating twin mafia bosses standing over him like this, and they finally step back a little, posture relaxing.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” Emily says, smiling for real this time. “Get your boy and get home. It’s getting late, you know.”

He rolls his eyes at her as he makes his way to the door.

“Oh, and Derek,” Hotch says, laying a hand on his shoulder, turning him before he can leave, a genuine smile on his face too, “I am actually happy for you and Spencer.”

Derek grins at that. He really is a lucky, lucky man. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“What was that about?” Spencer asks, his features twisting in curiosity as Derek makes his way across the bullpen to his boyfriend, Hotch and Emily emerging from the same room moments later.

Derek doesn’t answer properly, laughing instead. “You got some good friends, you know that?”

Spencer nods, still looking a little confused, but clearly deciding to let it go as he slings his messenger bag across his body, standing up from his desk. Derek slings an arm around Spencer’s shoulders, leading him towards the exit as his insides twist at the adorable blush that colours Spencer’s cheeks so prettily.

“Derek,” he hisses, “shouldn’t we be leaving separately?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he chuckles, looking over his shoulder. Spencer does the same, blushing even fiercer as he spots Hotch and Emily leaning against the railing, overlooking the bullpen with all-knowing looks on their faces.

“Oh my god,” Spencer mumbles, clearly embarrassed, but Derek just laughs again as they leave the bullpen and approach the elevators.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he sighs happily, sliding the arm around his shoulders to rest at his waist, fingertips pressing into the small frame of the boy he’s already falling in love with. “Let’s get you home. That penguin documentary awaits.”

“You’re gonna watch Emperors and Kings with me?” Spencer’s happy exclamation and the delighted expression on his face only warms his heart further, and in that moment he decides that he wants a happy Spencer and another nature documentary within his reach for the rest of his life.

Surprisingly, it’s not as terrifying a thought as it might once have been.

(If Derek thinks the shovel talk from Hotch and Emily is bad, though, it’s nothing compared to the one he gets from Penelope. By the end of the next day, he’s somehow reduced to tears that are both happy and the product of extreme terror, on the receiving end of a ‘baby girl’ ban for keeping it from her for so long. In the end, he decides that it’s probably an alright price to pay for everything beautiful that his life has blossomed into over the last few months.)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @queerminalminds (taglist form)

[moonbaby26]

Title: Night of the Storm

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Weeks after Loki’s last appearance you were finally beginning to give up hope, only to find you’d been on his mind all along as he lures you into being alone with him late one night. His other side shows more of itself as things quickly turn into relieving that pent up physical need.

Warnings: People drowning. Also *here comes the smut.* But the start and finish of it is still marked in red within the chapter if you want to skip that part. I know everyone has their own comfort levels. The only thing in this though that I would even consider slight kink is just a bit of biting and tiny bit of blood from that, like really small. Otherwise it’s just needy gods doing what needy gods do.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

You had replayed your last words with Loki over and over so many times in your head. Had you been too forward after all? Was it too presumptuous to think anything could really come of such a random acquaintanceship?

The more days that passed, the more you questioned what you really remembered of your brief time together versus what you may have only imagined in your optimism.

The night he left, you remembered feeling so sure that he would return. Maybe you weren’t certain in what way he would want to see you next, but you had at least felt he would set foot in your home he called Midgard again. And that he would call your name to the waves once more.

So when the days eventually stretched into weeks with no further sign of him, you had to accept the possibility that you were very wrong on your assumptions.

As you stared upward now from the deep ocean, the blackness all around was only penetrated by the briefest strobes of white. The occasional lightning’s flash silhouetting the wooden ship hulls rising and falling far above you.

It was so late into the night, but your Father’s anger cared not for time. The captain of the fleet above had committed the sin of hubris. He had declared himself a master of the sea after too many trips safely across, and now your Father’s storms aimed to remind this man of a harsh truth.

Your uncle Hades would surely claim souls tonight, one way or another. That was already decided per Father’s orders. But should they all die, then none of the men could carry on this message, this teaching moment either.

So you waited, and you listened. Who among them would plead for intervention as the waters first breached their ships? Father could show his wrath, but he’d sent you to show the other side as well.

Mercy from the gods. Whichever ship contained the most believers, whichever prayed the hardest, that was the one Father had asked you to spare.

But the rest....you could only watch as their bodies joined you one by one in the darkness. And you knew soon that they would only find themselves upon the banks of the river Styx.

You bid the nymphs to comfort the men as best they could, to accept fate rather than fight it. The ocean above was simply rage, but down in this abyss they would only know peace.

When the chosen surviving ship had emerged in your mind though, you pushed only that one forward. The waves began to miss it, ignore it even as the ship fully righted.

“Follow them all the way to their home shores,” You commanded the nymphs. “Let none from that vessel drown under your guard.”

“Yes, goddess.” They answered, swimming quickly to join the now fleeing ship. These mortals would return home with tales of their brush with death. But they would also remember as their prayers had parted the seas only for them.

Yet you felt no satisfaction, even with your duty to your Father done. Your distraction still lingered as you only sank further away from the storm’s flashes in the time afterward, to the colder depths where you intended to again sleep alone.

Floating, suspended in the blackness as you’d closed your eyes, to any that could have somehow seen you, you would have looked most like a corpse as well. Albeit intact, unmarred, and with that smallest pulse of life as the thin slits on your neck pulled in those tiny breaths.

But after only a little while you’d opened your eyes again into the void. Because you felt that someone was watching you. It would seem impossible, but you were so certain of this fact so abruptly then that you called out, your magic giving your words wide presence even within the water.

“And what being are you that should watch a goddess as she tries to sleep? Do you now judge my actions invisible one?”

You waited, but of course the void would not answer back, could not even as the feeling of some ethereal eye upon you would not leave.

What did it want from you?

“Milady!”

You startled harshly, even the distant voice of a nymph shocking you at this depth. She couldn’t reach you though, so you had to swim back upward to her.

When you neared further back towards the surface a quick moving fish cut across your vision. It circled, panicked, and calling again. A younger nymph who could not yet take on any larger form. “Milady, thank goodness I found you. Loki has finally returned! But he is injured!”

That was the last of anything you had expected. But you ordered her to stay where it was safe, to only join the others once more before you tore off into the darkness to head for shore.

———————————

As you emerged from the waves, they crashed rough against your back. You hadn’t realized father’s storms had stretched this far. The rain stung against your now exposed skin as you walked onto the beach in the downpour. Loki had never come at night before. And for it to be now no less, in this tempest, you breathed as you looked around for him in the darkness. But you heard nothing over the wind and waves.

“Loki!” You called.

At last you saw a shadow somehow darker than the rest, shifting then just within the tree line. You hurried towards it.

“They said you were injured!” You spoke over the storm.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, though seemingly more agitated at the rain as he looked all like a drenched rat fallen off a moor line now, making you wonder how long he’d really been waiting for you here.

“I know a place, come on,” You insisted.

But even in these circumstances, you hesitated to touch him, yet knowing it would have been far easier to guide him if you could have only taken his arm. But you did your best to lead him regardless, further along the shore until you came upon the cave opening you were seeking.

“Even during high tide it stays dry in here,” You explained, now finally able to speak at a more normal volume with the sounds of the storm muted somewhat as you went farther back into the cavern together.

Yet light would be an issue, as you were already looking around for a way to at least make a fire.

But to your surprise one started from nothing, in the center of the cave now flickering as the light then shown on you both.

Loki lowered his hand afterward, evidently having just used some other kind of magic you weren’t aware of.

But as you turned to him, you could now see the deep bruising on his face even in the firelight.

“You said you weren’t hurt.” You spoke, that tone of concern not hidden.

“It is minor.” He answered, but offered nothing more.

You waited for one long moment, before finally deciding that any notion of privacy he may hold was now overshadowed by the obvious need for some explanation. “Minor enough to come here in the dead of night in the middle of a near hurricane?”

He gave you an odd look, but you didn’t shrink back.

“I only had another large, predictable argument with my brother.” He finally said. “He decided to help solve things in the only way he knows how. I used magic, he used his fists, and here I am.” Loki had already started to try and smooth his wind mussed hair back into place though, some vanity evident there even as he continued. “And this was only one of few places he would not follow me. Brother has no interest in this part of Midgard currently. He at least allows me this.”

“I see.” You answered, though feeling something was still not right here even as you tried to choose your next course of action carefully. “Would you like help drying off at least then?” You asked.

“You insinuate that you can control rainwater as well?” He questioned skeptically.

“Only if it’s made by one of my father’s storms, yes. Which this clearly was.” You replied, raising your own hands as you willed the water to leave him. And it did lift from his hair, from his clothes, even his skin as the reformed droplets floated strangely in midair before you cast them back out the cave entrance with another flick of your hands.

He watched the water leave with the slightest bit of interest before turning his attention fully back to you then.

“And what is your dear father so unhappy with tonight?” Loki asked, adjusting his now at least somewhat dryer clothing. You couldn’t pull out every bit of dampness true, but it was far better than being completely drenched.

“He felt a mortal had lost respect for the dangers of the seas.” You answered plainly.

But Loki actually was silent for a moment at that as only a dark smirk crossed his features. That little knot in your stomach seemed to tighten at the sight.

“And they say I’m petty.” He finally said. “How many mortals did you really let drown tonight, goddess?”

“So it was you.” You said abruptly, accusing him then and there as you neared closer. “You were watching me!”

“No.” He corrected, though looking pleased none the less that you had made the connection so quickly. “Heimdall was. Yet by my request.”

“Why?” You questioned, but not really knowing what to feel as a mix of anger and embarrassment rose in your confusion.

“I wanted to know if your parting words held any truth. And if you’d grow restless the longer I waited to return.” He smiled then, but there was still a cruelty to it. “Yet that show I did not expect. Heimdall can be quite good at relaying details when pressed. And sparing only the mortals that plead for you tonight, letting the rest become food for your sea beasts....ah, and yet with your servants still comforting the damned. It was really quite a finishing touch.”

“So this is the kind of god you are then?” You asked sharply, though still not sure what you’d really expected.

“I am.” He offered. “And I also am not.”

You tensed, patience truly beginning to wane. “There is no point to speak in riddles to me. What is your real intention here Asgardian?”

“Tsk. Now you wound? I am only back to the Asgardian again?” He tilted his head slightly. “No, you tell me. Why did you leave the protection of your seas so quickly at only the word I was wounded, so panicked that you did not even think to bring that spear of yours?”

Your eyes widened slightly, that realization only just hitting you with his question. It hadn’t crossed your mind once to bring it, even now as he stood so near with that growing look of triumph in his eyes.

“You play games with me.” You retorted, even as you watched those fake bruises now fade from his pale skin.

“And now I know what you would do if it were all true,” he answered, yet with that smirk returning.

“I could fill this entire cave and drown you where you stand you know.” You countered.

“You could try,” He agreed. “But you won’t.”

“You presume too much.” He was becoming maddening. Everything you said, he only grew bolder, he taunted harder. And the worst of it all was, you were not really fighting back. Why were you not fighting back?

“You missed me, goddess. It isn’t that hard to deduce. Not anymore. You wanted this.” He finally said. “And if it’s all the same, I share that frustration. I kept away long enough to be sure. But watching you, knowing what you’re willing to do...I wanted to come back and see it first hand.”

And in all these weeks, tonight wasn’t the only night you’d let mortals perish in Father’s name, or even caused it yourself as you’d manipulated the seas on his orders. And was that really what excited Loki tonight? Seeing you use your powers to this darker extent?

“Is this really how Asgardians flirt? Over the bodies of the innocent?” You asked, unable to keep yourself to sane words any longer. It had all gone too far so quickly.

“I am not all Asgardians. And you and I both know there is no such thing as innocence.” He murmured just as his hands first touched you, taking your wrists. The grasp of his long fingers was surprisingly cold. That chill honestly the first thing you noticed, even as you didn’t push him away.

You watched only his eyes for that moment. And in your own awe you realized he was actually still waiting for you to deny him. You were being given a choice here. But you didn’t refuse him. You couldn’t. You’d already thought of this possibility more than once in your many nights alone.

And it was only you who closed the gap first as you took his lips in yours. You felt him tense briefly though, as if he was still somewhat surprised himself before he returned the motion in full force.

****SMUT INCOMING, KEEP SCROLLING IF WISHING TO SKIP

The rock wall of the cave soon met your back as he pressed you against it. It hurt somewhat, but you weren’t made of glass.

As he pinned your arms against the wall as well, his tongue pressed its way into your mouth. But the taste of him was something you only wanted more of then. Yet when your own tongue fought quickly back, you felt him pull away just enough to look into your eyes once more.

His face hovered only inches from your own as he eyed you hungrily. “You realize I won’t be able to stop once this starts. It’s been far too long. Speak now...or be silent save for saying my praises, goddess.”

“Prideful beast,” You breathed, shifting in his grip. “You think I do this each night either? Try closer to never.”

He seemed even more goaded at that, pleased at the revelation, “Then tell me what you want, (Y/N).”

“You.” You answered immediately, reservation shattered as his body pressed further against your own.

“Then I shall enjoy the privilege.” He whispered huskily, and you leaned your head back just as you felt him bite suddenly after, his mouth rough on your neck. You were sure he was testing if marks could be made on your skin, trying to claim it any way he could now as he pressed a little harder and harder with those teeth.

The juxtaposition of a man who would sit with you for hours only reading, versus this possessive creature he was now shifting towards was so very interesting.

And as he released your wrists, his hands only moved to the straps of your dress next. Yanking them from your shoulders, and sliding the thin fabric easily from your chest, exposing your breasts to his groping touch before his mouth moved over your chest.

As he roughly kissed one breast, his hand squeezed the other tightly. In another too fast movement though, his other hand had now already pulled the rest of your dress away. He pulled you from the wall just enough for it to fall around your ankles then as you realized just how quickly he’d rendered you fully nude here before him. All while you’d only been nearly still, too wrapped up in the desperate feel of it all.

After the dress had fallen though, he did pull back not long after, seeming to admire the view for a moment before his hand then went between your legs.

“I wondered how much you’d taste of the sea,” He murmured, licking that slight residue of salt from his lips as his fingers massaged your entrance.

You opened your legs a little more, leaning further back against the wall to help support yourself as those little flicks and movements of his fingers weakened you further.

“You have entirely too many clothes on,” You panted quietly, not caring if your tone sounded more like pleading in that moment.

“You just want me in you already, don’t you, goddess?” He all but growled, taunting you even as he slipped his fingers inside then.

Before you could hope to really answer, he was kissing you again though, his tongue probing nearly as hard as his fingers were pressing below.

You could feel the resistance decreasing though, the more your inner wetness grew and his fingers slid in and out all the quicker. Something he no doubt could feel as well as he broke the kiss once more.

“Beg me then,” He commanded against your ear.

Even in your own need, you were realizing how much he wanted to be in control. Power aroused him, just as he’d evidently been watching you exert your own in all these days, and just as he wanted to feel dominant over you now.

But you also knew how little you cared either way in this moment. You wanted him to be satisfied just as much as you wanted your own release.

“I want you,” You tried again, locking eyes with him once more. But as you tried to reach for his clothing he only caught your hand in his free one.

“Not good enough,” He reiterated, needing more.

It was hard to think in depth though as his other hand only kept moving just enough to keep you stimulated, but not enough to finish you off.

But alright, you could play this game if you had to. You growled a little yourself, “Fuck me, Loki”. That’s what he wanted to hear wasn’t it? You could see that desperate look in his eyes grow and you knew you about had him. In the moment though, you added one more thing, this time being quick enough with your hand to grab hold of his crotch before he could stop you. “Do it, King. Fuck me.”

He let out another sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan as he pulled his fingers out from you before grabbing you by the arms to force you away from the wall entirely.

He released you only brief enough to face his palms towards his own body. The dark green cloak he wore separated at once from his other clothing, it then splaying out across the floor of the cave. And with another motion his black leather unwrapped itself, almost like invisible hands pulling it all from him as he stepped out of his boots. Then at once he was to you again as the rest of his clothing folded itself neatly out of the way.

But you wished time would slow down in that moment, yourself trying to see every detail of his naked form in the firelight before his body slammed back against yours. That vivid white skin, lean, but surprising you with the musculature that had still been hiding there.

In the ocean, you knew well that it wasn’t always the biggest, bulkiest predators to fear the most. Some of the leaner, faster ones could have your throat ripped out long before the others should you let them in too close.

And his mouth met yours just as harshly then, urging you down to lay on your back upon his cloak on the cave floor.

If your back was bruised later, you hardly cared, as you wrapped your legs around him and he laid his weight upon you. Your hands were free now, and you gladly used them, running them through his hair, and up and down his body to feel all you could of him. He was smooth, with that chill to him that was still so unique.

You found his already strong erection as well, stroking it with one hand as your other moved back into his hair. You held the back of his head as he moved down again to suck at your collarbone, his fingers digging into your hips harshly as he thrust against your hand, urging you to guide him in.

And you were more than ready, allowing him to push inside as you angled him as deep as he could go.

He took full advantage at once too, pulling almost all the way back out before slamming back inside as you gasped.

He lifted up onto his elbows enough to look you in the eyes as he pulled out again, before repeating the second harsh thrust, then a third, and a fourth.

It ached, yet somehow you couldn’t imagine this any other way tonight. He wanted to claim you now, as hard and thoroughly as he could.

And you could take it as you breathed his name. You wanted him to let out all his frustration as your hands moved to his back and your nails dug into his shoulders with each faster thrust.

He bore his teeth with a hiss of pain as your nails finally broke his skin. But he liked it you knew, even as he bit down on your shoulder in return.

You felt the pressure, maybe a little stinging, but your back only arched into him as his hips continued to slam against you mercilessly.

As his mouth let go of you again though, and he lifted up, manhood still inside you, you could see that slightest bit of gold ichor on his lips. The blood of the Olympians. Your blood.

He smiled, knowing full well what he’d done in his haze of lust. “Is that what the remnants of ambrosia tastes like?” He whispered, licking his lips.

Contact with ichor could kill any mortal outright, and here he was playing with it. Yet you truly had no idea what its effects could be on an Asgardian. “You do take risks, don’t you, King?”

He made a pleasured sound, still thoroughly enjoying that word out of your mouth as he grabbed your breasts again, thrusting hard once more. “Only when the odds favor me, goddess.”

Your muscles were tensing though, as he squeezed your breasts and changed his angle slightly to rub more against that sensitive bundle of nerves at your entrance as his cock slid in and out.

You couldn’t know what you really looked like to him right now, sprawled out on your back beneath him, laying on his own cloak as he fucked you like he’d never have the chance again.

But you could see his own expression, and his eyes were so intense, like under a spell of euphoria as his breath grew more rapid.

Would he pull out you wondered? Did you even want him to?

“Loki,” You spoke, raising your hand up to the side of his face gently, even though you realized his own red blood now dotted your fingernails.

He surprised you when he only turned his face enough to kiss your hand though, still watching you even as you felt him jerk inside you abruptly. You saw him shudder as that orgasm went through him, and you felt his seed pulsing out deep inside you.

But even as he came, his hand went back to your entrance, bidding you to do the same as he tormented your clit. You’d been on that edge for so long, it was easy to finally let go as you trembled beneath him, getting your own release then.

And even then he still didn’t pull out. He only tugged you so that you both rolled onto your sides on his cloak, still facing one another.

You were both breathing rather hard now, and you truly wanted to close your eyes to rest for a moment, but you felt his fingers edging along the side of your face as you opened your eyes again.

He kissed you once more, and you could taste that sweetness that you knew was indeed the leftovers of your own blood.

*

*

****SMUT DONE, CAN KEEP READING HERE

“Have you been sated?” You asked, reaching up to run your thumb across his bottom lip.

He grinned slightly at the touch. “To say yes would only be another lie now wouldn’t it? I am never sated, dear. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy this.”

With that he reached out enough to touch his hand to the cloak beneath you. You felt the material shift before the sides of it suddenly extended, wrapping around you both like a blanket in the cool cave.

More of his own magic no doubt, but there were no complaints from you as you just rested your head against him, closing your eyes again. He allowed it, so you supposed he was also too tired to do anything differently.

You weren’t sure for how long he would actually stay this way. But for now you would only take comfort in this rarity of intimacy as best you could, breathing in his scent, and savoring the feel of his skin still against yours.

———————————-

It was only the extremely persistent calling of seagulls that finally woke you. Groggily you yawned, only startled as you realized yourself fully naked and for one chaotic moment could not remember how in Gaia’s name you got that way.

You sat up abruptly as the green cloak fell away from your bare body. But the silky feel of it brought you back to reality as you ran your hand out across it.

The sunlight was shining brightly into the cave. The fire long gone, and Loki along with it as you now sat alone here. All his clothes that had been stacked against the wall were also gone. Though with some bit of humor you realized your dress was now neatly folded beside the edge of the cloak for you to find. Quite far removed from its original point of just being piled beside the wall last night.

Though with him gone it was interesting that none of the nymphs had yet joined you. Perhaps they had just been too polite. But when you saw those same annoyingly loud gulls with some now walking up and down nervously at the cave entrance, you realized them for what they were.

You pulled Loki’s cloak back around yourself before laying back down, even while calling out. “You can come in, girls! I’m awake!”

With that a flurry of seagulls immediately flew into the cave, landing all around. And in moments they were all beautiful sea nymphs again, staring at you expectantly.

“You cannot tell my father, okay?” Was the very first thing you said as they all nodded highly enthusiastically.

But when you didn’t say anything immediately more, you could tell they were all about to explode in anticipation. “Yes, we coupled. Yes, I’d do it again.” You finally said.

They all squealed, no doubt realizing as well how badly you’d wished for his return in the last weeks. Yet that was also when the questions came.

“But was he better than an Olympian?”

“Was he tender, or rough? Did he try to please you, milady?”

“Was he big? I’ve heard everything is bigger up north. Aren’t they from the north?”

“My gods, girls, I don’t know. It’s not like I do this all the time.” You grumbled a little, curling up further into his cloak. It still smelled like him you realized. A rich scent, likely whatever it was that the royal quarters in Asgard smelled like.

“Oh we know! But it’s just, oh this is so exciting! You’ve finally taken a lover!”

Though as they continued to chat away, you did think of something you could actually ask them in return.

“When did he leave anyway? Did you see him?” You questioned.

“Oh,” They considered this for a moment. “Before sunrise surely, but we were um, asleep...most of us. We roosted outside the cave to wait for you, goddess.”

“I followed him!” Another one said. “But he told me to leave him be and go home.”

“What form were you in?” You asked, surprised he would so quickly recognize a nymph if in another form.

“Oh...well I was a seal.”

You blinked, imagining the ridiculousness of a nosy seal trying to inconspicuously waddle behind Loki all the way back up the beach and hillside last night.

“You should have been a small shorebird, and stuck to the trees to watch from a distance.” You commented.

“Ah, yes, that probably would have worked well.” They agreed.

You sighed a little, but it didn’t matter much regardless. As much as you still wanted to savor last night, Loki was already gone again. Which also meant that once again you could only wonder when, if ever, he might see fit to see you once more.

He’d already showed his capacity to fake his own injuries just to lure you in faster. So there was always the possibility that everything, all of it, had just been some elaborate scheme to bed you. And with that pleasure won, he may only be off to his next challenge far away from here.

You would have to accept whatever the Fates allowed, because what other choice did you have? But there was still no question. If you could see him again, you would gladly do so.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[sapphirelass]

Deal? - Remus LupinxDaughter!Reader

Hi! :)

Deal? (Part 1) | Oh, darling... (Part 2) | I’ll be by your side (Part 3) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swear, my next story won’t be about Umbridge XD

Word count: ≈ 2300

Warnings: Umbridge, angst, slight swearing

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I do not wish to criticise the ways of the school, however you have been exposed to some rather irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention” the toadlike professor threw a dark glance at a sandy haired student and smirked evilly, “extremely dangerous half breeds”.

The student in question raised her hand angrily, and glared at Professor Umbridge. “Yes?” the teacher smiled sweetly, “miss… Lupin, am I correct?”

“Yes, (Y/N)!” she began, “but that’s besides the point. Look, I know what you’re doing, but Professor Lupin was the best DADA teacher we’ve ever had, and I’d be more than happy to bet everything I own on that being quite a common opinion in this classroom!”

Most of her fellow classmates nodded furiously, and the young girl turned her head towards her professor, who immediately cleared her throat and declared: “Well, I’m afraid simply being a beloved teacher doesn’t really matter, dear.  Werewolves are still extremely dangerous creatures. They are beasts that are undeserving of respect and that should not be allowed to be part of our fine wizard community. They are uncontrollable, and highly likely to injure or possibly kill young witches and wizards, including their own children.”

She flashed a cruel, yet pleased, smirk as (Y/N) furiously stood up, despite Hermione desperately trying to force her down.

“You have NO IDEA what you’re talking about!?” she whispered angrily, her nails digging into her palms as her fists clenched. “You have probably never even met one of these so called ‘half breeds’, have you? No, you were most likely just told some bizarre stories containing more lies and made up facts than truths, and decided to put that worthless ‘knowledge’ - if you can even call it that - to use by spreading rumors and destroying the lives of innocent people.”

Umbridge looked frantic, and was about to speak up, but (Y/N) got there first. “I despise people who look down on others. People who claim to be better than everyone else. People like you. You certainly don’t deserve respect!”

She took a deep breath, and was about to continue when Umbridge’s shrill voice forced her to stay quiet. “That’s quite enough! Detention, miss Lupin. The rest of the week, five fifteen, don’t be late”.

***

A few hours later, (Y/N) made her way back to Umbridge’s office. She knew her friends had wanted to talk to her, but she had done her absolute best to avoid them all afternoon. She simply didn’t feel like explaining to them why she had done what she did. She’d gladly do it again though. Her father was the kindest, wisest, most incredible person she had ever met. He had done everything in his power to give her a good childhood, and no one had the right to insult him. She’d defend him to her last breath if that’s what it would come down to.

She knocked on the door carefully, and pushed it open when she heard a shrill, terrifying voice sing a sweet “come in”.

“Oh, miss Lupin, almost late I see!” she said arrogantly. (Y/N) didn’t have time to answer before her teacher continued. “Sit down.”

***

The detentions went on for another four days before Umbridge told her she didn’t have to come back the following evening, but that she better hold her tongue unless she longed for more. (Y/N) tried to keep that in mind, but still lost her cool a few more times before the end of the semester. However, the Christmas holidays were approaching, and though her red, swollen hand caused her to worry slightly, the idea of seeing her dad and godfather caused her enough joy to tip her mood over to “mainly happy”.

She stepped off the train with her friends, and immediately spotted her father on the platform.

“Dad!!” she shouted, and threw her scratched arms around his constantly scarred torso. “Merlin, I’ve missed you so much”. She buried her head in his shoulder, simply enjoying the feeling of love and safety that he somehow instantly gave off.

“Hello, darling!” he said gently, returning the bone-crushing hug. “I missed you too, believe me…”

(Y/N) wanted to stay like that forever, but eventually let go as she intended to at least try to keep her… problems… hidden. She had never really been able to keep secrets from her dad, and therefore didn’t want to do anything he would consider “out of the ordinary”. If she did, he’d figure it out, or persuade her to tell him everything within minutes, and she knew he’d feel guilty if he realized what she had done for him. She understood perfectly well that the scars on her hand were deep enough to be visible for the rest of her life, and that nothing she would say could convince Remus Lupin that it was not his fault. She was left with one option: He could not, under any circumstances, know. Ever.

They carried her trunk together, and walked a few feet behind the rest of the gang.

“So?”, her father inquired, “How are things? You all doing okay?”

“I suppose”, she answered, “Our new DADA teacher is quite a daft prick though.”

“(Y/N/N)!”, he muttered sternly, casually trying to hide a smile, “Are you sure that’s the right word? Sounds rather rough, doesn’t it?”

The witch shrugged. “No, I think it fits rather nicely. It’s almost as if she’s trying her very best to prevent us from learning anything helpful…”

“That’s… well, that doesn’t sound very promising, does it?”

“No, hence the slightly offensive description… But enough about her, how are you? Had any company while I was gone?”

The older wizard smiled, easily noticing the tone of his daughter’s voice switch into a far more joyful, energetic one - One he knew and loved!

“Oh yes, I’ve spent quite a bit of time at headquarters, and Sirius essentially isn’t allowed anywhere else, so we’ve done a lot of catching up. There is, believe it or not, a lot to talk about after 12 years without seeing each other, so it’s been very nice.” He turned to her, smiled even broader and added a quick “But I’ve still missed you.”, before quickening his pace to catch up with the others.

***

Later that night, (Y/N), Remus, Harry and Sirius were sat in the living room of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry and Sirius were playing catch with an old snitch they had found in the house, lazily throwing it back and forth. (Y/N) lay on a sofa, a thick leather bound book tightly clutched in her hands and her head resting on her fathers lap. He was deeply invested in A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, and father and daughter were simply enjoying a nice, calm evening.

All of a sudden, Sirius grabbed the snitch, sat up straight and reached out towards his godson.

“Harry, what’s that on your hand?”

The dark haired boy pulled the sleeves of his jumper further down and mumbled a quiet “nothing”.

“Sure, let me see then”

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry abo…”

Harry didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as Sirius had risen from his seat and forcefully grabbed his left hand. The slightly faded “I must not tell lies” was still readable, and Harry winced as the look on his godfather’s face went from composed to furious in a matter of seconds.

“Who?”

“Sirius, I…”

“WHO?!”

By this time, both Remus and (Y/N) had put their books down, and were carefully observing the “argument”.

“It’s our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Umbridge. She’s quite generous when it comes to giving detentions. But mine’s really not that bad now. It barely hurts anymore…”

“That’s totally barbaric!? Moony, we have to…”

“Harry”, Remus interrupted his old friend with a worried look on his face, “What do you mean by ‘quite generous’?”

His heart practically skipped a beat when he felt his daughter shift uncomfortably, however it was Harry who answered.

“‘m quite sure half the Gryffindors have been to her office at least once by now. Even when you’re not really doing anything wrong, she’ll make up a ‘reasonable’ excuse…”

As Harry spoke, (Y/N) had unconsciously been pulling the sleeves of her jumper closer to her fingertips. Remus obviously noticed and made eye contact with Harry, nodding discreetly towards his daughter as if to ask if she too had… well… yeah? Harry closed his eyes, knowing full well how his friend wanted to hide her scars from her dad. It had taken hours of convincing before she had even let him, Ron and Hermione see, and he understood why she didn’t want Lupin to know. He did, however, not like the idea of lying to his former professor, and nodded slightly.

Remus closed his eyes looking simultaneously sad and angered, sat up straight and muttered “(Y/N/N)?”

The young witch took a deep breath and was about to move away from her dad, but he was faster and quickly grabbed her hand. He was very gentle, but she flinched anyways, as her last detention had taken place only a week prior.

“(Y/N/N)”, he repeated, “show me”

“Dad”, she mumbled quietly, “‘tis fine, don’t worry”

“(Y/N)!” His voice sounded far sterner now, “I’m serious. C’mere”

“No, I don’t want…”

“It’s not a question of whether or not you want to, Love”, Sirius explained before his friend could think of a response. “Show your dad.”

“But…”

“(Y/N/N)”, Harry mumbled, “Just… just do it”

“No! I can handle it! Stop making it sound like I’m too weak to do so!”

She felt a tear escape her eye, and stood up to leave the room when Remus waved his wand and locked the door.

Taking yet another deep breath, his daughter turned around, made her way across the room, pulled her left sleeve up and slammed her scarred hand down on the table for the other three to see.

“There! You happy now?!”

A flood of tears were streaming down her face, as her dad, godfather and best friend leant closer and read seven deep-red, awful, heart wrenching words:

***

I must not defend filthy half breeds

***

Remus put his head in his hands and stood up, while Sirius moved closer to his goddaughter and pulled her into a tight hug. Harry joined the embrace and comfortingly rubbed her back.

“why? Why (Y/N/N)?”, her father whispered quietly, his voice barely audible.

“I… I couldn’t…She… sorry…”

The usually calm, collected girl was completely lost for words. Shaking. She had no clue what to say, all she knew was that she had to let her dad know that she was sorry. Sorry for making him feel guilty. Sorry for causing him so much pain. Sorry for not being strong enough.

She walked over to him and noticed heavy, wet tears on his face too. Carefully she wrapped her arms around him, and together they sank down onto the cold floor. They sat there for what felt like hours before Remus finally spoke up, repeating his previous question.

“Why, darling?”

She met his sad gaze and collected her thoughts before quietly whispering “She keeps saying horrible things - pure lies - and she’s enjoying it. She’s throwing insults my way every chance she gets. If I don’t stand up and fight, everyone will think she’s right, and she’s not. Nothing will ever change unless someone works for it, and as soon as that someone backs down, they’ve lost. I’m not having that.”

He looks back at her, his eyes full of pride. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You mean besides being the most phenomenal dad imaginable?”

He chuckled softly, ruffled her (Y/H/L) hair and held his hand out. (Y/N) slowly placed her hand on her father’s and shifted her gaze towards the floor as he examined the neatly written letters. With a worried expression on his face, he grabbed his wand and moved it back and forth over the scars while quietly muttering a few carefully chosen words. The pain immediately became more endurable, and after putting his wand away the older wizard grabbed his daughter’s shoulders gently, and looked at her in a sad, yet determined way.

“(Y/N/N), as honourable as your intentions are, please don’t do this for me. I’m not going to tell you to back down, but if you’re going to keep it up, don’t let it…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I can’t stand the thought of you getting injured because of me. I’m not wo…”

“Yes, you are! Stop saying that! I’ll be a bit more selective, if that’s what you want, but don’t you dare tell me not to fight for you. You are my dad, my only family, and there is not a single person on this planet less deserving of disrespect, insults and hate. Dad, you’re amazing, and I’m not letting her fool people into thinking you’re not.”

After a moment of silence, a quiet, “I still don’t like it…”, escaped his lips.

“I know.” She sighed, “That’s why I originally didn’t plan on telling you.”

(Y/N) was fiddling with her fingers, not quite meeting her fathers warm gaze, when she suddenly sat up and said, “Let’s make a deal? I promise to choose my fights more wisely, and in return, you won’t blame yourself for the consequences of said choices? Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

Her father sighed, but reluctantly answered, “Fine, as long as you promise me one more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“You won’t hide scars or pain from me ever again, no matter whether it’s physical or mental, okay? You’ll let me know, and let me help, always!”

She held her right hand out, her dad shook it and they shared a smile. This time, a true, pure one that actually reached their identically green eyes.

“Deal!”

~ L

Part 2 Oh, darling...

Masterlist

[sugarstickery]

An Allegory Within the Dark

This is an unofficial fan translation of chapter 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel, Departing Summer and Returning Autumn by Gege Akutami and Ballad Kitaguni.

Summary: Mahito stumbles across an unusual human in his search for a place to call ‘home’.

Featured characters: Primarily Mahito, with brief appearances from Hanami and Jogo, along with an unnamed novel-only character

Timeline: An undefined time prior to the events of the Vs. Mahito arc

An Allegory Within the Dark

If you want to hide a tree, you go to the middle of a forest.

So if you’re looking to hide a person, you should go to the middle of a city.

Following that logic, it makes sense for curses worthy of being the true humans to set up their hideout in the city center.

Cursed spirits would actually have it much easier if they spent their time in places crammed with fear where humans and the like can’t live: deep in the mountains or in densely wooded areas, for example.

But for a group of curses plotting to overturn the current era, a base in the heart of the city is crucial for invasion and seeking refuge. That being the case, it’s also better to try aiming for a location with a high concentration of negativity.

Anyway, that’s how some employees from a scam business ended up massacred.

“This really is the simplest way to handle it. All of them nest together up here away from the public eye, so clean-up is a cinch.”

Jogo laughed while trampling the burning remains of a corpse underfoot.

Roughly two minutes ago, there were about six humans in the office.

The curses considered a few ways to handle dispatching them but ultimately decided that burning was the fastest, so Jogo quickly turned them to ash.

“But humans used this building, didn’t they? Won’t it be a problem if there’s property management or something?” Mahito asked, poking at an ostentatious vase displayed on a shelf.

Apparently the concern was unnecessary. Jogo tried to answer with a grin, but a nonsensical language cut into their conversation.

“⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⎎⍜⋏⏁ ⟟⌇ ☊⎍⌇⏁⍜⋔”

“Oi, bastard—! Stop talking, Hanami! It makes my head itch!”

Though Hanami spoke in nothing but meaningless sounds, the intention behind it was somehow transmitted directly into the minds of others. This was usually unpleasant and it irritated Jogo.

When he noticed Mahito still looking his way, Jogo continued to explain despite his frustration.

“Hmph... What? There’s no need to worry. I asked Geto what his aim was, and it looks like these were the kind of underhanded humans who got involved in plenty of unethical things.”

“Hm. So basically, other humans won’t actually come close if they get that curse stuff happens here.”

“Exactly. Any respectable, straight-laced human would never come near this place under normal circumstances. It’s the perfect city-center hideout.”

“Is it really?”

“...What is it, Mahito? You don’t seem satisfied. What’s there to worry about? It would put us in a great position to start preparing our plans for the city, and it’s great for a quick escape if we need one.”

“Mm... No, you’re right, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“It’s just... This room is really tacky.”

“Huh?”

With a pop, a small eruption burst forth from Jogo’s head. His narrowed eye looked like a painting of a gently sloping mountain.

“It’s tasteless, isn’t it? Stuff like that gaudy gold lion in the sparkly jar or this cheap-looking sideboard.”

“What are you even saying?! I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately, but you’ve been so annoying!”

“Movies.”

“Movies? Are those overly-embellished portrayals of humans really that interesting?”

“They’re references for my studies on the structure of a soul,” Mahito replied with an ambiguous smile.

If humans could see him, they might be reminded of a proud elementary schooler discussing the knowledge they gained from a book report.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t find the stories that interesting either, but I don’t hate the sense of visual aesthetics that humans have. That said, this room has too many useless colors and really hurts the eyes.”

“Such bratty, selfish complaints... We can just burn or toss anything that’s an eyesore.”

“No need, I’m going to look for a place to settle down on my own.”

“What? Ah, hey— Where are you going?”

Not waiting for Jogo’s response, Mahito waved over his shoulder and vanished like smoke or a gentle breeze, off to who-knows-where.

“Geez… Maybe it’s because he was born from human fear, but even knowing he’s a curse, he tends to be way too frivolous. Watching movies and all…”

While grumbling out his complaints, Jogo took a pipe from his shirt pocket to put in his mouth.

Unlike human cigarettes, this wooden pipe somehow imitated a screaming face when smoked.

“But that Mahito...”

Jogo spun around to survey the room with his one eye.

“...He says that, but it doesn’t seem tacky to me.”

“⊑⏃⋏⏃⋔⟟”

“I already said shut up!!”

--

You can only find a hideaway that suits you by looking for it on your own.

Mahito wandered through the city with this in mind. He alternated left and right turns on a whim any time he happened across a traffic light, walked alongside stray cats, or sometimes simply went in the direction of clouds that he liked the shape of.

While traveling along his chosen path like this, he keenly felt just how laughable humans were.

Though the city belongs to them, no one walking in and out of it was more free than Mahito.

Everyone seemed constrained. They were captured by ties of obligation and vanity, living in a wide, deep, big city with such narrow outlooks.

Unaffected by the enormous sky sprawling out endlessly overhead, they box themselves into their concrete city with their own hands and limited perception of souls, passing the time by whittling their lives down further and further.

Mahito even learned the words for some of these human concepts to study later.

For example, they call it “morals”. They call it “common sense”. They call it “emotion”.

But a human soul isn’t anything more than the resulting mechanical movement that comes from external stimuli.

And so they let go of freedom and live tightly controlled lives, fearing the judgmental stares of others, stooping to flattery for society’s approval.

“...What a waste.”

Everyone is bound by ostentatious shackles of their own making.

That’s why these curses know there has to be a change, as far as humans go. Those who cannot do anything but crawl in such an unsightly way under the magnificent sky must hand over the world.

Mahito thinks. He ponders over any topic his soul turns toward. He walks wherever the wind blows him.

Before long, the time had come for the sun to descend in the western sky. He could hear the burbling of a river.

--

“Not bad.”

The hideaway Mahito found was under a bridge, across the river.

It was a tunnel, vacant and huge like a temple.

Pipes ran along the inside, clear water flowing from them and into the river. It looked like wastewater was drained here after being purified, so there wasn’t much discomfort.

Apart from the humid air and the moss that emitted a peculiar grassy smell, it seemed wide enough to splash and jump around in, and the concrete’s cool texture provided a refreshing welcome.

There’s a season that curses are partial to.

Negative human emotions accumulate from the end of winter to spring, and it could be said that the rainy season served as the so-called peak of their ripening.

The inside of the damp tunnel held the same atmosphere. There was a gloominess there in the dim lighting that could easily nurture fear. It gently moistened Mahito’s skin; he felt cozy.

“Yeah, let’s stay here.”

When choosing a place to live, it’s best to trust your instincts.

Perhaps humans should do the same, but what they can’t readily do, Mahito can decide without hesitation. If he’s free when he wanders, then he’s free when he settles down, too.

Mahito stepped into the tunnel in good spirits, knocking solidly on the concrete floor.

The soul’s metabolism smooths out in comforting spaces. But…

“Huh?”

After walking a short distance, Mahito discovered “that”.

He initially thought it was some garbage or something that a human illegally dumped. But before long, it became clear that it was a sack-like silhouette leaning against a wall.

At first glance, it perhaps looked like a mere collection of rags.

But the shape of a soul was there.

—Ah, it’s alive.

Yes, just as Mahito had realized, it was a human.

The tattered clothing and wildly overgrown hair and beard hid his shape, but it was undoubtedly a human.

His exact age wasn’t clear from his outward appearance, but whether he was 60 or over 80, he looked elderly.

Mahito thought it was a bit of a pain.

There was already a visitor living in his precious hideaway.

Of course, taking care of this issue would be an easy matter for him. But he felt the same discomfort as a homeowner finding a stain on the wall of their new house.

‘Anyway, if I’m gonna deal with this, let’s get it done,’ Mahito thought, reaching out toward the old man with a little sigh.

Whereupon, unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

“...I’m sorry if you’re displeased.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what you came here to do, but... I’m sure your mood has soured after stumbling across the home of an old fool. But I have nowhere to go, either.”

Mahito was a little taken aback.

The old man was clearly aware of Mahito and turned toward him to speak. This wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was talking to a fellow human.

But Mahito is a curse.

The eyes of a mere human can’t clearly perceive cursed spirits.

It isn’t impossible, though. If humans are born with cursed energy, it isn’t unusual for them to be aware of the existence of curses.

What caught Mahito’s attention was this old man’s lack of ‘eyes’.

As in, he had no eyes in the physical sense. Instead, in the empty sockets that once held them, there was a burn scar that was painful just to look at.

Even sorcerers rely on their eyes to view the world.

They depend on their field of vision to spot cursed spirits. That’s why so many of them use sunglasses and the like to conceal their line of sight, as it helps them remain unaffected. It also helps them maintain a balanced mind when their daily life overflows with curses.

However, that was not the case for this old man.

“Can you see me?”

When Mahito asked, the old man answered with a gentle nod.

“At the very least, I can feel you.”

“But you can’t see the world?”

“Naturally. That includes the scenery, what you look like, what color your skin is, and even your gender. Even so... I know you’re there.”

“...Are you a sorcerer?”

“Most likely not.”

“You’re being pretty vague, even though you’re talking about yourself.”

“For a long time, that’s what I’ve been the most vague about.”

Mahito began to notice something strange.

He can feel the shape of a human’s soul.

He knows the movement of a soul’s metabolism, whether it takes on a harsh form, withers weakly, or flickers with liveliness.

However, this old man’s soul was hardly metabolizing.

It was like a meadow with no wind, or a still sea, or the blue sky on a cloudless day.

No, it would be most appropriate to compare it to a stone.

His soul was like a stone on the side of the road.

No fancy ornamentation, no polishing. Unmoving, unwavering.

Calmly passing the time while growing moss.

That was the shape this old man’s soul had.

No matter how calm or how old a person is, the human soul always flickers.

As the years stack up, common sense doesn’t disappear, selfishness isn’t eliminated, and fear isn’t conquered.

But this old man was different.

The old man’s soul was at peace. He had sincerely accepted that everything would decay with time, but that didn’t mean he would throw his life away. It was truly similar to the way in which nature existed.

It was Mahito’s first time meeting anyone like this.

--

For a while, the tunnel became something of a den for Mahito.

He had gotten a hammock from somewhere, which he hung up between the pipes. He lounged in it and read, passing the time in comfort.

In a movie about life on a deserted island, a human who was desperate to survive made a hammock. Through it, he was able to regain a little peace of mind.

Since it looked surprisingly comfortable, Mahito gave it a try and it worked out nicely.

The arguments and fights of the outside world didn’t reach the inside of the tunnel, where only the burble of the small stream could be heard.

It provided a good environment for soothing the soul.

While leisurely absorbing new knowledge from his books, Mahito would sometimes absentmindedly gaze up toward the ceiling, or glance down at the corner where the old man squatted, looking as he always did.

“How do you live like this? It’s pretty mysterious...”

In the end, Mahito didn’t kill the old man.

It’s important to note that the old man wasn’t much of a hindrance for him. If it would make no difference whether he was there or gone, then Mahito figured getting rid of him would be more of a hassle.

The old man was just there, even quieter and more carefree than a stray cat.

Mahito knew the phrase: ‘man is only a reed, but he is a thinking reed’.

He found it hilarious and also genuinely liked it. It simultaneously boasted about being trapped in thoughts of the soul, while also showing that humans were frail as weeds.

It could be said that the old man was an unthinking reed, then.

No – he was even quieter than that; more like grass or some type of moss. In any case, the old man said nothing and simply carried on living.

Every now and then, the old man would suddenly shuffle off elsewhere, but he would be back to sleep before Mahito knew it. He was surely getting food from somewhere, but he never seemed to gain weight. If he lost any while in the tunnel, he would eat just enough to gain it back when he left, and no more.

It was a style of living so close to nature that it seemed more like a phenomenon than a life.

“That’s why I seriously wonder if you can see me.”

The suspicion was uttered suddenly.

Mahito wasn’t exactly speaking to the old man. Rather, his tone was that of someone talking to themselves.

But when he noticed that the old man’s soul didn’t waver even after hearing him speak, Mahito finally addressed him directly.

“How long have you been here?”

“Let’s see… I think a few winters have passed, but I’m not sure,” the old man muttered, his reply quiet.

Since they were two beings with souls who were aware of each other’s existence, Mahito felt it would be more natural to chat every now and then.

“Don’t you get bored?”

When spoken to in a soft tone, the old man also responded softly.

“I’ve forgotten how to be bored.”

“How do you usually pass the time here?”

“I don’t do anything, really. I just listen to the sounds.”

“The sounds?”

“The sounds of the water flowing.”

“...Is it fun?”

“It’s not. But I forgot how to have fun a long time ago, too, so it’s not an issue.”

So it was like that. Mahito nodded.

If this old man could no longer even feel the pain of boredom, perhaps his soul was worn down.

Humans of the city gasp and struggle through the hurt of not having enough, yet always wish for more even when they get what they wanted. Their souls grew fat and tattered through the rich accumulation of these negative feelings.

So in that regard, from Mahito’s point of view, the old man had a thin soul – but it could be said that was clever of him.

A fat and full human soul leads to a fear of losing the gratifying present moment, which in turn gives birth to curses.

“It’s hard to get your attention. What’s your name?”

When Mahito asked, the old man looked into the air for just a second.

“I left that behind. You can call me whatever you like.”

“There are humans without names? Even curses have them.”

“If you don’t meet other people, you don’t need a name.”

“Isn’t it a problem if you don’t have one?”

“When is it a problem?”

“When it’s time to be buried.”

“I don’t need a gravestone with a name. I can just be stuffed into a common grave, or maybe I’ll rot undiscovered and return to the earth that way.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“…Was that a joke?”

The old man didn’t laugh. Neither did Mahito.

But Mahito had the feeling that this old man was childish, contrary to his appearance. His lack of attachments created an unsullied disposition that might make him younger than he looked.

His interest in the old man simmered and surged.

It was his first time seeing this type of human, his first time feeling a soul with this form. For Mahito, this was a rare specimen.

What kind of path must life take to make this kind of human? What would be the most intriguing shape to make with a soul like that? What uses could one plan for such a person?

And what kind of curse would be born from them?

With these questions fueling his curiosity, Mahito started to chat with the old man.

“Why are you here?”

“…Why?”

The old man looked up toward the ceiling through his unruly bangs.

His eye sockets were empty, but it seems like even without sight, humans tended to stare into nothing when they were thinking. One curiosity of Mahito’s was satisfied.

“You weren’t born and raised in this tunnel, right? As a human, you must have been in that noisy city.”

“Ah, that. I lived a fairly busy life a long time ago. I inherited the house, worked, made money and supported my family.”

“So you were a human in a pretty good position.”

“In human society, yes. Looking back on it now, it was all meaningless.”

“So... what, you basically started living in a hole like a mouse, then?”

“I did that because I lost everything that I needed up to then. I lost my social status, my money, and a place where I belonged.”

“You lost it all?”

“I was tricked. That’s when my eyes were burned, so I lost my sight then, too.”

Mahito incidentally recalled the company Jogo attacked.

“You got tricked, huh? You seem pretty good-natured about it.”

“That’s because I didn’t care much about being tricked.”

“You’re a weird old man. Is this some kind of hobby where you get your kicks when people deceive you or something?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person I was back then. The ones who tricked me were my old friend and my wife. My eyes were burned in that so-called “accident”¹; they claimed I wasn’t of sound mind and body after that, and under the guise of caring for me, they stole everything I worked for before I knew it.”

“That’s a pretty flashy way to trick someone, isn’t it? You’re talking like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“Those two loved each other, and I was loved by no one. Knowing that was more monumental to me than being tricked.”

It was hard for Mahito to interpret what the old man said.

Love. Is it really such an important word?

It’s said that curses born from love exist in the world. It seems there are tremendously powerful ones among them, too. But Mahito doesn’t understand how the mechanism by which people love each other is any different from a cat’s attachment to a blanket.

Still, Mahito knows for a fact that people are obsessed with it.

“Didn’t you curse them? The ones who tricked you.”

“Not really.”

“’Not really’, huh. You know, normally a human in that situation would get angry and hold grudges, and it would make the shape of their soul deteriorate.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t think I had the energy to even consider seeking revenge or hurting them.”

“...I get it.”

Mahito nodded, filling in the blanks.

Regardless of whether or not he can guess the trends in human emotion, Mahito has studied many movies, novels and poetry so far.

Then there were the humans he tinkered with. Mahito could put together the pieces he gleaned from those things and use them to break down the old man’s story.

“So basically, you were in despair. So much despair that it was like your soul was about to die. That’s how you broke through the creation of grudges and curses and ended up like this.”

The old man slowly shook his head.

“I may have been disappointed, but I don’t believe I felt the intense despair you’re thinking of.”

“Are ‘disappointment’ and ‘despair’ different?”

“They are; this is just my personal experience.”

The old man raised his face, following the memories.

“There was no burning resentment or turbulent sorrow. It’s just... I was tired, I guess. Between work, assets, reputation, my life situation and duties, dealing with others, caring about the family name... I think I was probably just tired and worn out because of it all.”

“And that’s why you didn’t get mad even after being tricked?”

“I was at peace. They say the soul gets lighter after going through disappointments.”

The old man’s voice was calm.

It had a cool quality to it, like muddy water that had been filtered clean.

“I couldn’t see, I had no money, I had no love... But as I was walking through the city with nothing to my name, it all suddenly became inconsequential. And then, as I looked around, I saw the city in a new light.”

“Even though you can’t see?”

“Yes. When you can’t see anything, it’s just sound and wind that goes on forever anywhere you are. I couldn’t even see the walls blocking the city in. It was just endless darkness spreading out forever, like a starless night. For the first time, I understood how wide the world was. And I thought to myself... ah, I’m free, aren’t I?”

Mahito blinked rapidly.

This old man’s thinking didn’t fit any other case he had gathered so far.

Even hearing about his past, he couldn’t understand the old man’s thoughts.

But even from Mahito’s point of view, the old man was certainly free.

Without so much as leaving the middle of this tunnel, he knew that the sky was vast.

Perhaps he knew it better than any member of high society walking around freely in the city. He knew the wide spread of the sky, the soft caress of the wind, the gentle sounds of the water.

This old man, who looked like a simple rakugoka², had no property or social standing. He even lost his connection to other humans... And maybe that’s precisely why he could uncover the elusive meaning of the word ‘freedom’.

He was just existing, just being alive, without attachments, grudges or curses.

“So basically ‘not all those who wander are lost’?”

“Yes, though quoting Tolkien’s works might be a little tedious.”

Mahito smiled when the man immediately caught the reference to a book he just happened to read.

“Were you a bookworm?”

“All I did was cram a lot of information in.”

“It’s good to be well-read.”

If curses are born from the fear that humans feel, could this old man even be considered human?

As Mahito is, he struggles with the expression of human emotions.

But he was calm.

For the first time since coming into contact with humans, he had a feeling of peace.

“I think if everyone in the world was like you, I wouldn’t have been born.”

Mahito looked back at his book.

The old man, staring into nothing as always, fell silent again.

Curses are born from humans, but they also kill humans. There is no way for the two to coexist.

But in this tunnel, a curse and a human were doing exactly that.

Though distorted, this peaceful period of time flowed by gently.

--

It’s only natural for humans to hate and fear other humans.

Since they can’t see souls, they can only make guesses about the feelings of others, and they’re swayed by their own emotions.

They don’t understand that these things are just a reflection of the soul’s metabolism. They don’t even know where their soul is.

Mahito investigated the matter.

This blind man lost his sight and his connection to others, so his soul received less stimulation.

And so, no longer influenced by unnecessary things in the physical world, he spent a lot of time facing his inner world and reflecting.

“It’s kind of like a monk’s training. Through strong introversion, a person looks at their soul more often.”

Mahito walked around the city, skimming through a beaten-up copy of the Heart Sutra.

It was a sutra handbook that focused on controlling the soul. It looked like humans of the past did their own research into freeing the soul from the material world.

The old man’s life ended up in a similar state without him setting out to do it on purpose.

That was likely how he learned to feel other souls through the darkness he lived in. Mahito concluded this was the reason he was aware of curses.

“I think he was already predisposed, but... seems like it’s easier for introverted humans to show promise.”

If he gave the old man’s situation even deeper consideration, he could probably make a lot of guesses about a sorcerer’s training. There’s even a way to encourage the first manifestation of cursed energy.

In that case, it should also be possible to take a talented person and ‘make’ them into a sorcerer or curse-user.

Unleashing a curse-user made by a curse onto a sorcerer...

That might be a fun experiment. It’s easier to shake up a human’s soul by having them fight other humans, rather than just exorcising curses. Sukuna’s vessel should be no exception.

Although...

—Maybe it’s fine to do that a little later?

Yes, Mahito thought it over at his leisure.

He is free. When it’s time to move, he moves. When it’s time to rest, he rests.

And he was not in the mood to launch that plan into action.

Rather, for the time being, he just wanted to gather knowledge and indulge in thought. He also got some new books and wanted to read fantasy novels while basking in the quiet comfort of the tunnel.

Mahito’s gait became lighter. While walking alongside the throng of people, he even began to hum.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from between two buildings.

“—so damn annoying, yeah?”

Looking over that way, he saw two young humans: a man with long, thin hair, and a muscular skinhead. They were undoubtedly people who looked like trouble.

The long-haired man listened as the skinhead rambled on with his complaints, seemingly in some kind of sullen mood.

“Damn, it’s seriously freezing. Anyway, every last one of ‘em just puts on shitty airs, but it’s all just talk. Nothin’ but excuses. Ah, I wanna kill ‘em all...”

“You say that, but come on. You talk big about wanting to beat these guys to death when you’re pissed, but could you actually kill someone?”

“Sure. Ain’t like killing’s hard.”

“Seriously?”

Mahito squinted and listened, the conversation going in one ear and out the other.

It’s not that he disliked the way they acted or how they spoke bluntly about their heart’s desires. But Mahito knew people like this were all talk.

“Yeah– seriously, anyone’s fine, I just wanna kill someone.”

Then maybe you should do it without saying anything.

Better yet, he thought about practicing some killing methods on them. But Mahito felt the light weight of the book in his hand as he reached out, and he stopped.

Rather than sparing any consideration for this, he just wanted to go back to the comfort of the tunnel and read.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

The skinhead’s grumbling voice sounded like a spell.

But the words would find no power or heart to shelter in. Shut away between these buildings, the most a person can do is talk to themselves. It’s best for humans like this to stick to the narrow back alleys, foolishly thinking they’re enjoying a wide world.

Mahito averted his gaze and made his way back home.

--

“Why did Gregor become a bug?”

Mahito suddenly asked the old man, not taking his eyes off the novel.

It was a famous book by Franz Kafka.

A story in which a human unexpectedly turns into a poisonous insect.

“The most popular theory is that the bug is a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“It means he was a person who was hated and oppressed within society, treated the same way a human would treat a bug. Kind of like an old man who was suddenly blinded and tricked one day.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not exactly.”

It was detached and dispassionate, but an answer would come back any time Mahito said something. When conversing with the old man, it felt like talking to a dictionary. He had a lot of information.

He knew about things like the inner workings of the mind and human culture, and he was smart enough to explain it simply in discussions.

For Mahito, who analyzed human souls through books and movies, this old man’s knowledge and conversation helped in its own way.

When do humans get angry? Why do they grieve?

How do they trust and in what ways are they betrayed?

Mahito lived with a different sense of ethics when compared to humans, so there were many things he struggled to interpret. The old man explained them and helped him understand.

He had a strong interest in the experiences of the old man, who had once lived among humans but didn’t act like them.

“After becoming a bug, Gregor eventually hid away like he was told to, but he still ended up being spotted and it led to his death. Jii-san³, why do you think that is?”

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“That’s a quote from Virginia Woolf, right?”

When Mahito immediately and correctly guessed the source, the old man raised a brow slightly.

“You’re a pretty avid reader, too. Conversations with you are really stress-free.”

“Do you have to go back to living with other humans, then?”

“If you don’t have any attachment to the human world, there’s no need to run from it or stand against it⁴.”

“I see,” Mahito murmured to let the other know he was listening, eyes still on the book.

Even if he wasn’t looking at it, the old man’s perpetually calm soul was aglow in the dark like always.

Mahito read his book in the dim room lit by the brilliance of that soul instead of a candle.

Time quietly flowed through the darkness.

Outside of the tunnel, signs indicating the end of summer crept up.

--

The end came abruptly.

One day, when Mahito was heading back to the tunnel with an abandoned poetry anthology that he picked up on an aimless walk through the city, he felt a noisiness that shouldn’t have been there.

There were one, two, three swaying souls.

One had a very familiar shape, but it was terribly frail. It was like the dying flame of a candle weakened by the wind.

With the same unchanging gait as always, Mahito stepped into the tunnel.

As expected, the old man was there.

But the unusual thing was the crumpled, strange position that he was in.

He was also sandwiched between two younger men who were looking down at him.

“Oooi, isn’t this bad? Did this guy seriously die?”

A man with long, thin hair spoke in a tone that was not particularly anxious.

“Didn’t I say it? I said I could kill,” a muscular skinhead replied, his voice casual.

“But ain’t this just impulsive?”

“Yeah, well, the old man had some real cheek, looking down on us when he’s this weak. So why not just kick him?”

The skinhead likely played sports, given that his legs were as thick around as logs. Kicking an old man to death would be easier than crushing a can.

The two didn’t seem to have a single scrap of interest in the old man, his life or his soul.

There was no reason, no grudge, no clear murderous intent.

It seemed like they simply arrived at the tunnel somehow. They took the opportunity to do as much violence as they wanted. They beat him on a whim.

It could be said that this way of being is freedom for humans.

Mahito crouched down, peeking at the old man’s face.

The beaten visage of the man with burned eyes came into view. But even at a time like this, his expression was as calm as always.

“Are you going to die?”

Mahito searched for even a mumbled word or two in response.

“...Seems so...”

The old man answered in a hoarse voice. He likely barely had the power left to speak now. It appeared as though the two men didn’t hear him over their loud conversation.

He intently inspected the old man’s soul.

The peaceful soul was not flickering, nor did it hold anger or grief; it was simply coming to an unhurried end.

Mahito was impressed.

This old man had found the true meaning of freedom. He really was released from every tie of obligation in this world. Even on the verge of death, that didn’t change.

Being able to make sure of that with his own two eyes, Mahito felt considerably relieved. In the same way he would watch a flower wither and fall, he observed the old man’s death.

Nevertheless...

“Jii-san?”

He had a feeling.

It’s like seeing a plot twist you don’t want to see if you keep turning the pages of a book.

Or like knowing the contents of a present before you open it.

That kind of buzz spread through Mahito’s chest.

While he puzzled over the instinctive alarm bells screaming at him to stop watching, everything was heading toward its end.

“...I thought I would die alone.”

The old man’s soul dimly flickered.

A smile was on his swollen face.

“...To have someone... here to witness this old fool’s last moments...”

The flicker might have been insignificant, like a single drop breaking the water’s surface. Even so, for an instant near death, at the end of it all...

The old man’s soul ‘metabolized’.

“...Tha...nk... y...”

The old man died smiling.

“. . .”

Mahito’s eyes opened wide, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He thought the old man was different when compared to other humans. To Mahito, he seemed unfettered.

Mahito thought the unique philosophical views stemming from such an extraordinary state of mind had freed him from all the shackles of this world.

But despite all of that, the old man was still captured right in his last moments.

On the brink of death, he clung to someone else so he could avoid a lonely end.

The old man was only human.

For a human, it was likely satisfying enough. Perhaps it was even the proper way for one to die.

“. . .”

Mahito said nothing.

But what felt like a dry wind blew through his chest, leaving him cold.

He didn’t know the name humans gave that emotion. But his consciousness was like yarn tangling in on itself, wriggling around like a worm—

And suddenly, it all cut off at once.

The only thing left behind was the sensation of standing in a dry and barren wasteland.

“—So basically,” the skinhead’s voice echoed. “Police probably won’t do a proper investigation. Not for this old nobody.”

“Hey, hey, hey; that’s still a person,” the long haired man answered lightly.

“Yeah, well, that guy started it.”

“He shoulda looked at who he was talking to before he picked a fight.”

“Anyway, my pants are dirty from all that kicking... That’s a problem.”

“So fussy. That’s what you’re worried about when you just killed a guy? How funny.”

“That ain’t a person. Anyway, don’t you know I like being clean? Ahh, the blood won’t come off... Water doesn’t do any good, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t – but more importantly, if you’ve settled down, I’m hungry. Let’s stop by a convenience store.”

“I dunno. If you’re gonna look, buy a bento and let’s get outta here.”

Mahito quickly stood up in the same way one would when they finished looking for something in a store.

A sense of fatigue was deeply ingrained in his body.

Their incoherent voices persisted, reverberating through the tunnel, smeared with excuses and attempts to escape reality. He couldn’t hear the soft burble of the stream.

With deep-seated listlessness, Mahito approached the skinhead as one would move to pick up fallen trash.

Idle Transfiguration. The technique spreads quickly.

And thus, the moment he tapped the man’s back, its shape was no longer human.

“Ee—!!”

If he just killed them, it would create a nuisance in the form of a corpse, so he simply folded it up into something palm-sized and kept it alive.

Then, with a careless sweep�� of his hand, he folded up the other man as well.

“Begh—”

It fell silent.

Mahito gathered up the two, now no bigger than chess pieces, and turned his attention down toward the remaining corpse of the old man.

It was now just a bag of meat full of bones. Not even the soul remained, so he couldn’t use Idle Transfiguration to fiddle with it.

He was briefly troubled by its disposal, which served as the biggest inconvenience.

In the tunnel, there nothing but the sound of running water.

--

--

It was a day where the sky seemed farther away than usual.

Clouds peeked out from around the buildings and a good feeling was carried in on the wind.

Mahito aimlessly walked about the city.

“Maybe I’ll catch a movie. It’s been ages.”

He picked a tiny, somewhat old-looking theater and snuck in.

He’s had high motivation lately, and it seemed like some unnecessary things had peeled away from his soul, leaving him more carefree than ever.

Thanks to that, he had also begun to toy with humans more often.

If he can fold a person up and make them small, he wanted to test out inflating one instead, but he slept on the idea overnight. It was pretty fun, but he knew that he was getting too absorbed. He also felt that carrying on with too much persistence wasn’t a good thing.

A change of pace every now and then was fine, too.

He hadn’t closely checked to see what was being screened. It was mostly just plain and obscure movies, but if one went in with no expectations, they might come across a surprisingly interesting tale.

Curiously, he had that kind of a feeling.

While walking through the hall of the theater, he casually felt through his pocket, which had grown bulky with the ‘small humans’ that he had touched.

—Speaking of which, he thought that was a nuisance.

He carelessly tossed some of them away.

Opening the door, he stepped into the theater.

Perhaps because it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. The silhouettes of what appeared to be students filled out a few seats here and there.

From where Mahito stood in the corner, he had a good view of the screen.

Soon, instead of a curtain raising, the theater was engulfed in darkness.

--

T/N: [1] In this sentence, the implication is that the “accident” was very much orchestrated by the old man’s friend and wife, who burned his eyes somehow and then merely made it look like an accident [2] The rakugoka is the storyteller in rakugo, a form of (often) comedic theater that relies solely on spoken word from the rakugoka, who only uses a fan and hand towel as props [3] A way of referring to old men in general, basically like “gramps/grandpa”; Mahito never calls him by an actual name [4] Essentially, the old man’s saying that he (or anyone) can exist parallel to human society without interacting if they have no attachments to it and can still find peace, contrary to the Woolf quote [5] Kanji reads sweep, furigana reads cleanse (the same word for exorcism that sorcerers use)

Thanks as well to Pixi for help with editing and tl checks!  If an officially translated version of the novel becomes available in your country, please consider purchasing it, or consider buying a copy of the original novel in Japanese if possible!

[strawberry--bride]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sharon’s Route [MANIAC PROLOGUE]

*FLASHBACK STARTS*

Monologue

Every happy story has to one day come to an end.

In my case, it all happened on a stormy evening.

I paced back and forth impatiently by the front door.

Waiting for the doorbell to ring. 

However, when it did, it wasn’t my parents standing at the other side.

Instead, I was greeted by a police officer,

wearing a nervous smile on his face.

Location: Nozomi’s house ;;  Entrance hall

Nozomi: ...

Police officer: Miss Takeshita Nozomi?

Nozomi: ...W-Where are mommy and daddy? They told me I shouldn’t talk to strangers.

Police officer: My name is officer Yamada. I’m from the local police department. 

Nozomi: The police...?

Police officer: I am terribly sorry to have to deliver you this news but your parents had an accident. They lost control of their car and drove straight into a tree.

Nozomi: Eh...?

( Accident? Mommy and daddy? B-But...! )

Police officer: ーー Both of them died instantly.

Nozomi: ...!!

Uu...

Police officer: I fully understand this must come as a shock to you. We tried to get in touch with your relatives, but almost none of them answered our calls.

Nozomi: ...

Police officer: When we finally got in touch with one of your aunts, she told us your parents broke up with the rest of the family after a dispute.

Nozomi: I-I don’t know...Mommy and daddy never talked about other family...

Police officer: ...Well, the thing is, with nobody else to take you in, we will have to transfer you to the local orphanage instead.

Nozomi: Or...phanage?

Police officer: It’s a very nice place, don’t worry! There will be people there to look after you. Look at it as a new home.

Nozomi: I-I don’t want a new home! I like it here! 

Police officer: ...We understand. However, you are simply too young to live by yourself.

Nozomi: Noー!!

She slams the door shut and covers her ears.

*Thud*

Nozomi: ( This can’t be happening...It’s all just a bad dream...When I wake up again, everything will be back to normal.

( Mommy and daddy will be here and all of us can live happily together like we’ve done so far! )

Monologue

Unfortunately, it was no dream.

But a harsh reality crashing down on my 6-year old self.

The next day, 

I could no longer escape my fate,

as the police brought me to the local orphanage. 

The orphanage worked closely together with the city’s Church,

taking in children who had either lost their parents,

or lived under inhumane circumstances.

The caretakers did everything within their power,

to make us feel loved and cared for. 

At the end of every week, 

young couples would come and visit to look at the children.

If they took a liking to you, the adoption procedure could start.

All of us would line up like dolls stalled out in a shopping window,

while the soon-to-be parents could pick and choose. 

It was every child’s wish to find a new home. 

Yet, I dreaded these moments more than anything.

Location: Orphanage ;;  Meeting room

Woman A: What is your name, little girl?

Nozomi: Nozoーー

Caretaker: Ahem.

Nozomi: ...It’s Sharon, ma’am.

Woman A: Oh my, you seem very well-mannered. Don’t you think so too, dear?

Man A: Definitely. 

Sharon: Thank you very much.

Man A: Howeverーー

Sharon: ...

Man A: Say, Honey...

Woman A: Hm?

The couple starts whispering.

Man A: Don’t you think the girl with the blue eyes over there is much cuter?

Woman A: Hmー Right. Now that you mention it, this girl does seem a little plain.

Sharon: ( ...I wonder if they realize I can hear them. )

Woman A: We would like to see some of the other children first before making our decision.

Caretaker: Most certainly. Please follow me.

Sharon: ( It’s always like this... )

*TIMESKIP*

Woman B: What a cutie you are! Say, do you play any sports? Or an instrument, perhaps?

Sharon: Eh? I...

Caretaker: Oh! If you’re looking for an athletic child, the boy in the back is a natural at soccer. 

Furthemore, the girl with the ponytail can play the piano even though she’s only four years old!

Man B: Really? Could you introduce them to us?

Caretaker: Gladly!

The couple is escorted away.

Sharon: ...

Monologue

All of the other children,

who arrived shortly before or after I did, 

had long been adopted. 

New children would come and go,

yet I found myself standing there again, week after week. 

There was always that one kid,

who was cuter, smarter or more skilled. 

As I grew older and bigger,

my odds of being adopted only decreased further. 

I would often find myself wondering.

‘Is there really nothing I have going for me?’

Until one day,

I finally found my purposeーー

Location: Orphanage ;;  Kitchen

Caretaker A: Thank you so much for always helping out, Sharon-chan!

Caretaker C: Exactly! It has lifted so much pressure off our shoulders!

Caretaker A: The little ones love you as well. 

I’m sure you would one day make for a great caretaker yourself!

Sharon: Ehehe...~ Geez, you guys praise me too much. I’m only helping out where I can.

Caretaker C: Oh no, that’s not true! You must have a talent for looking after others!

Sharon: ( A talent... )

...Thank you.

Caretaker A: Oh! Look at the time! We should get started on preparing dinner!

Sharon: ( I...I’m not utterly useless after all! )

( By helping others, I have a purpose in life! )

Monologue

That moment must have been the happiest I felt,

since the day my parents passed away.

I began to help out even more frequently,

dedicating my whole life to the orphanage. 

l had recently started high school,

and I realized that the orphanage would most likely be my home,

until I graduated and could go live on my own.

My past self could have never fathomed,

I would eventually find a new home.

ーー One housing six Vampire brothers. 

*FLASHBACK ENDS*

Location: Sakamaki Manor ;; Kitchen

Sharon: ( ...I still have to apologize to Shuu-san for what happened the other day. )

( Even if he was in the wrong as well, I went too far. )

Haah...I’m not usually the kind of person who lets their emotions get the best of them. 

I suppose living with six Vampires who could latch onto you at any given second has been taking its toll on me.

( Still...I can’t forget about that look in his eyes. )

( His expression was disinterested as per usual, but for just a split second, I swear I saw a glint of sadness. )

( Perhaps Shuu-san has lost someone dear to him as well...? )

???: Oiー

Sharon: ...!!

She turns around in surprise.

Sharon: S-Shuu-san.

( When you speak of the Devil... )

Shuu: Now I’m no master chef, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a very smart idea to daydream while cooking. 

...I could smell something burning all the way over in the hallway.

Sharon: A-Ah...! My pancakes! 

She rushes to save them, accidentally brushing her hand against the hot pan.

Sharon: ーー Ow!!

Shuu: ...!

Sharon: D-Don’t worry! It’s just a small burn!

Shuu: Oi, put your hand under cold water.

Sharon: Eh?

Shuu: Hurry!

Sharon: ( What’s wrong...? I’ve never seen Shuu-san this frantic before... )

D-Don’t worry...It’s nothing serious, see? The skin’s just a little red.

Shuu: Tsk...Just do as I say.

He grabs hold of her wrist, guiding her towards the sink to cool her skin. 

*Pshhhhh*

Sharon: ...

Shuu: ...What? It’s rude to stare at someone.

Sharon: Ah...S-Sorry! I’m just a little surprised. 

I thought you’d make fun of me for burning myself on a hot pan like that.

Shuu: Well, I certainly can’t praise you for it.

Sharon: Ahaha...

Shuu: Hm? 

Shuu leans in close.

*Rustle*

Sharon: ...E-Eh!?

Shuu: You..

Sharon: ( H-He’s way too close...! )

Shuu: Heeh. You greedy woman.

Sharon: Eh?

Shuu: Subaru sucked your blood, didn’t he?

Sharon: Howー!?

Shuu: I can tell by the scent. ...Heh. I guess having one Vampire bite you wasn’t enough, huh?

Sharon: W-Wait...! I didn’t ask either of you to bite me!

Shuu: Is that so? Despite saying that, you didn’t seem to dislike it that much.

I could tell by the taste of your blood.

Sharon: ...!!

Shuu: See? You can’t even deny it.

Sharon: ( Uu... )

Shuu: Well, you should probably consider yourself lucky. You’re living with six Vampires, so I’m sure you can find at least someone to fulfill your desires.

Sharon: ...

Shuu: However, if you want me to bite you, you’re gonna have to do the work. 

Sharon: I-I don’t!

Shuu: Heeh? We’ll see about that.

Sharon: ( He’s definitely just teasing me right now...! )

Shuu: ...Anyway, you better wrap a bandage around that hand later.

Sharon: Ah, right. It already feels a lot better though!

Thank you for the first aid~

Shuu: I’m going back to my room to nap now. ...See you.

ーー Unless you’re willingly offering to be my pillow today?

Sharon: I-I’ll pass...!

Shuu: Haha. Right.

Shuu leaves the kitchen.

Sharon: Geez...For someone who’d consider breathing to be ‘a chore’, he sure has a lot of energy when it comes to teasing others...

Location: Sakamaki manor ;; Hallway

Shuu: Haah...What am I doing? 

...

Even though I told myself I wouldn’t get involved with humans again...

He walks away.

ーー MANIAC PROLOGUE: END ーー

<- [ Dark Epilogue ] [ Maniac 01 ] ->

[burnedbyshoto]

matryoshka doll

— Momo is a modern day princess, so it makes sense as to why every single person she’s asked if they wanted to have sex reject her because they felt unworthy. But she’s a girl with carnal needs and if that means having anonymous sex is the only way to have them met, so be it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: yaoyorozu momo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, stuck in a wall, anal fisting (giving), fingering, marking, degradation, daddy kink!reader, princess!momo, praise, pwp, cursing, service top!reader, phat ass!momo

word count: 3,333

a/n: i stayed up until 4 am reading bkdk angst fanfic and im so, so tired...... momo has a phat ass that is full of stretch marks and cellulite and I drool at the thought of it. no I dont take any feedback on that.

kinktober day 9 main kink: anonymous sex | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Momo has a secret.

A deep, dark, twisted secret.

It wasn’t so much that it was horrible, humiliating, or even a nuisance for all of humanity, but it definitely was a secret she was keen on keeping until she was six feet under.

Why was that?

Oh, well, you see, it involved one of the most taboo topics in the world: sex.

Yaoyorozu Momo lived a sheltered, elite life. At the tender age of four, she had managed to create an object by replicating a Matryoshka doll's exact molecular structure. She didn’t need to assume that most individuals couldn't compose the doll's molecular structure regardless of their intellect or education. Yet, with a determined gaze, her person and mind no much older than four years old, she succeeded in producing a single, lone, beautiful Matryoshka doll.

But, because of her natural-born intelligence and near-prodigious level thinking, the wealth that her parents held led her to a life where something such as a peck on the cheek was considered scandalous. 

Kissing on the lips was considered a "marriage only" rule, and sex wasn’t even a word she knew.

Middle school for Yaoyorozu Momo consisted of her and her private tutors within her home. Her education was created just for her, and she had evening outings with her similar circles to ensure she had an appropriate social life. All in all, Momo didn’t know what sex was until she was sixteen, sitting in the common area of the dorm room with all her female friends who casually brought up the idea of what they could potentially be into, of who they would. Momo would quote: fuck, marry, or kill of three randomly generated boys within the class.

Of course, Momo’s eyes fluttered at the word fuck, having already known it as a curse word, and only as such as Bakugou always seemed to be yelling it. She had wrongfully spluttered when Mina had wiggled her eyebrows at Uraraka on why, oh why she had only chosen to ‘fuck Midoriya’ and not marry him. To Momo, who also at the time, was aware of her current blossoming feelings towards the smart but somewhat flutter tongued classmate of theirs, had been rather confused at the results Uraraka gave too.

“Kill… uh, Iida-kun,” Urakaka fidgeted, blushing harder under the intense stares of Mina and Hagakure (who had a mean glare despite not being able to see her). “Fuck Deku-kun, marry Todoroki-kun!”

Momo had assumed she would wish to marry her at the time crush, not choose the option to curse him out!

“Uraraka-san, you wish to cuss out Midoriya-san?” Momo had asked, saving the naturally rosy girl from their pink-skinned and invisible friend. “Why is that?”

“Hold on?” Jirou interrupted immediately, Momo’s undoubtedly closest friend rose from her slouched position next to her, her hand placed on her shoulder. “What was that?!”

“Well, isn’t the, ahem, please excuse my vulgar words, ‘fuck,’ option meaning to curse someone out? As Bakugou-san does to many people when he uses that word?” Momo had asked so innocently, so purely that the girls all almost felt horrible for popping the innocent bubble the modern-day princess was in -- keyword: almost.

For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu Momo was not the most knowledgable in a subject; her cheeks stained red with embarrassing heat when Tsuyu took charge of explaining the alternate definition to what ‘fuck’ meant. 

“You mean babies don’t come in storks?!” she had cried uncontrollably that night. She was utterly overwhelmed by this new level of information that would send her in a spiral of the need to acquire further details for the sake of education and, well, yes, the science of fucking.

From the moment she was sixteen until she was twenty, Momo’s knowledge of sex went from being the lowest in the class, to as it naturally should have been, the most knowledgable person on it. She knew of things, the different branches of sex, where to experience certain types of kinks, and theoretically, where the human body's best parts to touch when having sex. So, the moment she had turned of consenting legal age to have sex, Momo would be lying if she said she wasn’t ready to have sex. 

But there was something in her way, something that not even years of studying could help her with, or could change the circumstances of which she found herself in. It seemed that though her friends enjoyed her sudden new-found genius towards the art and science behind sex, no one thought of her as a… sexual being.

“I c-can’t have sex with you!” Jirou had flushed red, her eyes scattering to every edge of the room, refusing to look at the wealthy heiress who had asked her best friend over during their last week of high school to do the deed. “You’re the modern-day royalty: Yaoyorozu Momo! I’m not… qualified enough!”

Momo frowned, “Oh?”

.

..

.

“Sex?” Todoroki had echoed, his eyes alarming wide despite his composed, neutral expression. Momo nodded her head, ignoring the small wisp of fire that emitted from his hair. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can do that for you, Yaoyorozu. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t think I’d like to have meaningless sex with you for the first time.”

Momo winced, “Oh, okay.”

“That sounded a lot meaner then intended, I apologize.”

.

..

…

..

.

And that’s how it seemed to go.

Aoyama hadn’t been interested in having sex at all with Momo. Mina said she was severely unworthy. Tsuyu simply rejected her because their relationship wasn’t one that had possibilities of sexual encounters. Iida said it would be irresponsible of him to take something of value of hers. Uraraka cried about how inferior scum like her had no right.

Ojiro apologized, having been in a relationship at the moment and wouldn’t. Kaminari said him sexually touching Momo would give the world every right to skin him where he lay. Kirishima had blushed brighter than his hair and stammered; he couldn’t without a proper relationship between the two of them. Kouda had run off crying. Sato had mumbled about how he enjoyed setting tea and pastries together but couldn’t imagine putting his tea in and on her pastry, or some weird allusion like that.

Shoji had bowed his head in apologies, saying she would regret sleeping with him. Sero had run away, crashing into a glass door explaining he wasn’t good enough. Tokoyami stated they weren’t a fated pair and rejected her kindly -- she thinks. Hagakure was in a relationship and politely declined her. Bakugou scoffed and told her to look elsewhere. Midoriya had stammered and suggested that he wasn’t the best option. Mineta just was never an option for her.

She had asked eighteen people who had all told her they would help her with anything, and the only thing that kept being thrown back into her face regarding something that she didn’t see to be anything that special was that she was royalty in their eyes. It was fine at first; honestly, it was! Momo had nodded her head, merely retreating to her home and creating an arrangement of sex toys most suited for her. And for a while, it had been enough.

But like the Matryoshka dolls, she was so fond of making, so good at making, she had several layers underneath that shouldn’t be ignored. And her sexual pleasures and gains had been a neglected part of her for too long. 

From having the longest, thickest dildo she could make for herself, up her cunt, to the vibrator and fuck machines she should create (because she was not allowed anywhere near a sex shop), she had been blissful. Each orgasm ripping through her pleasantly, causing her sweaty chest to arch off her bed, her legs slamming closed as it burst from inside of her, causing her to bit harshly on her fist just in case. But just as even playing with your favorite game day after day, feeling alone, lonely, and unwanted, Momo found that even her toys weren’t enough.

She needed more.

No one would fuck her because of her status, because of her last name and the wealth that she brought, so she decided that if she was to do this, to gain the human touch she ever so desired and lusted over, she was going to have to erase her identity.

She had found a little place in the back alleys of Tokyo. They were hiring anyone who dared to visit and the only requirement to join was that you were willing to be fucked. Momo had shown up for the interview, face obscured by a hoodie she wore and was hired the moment she walked in with her spandex shorts hugging her tiny waist and fat ass. She had always seen places like this within her porn research but had never actually assumed fuck ho(l)es existed. 

She certainly didn’t expect to be put in a wall where only her ass and cunt hanging out and the cold, wet tip of a sharpie marker to write against her clear virgin skin: FREE HOLE TO FUCK. VIRGIN LITTLE WHORE. She could feel that written on her skin, but she was unaware of the words that surrounded her placement on the wall: “put a tally and a review for every pump of cum you shove in me!”

There was no need for a picture by her whole because the people who frequented this place had no desires of that, and so, Momo found peace even as the starting alarm blared in her ear that customers were finally being let it.

To sum up the experience her first night at this joint, the first time experiencing a hot, living, throbbing cock in both her cunt and ass, Momo would have to blush. Her eyes shifting from yours onto the floor as she smiled. A chuckle on her face as she thought back to the end of that four hour fuck feast and remembered that there were nearly eighty-three tally marks on her bruised and blistered ass, of how her cum and all that cum continued to seep from her clenching holes for two days afterward… she loved it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You needed to blow off some steam.

Having just been entirely, horribly dumped by your ex and having precisely zero side pieces on the side to fuck, you went out of your way to secure a quick, easy fuck to get your mind off of things. There was no reason for you to simply not join Tinder and ask the first swipe to come over and fuck, but you didn’t want to see a face. You didn’t even want to know their face. As a matter of fact, you weren’t even so much as interested in your own orgasm at the moment than just making someone else cum. So when a pretty woman handed your glowering face a flyer as you were storming around the streets of Tokyo hoping for a sign from god, you almost cried at what the flyer informed you of.

A local... hole in the wall filled with glory holes and exposed asses, cunts, and cocks alike. 

Was it destiny?

You sure believed so as you found yourself tailing to the obscure address, praying for the establishment to be open and, for the most part, empty because you had no plans on performing shit in front of watching eyes. Handing a thousand yen over to the admissions lady as your fee to the use of their prized cunts, cocks, and asses, you shoved the black ticket into your pocket and brisked in.

As you entered the back room, the tension in you back and pressure on your chest seemed to melt away immediately at the scent of sex, dried cum, and sweat. It was an altogether horrid stench, to be quite honest, but right now, it sent fire to your core, your lips licking at the walls and corners willed with awaiting to be attended to people. Twisted pleasure coursed through your veins as you walked around, your eyes taking note of the graffitied words around the individual holes, taking note of the black sharpie words on bruised and battered skin, and some cunts still dripping with someone else’s cum.

‘Loose cunt’ one person had.

‘Hasn’t been broken in yet,’ said another.

‘Loves it when you ‘accidentally’ fuck their ass,’ scrawled on another.

 You couldn’t help but smile at the twisted humor, moving until finally, you saw one that exposed ass first to the world, eight tallies marked on her skin, and oh, the words painted on her smooth, perfect skin and the surrounding walls pulled you in.

‘Tightest fucking pussy.’ ‘100/10 recommended, been back multiple times for more.’ ‘Slip your fist up her ass, she LOVES it.’ ‘Favorite fucking whore here.’ ‘Would fuck again.’ ‘Slut likes it rough and mean.’ ‘Please fuck me!!!!’

You watched as the shiny slick of her cum slowly seep from her spread cheeks, not quite dripping, but definitely wet with her arousal. Something was calling you to her, your feet stumbling nearly tipsy with this outworld lust and drunkenness as you stopped behind her slapped pink ass. And without much need of thought to wonder where to stop, your hands found themselves grabbing her thick, supple ass and you moaned at the warmth emitting from her skin, of how her skin was so soft, so moveable, so bouncy. It was larger than your hands, your fingernails running against the cellulite, and stretch marks on her ass that made you want to kiss and run your tongue against even more. You couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t possibly know if she had liked the way your fingers dug into her ass, but her ass bounced, teetering with your grip as you could imagine a soft, juicy moan. 

“I wonder if you can hear me?” you asked, most likely to no one, fingers spreading her ass, spanking the used whorish skin of hers so that small, tight, clenching pink asshole was on full display for you. “If you sit there for all these hours and listen to men fuck you with their ugly moaning and pathetic growling.”

Her ass rolled in your hands, and you smiled, taking that as a sign that yes, she heard everything, even you. Raising your hand to the bottle of lube, you saturated your fingers with the cold, transparent liquid, turning your fingers down over her still exposed, flush hole. You watched as the lube dripped down, splattering messily around her tight, rimmed muscle, watching her clench and unclench the muscle in alarming beauty.

“I must apologize, princess,” you sighed, looking at the names scrawled on the walls that this cunt and ass seemed to be most responsive to, and number one on that list was princess. “Your daddy isn’t feeling particularly rough today, so I hope you’ll behave with my softer movements.”

You're not quite sure where the reference to yourself as daddy had come from, but the way the ass muscles clenched between the lone hand that held her cheek made it worth it. 

Your lube coated finger edged the pert opening of her ass, feeling the way the already used muscle expanded for your finger if a little stubbornly.

“Relax, princess, daddy sees you like being fisted, so I’m going to make sure you feel good. 

You pressed your finger in until the knuckle disappeared beneath the muscle, your grin growing into a hazy, lustful gaze when you felt her ass bounce. This moan vibrated all the way to her anal cavity as you wasted no time in adding a second finger. Her ass was tight, the ribbed walls of the cavity bumping and gliding against your moving fingers, and you grinned when she loudly moaned. You didn’t need to be an expert to see that she had never been fucked softly or thoroughly before. She must have been used to the terrible, animalistic rage that the men here possessed when fucking these people behind the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that she lost her virginity here. 

Your fingers curled, stroking and persuading her body to ripple and twitch with your commanding movements, and another finger added in, and another finger added in. Soon enough, you had four fingers in, all save your thumb. The stretch of her ass around your nearly formed ass was incredible; she took you so well, not a sound of agonizing pain was heard through the wall, although you swore you heard sounds of elation. The damn slut did enjoy it.

Your thumb pressed to her cunt, rubbing the slick folds of her pussy, softly fucking the outermost part of her inner walls, much against her approval if the way he ass bounced heavily in need had anything to say about it. 

“Ah, does the princess, not like this?” you asked, your hand that was currently not four fingers into her ass stretching out her cheeks even further as finally you retracted your hand out, made a fist, and sunk back in. Now there was a scream. But the way that it shot curling ravenous fires into your core, you knew it wasn’t one of horror or pain. No. It was one of absolute, slutty pleasure. You moaned at the sound, your arm beginning to thrust into her ass slowly, intentionally, and with burning passion and desire to hear her wail again. She sounded so pretty, sounded so slutty.

Your now free hand moved to her cunt, your mind trying to stimulate her more, trying to ignore the way her ass was hot and deliciously tight around your forearm as your pinched and rolled at her clit. Your thumb stayed on her clit, but your fingers stretched to enter her clenching cunt that seemed to be in synch with her ass. YOu moaned in content at the feeling of her inner walls suctioning against your intruding finger, and you laughed upon feeling your moving arm within her ass against her cunt. And that beautiful, pitchy whine resonated deeply again, and your mind melted.

Your fingers and fist doubled in speed, the growing sharp moans through the walls fueling you to move faster, to be rougher, to make her see stars. No wonder why no one fucked her with love here, you thought as leaned down, teeth tearing against her ass cheek that read: mark me, please. Who could stay composed when this fucking slut was this goddamn loud.

“Such a good fucking princess, so slutty, so nice for your daddy,” you grunted,  against her skin, your hips snapping at air as the heat and wetness in your pants made you uncomfortable -- the need for more biting through your clothes. “You like my fist up your ass? You like everyone’s fist up your ass, don’t do? Doesn’t fucking surprise me with those stupid loud moans you make.”

Your words were hissed, your fingernails scraping against her pulsating, throbbing inner walls, and then it happened.

Her ass and her cunt clenched against your fingers and fist. And your jaw dropped as a rippling effect ran across your arm that was buried in her ass.

Was that a?

Holy fucking shit?!

“Princess, did your ass just orgasm?!”

A confirming, pathetic moan sent your mind to the moon.

Suddenly feeling as if this was too much for you, and with no way to relive yourself in this type of fuck room, you removed your hand quickly from her ass, your dominant hand grabbing the hanging sharpie on the wall and added two more tally marks on the number of times she’s cum.

You race out of there, the fire in between your legs too much to handle. Well, at least not before adding one more, important piece of information on her ass and on the wall: ‘if you fuck my ass like daddy did, maybe my ass will orgasm for you too.”

[j-amespotter]

★ august [pt. 1] - s. b.

“you weren’t mine to lose.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader, Regulus Black x Reader (mentioned)

x. x. x.

Summary: As one of the Order of the Phoenix’s freshest recruits, love certainly was not on Sirius Black’s mind the summer after he finished school – especially not with a Slytherin, who just happened to be his brother’s girlfriend.

Genre/Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, mentions of death & war, infidelity, implied smut 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: august but from the guy’s pov?? i think yes. this was the first one-shot i wrote for this series so let me know what you think! lmk if you wanna be added to my taglist. p.s. i do not condone cheating!!!!!! 

masterlist

Your lips were centimeters apart. It seemed too late to change course, but he had to ask. He had never done something so reckless, which for him, was saying something. “Are you sure?”

He was scared of the answer. One look at you told him you were scared of answering. “We’ve never… I mean, I’ve never done this before,” you whispered. Your noses grazed against each other, tantalizingly close. 

His hand hovered underneath your robes. It felt large against your bare stomach. “We can stop.” 

“I don’t want to stop.” With one hand around his neck and the other on his chest, you tugged him closer. The moment your lips met erased his doubts so fully that if he stopped to think about it, it would have scared him.

Your shoes slipped off as he delicately lifted you off of your feet. Gently, he laid you down on his bed and paused to stare at how small and trusting you looked in the moment. It was only your fifth visit to his flat, yet you already looked like you belonged. He would never have expected someone from his forgotten life to fit into his current one so unquestionably. 

*One Week Earlier*

It was getting easier and easier to slip away from Regulus these days. While you were accustomed to seeing less of each other during the summer holidays, now you were more distant than ever. You knew why, of course. Being a Slytherin, you were privy to an entire host of secrets – Regulus was too. Hogwarts’ rowdiest, most divided class graduated just a month earlier, and many of your friends, if you could even call them that, had chosen a side in this war. His side. 

You knew Regulus agreed with the Dark Lord’s philosophies and marveled at his promises. However, it was not until this school year that you realized exactly how much your boyfriend worshipped the elusive man responsible for the murders of so many innocent people. He would scour the Daily Prophet for news, eager but not uneasy. He trailed after Snape, Avery, and Mulciber, and the whisperings about the three of them were hardly positive. It was rumored that all of them had been "marked." You didn’t know exactly what that meant but worried Regulus was next. 

He sensed your fear but didn’t say much to soothe you. Perhaps he thought he could convince you to join him – or, at least, stand by his side as he signed away his services. You weren’t interested. In fact, you were terrified. Though your family was prominent, prosperous, and pureblood, they never participated in what your father coined to be “blood politics.” Your indifference, which occasionally transformed into blatant disgust, over the growingly common prejudice among your peers ostracized you from your fellow Slytherins. You managed to keep your reservations to yourself for the sake of House unity but could no longer remain silent. Not when your childhood love drifted further and further away from you. 

It was slow, but of course, there was a final straw. In his last letter, Regulus wrote that his cousin Bella was teaching him how to duel “the proper way.” As someone who saw nothing substandard in your Defense Against the Dark Arts education thus far, you could only imagine what Bellatrix Lestrange would consider to be the “proper” way to duel. You had limited experience with the woman, having only caught glimpses of her as a child at Grimmauld Place and as Regulus’s date to her wedding. Nonetheless, the rumors about her were becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

So you sought the one person you thought may listen to you. Of course, there was the issue of finding him. You had no idea where he lived, though you doubted he would be thrilled to meet you, especially at his place of residence. You thought of writing to him but could not risk seeing and sending the words you had not yet uttered aloud. 

Ultimately, you decided that the best course of action was to find him in public, no matter how difficult it would be. You knew if you willed it hard enough, fate would bring him to you – and you understood the power of your love better than anyone. 

It took six days of solitary walks through Diagon Alley for you to finally find him. It wasn’t easy at all. You managed to keep your parents at bay by entrusting your safety with your pureblood Slytherin status. However, what was once the most bustling shopping center in the Wizarding World became drearier by day. More wanted posters appeared on brick walls as the number of disappearances grew. Within days, there were fewer groups of visitors for you to huddle behind without drawing suspicion. 

He was in the Leaky Cauldron with a shorter man, someone you recognized to be Peter Pettigrew. They were huddled together but deep in conversation. Actually, it seemed as though he was doing most of the talking. You found yourself staring at his muscular, tattooed arms as he gestured wildly at Pettigrew, who stared at him with wonder, excitement, and apprehension all at once. Despite the normal-looking exchange, both men gripped their wands tightly and took turns periodically glancing over their shoulders. 

Peter was too far away for you to read his lips, but checked his watch and jumped in surprise. You inched closer, hoping to find an in for your mission. Finally, you were close enough to hear his parting words. “Sorry, Padfoot... Mum’s waiting for me. You know how she gets, especially now.” 

“Alright, mate. Get home safe. I’ll see you… when I see you.” 

You were not stupid. You had no idea what that meant, but judging by Peter’s stiff nod, there was definitely a predetermined meeting time and place that they could not risk anyone overhearing. Given the circumstances, you could hardly blame them. 

Your interaction with Sirius Black was limited, but you had heard enough about him to know that he was reckless, devil-may-care, and according to his brother, inconsiderate of everyone’s feelings. Hearing the sincerity in his goodbye to his friend sounded quite the opposite, or perhaps was just a sign of the times. 

Peter scurried away and out of sight. You saw Sirius reach for a pouch in his pocket, out of which he scooped a handful of Sickles. They clattered onto the table. Before he finished counting his change, you slid into the seat across from him. 

Startled, Sirius stood and pointed his wand at you. His motions were seamless. It was as if he could kill you with a single swish. You hardly had time to wonder if you would be as skilled with your wand as he seemed to be when you finished school. “Listen, I just want to talk. Please sit down.” There weren’t too many other customers in the pub, but there was no doubt your exchange was attracting attention. 

Sirius sneered at you. “Why would I want to talk to you? Did he send you? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

It surprised you that he knew who you were. Regulus was convinced that Sirius abandoned the Black family once and for all and did not care for his extracurricular activities. Granted, much of your scheme relied on the fact that he did. “No, he didn’t send me. I need to talk to you about him, actually. In private.”

He looked apprehensive but curious. You sighed in relief as he lowered his wand and sat down, “Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.” 

“Please,” you tried again. “I’m no threat to you.” 

He stared at you, and in his pale eyes you saw something so familiar yet so foreign. “Fine. Follow me.” 

He swiftly led you out of the pub. Although you were eager, you maintained an acceptable distance from him. The air was sticky; you could feel your flushed cheeks. You always hated summer because of the unbearable weather and because it was always the longest you would spend apart from Regulus. However, you found yourself entranced by the way Sirius’s neckline glistened. There was a warm glow radiating off of the little bits of his exposed skin, slightly tanner than his brother’s. You were surprised at how easy it was to distinguish these details. You always considered yourself to be too young for and morally above noticing Regulus’s physique. It was far too shallow to remark on a man's physical beauty and far too desperate when all you could see were his neck and arms. 

“Get your license yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, not yet.” 

“Okay,” said Sirius, extending a hand. “I’ll take you with me.” 

You were used to Side-Along Apparition, so your surprise was more at your surroundings. You landed on a street in front of a very tall building. Craning your neck to observe the one in front of you, you asked, “Where are we?” 

“London,” he answered vaguely. He had not let go of your hand. 

“I figured. But this looks like a Muggle building.” 

“Got a problem with that?” He snapped, and as if he had just realized what he was doing, he let go of your hand as if it was rotting. 

You internally groaned at how sweaty it was. “N-No. I’ve just never been around here, that’s all.” 

You waited for a snarky response, but received none. Instead, he pushed open the door of the building and led your to what you could only assume was his flat. 

“I would say make yourself at home, but don’t.” Sirius did not have guests often, and when he did, they definitely did not include his little brother’s girlfriend. Damn, he thought to himself. Wait until James hears about this. 

You were still in school – although, so was he, just a month earlier. But you were in a rival house. And worst of all, he had seen you in the same position, perched onto a sofa with inquisitive eyes, when you both were children at his parents’ house. It was curious to him that you looked just as out of place then as you did now. 

“I know this is strange, but I have no other choice.” Your voice broke off and for the tiniest millisecond, he felt sorry for you. “I think he’s… I mean I feel that… that R-Regulus is planning on joining the Dark Lord.” “Call him Voldemort, will you?” Sirius interrupted irritably. 

You flinched. “I really shouldn’t.”

Though he was annoyed, he understood and did not probe you further. “Listen, I don’t know what you thought trying to find me, or even how you found me for that matter, but I can’t help you. I know what you’re worried about and you’re probably right to be worried. But I tried talking to him before I ran – I mean, left. He won’t budge. He’s in too deep. Sorry,” he added. 

Your eyes glossed over. “I figured you’d say that.” Tears streamed down your rosy cheeks. “S-Sorry, I don’t mean to load this on you. I just feel so alone sometimes. And so scared for him. He really has no idea what he’s getting himself into, does he?”

Sirius stared at you, contemplating whether he should tell you what his dim-witted brother was really getting himself into. He only started to see it for himself now. “I’m not sure what I should tell you, but I understand. If you want to talk about it…” 

You glanced at him in wonder, cocking your head to the side. “Er, thanks. But I should get home. My parents must be worried. Can I Floo out of here?” 

You looked even more upset than before, and Sirius felt guilty for leaving everything so unresolved. Although, should he really care about your feelings? Anyone who willingly chose to spend time with a tosser like Regulus probably deserved whatever hell he would put them through… although… 

“Yeah, I installed one,” he said, gesturing to the fireplace. 

Wiping your eyes nimbly, you stood and smoothed the front of your robes. “Thank you. Sorry if it was a bother.”

“No problem. I know… I know that you aren’t like them. And I know what you’re going through. Probably better than anyone.”

You smiled at him, and without warning, his stomach flipped. It couldn’t have been the first time he’d seen you smile, but it was definitely the first time you smiled at him. Maybe you had once before when you were children. For now, all Sirius seemed to hone in on was the soft dimple on your right cheek and the way your eyes lit up almost automatically. 

“If you ever need to talk about it, you can always come around here.” He knew it was strange for him to offer you that, but you had known each other for so long. You both had the same doubts… perhaps you lacked the bravery to act on them as he did, though he could hardly fault you for that. 

“Thank you, Sirius,” you said softly. 

☆

It was more than sex. You would spend hours talking, entangled in his bedsheets, watching the sunrise together for several mornings in a row. Sirius glanced warily at the clock on his bedside table. “Where do your parents think you are?”

You were drawing circles on his bare chest. “I told them I was with him.” 

Despite being the reason you sought him out, it became an unspoken rule between the two of you to not mention his name. The subject of Regulus and, by extension, the war became as taboo as saying Lord Voldemort. 

He hated it. He tried to convince himself that he was acting on lust, that he just needed to relieve his stress of the war and Order training, but he couldn’t. Not when every time you arrived unannounced, he scribbled excuses to get out of dinner with the Potters, or drinks with the boys, or hell, even Order meetings. 

Sirius wished he could explain it to James. Surely, his best friend would convince him of the stupidity of engaging in an affair with his brother’s girlfriend. But then he would watch you wearing his shirt, sipping wine, and dancing barefoot in his kitchen. He would imagine you wrapping your arms around his waist on his new motorcycle and his insides would implode. Then, he would decide that he did not want to be dissuaded. He was falling for you. One look at you told him you were falling for him too. 

“Where have you been, mate? The parents are driving me up a wall about you. Lily’s convinced you’ve got a girlfriend or something,” joked James. 

They were sitting in the pub on a night Sirius knew you had a family function to attend. He swallowed bitterly as he wondered whether or not Regulus would be there. Were you together right now? Did you confess? Was he angry? Were you crying?

Noticing his best friend’s silence, James raised an eyebrow. “Do you? Have a girlfriend or something?”

Sirius knew he could not lie to James, but he debated exactly how much he wanted to delve into the subject. “Or something.” Before he could he stop himself, the secrets were spilling off of his tongue. 

When he finished, Sirius wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse. He tried to focus on James’s hazel eyes as they widened at every turn in the story. “Mate… you’re fucked.”

He tried not to ponder at these words too hard in the hopes that he wouldn’t splinch himself Apparating back to his flat. It didn’t shock him to see you there – he had allowed you too much access to everything and he had no intention of taking it back.

Emerald green dress robes were slipping off of your shoulders. With pearls draped around your neck and pieces of hair straying out of your topknot, Sirius could not help but swoon at how beautiful you looked. He wondered briefly what it would have been like if you had chosen him over Regulus. What if there was no foul play? Would you be happy? Or would you run away, as you had with his brother?

He was still tipsy. James’s warnings ran scattered in his brain, ringing like a siren. But they mattered little now that you were in front of him. “How was–” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted. Then you stepped forward and tugged at his half-unbuttoned shirt, pressing your lips against his. “Make me forget.” 

“Consider it done.” 

Your bare limbs tangled together as you shared wine-drunk, open-mouthed, sporadic kisses, giggling and whispering words of sensual encouragement. How did you become so in sync in a matter of weeks? Sirius had never fallen this hard. “I’m yours, (Y/N).” 

You hummed in satisfaction, fingers wound up in his hair. 

“I mean it,” he urged. “I love you.” 

You didn’t respond. Strange, he thought to himself. You never hesitated in reciprocating, ever. When he jumped, you jumped with him, no questions asked. He glanced at the clock from over your shoulder and watched it strike midnight. It was the first of September. “You’re due at King’s Cross today, aren’t you?”

You nodded, not meeting his eyes. 

He chuckled darkly. All of a sudden, he felt cold and strangled. He wanted to push you far away and yet, pull you close to him so you had no hope of escaping. “Will you write to me?” 

“Sirius…” 

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t say my name like that. I should have known… fucking snake.” 

He hadn’t let go of you. “I’m sorry darling,” you whispered, “but I can’t give up on him yet.” 

It was all he had to hear. He couldn’t think of how he was going to recover from this, not when you were lying right in front of him. “I think you should go.” 

“M-Maybe someday we can–” “Forget it.” He should have seen this coming from the second you walked up to him in the pub. You had come to him for Regulus and now you were leaving him for Regulus. Yet another bit of happiness his brother snatched away from him. But even so... he was your first and Regulus would never know. He would never know that you lost yourself in him. His no-good elder brother. But none of that mattered now, not when you were going back to him. After all, at the end of the day, you were his. 

I should have known. Sirius silently cursed at himself, watching the retreating figure of the girl he had fallen in love with. He should have known that you were always on borrowed time. You were gone quicker than the seasons change, and left with him your sweaty, sun-kissed memories. 

PART 2

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @mads-bri @she-seeks-magic @sarcasticallywitty15 @lunalovecroft @fific7 @u-no-poo​

[alphabravocharliedelta]

Skyfall | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader [One-shot]

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Word Count: 10,000+

Synopsis: After Solovetsky, Bell is personally recruited by M16 after Park’s personal recommendation. From there, the mission to pursue Perseus never ends. It isn’t until the confrontation at Pines Mall that everything is thrown into disarray, Adler now held captor by Stitch. Unable to cope, Bell takes matters into their own hands.

Content Warning: mature content, gore, adult language, blood, injuries, etc.

Notes: I decided to write this whole piece for Adler’s birthday, especially after seeing the Season Two teaser. I’m not good at romance, so please excuse me. And yes, it was inspired by Adele’s Skyfall. Full italic dialogue is the characters speaking Russian, ‘0000′ means a short time skip. Enjoy! 

[SKYFALL]

.

“What do you mean ‘captured’?”

You look Woods straight in the eye. 

The look you gave him was something he had never seen before, and it scared him. Woods could feel his blood run cold as you waited for an answer. He choked up, pursing his lips in a thin line. God help them all.

"It was Stitch."

Upon hearing that name, you slam a fist down on the table. You like a bomb, just waiting to go off, practically shaking from anger, and it was taking your entire willpower to not blow off. 

"And…" you begin, trying to keep your voice under control. "You just let him?"

"Fuck no. Dear god, no," Woods responds immediately. "They got us. Set up an ambush right in the middle of the damn mall. We fought tooth and nail and barely made it out, yet we were too late to notice him carrying off Adler—"

"Enough."

You glare at him for a bit, before breaking off to sit back down and burrow your face into your hand. Already you were beginning to feel lethargic, your head throbbing continuously in annoyance. 

"Bell–" 

"Don't," you hiss. You didn't want to hear apologies. 

The meeting room eventually cleared out on its own, leaving you to your thoughts. No one had said a word, and Woods respected your wishes, knowing that he would just add fuel to the fire. The team was already banged up and exhausted as is, and he didn't exactly want to be pitted against your aggressive behavior in these times. He was worried about you for sure, but now he was left to wonder what the hell he was supposed to tell Hudson. 

It was hours prior that you just returned from a mission with Park. You were both working on a collaborative assignment with the CIA, in which entailed you to gather intel to cross reference with their database. Adler and his team still hadn't arrived then, so you both waited patiently for some news. Adler was the one commanding the squad, which consisted of Woods, Zenya, and Bulldozer. However, only three of them returned.

You played with the watch around your wrist, thinking back. Adler had given it to you before you left, telling you to give it back to him when you returned. He gave you a kiss on the forehead when no one was looking, bidding you a successful operation. Guilt began to belittle you the longer you thought about it, so you pulled your sleeve back over.

You should have turned down the assignment, and went to the Pines mall with everyone else. If you were there, things would have turned out better. 

A part of you blamed the team for their incompetence, unable to prepare themselves for any type of situation. But in the end, it all came down to unfortunate circumstances that they just had the short end of receiving. It was practically trained in them that the mission came first, and they did successfully prevent the Nova Six explosion. Civilian lives were saved.

With the price of Russell Adler, of course.

You should have known that it was Stitch. Adler mentioned knowing him a while back, but didn't go into detail as to how. They must have had a tight history together if Stitch was willing to abandon the N6 canisters once he got his hands on Adler. You wanted to do something, anything, but there was no information whatsoever about his whereabouts. The only info you had was Woods and the team's account of seeing a chopper take off the only piece of evidence pointing towards Adler. 

You knew the Perseus member way beforehand, even working with him occasionally during your times with the group. The two of you were nothing but fellow colleagues, as you outranked him, but there were a few occasions where you two got along. But, now that you were on different sides, and knowing that everything was pointing towards him, you wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his skull. 

Time felt lost as you sat, lost in old memories. It was nearly goddamn twelve a.m. by the time you got up. You nearly toppled over, both your legs asleep after sitting idly for so long. Ignoring the static that ran up your thighs, you run a hand through your hair before giving out a long exhale.

“Bell?”

Looking up, you see Park peeking around the corner. She changed her outfit since you last saw her, this time without all her combat gear. You could detect a faint smell of vanilla from her

“Hey,” you greet wearily. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. I… wanted to see how you were doing.” She approaches you with a small comforting smile. “You haven’t moved for a couple hours.” 

“I’m fine.”

It's what you had claimed, but your appearance said otherwise. Your hair was out of place, stray hairs poking out everywhere, and your eyes were bloodshot. Throat parched, you haven’t drank or eaten anything since you returned and found out what happened. All your energy was spent wallowing in anger and regret the past few hours. 

“Did… Hudson say anything?” you inquire tiredly. 

Pity flashed across Park’s expression as she tilted her head away from you, her eyes moving to avoid your gaze. “I can’t tell you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why not?”

“It’s within reason, especially since how close you and Adler are.”

“And you agree?” 

She didn’t say anything. 

While you and Adler tried to keep your relationship under the radar, it was still apparent to everyone else that there was something going on between you two. After all, Park was the one that urged you to shoot your shot after you consulted her about “feeling strange”. No one called you out on it, seeing how you both were basically fit for each other. The invisible connection between you two is what made everything work smoothly on almost every mission. It was as if you already knew what Adler had on his mind, or what he was planning, and you would always take steps to ensure its success. 

So she knew that you were already blaming yourself for not being there for him. Having you on the upcoming rescue mission had the possibility of causing more problems, especially with your psychological tendencies to act before thinking. 

“Why do I even bother?” you scoff. You brush past her, about to head down the hallway, only for her to grab your wrist. You look over your shoulder, sending her an accusing glare as you pull away from her.

“We’re… trying to pinpoint his location,” Park informs you reluctantly. “They marked him off as M.I.A., but given enough time—”

“We don’t have time,” you spat. Before saying anything else, you inhale through your nose, trying to reign in your emotions. Park wasn’t the enemy here. “You don’t know Stitch. I worked with the guy before. He’s ruthless with his enemies, so who knows what he has in store for Adler?” 

“I know. They’re doing their best, just let them handle it. For the time being, just take care of yourself.” 

You didn’t make a sound, and only gave her a curt nod before trailing away. 

As much as you trusted Park and Woods, you couldn’t bring yourself to place hope in their plan. They didn’t know how the Perseus group dealt with people like Adler. You had first hand experience, as you were one of the people that had to do the dirty work early on. The methods they had at their disposal was one wishes to never go through, and you even had some people die on you because of it. Unfortunate, but it was your duty then.

Military personnel going M.I.A. was nothing new in this work field. You knew you were getting worked up about his disappearance, but the thought of his presence not returning to the base made you worry. How could you not? You loved the bastard to death, and would do whatever it takes to get him back, despite everything he did to you.

Coming to a decision, you headed off to the washroom to clean off before doing anything else. 

After all, you had a job to do.

0000

“Woods.”

He perks up, finding Park standing across from him. They both shared the same overworked appearance, dark bluish bags already settled under their eyes. About a week has passed since Adler’s capture, and the entire team had been working endlessly just trying to find any hint that would point towards where he may have been taken to.

Their efforts lacked any results, and they were getting desperate. One of their best CIA agents had been abducted, and the higher ups were already considering that Adler either caved in, or died under Soviet custody. Everyone was just waiting for a sign or slip up, any information that could help them.

“What?” Woods answers.

“I need you to talk to Bell,” Park sighs, before taking a seat across from him. She briefly reads the papers in front of her, before brushing them aside to make room for her elbows. Leaning in close, they talk in hushed voices. “I haven’t seen them leave their room in more than four days now.”

Woods huffs, before tossing a manila folder onto the floor. “Bell’s fine. Leave them alone.”

“Look. The M16 decided they didn’t want to be associated with this last minute, and requested for Bell and I to return.” Park drums her fingers on the table. “That was two days ago, and I still haven’t gotten a hold of them. The head of our department is getting impatient.”

“Not my problem.”

He knew that you could very much handle yourself when it came to things like this. Hell, he himself tried to check up on you a couple of times, but he never found you loitering around the common areas or cafeteria. Though, he did note that the coffee pot would be filled by the time he woke up, with a mug missing from the cabinet. Woods didn't think you were a coffee type of person, but you only continued to prove his assumptions wrong with each passing day he knew you. So, he came to the conclusion that if you were in a stable mind to get caffinated every morning before everyone else woke, then you were finding a way to cope.

And yet the concern in Park's voice told him otherwise. 

"If we don't return by tomorrow, they're going to ban us from working with you guys."

Woods pauses. "They can't do that."

"Well, we don't want to find out now, do we?" Seeing that she got his attention, Park stands back up. "Let's go."

Seeing no other choice, he follows. They both head down a series of hallways. It felt almost like a maze just trying to get around the headquarters, to a point where Woods was starting to wonder if Park even knew where she was heading. 

After going down a flight of stairs, they came across a plain door in the secluded parts of the base. You had always liked your privacy, and the covered hallway window only further proved it. 

Park gives a knock on the metal exterior, letting you know of their presence. "Bell? It's Park. I need you to come out for a bit. We need to talk."

They waited for you to respond, or for the sound of the door unlocking. But after a minute passed, nothing happened.

"Bell, I'm serious."

"Ugh, let me do it," Woods groans, gesturing for her to move aside. He had to admit, he was a bit irritated with you as well, seeing how you didn't do much to contribute to their search.

He tries the door knob, but it was locked. Although, it was a bit finicky and loose from the sounds of it. Seeing no other choice, he reels back before kicking it in.

"Bell!" Woods yells, pushing the door open. "Enough moping ar—"

The sight of your room was something to behold. Could one even call it a room?

"What the fuck?" Woods mutters under his breath.

It felt more like a library, and a messy one at that. There were stacks of books sticking up from the floor, accompanied with sheets of paper throwing all around the place. Manila folders of various sizes and age sat around, open and overfilled with information. The wall farthest from the door was covered with a large world map.

Taking careful steps, the duo both inch their way inside. Upon closer inspection, Park realizes that the papers weren't just random, but were intel. All of it was. Everything from past information relating to Perseus, to even the most recent encryptions the CIA managed to get a hold of. Things that were supposed to be wiped off the record managed to snake their way into the stacks. 

The books were all about cryptography, dating back until the first forms. The basics, the patterns, you name it.

"Bell's fucking insane."

“No, they were always like this."

Ever since you found out about what she and Adler did to you, you became more meticulous. No rock was left unturned, and you refused to make any mistakes in your work. You double checked everything, even referring to other works to make sure nothing was out of place. There were nights where she had to convince you to stop working so you could catch a break, and she felt guilty about it.

Park brushes a lock of her hair away from her face, moving towards the map while trying not to step on anything. She could see your handwriting on the borders of the papers, as well as on the vibrant sticky notes you had slapped on some of them. Stopping in front of the desk, a few white mugs were pushed aside, just teetering on the edge. She then notices that you focused on a particular set of papers, consisting of a few encryptions. 

They were fairly new, first appearing just one day prior. Both the text and your notes were written in Russian, but your handwriting was done in a rushed fashion. You had circled certain parts, drawing arrows between them, and even drew out a legend to help keep track. While seeing you work like this was nothing new to her, she wondered why you wrote in a different language this time, rather than the usual English. You rarely spoke or wrote in your mother tongue. Sometimes you would converse with Adler in Russian, especially if there were other people around, but that was all she could recall.

"Just how the hell did Bell get a hold of any of this?" Woods mutters, throwing a few pieces up in the air. He expected you to just pop up from somewhere, seeing how they invaded your workspace, but you were nowhere to be found. "Damn, even I didn't get to see some of these before."

Park ignores him, and her eyes drift off to the map in front of her. There were a few pins that kept up scraps of paper, although nothing of interest. If there was one thing, it was the bold, black marker you had used to circle a particular location. Next to it were strange symbols, possibly relating to whatever was on the table.

Her eyes widened in realization. "Shit!"

Without wasting another second, she grabs the papers on your desk, gathering up as much as possible in her arms before rushing towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Woods asks, grabbing her arm just before she flees. "We have to find—"

"Bell knows where Adler is." 

His grip loosens, and Park frees herself. They stood idly in the hallway as Woods tried to put everything together. "How—"

Park gestures to the map with her chin. "Over there, those are coordinates, I’m betting. And here in my arms are all the notes that ascertain that. I'll bring this over to the cryptography team, while you need to find Bell before they do anything stupid.” 

[FIVE HOURS EARLIER], 8:23 am

"Belikov?"

"Ah, hello, Bell. What can I do for you?"

The door behind you closes on its own, a nice click coming from it. Belikov’s office was small and minimally decorated. He sat at a metal desk that had a large computer on top of it, with wires trailing away from it and into the cool grey wall. A small task board was mounted behind him, with a list of reminders or tasks he needed to get done. 

You approach him, keeping a hand in your pocket. Glancing up slightly, you notice a camera in the corner with its light blinking. From what you can gather, it didn't have a mic equipped with it.

"I need you to do me a small favor,” you announce. “Think of it as repayment for Lubyanka.”

Belikov sets down his pen, sensing that something was out of place. 

You were never really the type of person to ask favors, or help. Not only that, there was a strange underlying tone in your voice that he couldn't help but feel that your request was more of a threat. He had heard you were originally a close associate to Perseus, and his thoughts quickly directed him to the possibility that you might have gone rogue.

"Depends on what the favor is," he responds slowly, reaching his hand slowly under his desk.

"You still remember how to pilot a chopper, no?" 

"...You know I can't do that anymore. That's not what I do here."

As if unsatisfied with his answer, you pull out your hand from your pocket, revealing a pistol and shoot once towards the direction of the camera. The sound of the lens breaking filled the air, and pieces fell to the ground upon impact. Without hesitation, you then turn it towards Belikov, who pushed himself away from the desk.

He looks down at your gun. A silencer was secured tightly to the end of it, and you had a steady finger just resting right next to the trigger. His eyes travel up your arm, before meeting you eye to eye. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation here, comrade,” you chastised in a low voice, and Belikov froze. “I wasn’t asking.”

Unable to do anything else, he put his hands up, keeping an eye on your gun. “And if I don’t?” he dared to ask.

“C'mon, don't be like that," you condemn, waving your hand around for a bit. "We both know why I'm here, so you can either make it easy for both of us, or make it Hell for everyone else."

"It's Adler, isn't it? I heard what happened."

You grind your teeth. 

Surviving on a mere eight hours of sleep collectively for the past week, you were barely keeping awake. You only left your room to either refill your coffee mug, or to go to the bathroom. Having surrounded yourself with practically every source available at your disposal, you could already hear voices whispering in your ear. Whether it was thanks to sleep deprivation or to the side effects of MKUltra, you didn't care.

So, just standing here and talking with Belikov was wasting any precious time and breath.

"Here's what you're going to do," you begin. "You are going to get a helicopter, and take me to where I want. No funny business, no questions. Got it?"

He nods, knowing that he was unable to escape.

Walking out the door, you stuck to him closely. Belikov could feel the silencer prodding him in the side as you went to the hangar together. From there, you let him choose a heli of his choosing.

As he did so, you took a small detour and went behind a large crate. There, you found all the equipment you had hid beforehand, and quickly threw everything on, and grabbed a parachute. The load was a bit heavy, so you had to put some effort into pulling your weight with each step. Prioritizing tactical equipment, your only weapons were a combat knife and the pistol.

"You're going to jump?" Belikov questions in disbelief as you board.

"What did I say?" you retort, and he shut up immediately. 

As Belikov started up the heli, you could hear traffic control attempting to wave you down: "You are not authorized to—". 

You unhooked the microphone from its place, bringing it close to your mouth. “Sergeant Woods approved of this flyby, no need to worry. Goodbye, you little shits.”

It was uncalled for, but you could feel satisfaction from just going off at them. Oh, you couldn’t wait to see the look on Woods face when you returned.

Without waiting for a response, you took it upon yourself to flick the radio off, as well as the GPS tracker. Belikov gave you an alarmed look, unable to comprehend the amount of rules and laws you were breaking, and you returned with a devious smirk, just daring him to speak. 

“Fly.”

And he did.

The helicopter blades started to rotate, gaining speed. You and Belikov cover your ears with headsets, and you watched as the ground below you grew smaller and smaller. A few people were running out to the runway, attempting to prevent you from leaving, but by then they couldn’t do anything but report it back to the officers.

Everything was going to plan.

It was by pure chance that you happened to stumble upon the coded message that led you up to this point. The CIA team had brushed it off, and set it aside to transcribe at a later time. Although difficult, you broke it within a few days. If you did everything correctly, and you validated that you did, then the coordinates you discovered would lead to the tiny island of Nantucket, Massachusetts. There, an old World War II base would be found, out of commission. You had already salvaged through past records for an old layout of the base, and memorized it.

Taking everything into account, from helicopter fuel to radio chatter, Stitch and his party shouldn’t have gone too far. There weren't any records of unidentified or unauthorized aircrafts entering or leaving the East Coast, so it was safe to assume that they didn’t leave the country yet. They were waiting for something, or someone.

The thought of it being a trap did, in fact, cross your mind, but it didn’t bother you. There were other things to prioritize, and your life was second. You were probably deemed mentally insane at this point, seeing the lengths you had already gone through just to trying to get to Adler. But, if the roles were reversed, you knew he would do the same for you.

You weren’t going to fail, nor was Adler dead, so you were going to try your damn hardest for the both of you to return home. Alive.

Taking a moment, you looked over to check on Belikov. He maneuvered the copter without much trouble, although his grip on the handles were a bit tense, and you couldn’t help but feel a little remorseful, knowing that you just put him in a bad spot.

“When we get back,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Tell them I held you at gunpoint. I don’t want you to lose your job because of me. Say that I was psychotic, or whatever.”

“No need,” he declines. “It’s the least I can do. You did save me back at the KGB after all.”

“Adler was the one who gave you this position in the first place. I don’t want to take away your chance at life because of my decision.”

He hummed. “Well, I trust that you’ll come up with something when the time comes. For now, just rest.”

You take a look at your watch. It was about 9:52 am, which meant that it took you about thirty minutes to get Belikov and board the chopper, and another twenty to get this far out from base.

It was a risky move to just fall asleep, seeing how Belikov could just turn around when you're out and turn you in. But, for someone that was held hostage, Belikov didn’t appear too bothered by it. Truth be told, you did hear stories about him, both from Adler and rumors floating around. His personality was a complete opposite of the things he had committed, and you couldn’t help but be impressed. 

A silence settled between the both of you. Listening to the whir of the blades above you, you take the chance to view the scenery beneath you. To the right, an endless blue. The sunlight made the water twinkle brightly, and you notice a few carrier ships in the distance. As for the left, you could make out the shapes of buildings and immobile cars. Some houses aligned the beaches, little dots scattered around on the shore. 

Massaging your eyes, you could feel yourself easing up as a sense of tranquility fell over you. For an unknown reason, you didn’t feel as troubled as one should in your situation. You crossed the line the moment you set foot into Belikov’s office, knowing that you could be held accountable for any mayhem that would follow. You should be shaking right now, fearing for the worse, or even thinking of possible outcomes if something went awry. But, you couldn't. 

There was only one outcome. 

Panic was unnecessary. If things happen, it'll happen.

And before you knew it, Nantucket came into view.

You slid the door open, holding onto the handles to stable yourself.

"I need you to come back in an hour!" you yell at Belikov over the wind. "The area should be clear by then!"

"An hour?!" he exclaims. "That's not enough—"

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, as you already jumped out. He could see your form get smaller and smaller as you pulled your arms to the side to gain speed. "Time..."

The plunge from the air, you had to admit, was a bit frightening. You never had really gone base jumping, or even skydiving, beforehand, so your experience was that of a beginner at best. It's a subject that isn't exactly given at basic military training. And despite your years of experience, this was probably the second time you had to ever jump out of a helicopter. The first time was during your time "Vietnam", when it was shot out of the air and hung up in the tree lines, but that was a different kind of jumping.

You pulled the parachute open when you were just a good distance above the water, and the old base was just a good swim away. Positioning yourself, you pointed your toes downward so you could break the surface tension of the water as you land. Once close enough, you cut the strings.

The salty, cold water immediately sent chills in your bones right as you landed. You could feel everything trying to drag you down, especially the small waves that crashed over you. A part of you just wanted to take everything off to make the load lighter, but you knew that you were going to need it eventually. Gasping for air, you tread for a bit, just trying to catch your breath.

Once you recovered, you took a leisure swim towards land. 

There was a desolate space in front of you once you exited, in which a couple of humvees and a heli carrier sat. Crates were stacked nearby, left out in the open. Seizing the opportunity, you took cover behind them and whipped out a pair of binoculars. You took a quick survey of the perimeters, wondering the best approach. 

There weren't as many people as you thought, counting, at most, five people that were patrolling the area. It was daytime, and the land was pretty vacant. 

Taking a look at the time, it was now 10:32 am. The flight took about two hours, which meant that you had about one hour to retrieve Adler and rendezvous with Belikov before Hudson and the team could catch up with you. You hoped to return before they left. If they were smart, they must have broken into your room by now. 

Returning focus to the objective, Woods had claimed that there were about thirty enemies when it came to the ambush, and a later report came out that eighteen bodies were counted. That meant there should be about twelve loitering around the base, five outside and seven inside.

"Have you counted the boxes already?"

A couple of men began to approach your area, and you instantly pulled yourself inwards and pressed your back against the crate. 

"Yes. Everything is refueled and ready for transport."

"Took long enough."

They stopped right next to you, backs turned. Their uniforms were black, fitted with a matching vest and tundra camouflage patterned pants. You could see the Perseus symbol embroidered on the biceps of their right arm. Stitch certainly had a weird sense of fashion when it came to his underling.

With them distracted, you pounced onto one of them, covering their mouth. You pulled out their firearm from their side, and quickly unloaded the bullets into his partner before he could react. The body fell to the ground with a loud thud, and the man in your chokehold’s screams were brought down to a muffle. 

You then violently snap his neck in return, and his body slumps over in your arms. With two dead bodies already on the list, you drag them behind cover, and strip the latter of his uniform, shove it on and top it off with the vest, switching out any unessential equipment with yours. It felt significantly easier to walk now without wet clothing.

Assuring that everything was in order, you headed inside.

It was eerily quiet, and you could mainly hear the whirring of machines, fans, and steam on the inside. A bit cramped, you noted, the wallways about two persons wide. The place showed little activity of reconstruction, having been untouched and abandoned. Dust collected in every nook and cranny, and there were dark spots and cracks speckled across the floor. The layout seemed true to the map you had remembered, so you traveled in deeper. 

For a bit, it reminded you of the Ukraine mission. You were paired up with Woods, both of you infiltrating the secret Spetsnaz training facility and setting the place ablaze. You even had the balls to press the large red button, stating that "the enemies should come to you instead", much to the inconvenience of Woods.

"Ah comrade, I need your help over here!"

Breaking your train of thought, you muse over if you should engage in the request. 

Ah, what the hell? you think. Maybe you could get them to spill information about Adler.

You trace back your steps to an open door. Inside, a man around the same height as you gestured you to come in. He had a fresh shave, with dark blonde hair gelled back. The top of his uniform was tied around his waist, an old tank top taking its place. By the looks of it, he seemed pretty drained.

"Perfect timing. I need you to help pack these," he requests.

"Ah," you voice. "And you're…?"

"Ivanov."

Walking in, the room was a makeshift armory. Rows of AK47s were aligned in a row on the tabletop, and underneath a crate of a diminishing supply of grenades. Ivanov was the only guy you seen inside thus far. He was filling up magazines, setting them on the table after the pack was finished. 

Seeing that you were going to assist, he hauls a box of bullets out of the ammo container, and sets it down next to you. "We're a bit behind schedule, since Captain Kuzmin got a hold of the American."

You pause, hand hovering over the box, before continuing the motion and grabbing a couple of bullets and loading them into a magazine. "The prisoner, what happened to them?"

"I'm not sure, but I heard they were keeping him in one of the basements," Ivanov answers. 

"Ah, I did not know that." You slide the mag in, making sure it was secure before pulling the top of it back. Seeing how you already knew how to do it, he straightens up, about to return to his station, only to do a double take in your direction. His eyes widened. "Thanks for informing me."

"Motherf—"

You pull the trigger.

Ivanov recoils backwards from the impact, tripping over the containers on the floor. A clean hit, right in between his eyes. 

You let the firearm fall out of your hands, and it clatters onto the floor. Stepping over his body, you made your way back out, but not before tossing a few C4s into the pile of grenades.

Once getting a couple paces away from the armory, you detonated them. 

The walls shook violently, and the overhead lights flickered. Nearby windows shattered from the blast wave, glass falling onto the gloomy floors. A few stray bits flew your direction, grazing your cheek.

Now that they had a distraction, you made your way to the basement. 

The alarms began to sound, covering the metallic rings of the stairs as you rushed down them. There was an announcement over the PA, announcing that there were intruders, and it repeated endlessly. 

On the final flight, a lone Perseus soldier ran their way up the stairs. "Where are you going?!" he exclaimed, trying to shove you back in the other direction. "There's a—"

You cut him off, sinking a knife into his chest. A few specks of blood splattered on your face, and you yank the blade back out. He gurgled, and watched helplessly as you cleaned your knife on the sleeve of your uniform. 

"Give Arash my regards," you growl, stepping over him.

Now on the lowest part of the facility, you began kicking every door open, peering in to see if Adler resided in one of them.

Another of Stitch's companions rounded the corner, this time with rifles in hand. Upon seeing you, they fired in your direction and you duck into one of the rooms.

The glass pane above you shatters as they continue to unload everything. "Fucking idiots," you hiss under your breath.

Unhooking a grenade from your belt, you pulled out the pin and chucked it out the window. It goes off, and the air fills with the screams of two.

One survived the blast, trying to crawl away. You stop them, grabbing them by the collar and flipping them over and holding a gun to their head. 

"Where's Adler?!" you bellow, pressing the barrel against his temple. "Tell me, and you'll live."

He gives out a pained, yet mocking chuckle. "You won't find him—"

You shoot him in the shoulder, and he gives out a yelp. Bringing him closer, you repeat yourself, "I'll ask again. Where. Is. He."

"You're too late," he chokes out, giving you a bloody grin. "The Captain's… He's- He's already heading to eva—"

"Fuck!" 

You let him go, making sure to put a hole in each leg so he can bleed to death. With that, you made a dash towards the stairs, practically flying up it.

While you were busy poking around, Stitch must have already begun to move Adler out. The chopper they used was still there when you parachuted half an hour ago, so that must mean you just missed him.

The panic that you should have felt ages ago began to settle in. Shit shit shit!

Your joints and limbs were aching, just waiting to give out. A part of you just wanted to give up and trip, spending the rest of the time just lying down on the concrete floor. The small possibility that Adler was no longer here made you choke up, and it makes you wonder why you came all this way. Desperation hung over your shoulders, and your throat began to tighten.

You run out to the open sun, the sun rays temporarily blinding you. 

Urgently, you look around for anything that was moving.

Here, you see a dark hooded figure just about a kilometer away, dragging something on the ground, around 300 yards away. Around him were three other soldiers. They were about halfway to the chopper carrier, and if you were to start running now, you wouldn't make—

No, you will. There was no time for doubt.

A humvee was pulled up nearby, and you quickly jumped into it. The keys were still in the ignition, so you cranked it sideways. The vehicle vibrated, a loud buzzing noise started. Switching the stick position, you slammed on the accelerator. It lurched forward, the tires screeching against the pavement.

With one hand on the wheel, you bring out another C4, tossing it into the passenger seat. You took out your grenades, your flashbangs- anything that would cause an explosion, and threw it into the pile.

They couldn't go anywhere if they didn't have the means of doing so.

You sped past the group of people, and taking a look out the window, you saw him. 

Adler was on the ground, unconscious. His glasses were gone, and his clothes were stained in dried blood. You couldn't see his face underneath all the red smeared all over it. And holding him by the back of the collar was Stitch.

A sudden rage overtook you, and you wanted to jerk the wheel to run him over, but you managed to keep a level head, and drove past.

Caught off guard, his underlings began to shoot at your vehicle, but the reinforced plating shielded you as bullets pelted against the side.

The helicopter was right there, and so you did it.

You kick the door open and jump out. The landing was brutal, the wind getting knocked out of you upon impact. You tucked in, but felt your arm give out the moment it touched the ground, and tiny rocks scraped against your skin, tearing it open. The detonator fell out of your hands.

The humvee continued without you, the pedal stuck in place, and crashed into the heli. You forced yourself into a crawl, reaching for the remote. Once you felt something metallic brush against your fingers, you grabbed it and pressed every button available. The car exploded, taking out the chopper with it. Flames burst upward, sending a heat wave within radius. 

You were all stuck on the island.

Now, it was time to deal with Stitch.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

. 

[TWO WEEKS LATER], 10:15pm

"That's it?"

"Yep," you affirm, before taking another shot of vodka.

Instantly, loud groans of disappointment filled the table and you smile smugly at their reactions. 

"You're fucking kidding Bell—"

"Wow, really leaving us hanging."

You laugh as Woods gives you a friendly slap on the back of your head. "You're the most dumbest, deranged person I ever worked with," he declares. 

"I take after you and Mason." You shrug with a smug grin. “Let’s face it though, you’re proud of me.”

“Damn right I am. But seriously, ‘Goodbye, you little shits’? You not only lie, but you disrespect me?”

"Well, would you have preferred me saying 'kiss my ass'?" you retort.

Two weeks have passed since your selfish decision to go after Adler. You managed to do the impossible, and it only took days of sleepless nights, a lot of coffee, and your mind balancing on the edge of insanity for you to pull it off. 

Truth be told, you couldn't remember anything afterwards, as your memory blanked out. 

According to Woods, they arrived shortly after where you ended your story. Somehow, you had managed to take out the other three, and were engaged Stitch in close quarter combat. They landed and took Stitch into custody, although he had left quite a mess in return.

You got stabbed in the abdomen, and got a knife pierced through your hands, and had a few bullet grazings and scrapes. Your shoulder got dislocated from your little dive out of the humvee. As for Adler, he was in better condition than you expected. He was still alive, although Stitch did a number on him.

The asshole decided to do an art project on Adler’s face, tracing over his scar with a fresh, sharp blade and gave him a broken nose. You shivered just thinking back on it. The medical report also indicated that he had a few broken bones mostly in his right arm and hand. There was a single bullet wound in his left leg as well, which you assumed he received from collateral damage around the time you were fighting the three.

They applied first aid there, before transporting you all back home for proper treatment.

Next thing you knew, you woke up in the med bay, three days after. You slept a whole sixty-two hours, catching up on sleep and recovering. Park chewed your ass out the moment you woke up, saying that you were on administrative leave and taken off payroll until a decision could be made on what to do with you.

Now, everyone was gathered in the meeting room, the lights turned down low to set the mood. You had just finished recounting your experience to the crew.

Anything work related was pushed aside, the papers replaced with several cans of beers and glasses of alcohol. Stress was relieved through downing shots, and entertainment was the good old pack of cards and chips, hard cash thrown onto the tabletops. Even Hudson was there, holding a bottle while playing beer pong.

“Bell, I just remembered,” Park perks up suddenly beside you. She reaches into her back pocket, retrieving a folded piece of paper and hands it over. “Look what I found.”

You take it, eyeing her cautiously. “What's this?”

“Blackmail,” she says lightly, and you gave her a stern look. “I’m kidding, but go on.”

Opening it up, it revealed itself to be a photograph. The timestamp showed that it was taken a couple weeks ago. More accurately, the day you went on a solo raid.

It was a picture of you and Adler sitting in the back of the helicopter, probably taken right after it landed back home. Your head was resting on Adler’s shoulder, and his head was leaning against yours. You were both holding hands, which rested on top of his left thigh.

"Aren't you two a bunch of lovebirds?" Park pokes fun at.

“What the fuck?!” you shriek, feeling heat rise up on your cheeks as Park gives you a shit-eating grin. “Helen, what the hell is wrong—”

“Oh, what do we have here?” 

Woods plucks the polaroid right out of your hands. He whistles, seeing its contents. "Wow, wait 'till Mason hears about—"

"If you tell Mason, then I'll tell him about the mannequin," you snarl, snatching it back. You then turn to Park, who nonchalantly takes a sip of her drink. "Really?"

"C'mon Bell. It's not every day you get to see that kind of stuff," she teases.

"Well, let's make this the last time then. I'm burning this."

You take your leave, Baker shouting across the room for you to get another pack of beer, and you give him the bird over the shoulder in response, before taking a turn out the doorway. 

The noise of music and speaking lowered down to the steady hum of the hanging lights as you wandered around for a bit.

You head the opposite direction of the trash room, and eventually find Adler in one of makeshift sleeping quarters. It was just him and one other person, who had just finished redressing his bandages.

He looked pale, his sullen expression exposing his insomniac habits. A large gauze pad was secured tightly with tape over his cheek, and his right arm in a cast. The medic was helping him get his jacket on, but in the end he only put his left arm in the sleeve while letting the rest hang from his shoulders. After determining he didn’t need any more help, the medic left, giving you a weary look of thanks as you moved out of the way.

Adler perks up slightly noticing your presence, giving you a small smile. “If it isn’t Sputnik.”

“Seriously?” you articulate. “That’s my nickname now?”

He ignores your question. “Are you drunk?”

“No. How's the face?"

"Hurts to talk, but I'll live."

Despite your protests, you were, in fact, drunk. You somehow managed to live up to the concept of Russians being able to handle alcohol well, yet Adler notes that you were beginning to slur your words. It was rather intriguing for many to experience the complete 180 in your personality when you get drunk. You would never shut up once someone got you to start talking, and if you had something to say, you did it in the most blunt way possible. A bit of your accent came out as well, a bit of a mix between British and Russian all together.

"You better."

Adler scoffs in amusement, but beckons you to get closer over with his hand. "C'mere."

"You forgive me?" you say hopefully, taking a seat on a swivel chair next to the bed. You both haven't seen each other since the incident, as you were forcibly isolated and interrogated once deemed stable enough. Adler most likely heard what had happened by the time you were released.

"You’re joking, right? Of course I don’t,” he reprimands, giving you a flick in the forehead. 

“What the he—”

“You disobeyed a direct order, threaten someone at gunpoint, steal a heli, raid an abandoned military base on your own, blow it up, then have the audacity to fight Stitch on your own?"

"I literally killed an entire garrison for you, don't you dare lecture me on what I did."

"Is that your way of being romantic? Committing war crimes?"

"Which ones?” you counter. “You gotta be more specific, Russ, my entire existence is a war crime."

He sighs, knowing there's no use arguing with you. It felt like he was talking to a doppelganger of Woods sometimes, so having to deal with two idiots on the team was mentally exhausting. If anything, your efforts balance it out. 

Lying down, he notices the paper in your hand and points his chin at it. "What's that?"

You lazily hold your hand out, letting him take it from you. "Did you know Park took this?"

"No. But you look dashing." Adler pockets it when you aren't looking.

"I look like a serial killer," you whine, leaning back and proceeding to spin.

"That's what you are."

"I don't kill for fun."

Adler stops your chair by sticking his foot out, worried that being dizzy and drunk might somehow cause you to hit your head against the table. “Your body count says otherwise.”

"Oh shit, am I on the top three?"

"If you keep pulling off the shit you do, you'll be first place soon enough."

You give out a boisterous laugh. "At least I beat you at something."

A silence settles between the both of you as your laughter dies out to a chuckle. To think that you were now able to have a casual conversation with Adler without having to worry felt reassuring. Despite his demeanor, he was an easy guy to talk to, but it felt like you would both argue like a married couple at times. 

You began to feel drowsy, feeling the alcohol beginning to slow you down. Wondering what time it was, you remembered something and began to loosen the watch around your wrist. "I forgot to return—"

"Keep it."

"...You're mad at me."

"I'm not. It's yours now."

And so you secured it back around your wrist. While he assured that he wasn't mad at you, you knew that he didn't approve of what you did. It was reckless, and you intentionally put the entire mission in jeopardy because you couldn't be patient. Your lack in trust towards your teammates was called into question, and that day the CIA could have lost three people.

But, they didn't. It was always the negatives that everyone focused on, not the positives. You found where Adler was, outperforming the CIA's "top cryptographers" once again, managed to take out Stitch's unit and hinder his plans. What more could they want?

You scoot closer to Adler, crossing your arms on his bedside and burrowing your head in them. "I'm sorry."

“It’s fine,” he assured.

Avoiding his gaze, you stare at the wall trying to let the thought of Adler's disappointment bother you. Instead, you feel him place a hand on top of your head, and you close your eyes as you feel his fingers run through your hair, shuddering as he moves it in a combing fashion.

"I'm not a dog, you know," you comment tiredly.

"Well you're not stopping me either."

Despite not doing much recently, Adler found himself becoming exhausted more easily. Having two limbs temporarily out of commission certainly made it harder to move around, but it was the lack of movement that made him bored out of his mind. He wanted to get back to work already to make up for lost time, but everyone denied him the pleasure of doing so, saying that he’ll need to recover before anything else. 

With nothing to do other than signing papers, Adler looked forward to seeing you pop in from time to time while you tell him stories about what had happened that day. He had planned to drop by the meeting room for a couple of drinks, but he found himself preoccupied with you instead, your own sleepiness rubbing off of him.

You were about to drift off when you felt Adler’s hand leave and the sound of the lamp turning off. He nudges you awake. Opening your eyes slowly, you found that Adler had pushed himself farther into the bed, holding up the blankets to reveal an open space beside him. 

“Hop in.”

Too tired to decline, you slip under the covers with him, pulling the sheets over your shoulders. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you unconsciously moved a bit closer to him, and Adler couldn't help but chuckle to himself as you did.

"Shouldn't we go join the others?" you query.

"Can't. Doctors said no drinking."

"Ah. I hope you well get soon then."

Adler does a double take. "You mean, 'I hope you get well soon'?" he corrects.

"That's what I said."

"God, how many shots did you take?"

You felt usually daring today, the alcohol going to your head. Your hand shoots up to his head. His naturally styled hair became tousled as you played with it between your fingers. It felt soft and lush like you expected. "Enough to get where I'm at now."

“So, we’re speaking Russian now?”

In the darkness, you could make Adler's expression. It was peaceful, the corners of his eyes slightly lifted as his lips were upturned in a barely noticeable, yet tender, smile. His eyes watched you fondly, just taking in your facial features and every little movement they made. It was almost like he was in a trance, and whenever you were around he could just forget everything. The pain would suddenly become a numbing tingle as his heart began to quicken itself each time. 

Love was something he hadn't felt in a long time, and even he had to admit that he was scared of trying to love again. And he could tell you were in a similar situation— not knowing what it felt like to be loved.

"Russian is considered a romantic language, you know," you point out, pulling your hand away.

The feeling Adler got every time he looked at you came with the urge to protect you, wanting to keep you out of harm's way. But in reality, it felt like you were the one protecting him, doing all the dirty work behind the scenes just for the sake of it. Yet, you were unwavering, and it was alarming. 

"Last time I checked, it’s not. You're just saying that cause you like hearing me speak it."

You gave him a meek grin. “Smartass.”

Reflecting on it, Adler didn't know much about you. 

Judging from previous missions, you've become long desensitized to a point where you had no issue dealing with the enemy in the way you had done two weeks ago, and it made him wonder what kind of other shit you went through before having the luck of meeting him. But, to see you act in such an affectionate way was something new, as you played a relentless, yet dependable, soldier on the job.

If there's one thing he did know, it was that he wanted to spend the rest of his days working alongside you. When he, and if he will, retire, Adler knew that he wanted to take you back to his hometown and show you around. Live together as civilians, take you out for dinner, maybe even rent a fancy sports car and speed down the highway near some scenic beach during sunset. It was a cheesy thought, but it was something he looked forward to, and he didn't plan to die until he did.

Lost in thought, he brings his hand up to your chin. 

"I never really did thank you for Nantucket, did I?" he murmurs, switching back to English. Hearing Adler's gravelly voice in such close proximity made you melt.

"No, not really." 

"Close your eyes then."

"Why-"

"Close."

And so you obliged. 

Darkness overtook your vision, and you strained yourself to listen carefully. You heard the sheets ruffling, and Adler moved his hand to cup your cheek, the roughness of his palms ticking your skin. Your heart began to race, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you waited for Adler to commit to what he planned.

Getting impatient, you were about to speak up and snap your eyes open but you felt something press against your lips gently.

The kiss was soft and surprisingly chaste. You could detect the wistfulness behind it, and it brought up a mix of emotions. His lips were different from what you had imagined. They were plump and smooth, almost luscious on its own. Rather fitting for a suave man of his nature, yet it gave you an entirely new, exclusive experience.

Eventually, Adler recedes back, pulling away, but you could still a tingling impression left on your slightly parted lips. You failed to form any words, and instead your eyes fluttered back open. 

The look he gave you made you tear up. His eyes were half lidded, and there was a sense of longing behind those ocean blue eyes of his, telling you that he had been waiting to convey his feelings in this way for the longest time. It just made you defenseless, knowing that there was someone like Adler that actually loved the monster that you had made yourself out to be.

You thought back to a couple weeks back, remembering his unconscious form and a strange sense of dread fell upon you. An image flashed in your mind, your blood-stained hands shaking as they hovered over his beaten face. Someone was trying to pull you away from him, shouting at you in indecipherable words.

Adler was fine now, but you couldn't help but sob, the delayed sense of impending doom now finally kicking in after two weeks.

A tear rolled down your cheek, wetting the pillow underneath you, and you immediately tried to wipe your eyes before more followed. 

"Sorry, I-I don't know what's come over me," you stammer, shuddering as you try to catch your breath. “Just give me a moment.”

"You want to talk about it?"

“No, it’s fine,” you try to assure him.

Adler wasn’t having any of it. He couldn’t just lie idly aside and let it pass, especially with you tearing up about it. “Talk to me, Bell.” 

You sniffle, taking a deep breath. "It's just… When Woods informed us that you were missing, I-I got so fucking scared. I worked with Stitch before, and..."

"I'm here now."

"I know, but… Just you, tied up in some chair in some unknown place, him inflicting whatever vengeance he had against you… I was confident that you were alive, but then I thought: what if I never found you? What if I was wrong, and you were never there? The thought of just discovering your body—"

"[Y/N]," Adler cuts you off. "I haven't seen you in two weeks and the last thing I want for you to do is cry. Even more so if it's because of me."

"I—"

"It's in the past now. You did what you thought was best. It was fucking stupid, but it's the reason why we're able to have this conversation today. As much as I hate to admit it, your impulsiveness saved my ass. But, as your superior, and your boyfriend, don’t you dare pull shit like that again, got it?”

“...Okay,” you assent. Adler always had a way with words, although forthright, but it never failed to comfort you.  

He nods in affirmation. “Good.”

You both gaze at each other wordlessly amidst the darkness. The light that seeped under the doors gave you the dim outline of his form, and you could see his chest rising and falling in a steady pace. Adler lied there calmly, listening to you ease yourself down into hiccups. He wanted to embrace you, but his injuries prevented him from doing so, and it pained him.

“...We didn’t do anything for your birthday, did we?” you inquire through receding hiccups. “Or that thing. Valentine’s was it?”

“You and I? No. You weren’t here.” 

A pang of guilt hits you. “Shit… I, uh— Park had to bring me back to the U.K. for a couple days due to… complications.”

Adler hums for a bit, thinking. His birthday was nothing special of sort, but the rest of the crew was eager to celebrate it, especially with his return. They held a drinking session, similar to the one tonight, but he could only sip on water and non-alcoholic juices.

“Tell you what,” he begins a bit eagerly. “Since we’re both on leave, how about we take a trip back to my hometown?”

“Where’s that at?”

“It’s a secret, you’ll find out later.” He could hear you scoff in amusement. “You can stay at my house, where the bed is actually big enough for the both of us. I’ll drive you around, show you the tourist attractions—”

“You can’t drive with your arm like that,” you snicker.

“Fine, you can drive. Just don’t scratch it. Anyways, you’ll drive us around, and we can eat at this nice restaurant that’s close by. I know the owner, so we can get a good deal. There’s a nice view in their outdoor seating area, and their wine is pretty decent.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Hey!” Adler retorts in offense. “Not everyone’s idea of a romantic getaway is infiltrating an old military base. Let me have this for once.”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He gives you a peck on the forehead. “But until then, you need to sleep, soldier.”

“Yes, sir.”

You nuzzle yourself into the crook under Adler’s chin, and you could feel his arm curve underneath and wrap around your unbandaged hand. You slowed your breathing down to match Adler’s as he rubbed gentle circles in your palms, and you counted each rotation, just trying to fight off sleep. You wanted to stay awake and cherish the moment, but the distant music from the party persisted, the muffled beats slowly pulling you into a light slumber. 

"Я тебя люблю,” you mumble as you drift off, your fingers losing its grip around his.

"I love you too.”

Adler kisses your forehead once again, before following you into a good night sleep.