#I don’t mind the hate it’s just the delusion that it’s like a shield makes me giggle

[planetsano]

↻ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: a gripping tale of love as the reader navigates a complex relationship with the infamous toji fushiguro OR toji fushiguro being a shit boyfriend should be a case study!

↻ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: age gap (20’s ↝ 30’s), toxic relationship, smut.

↻ 𝗯𝘆𝗿: female reader, female bodied reader.

You see, the thing about Toji Fushiguro is that he’s always been unapologetically and shamelessly him— he’ll always be a man that will be forever stuck in his own ways. He’s selfish, crude, insensitive, and would do anything no matter how foul and evil to put him forward.

So.. it’s cute— no, admirable that you thought you could change him. A pretty, young thing in her twenties dealing with a wreck of a man like him. How sick is that? Really, your first red flag should have been him wearing a shirt three times too small.

Yeah, the age gap was certainly.. more than a few years, which heavily attributed to the mental disconnect in the relationship. You were bright-eyed and naïve, so much life in you and hadn’t experienced a drop of what real life was like. You often romanticized life, finding beauty in the simplest of moments and weaving dreams from the fabric of everyday experiences. Your vivid imagination painted the world with colors unseen by most, turning mundane occurrences into enchanting adventures.

You held on to the “love could conquer all!” and “I can fix him!” mentality or something like that. But your optimism was a double-edged sword, pushing you to cling to the relationship while also blinding you to the reality that perhaps you both needed different things in life. You needed a life partner and he needed a tight cunt to fuck.

It’s ironic because you approached him first.

“Mister Toji..? What’s your wife like?” You shyly played with the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Ah?” Toji raised a brow at you, slightly surprised by the forwardness of your question. “Oh right, ‘don’t have a wife.” “Oh..” You feel your face and the tips of your ears become hot with embarrassment. “Well maybe I could.. make you dinner sometime..?”

Toji liked the appeal of having a woman half his age on his arm. But what he simply could not stand was the amount of energy required for it— oh, don’t misunderstand, he never put forth any real efforts anyway, but it was simply the.. expectation. Toji didn’t give a fuck about dates or anniversaries, all he cared about was emptying his balls inside of your pussy, the hot dinners you make for him and cozy shelter you provide.

You liked to play housewife in your own silly little delusion, finding comfort in the make-believe world where everything was picture-perfect. The idea of being the nurturing, organized, and devoted partner gives you a sense of purpose, shielding you from the harsh realities of what really was. It was a cozy escape, a refuge where you could pretend that all your worries were mere fiction.

Yet, there were moments when the illusion began to unravel, and a whisper of doubt crept into your mind. Were you truly content with this role you had assumed, or were you sacrificing your true desires in pursuit of an idealized version of yourself? The nagging ty made you question if he really loved you as much as you were in love with him. Or at all for that matter. He was a busy man but would returning a call really hinder his day? Would a text twist his arm so much? You never ask though, you would hate to upset him or come across as “immature.”

But if he’s just so horrible, this.. big, bad man who found it annoying that you..? That you wanted to hold hands in public! What made you stay? Why stay with a man that seemed to only have his best interest in heart and you were a second, sometimes third, or forth.

His cock.

That cock was an addiction that you had no intention of quitting. The way this man fucked you was enough to liquidate your mind— leaving you nearly brain-dead as his warm seed oozes from your hole. The width of his cock alone made you stretch an absurd amount, teetering the edge of comfortability. His tip relentlessly gives your cervix a beating— bruising it and leaving a delicious soreness that lasts for nights.

Toji’s physical presence was undeniably imposing and large, that alone makes you feel like a delicate trinket, one treasured and protected. Yet, paradoxically, the way he handled you was anything but delicate. His hands, strong and calloused, held a certain roughness that spoke of a life lived on the edge, battle-hardened and weathered. He folds your body as though you were a ragdoll— regardless of your size.

When he’s gone for days on end, you find yourself yearning for his fulfillment— no hand or toy will satisfy you the way he does. Toji’s ruined sex for you.

Toji withheld affection from you whether it was intentional or not. So when he did praise you it felt as though you were a pretty princess— chemically altering your pretty little brain more than a little bit.

He often kept his emotions locked away, leaving you hesitant of where you stood in his heart. The lack of affection was a constant ache, leaving you yearning for even the smallest crumbs of his praise. Yet, when those rare moments arrived, it felt like a euphoric rush, flooding your mind with a mix of serotonin and dopamine.

His praise, though infrequent, had an intoxicating effect on you. It was like soaring to the highest of heavens, as if the whole universe had aligned in your favor. In those fleeting instances, self-doubt dissolved, and you basked in the warmth of his approval, feeling valued and cherished.

But the hesitation lingered, a cloud of doubt that never fully dissipated. You wondered if his praises were genuine or merely an act of throwing a dog a bone, a way to keep you satiated so you wouldn’t throw one of your fits. The chemistry of emotions within you danced between soaring highs and daunting lows, creating a rollercoaster of feelings you couldn’t control.

You found yourself seeking those rare moments of praise like an addict craving their next fix, yearning for his validation and acceptance. The intoxicating mix of emotions left you captivated and vulnerable, making it hard to see beyond the haze of his allure and your love goggles. You chose to believe a ring is on it's way at the end of the day.

“You did a good job today, lovebug.” “Really?” “Mm.”

And you jump, just like a lap dog. But don’t feel bad, I would too if I had a man as fine as Toji. Woof. ♡

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ you still love him ]❜

ft. hex haywire x f! reader — xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ he’s still the same man that you love even if his hands are stained red, can’t you see that?┊0.7k words

contains: yandere hex, murder & death, obsessive/possessive behavior, delusions, kidnapping, established relationship turned forced relationship

➤ author's note: i don’t think it will ever be possible for me to write hex as anything but a yandere...

he hates the way you are looking at him with such fear as though he was some wild monster you stumbled upon in the deep woods at midnight, but he understands that you are just confused about the situation. anyone would be shocked to find a corpse neatly tied up to mask the rotting smell in the basement of their lover while trying to look for a toolbox, but wouldn’t you just calm down and hear him out? he hates the sight of you crying and flinching every time he reaches out to you, it breaks his heart to see you frightened of him.

you’re so naive and blissfully unaware of your own surroundings that you don’t even notice the dangers around you that you just seem to attract with your innocent charm and beauty. he’s just trying to keep you and this love he treasures so much safe, it’s all he ever wants and all he lives for. it’s his job as your boyfriend, as your lover, as your soulmate to shield you and your relationship from all potential harm even if it means getting his hands dirty.

if anything, shouldn’t that make you love him even more since he’s willing to go to hell for your safety and protection? even with this little secret revealed, he’s still your beloved boyfriend of about eight months now— the boyfriend you always praised for treating you better than you thought you deserved (even though he thinks you deserve all the stars in the night sky): not allowing you to lift a finger in his company by cooking and cleaning for you, smothering you in affection to always making you feel so loved and secure, and treating you like a princess. his only red flags were his bouts of jealousy and possessiveness, but you never gave it much thought and just gave him a kiss on the cheek since it seemed to ease his mind in the moment.

really, he could never push aside his overwhelming feelings of envy and rage whenever he remembers that he couldn’t have you completely to himself since you talk to dozens of others daily for your job. that’s all it takes really, just his mind whipping up fictitious scenarios of you talking to other men or worse was enough to drive him up the wall— so what did you think would happen when you started hanging around that disgusting fucking coworker?

you were just trying to be nice to him because you were such a sweet soul who couldn’t recognize the signs of his leering eyes and subtle inappropriate touches, or maybe you weren’t as innocent as anyone thinks and you were purposely testing him with little mind games. either way, his undying love was evident from the blood that stained the same stainless steel kitchen knife he used to make you steak dinners and the lifeless body that was old enough for rigor mortis to settle neatly in the corner of his basement.

the red that stains his hands is the same red of the string of fate that connects soulmates such as yourselves, a testament to his devotion and adoration for you. there is no other man or woman who would go to such lengths of killing another human being to protect you except for him— it’s always been him and you know it.

he knows that you still love him even if you are shaking in fear while he holds you in his arms. he knows that once you figure out how grateful you actually are for his sacrifices with or without his help, you’ll go back to your cheery self. maybe you two could even get married, with matching wedding rings of white gold and the finest cut diamond— he’d make the best husband for you and you two would have the most beautiful family in the world. no matter how long it takes you to recognize how you really feel, he will wait for you because he loves you more than you could ever imagine. you are here with him right now, safe within the walls of his own bedroom and far away from anyone else who only wishes you ill will, and you will stay with him until death does you part.

[ro275805]

Obsession (An exploration of Shadow)

You can read the AO3 equivalent here, along with a list of warnings. It isn't an adult work, but has heavy themes having to do with mental instability and unhealthy obsession (and devotion). There is no pairing centric to this work.

Obsession.

Shadow has become obsessed—he obsesses to drown out the rest of the static in his brain. He has a duty in life; a purpose. His purpose is to protect Rose, to save her, to live for her—he was put onto this Earth specifically to be her guardian. That’s why he was born first. That’s why he’s the older sibling—so that Rose would always have him. He believes in this without question. Shadow cannot comprehend the pressure that puts on Rose, entangling her up in string that he has obliviously and carelessly wrapped around her, tightening around her limbs.

Shadow is so scared. He doesn’t want anything to happen to Rose. He cannot live if something happens to Rose.

Rose, don’t go out alone. Rose, don’t use your powers too much. Rose, let me do the cooking. Rose, don’t mind what I want. Rose, I’m fine, don’t worry, my preferences don’t matter, let’s do what you want, within reason, within what I define as safe for you—no, that’s far too risky, that’s too unsafe, you could get hurt.

The strings tighten like binding rope.

Obsession keeps Shadow sane. Obsession keeps him from clawing his skin raw, tearing at the seams, picking apart the thread with bloodied fingernails. He endures eight years of an endless night of ongoing trauma with obsession—for Rose. This is all for Rose. The pressure becomes agonizing. He crumbles under its debilitating weight—a young boy is only capable of so much, but he considers exhaustion a type of betrayal. He’s selfish. He’s weak. This too is something he believes in without question. He goes on for Rose solely, steeping in mounting self hatred and shame and rage. His determination is never for the preservation of himself.

And then he obsesses over Joker, it’s his second driving force. He drowns out reality and voice of reason—Joker is the reason why he couldn’t save Rose that day and he’s going to kill Joker and take everything that he is to make him pay.

Cyan wouldn’t have ever been able to, of course, a frail and small boy against dangerous, grown men with weapons. He would have been slaughtered like the rest of his village, and Rose would have still been captured and used.

But reason does not get through to Shadow. He is obsessed. He has set his mind on something, a shield for his own sanity. Anger and hatred is an addictive and appealing drug, it distracts you, numbs your body and mind—He’s going to kill Joker, it’s going to feel amazing, he took everything from him—it’s his second reason for existing. He doesn’t have to focus so much on the distant tolling in his head, bells informing him, ‘you are likely to die a lonely death, an empty existence, never seeing the radiance of your sister’s smile ever again. You took her life yourself.’

He never hated Joker. But through delusion, he convinced himself that he did—through misdirected anger and unending anguish through every second of every day of every month of every year of his current life, and Clover’s gradual breaking down of his mind, Shadow is certain that through killing Joker, he will be fulfilled. There’s no room for doubt. There’s no other path. Anything else will get Rose killed.

‘You were born to serve a purpose, Shadow.’

Professor Clover praises him with words that bind to him like hot black tar, shaping his brain through very gradual, constant insistence: little actions and words imprinted into his subconscious that warp his self-image, Shadow’s lack of devotion towards the man meaningless.

Jack had Silver Heart and the love and support from peers, nurture that allowed him to bloom into radiance like the light of the brilliant moon.

Cyan had the Professor. No peers. And just Rose. Just his beautiful, eternally slumbering sister, whom during his lowest points he would confide in quietly and tremulously, her unchanging form never interrupting or judging his fears and confessions. The specific confessions that he wasn’t too ashamed of to voice.

He has not bloomed. He has become an amalgamation of infection and rot, like a plant whose source of life growing up was tainted with oil. That flower cannot be normal, it will always continue to look wrong even once you cut off the source of poison.

Eight years—and exactly half of his life.

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

Ending note:

This was a quick and short character exploration from several months back, finally edited to be a bit more publicly presentable. I've always felt like Shadow, who appears to struggle badly with his sense of identity, would fall easily into obsession as a means to find purpose in his life. It leads to a deep strain between himself and the people around him who become affected. Eventually, Shadow must confront the destructiveness of his behavior and mentality, despite it being something he's relied on for emotional survival for half of the time he's been alive.

Despite it being a slightly messy work, I hope that you've find some enjoyment from this exploration and I value any thoughts or questions on my character studies. You may be the one to give me my next needed push of motivation or my next idea.

Thank you for reading!

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

Taglist: You can join the taglist here!

De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?” You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don’t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

[lin-nin]

Headcanons for maybe they cause the reader's death? Like in an accident / generally not on purpose. Maybe they're in the middle of a battle and when they try to strike their opponent, their s/o is shoved in front and is the one that they hit instead? I just want angst :DD. Maybe for Techno, Schlatt, Dream, and Bad? Thanks!

heaOOOH ANON, YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. I LOVE WRITING ANGST ITS CHEFS KISS MWAH. I WILL GLADLY WRITE YOU SOME ANGST LOVIE. THESE ALSO CAME OUT MORE LIKE MINI ONE-SHOTS Warnings: Death, Gore, Coerced Suicide (BadBoyHalo)

Techno accidentally killing his S/O

Techno was always so easily caught up in battle. The way the voices chanted and demanded blood, he was quick to give in in the heat of the moment. Doomsday was no different, truly. Hell, he was eager for doomsday, and you had been too. You wanted to cause the chaos. It was only when you were off of the obsidian grid, moving to take down whoever you could with your axe. You and Techno didn’t always keep an eye on each other in the field. You just checked in on one another after, tending to the other as needed. He mainly checked in on you, as you often suffered the worst injuries in battle. You hadn’t heard his rocket launcher fire, ears full of the ringing and chaos and explosions of battle. No, you didn’t realize it until you had moved towards his target, the firework hitting you square in the back.

Techno swore everything was in slow motion then. The way your body flung into Tommy, slipping onto his sword that he had raised in the process to counter you. It impaled you, and he couldn’t see the look on your face. The voices in his head screamed and he was moving without thought, your name spilling from his lips, barely audible over the roar of battle. Tommy looked stunned, letting himself get shoved away once the older man came over, cradling you. You were covered in blood, seeping through your wound and shirt. He didn’t realize he was crying until you shushed him, reaching up to cradle his face.

“Don’t worry,” you had reassured, wiping at his tears and only managing to smear blood over the fur there. “This isn’t my last life. We have plenty of time together, just wait a few days. I’ll be back.” You would cough, making blood spurt from your lips as it bubbled into your throat. Techno could only helplessly watch as the remnants of you life drained from your eyes. This would put you on your final life.

The rest of doomsday was spent relentlessly slaughtering everyone who even looked at him wrong. He was inconsolable. When he returned to his cabin, and you finally came back- with new scars from both the firework and Tommy’s sword, he quickly deteriorated again. He struggled to voice how he felt- that it was his fault that you had been tossed into the blade and killed. He did, however, become fiercely protective of you. He would constantly give you armor and repair it, making sure you were fed and your weapons were the best. For whenever he would allow you back into battle and chaos.

Schlatt accidentally killing his S/O

Schlatt never had many on his side. You, though? You were always there for him. Originally a body guard he had hired, only to find a best friend and lover in you. A confidante. You may not have approved of each of his decisions, but you still protected him. He wasn’t necessarily a fighter, preferring to play the role of puppet master. You acknowledged that when it came to battle, you were a puppet.

It inevitably had already cost you two of your lives. You had no idea if it was intentional or not.

It was when Pogtopia came to attack that you were worried. Schlatt hadn’t been looking good. He had been drinking so much, seeming distant. Withdrawn. Even though you loved him, you struggled to get through to him. You stood at his side as you watched the chaos, gripping the hilt of your sword. Prepared to deflect at any given moment.

Tommy had found the pair of you first, and you easily preoccupied yourself with countering him. Only to feel yourself get whipped around, Schlatt’s hand familiar on your arm. Just for an arrow to lodge itself into your windpipe. You choked and gasped, feeling the blood invade your throat. Had you been warned, you could have put up your shield. Which had clattered to the ground with your sword. You had expected him to be pulling you from danger. Not putting you into it.

“No, no, no, stop it. Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare!” His voice rung in your ears. It was denial. So full of denial. As if the arrow in your windpipe had sobered him entirely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stop! Fucking stop, you can’t leave. You aren’t allowed!” You gazed up to him with a weak smile, resting one hand on top of his.

“I won’t.... leave without you.... Don’t.... leave me waiting,” Your words were choked, interrupted by bubbling gasps. You would pause to cough up blood, gagging and choking on it with each breath and word. He dropped your body when you stopped breathing, standing up with his jaw set and an ache in his chest he didn’t want to identify. He didn’t keep you waiting, surrendering in the battle before succumbing to his failing health. The afterlife, though cold, was a little warmer and more humorous with him there.

Dream accidentally killing his S/O

Dream loved you with a passion so fierce it felt like the flames from the fire of it would often engulf you. The protection he gave to you, the way he often spoke to you or held you. It wasn’t bad, it was just always much fiercer than you ever anticipated. This translated to everything, too. He fiercely encouraged you to fight with him, but not to the point of getting yourself killed.

You weren’t always too good at following those words.

You had lost your first life fighting against L’Manberg. Not a direct cause from Dream, though. Just carelessness on your behalf. After that, he hovered near you during fights. Making sure you didn’t die. You didn’t mind. It at least showed how much he loved you, right?

Of course, he said all he cared about was the discs. When questioned about you, despite his hesitance, he had insisted you meant nothing to him with the same ferocity as before. It had hurt, cutting deeper than any blade before. You left, with Sapnap and George. You didn’t know where that had left the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t be near him and his delusions.

It’s how you ended up against him on Doomsday, staring him down atop the grid. The wind whipped at you and he pointed his crossbow at you. You didn’t blink, even as it loosed and shot the bolt into your leg. You had lost your balance, tumbling off of the grid with encouragement from the wind. You had narrowly missed the edge of the growing crater, thankful for the protection of your armor.

Only for the explosives raining down to knock the land from beneath you. You were sent tumbling down into the crater, landing on your neck. You had no recollection of it, no understanding of the horror he felt at watching you fall from such a height. He didn’t need to be told it was fatal. He hated himself for it. For what he had caused. Because, despite his words, he did still love you.

It wasn’t until you visited him in the prison, a nervous twitch in your hands as result from the fall, staring him down, it came crashing down on him. He had ruined you. “I wish he killed you. I wish I could kill you.” Your voice was cold, and you raised your hand to demonstrate the constant tremor caused by the neurological damage. You couldn’t kill him if you tried. You could barely hold a sword.

“I would deserve it.”

Bad accidentally killing his S/O

(Warning for suicide coercion)

You absolutely adored Bad. And He, you. That much was obvious. Life with him was fairly good, too. Mostly peaceful, and pleasant. The occasional bits of chaos, but so long as it didn’t directly affect you, you didn’t care. It usually didn’t, and you were content with that. Content to help others and stay neutral as needed. Until the appearance of the egg, of course.

You hated it. It made you uncomfortable, in a way that had your head ringing and chest feeling tight. You would avoid it as much as possible. You only came to dislike it more as it affected Bad. The way he didn’t make himself seem so small anymore, towering to his full height. The way he would kill a person over the egg, if it told him to. It was all so much.

Yet at the end of the day, he always came back to you and seemed almost like your Bad. Almost.

“Cupcake, give it a chance,” Bad had insisted one day, pulling you towards where the egg was. Even if you wanted to fight him on it, you couldn’t. Not physically.

“Bad, I told you. I don’t like it, it makes me feel... wrong.” This hadn’t been the first time the two of you spoke of this. Yet he insisted. The two of you had bickered until he tugged you into the building, unceremoniously pushing you towards the drop. Despite your protests, you fell in. Everything immediately felt wrong as you came close to it, the whispers of it not new. You had heard them before.

Yet it was vile as always, causing you to claw at the room in attempt to leave. Until it was all too much. There was one way out of this that you could see, even if it would cost you dearly. You sought out the vines of the egg, using them to rid yourself of your current life, much to the egg’s encouragement.

When you were free, you were different, the patterning of the vine clearly visible on your neck. You had packed up all of your important things, leaving Bad a note and going as far away from the influence of the egg as possible. Bad was clearly distraught upon finding the note. He looked for you for a long while, but always came back to the egg. At least, if the egg helped him bring peace to the entire place, he could get you back. Right? That was the newest goal. Bring peace and bring you back to him.

[animeyanderelover]

Hey uhh I really liked the Killua with ADHD s/o so... Ciel, Levi, Hange, Shaiapouf and Meruem, with ADHD reader (in the form of headcanons) .. also take your time :)

Wow, not gonna lie. I was already happy when I finally got to write something about the Chimera Ants already once. But to be able to write about a few of them again. I apologize if I didn’t get something accurate.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, possessiveness, threatening, degrading, delusions, ADHD, violence, brutal behavior, killing

ADHD: ADHD stands for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, a complex brain disorder. ADHD is a development impairment of the brain’s executive functions. It causes trouble with impulse-control, focusing and organization.

s/o has ADHD

Ciel Phantomhive

☕️Ciel isn't the best nor is he the worst to have with his darling having ADHD. He doesn't hate you for it, he knows you can't do anything against it since it's not your fault. You were just born with it and there's nothing you could have done. So he does try to be as understanding and patient with you as possible. But keep in mind that Ciel can get rather easily annoyed if his buttons are pushed the right way. So I feel like if he realizes that he's near his limit, he would somewhat push you away and let Sebastian or the other servants deal with you. This might hurt your feelings, but Ciel is actually frightened that he'll say something hurtful to you and for that leaves you. Would later on apologize and try to make it up to you. He himself isn't very familiar with ADHD, but is a smart boy and has his demon butler with him.

☕If you should tend to lose motivation and focus quickly, lose your things and don't seem to listen too someone when being talked to then you actually don't have to worry too much. Because Sebastian and the servants will do anything for you, meaning you don't have to worry about being forced to do cores. You losing things can of course annoy Ciel, especially if they were expensive or he needed them himself. Luckily his butler finds them always quickly. He would grow definitely a lot more controlling over his s/o because they keep forgetting things, leading him to scheduling out their whole day from the moment they wake up to the moment they go back to bed. Ciel also tries to not make you focus on something too long since you lose quickly interest. It's agitating in a way for him since he hates it when he gets the feeling that you don't pay attention to him, but he reminds himself that you can't do anything against it.

☕If you should be the more hyperactive one, Ciel will definitely have to leave you very often alone. Ciel isn't good with very energetic and loud people since he's constantly surrounded by such persons. He really does extend his string of patience a lot with you, but he feels kind of insulted whenever you suddenly blurt in when he's talking. Also nearly goes crazy whenever you can't sit still for a minute somewhere, tapping your feet and playing with your fingers. Your hyperactivity exhausts him and the only reason he puts up with it without lashing out on you is because you can't do anything against it and because he loves you. Hates leaving you alone because he's afraid that you'll climb up somewhere or touch some weapons or things which might hurt you. So whilst it makes him tick off, he will have you stick near him very often and if he needs to calm down, he'll order Sebastian to watch over you since that guy's the most capable of handling you.

☕Reputation is important for Ciel and as arrogant this may sound, feel like he wouldn't tell many people about you since he doesn't want to be judged for being in love with someone many nobles would describe as 'unsuitable'. He can gladly pass on the whole 'You-could-have-chosen-better' talk. A less selfish reason is that he is due to the way you are incredibly overprotective of you. Next to being a bit embarassed, he understands that you would probably not want to hear others talking trash about you. He lives in a very difficult time where people were more judging than they might be today. This openmindness wasn't as present as today and behavior was especially under people from higher society very important. Ciel knows that and it leads him to shielding you from the outside world.

☕I feel like the people in the manor are all really open-minded and would accept you open-heartedly which will lift a bit weight from Ciel's shoulders. Sebastian has infinite patience and Bardroy, Tanaka, Mey-Rin and Finny just really like his darling. It gives Ciel the feeling that he can trust and rely on them and whilst he definitely keeps a sharp eye on the human servants since they tend to be more clumsy which might end in an accident. After Sebastian Tanaka might be the most trusted, that is if he is in his real form. This gives Ciel a sense of ease because when he hurt you unintended, he knows he can count on them to be there for you and comfort you. Mey-Rin, Finny, Bardroy and Tanaka will over time grow just as their master overprotective over you.

Shaiapouf

🎻Here we have to keep in mind that Shaiapouf changed his type and behavior for his darling. I think during the first time when he was a stricter Yandere, he had a harder time dealing with this. Because back then it was all about perfection for Shaiapouf and this was somewhat of a flaw his darling had. After reading a whole day books about it, he did get that his s/o didn't choose to be this way, but it led him to being a bit harsh on them neverthless. When he reached the point of total adoration and devotion, that changed of course and all of a sudden, his view on all of this changed. It wasn't any longer a flaw, it was a unique trait his royalty had and Shaiapouf swore to himself to treat them like a loyal servant should.

🎻During the first stage he definitely tended to be very controlling, probably even forcing you into doing things even when you lost focus and/or motivation. At that time Shaiapouf just had very high expectations for you and you just happened to go against his perfect and ideal picture he had in mind. He forced you to educate yourself better, he forced you into learning the violin or another instrument, all because this perfect image of you was stuck in his head. And he scolded you every time he noticed that you stopped doing it once again. It was definitely not an easy time. So when he entered his worshipper mode it is most likely a huge relief for his darling. Because now he doesn't care about all of this anymore, the only thing he is focused on is protecting his king/queen and keep them happy. Now he doesn't lash out when you lose your things or seem to not listen to him. He's past total devotion and infatuation and due to his never-ending amount of patience with you a lot easier to be with. You don't have to move a finger anymore because he insists on doing anything for you now.

🎻The stricter version of him also wouldn't tolerate it if you should be too energetic, keep interrupting him or can't sit still without somehow move your limps or even do indecent things. He always tries to keep in mind that it's somewhat of a sickness, but for him it was then all about manners and good behavior and so he did try to forcefully change your way of being, always scolding you and trying to teach you how to act properly. For a worshipper Shaiapouf this is a no-go and even thinking back on how he even dared to think that he had the authority to try to change his already and always perfect majesty has him devastatedly sobbing. HOW DARE HE?! Now he honestly doesn't care anymore when you interrupt him, constantly act energetic or even scream at him in excitement. He's obsessive and due to that tends to focus really intensely on your behavior, he's beyond relieved that he didn't damage you with his previous way of acting. His majesty shouldn't change because of him. The only thing that makes him badly paranoid is when you act a bit too reckless which might end with you getting hurt. This makes Shaiapouf always fly panicked to you, preventing you from doing whatever you were about to do and try to coax you into doing something where he knows you won't get hurt.

🎻He used to somewhat degrade you and make you feel bad about yourself before too, inveighing constantly that you should and could do better if you would just try a bit harder. It has him going on a crying rampage later on because even thinking about how he used to say those words at you and not caring when you looked hurt at him inflicts an unbelievable amount of pain onto him. If he should ever even think that you still resent him for it, you have him kneeling in front of you whilst sobbing and begging for forgiveness even though he knows he doesn't deserve it. That's the exact reason he is even more anxious of ever letting you under humans again. He's frightened that they will not only kill you, but also talk down to you because of your ADHD. It gives him nasty heart attacks all the time and if he should ever find out that there was someone in your old hometown that bullied you because of this, he will remove named disgrace shortly after because it makes him absolutely furious when he hears that someone didn't respects and worships you the way he does. Blames also himself for not making you feel worthy enough if you yourself should think lowly of yourself.

🎻You all can probably guess it, but after becoming a worshipper, it will become a lot more easier for the s/o to endure life a bit better with Shaiapouf because now he doesn't see their ADHD as a flaw anymore, but as a special trait that has to be adored and protected. He will do now about anything and everything for you. Shaiapouf is in this case even more dependent on your approval because he's horrified of how unworthy he used to treat you and misreads things constantly, instantly blaming it on how he used to be. It can be as much as you reacting a bit too late to him because you weren't focused and then you already have him crying. He's still a lot to deal with, but it's better for your mental health to not be discriminated for your ADHD anymore and being told that you could do better.

Meruem

👑Just like Pouf, he had a change in his overall behavior which needs to be looked over. Let's just say that at first he was totally terrifying with dealing and accepting it. Different from Pouf he's the type to blame you for this even if you really couldn't do anything about it. It's a dangerous gamble in here because he used to expect total obedience and behavior from you and annoying him or going against his wishes ended with him hurting and scaring you on a daily base. After he had his transformation to a slightly better Yandere, he became totally fascinated with this, suddenly being interested a lot more about ADHD and informing himself properly.

👑It won't go well if you don't stay focused whilst he is doing something with you or he gets the impression that you don't listen when he's talking to you. It ends with him talking terribly down to you, pocking cruel fun at you for being so stubborn, dumb and weak and can even end with him hurting you physically when he's had enough. Later on he would be still somewhat grumpy and annoyed whenever you forget things or lose focus and don't listen to him. But now he came to the terms of accepting that this isn't your fault to start with and for that won't lash out on you anymore. He just checks on you and makes sure that you don't forget to look after your own health.

👑Being loud and interrupting others because you can't wait for your turn might be even worse than being unfocused and forgetful in here. Meruem is a king, you have to treat him like one and obey him. And being all impatient, not letting him finish his sentences and even yelling at him is such a huge sign of disrespect that Meruem used to think that you are either out of your mind or have a death wish. It ended so often with you crying afterwards, either because he had terrorized you or really hurt you. That changed of course later on, he still was somewhat annoyed by all of this, but now he just tends to clamp a hand over your mouth when he realizes that you're about to suddenly start speaking again. He doesn't like being interrupted. He proves to have more tolerance with you constantly being hyped up and even expects his royal guards, execept Pouf, to be ready to troll around with you when you seem too energetic. Since he knows that you can be very careless, he never lets you leave his sight, especially when his butterfly servant or another chimera ant is around.

👑He honestly used to be the worst when it came to talking bad to you and about you. He called you weak, pathetic, useless and many other things. He just thought that you should be grateful for him to even keep you since you were a sore for his eyes to see. But he also saw himself at that time as the only one who was allowed to talk like this, ending in him killing everyone who did the same. He owned you and only he had the right to do this to you. That changed after he softened up. Now he kills everyone who talks bad about you because he cares and I believe Shaiapouf might just really get himself killed because he simply does not see you as a worthy partner for his king.

👑Neferpitou and Youpi adore you and whilst Meruem is on alert whenever they are near you, it's nothing compared to hen Pouf is with you in the room. Meruem will never, NEVER, trust this guy when he's near you. The only person he really trusts you around is Komugi, since he cares about her as well and since Komugi never judges you to begin with. He feels sorry if he should have left any sort of trauma on you because he used to try to really break you so you would finally behave. That makes him really careful when he's now acting around you because he's somewhat worried he'll break you if he isn't gentle enough with you.

Hanji/Hange Zoë

🔬Hanji is someone who doesn't care about this at all. They're incredibly open-minded with everything and tend to be very special and peculiar in their own sense. Similar to their fascination with Titans, they will suddenly become to an unhealthy extent curious about ADHD, staying up nights to read books and maybe even ask people who know someone who has this disorder. It adds oddly up to their obsession they have with you and whenever you do something that is connected to this, they get scarily interested about it. Their interest about ADHD would go because of their darling from zero to thousand in only a short amount of time.

🔬Hange doesn't mind it that much if you don't really pay attention to things even though it can be a bit embarassing from time to time since they tend to start rambling exitedly about things only to realize a lot more later that you stopped listening ages ago. But Hange isn't someone who gets discouraged very easily and won't blame you for it. They are very lenient when it comes to you forgetting things, since they are a bit like you in that matter, even though they only forget things which aren't important for them. Also shows a lot of tolerance when you keep forgetting to do your cores or just lose motivation in it. They are also on the messier and forgetful side when it comes to taking care of themself. But what counts for them, doesn't count for you so the moment they thing you start lacking to look after your own health or the conditions you live in because of your laziness become too extreme, they will step in and help you with cleaning up. Whilst trying to keep you as motivated for as long as possible, they won't be angry or disappointed if they have to do it alone because you lost motivation.

🔬If you should show symptoms of hyperactivity and too much enthusiasm and excitement, you're a match made in heaven for Hanji, even though Levi tends to call you two a match made in hell because now he has to endure two of you. But honestly, Hanji shows a lot of similarities in this case. They can be really thrilled and driven by an invisible motor as well, not to mention that if they're too excited about something, they tend to cut people off before they finished speaking as well. But they do know when to stay quiet or become more serious whilst you don't, but it isn't like Hanji gets ever annoyed or angry with you. They find it even quite endearing since you remind them so much of themself. For the most part they will let you be, even though definitely stopping you when realizing that you're about to get too reckless. I can see them as even being the type of person who will be all excited with you together and do stupid things together. Not only because they just really enjoy being silly together, but also to look after you.

🔬They're not surprisingly very much angered whenever someone makes a wrong comment about their darling's way of acting around. Hange knows that people tend to get annoyed with heir darling and even see them as a nuisance. And that makes them mad. They really have no tolerance for such people who think they can judge someone without even knowing how they feel. And it's their darling we're talking about after all which makes them even more furious. Even Levi has to be a bit more careful. Hange definitely shows a lot more patience with him, Erwin and people they're close too, but even here they can become eerily quiet the moment someone says something too extreme or they notice that you're hurt. Whilst not caring what other people, except their darling, think about them, they care very much when it comes to whether people think bad about their s/o or not. Especially if you should feel insecure they would be a lot more on alert.

🔬Hanji's acceptance is a good thing to have since they don't judge you or get annoyed with you being like you are. They want you to be yourself after all. They don't baby you like many others, but it does lead to them becoming a bit more clingy, especially if you're the hyperactive type. If you don't live together with them, they always pop up very often to check if they have to help you a bit or not. Also has this odd quirk of making notes about your behavior because at this point it's safe to say that they reached the point of unhealthy obsessiveness, everything you do is being absobered by them. It's a bit unhinging to witness, but it makes it easier for Hanji to deal with your behavior even better since they know at some point what to expect and how to counter if it might endanger you. One thing, you're not going to be scout under any means because Hanji totally fears that either you'll lose focus or get too overxcited, and not in a good way.

Levi Ackerman

⚔️At the beginning it might be a bit more hard for Levi to adjust to all of this. Given the fact that he's obsessive and collects rapidly informations about you, he'll find out about this very early on, talking to neighbours, your friends and other people you're familiar with. And of course he'll start informing himself about all of this, but he has just a short string of patience and is easy to annoy. He knows he really can't let his ire out on you since you can't do anything about it, but sometimes your behavior just really tugs on his nerves since he isn't the best with people who are either unfocused or too active for their own good. So similar to Ciel at the beginning he might distance himself out of fear to say something too harsh to you. He doesn't want to scare you.

⚔️Levi would step in a lot into your private life if you should keep forgetting to clean up a lot and lose daily things. Neglecting hygiene, tidiness and maybe even your own health is such a huge red cross for him. He would be definitely a lot more controlling than usual and come over everyday to check on you and the condition your house is in. And if he thinks it isn't cleaned up? Guess who's staying for a bit longer to wash and scrub, doing your laundry and organizing your things? He might even try due to that to speed things up to get you to move in with him quicker so he can really make sure that you will never forget about such important things again. I can funnily see him as someone who won't be as mad as some people might think he would be. He's of course pissed that you either forget to look after the house and you or just lack motivation, but it gets attenuated due to him knowing that you don't do it because you're really lazy or because you aren't interested in it. He will still try to push you into at least helping a bit, but he can and will play the role of the housewife. Prefers it maybe even that way since he gets things done like he wants too.

⚔️With a more pumped up darling he will have troubles at first. It isn't like he isn't used to such people, he knows quite a few of those. But with his s/o this is just a bit of a different story since he really tries to avoid being harsh or mean to them which he would have been normally with those kind of persons. He might seek some advice from Hange since he knows that he is not the best when it comes to being patient. He might even let you spend time with them when he gets a bit overwhelmed with your energy since despite being annoyed with them most of the time, Levi trusts them. He would be gone for a bit to collect his thoughts before coming back with his emotions having calmed down. Will with time however learn how to deal with you being all bubbly and hyped. But he also will definitely watch over you more carefully since due to your too active personality you tend to do things that might be dangerous. It's one of the reasons he often gets mad at Hanji when he has to leave you alone. They are willing to do such things with you which triggers his overprotective side a lot.

⚔️Disrespectful brats aren't tolerated from him in all scenarios. But when it comes to disrespecting his darling, his reaction is definitely the most intense one. Whilst Levi admits that he himself struggles sometimes and finds himself annoyed by this, he would never insult you on purpose and if he does he apologizes later on. There's of course a difference between just pointing something out or really being mean with the intention to be. Levi can tell which is which and will act accordingly. He doesn't say anything if someone just points something out with the intention of wanting to be friendly since he's like this as well. But if someone insults you or pokes fun at you that's a different story in which Levi will shove someone's face into the dirt with demanding an apology. Would be a bit nagging when you seem to get discouraged very easily, complaining that you're too sensitive, but would still be in the end always comfort you when you're down.

⚔️Will literally not let you do anything dangerous since he's worried you'll lose focus and hurt yourself because you aren't careful enough. If you should even mention that you want to be a scout or anything like this, you'll have him instantly being over you and ordering you to stop thinking such a ridiculous thing. Levi tends to overthink everything a bit due to you having ADHD. Hange is probably the person he's the most calm around when with you since he knows that they are the last person who would judge you and from all persons he knows, he just has the most trust in them even though he tends to give them a rather long and harsh lecture whenever they tried something stupid with you.

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.” He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[captnjacksparrow]

Hey, really liked your analysis of Hinata. I feel almost the same way about her. Even though generally I dislike female characters who are naturally meek, subservient and pointless with no character arc in any type of media, what made me absolutely hate her character was how she treated Neji. If Kishi wanted to show her arc being developed organically, instead of proposing to Naruto that removes her stuttering and gives her new found confidence (because girls only get confident when proposing to guys 🙄), Kishi could have shown her talking to Neji after he literally told his bitter story on the chuunin exam grounds in front of everyone. She is shown like she is sympathetic but didn't do anything about it. She didn't even talk to him after he was hospitalized. She knew exactly why he was the way he was, and yet she fights him as if it was his fault. She, an heir of the clan, could have asked her father to support Neji, she had some clout. But nope. In fact, it was Neji who apologizes to her in a way, he is the one who trains her and help create a new jutsu for her. What did she ever do for him exactly? And Neji didn't have to help her. She was in the best position to help and understand Neji but what did she do? A lot of fans like her character because she is reserved but kind and sympathetic. She is reserved but a coward. She was not kind towards Neji. He died for her when he didn't deserve to, he had dreams and goals that were much bigger than Hinata's entire existence. She couldn't even see her own cousin's pain and she claims to understand Naruto?? Really??

Even Kishi said she was a pitiful character who only watches from a distance. He deliberately made her that way, no goal, no backbone and no lines. And I think she sucks the most after Danzo.

WoooW!!!! Thanks for the ask, Anon.

[[Hinata and Sakura fans!!!! Please stay away and don't interact. I fucking tagged them properly]].

Even though generally I dislike female characters who are naturally meek, subservient and pointless with no character arc in any type of media, what made me absolutely hate her character was how she treated Neji.

We definitely share the same thoughts on this one, Anon.

I am really tired on most of the media for their poor treatment of female characters.

The last time I was amused by a female character was from 'Game of Thrones', I loved Cersei Lannister, who is an absolute biashhh and Sansa Stark, started out as an annoying rose tinted princess but ended up winning everyone's heart. Both are non-combative, soft spoken and somewhat powerless women in a world dominated by men. But they just didn't let the inconveniences stop them and instead they learned how to fuck that world back and take control. Both are similar and yet very different.

After seeing, such well-developed characters..... For me girls in Naruto series, is blehhhhh..... Nothing to get inspired from them. And I knew it by episode 3 itself. I have no idea how can girls, in real life, treat Sakura as some feminist icon, which makes my skin crawl for number of reasons. If you point her mistakes out in any discussions, they will pull the misogynist card to your face. When in reality, I am also a girl and my world views are entirely different from Sakura or Hinata. There is no way a 12 year old girl would want to look at the Duck of another boy.

And the problem is, They form the majority, I mean people who can connect with Sakura or Hinata. So, as long as girls like them exists, we really should suffer from these crap portrayal I guess.

That's why I advise people that If you want to see a good woman character, Narutoverse is not the place.

Having said that, I find Temari, Konan, Tsunade were better (I mean inside the Narutoverse). Though their motivations or reason to achieve a goal revolve around their men, I find their attitude relieving. Unlike Sakura or Hinata, they don't wet themselves on the sight of the men they love.

What irritates me was, Kishimoto could've easily put a character like Temari or TenTen or Tsunade into Team 7. It would've made my viewing experience a lot better. If he doesn't want the strong girls to take over the attention from his boys, then he should've introduced a meek character like Rin Nohara. She is silent and cute but atleast she was willing to die for the Village and never wetted herself over Kakashi, though she loved him. And she treated Obito like her best friend. But he deliberately made Sakura hateful and he never stopped.

Sakura and Hinata were the lowest of the low, compared to any other side characters. And, in the end, they got the main Character's Ducks without actively doing anything. For me this tells me three things

He was using these girls as a shield to close the hetero normative mouths while in reality hiding those boys true feelings under that shield.

He really hated these kind of girls and constantly showing his hatred on them at every given chance and never redeemed them back. 

He knew the target audience’ mindset and he simply caters them by giving them what they need and at the same time writing the important arcs according to his wish.

I think, it’s the combination of all three. 

Just to give you an example.

There is this delusional SS shipper Who justifies Sasuke was acting Tsundere throughout the war arc. I mean, come on!!!! 

I came across this post because, the Original Poster was an idiot who comes into the anti SS tag and reblogged my content and saying I was wrong... So, I don’t mind sharing that person’s content.

So I don’t know where this delusion comes from... It's truly pathetic.

There are millions of idiots who believe in this kind of shit and Kishi is deliberately feeding them with bits and crumbs while making his boys go out and save the world.

These delusional mindset tells us they don’t give a single shit about the story as a whole. They watch it purely for the pretty faces and getting high over them. In this case, Sasuke.

It’s as clear as day that Sasuke didn’t care about anyone other than Naruto when fighting the war. You don’t have to be a shipper but even a non-shipper can point this out. I mean Sasuke wouldn’t have saved Jugo either, if he didn’t come to Sasuke and advice him. Do you think Sasuke would’ve tried to look for Jugo and saved him at all cost???? It’s just that he came to Sasuke and he helps him back. But Sasuke would’ve saved Naruto from the bomb blast even if he was standing a mile away.

So, if these delusions reflects the mindset of the majority of the women audience, then the creator will never try to give anything better but instead give us some low-life characters like Sakura and Hinata. 

So, Anon, your expectation for Hinata’s character could’ve been developed much better is just a wishful thinking. Because, Hinata is a character for these kind of people and not for us. And the author deliberately did it. 

She was in the best position to help and understand Neji but what did she do? A lot of fans like her character because she is reserved but kind and sympathetic. She is reserved but a coward. She was not kind towards Neji. He died for her when he didn't deserve to, he had dreams and goals that were much bigger than Hinata's entire existence. She couldn't even see her own cousin's pain and she claims to understand Naruto?? Really??

For me, this also irked me a lot. 

Hinata could’ve tried to talk to Neji about his problems even when he was a child. But she was simply playing innocent when in reality, she is just a coward. Even after the Chunin Exams, there was no apologies from her side, like you said. Because she is from the Main Branch. That hierarchy never changed. If she had the gall, she could’ve easily broken that hierarchy by saying, ‘I want Neji Nii-San to take over our Clan, He is the best candidate for this and I can gladly help him with all my efforts’.  A single line and just 2 or 3 panels, it all takes.

For me killing Neji is where Kishi asking us silently, 

Do you really want these pair to happen despite having a blood stain of another character??? 

Most people said, ‘Yes!!!’, because they don’t give two shits about Neji. As long as Hinata gets Naruto, the main character’s Duck, that’s all there is to it. It doesn’t matter who dies, who lives. 

That's why Kishi is shitting on them by making her as a non-existent woman in the Boruto Manga.

Even in real life, there are many hopeless foolish little girls who would do anything for the man she loves. I've seen them and I always stay 2 miles away from them. I mean, they even ditch their own friends and spends her entire time with him and when he dumps her later, she will come back to her friends for consolation. I think Sansa Stark is the best example for this. She started out much similar to Sakura and Hinata, believing in Princes and shit, she even naively betrayed her father for the man she had crush on. But the author made her to learn her lesson in a much painful way and later she came out as a Queen who no longer needed any man at the end. I think, this is called Development.

At the end of the day, Romance and Sex is all that matters. The author knew it. So, he is feeding these girls with some low quality cookies and they are very glad to take and eat it.

[evil-slytherin-queen]

His Touch

WARNING: mentions of blood, panic/anxiety attack, mentions of murder/death, mentions of physical/psychological torture, mentions of violence, mentions of not eating enough/lowkey Draco having an ED, self-hatred, mentions of self-harm

a/n I really don’t think this is super graphic or anything but you never know what can trigger you, so pretty please be careful and safe while reading.

Sometimes Draco wonders why he lets him touch him. How he can stand the sight of him. How it doesn't make him want to throw every Unforgivable he could think of at Draco. 

He wonders. 

But he never asks. 

He's too afraid of the answer. 

Too afraid of what it could mean. 

Too afraid it might make him realize his mistake and make him leave. Make him hate Draco. He doesn't believe he would survive that. Doesn't believe he would want to. 

That night he scrubs Draco's hands clean twice. Golden-bronze hands, rough and strong, and impossibly gentle moving Draco's pale shaking ones under the faucet. His look so small in comparison. Weak. Useless. He washes in between Draco's fingers, under his nails, out to his wrists. Let's the water wash away the pain and misery and death from his palms. Till the water runs clear again. Till it is all gone. Except it isn't. 

And Draco can still see the blood. 

Can see it when he shuts his eyes or if he blinks too quickly. Can feel it under his nails, and between his fingers like it has sunken into his pores. Like it has become a part of him. Draco offhandedly thinks he'd like to rip it out, tear into himself to make it leave his body. It's an absent thought and it would probably horrify him in any other circumstance. 

But he won't. 

He knows that would only upset him further, would make him cry, and hold Draco close apologizing like it was his fault, even though it wasn't. He always was such a martyr. And even though Draco doesn't care right now he will later. He'll care too much and he'll regret it. So he doesn't. 

He's been staring from behind those stupid and awfully crooked spectacles. His eyes too green, too full of concern and trust and-and something Draco won't admit to himself. He's not ready to yet. It's too dangerous to let himself have that right now. If he does he won't be able to do what he has to, what he needs to. 

He expects Draco to drop his occlumency shields. But he doesn't. He can't. If Draco lets himself feel this it will kill him. He knows it will. 

Draco knows if he lets the barriers between his emotions and what he's just done down he will fall apart. Knows he won't be able to do anything other than shake and sob into solid warm arms and tell the truth. Tell him that he's disgusting and dirty and vile. That he is ruined. 

And he can't. He just can't. 

Except he has to. They both know he does. And it's dreadful. 

"Come on, my darling. My sweet love, my Draco. I need you to come back to me." He whispers it like if he says it any louder it will break him. And maybe it would. Draco knows when he goes blank like this it hurts him. He remembers how his pain hurts Draco in return. He doesn't want to feel that. Can't even bring himself to think his name, that might bring all of his walls crumbling down without his permission.

That would be damaging and if he isn't careful it could rip a hole into his mind and leave him in a not all there sort of limbo. Although there has to be some sort of freedom in delusion and insanity, at least then he wouldn't remember. But then he recalls Longbottom's parents and the way they can't even feed themselves and he decides maybe that isn't the way to go. 

Draco shakes his head, face carefully vacant, eyes glazed over as he stares past him. It's too hard to look him in the eye and keep everything perfectly in place. 

"No. It will hurt." Draco says it simply, his voice sounds foreign to himself. Draco knows it will sound lifeless and wrong to him. Right now he doesn't care. He watches how the flames flicker in the fireplace behind him, how the Room of Requirement chose an oddly cosey rendition of the Gryffindor common room. If he could feel right now, it might make him laugh. He thinks it might be funny, ironic in some way he can't process currently. 

Warm hands touch his neck. They feel hot, like the sun. Draco knows they're not his own. He's perpetually cold now thanks to Aunt Bella's Cruciatus Curse training. And even if he can't look at his hands right now without losing his manufactured calm he knows they're still hanging by his sides, trembling. The hands burn a trail up his neck, brushing calloused thumbs under his jaw, trailing them up and over his cheekbones till they're cupping his face softly. 

He can physically feel wetness hitting his cheeks, it makes his mouth twitch down, eyebrows scrunch a little. That shouldn't be happening. 

"You're crying." He says the warm hands brush the tears away gingerly. And he can feel the way his eyes watch him, waiting. He expects it to happen soon. Expects Draco to break under the heavy weight of despair. 

"I shouldn't be." 

"But you are." 

Draco shouldn't be able to cry. His shields are slipping and he knows it. He hates it. He doesn't reach a hand up to wipe them away. He lets himself be kissed on the forehead. Let's himself be pulled over towards the fire and cradled into a warm embrace. Draco's tucked against a scorching body on the sofa and a blazing fire just beside them. He should be burning alive but he still feels ice cold. 

Deft fingers run through his hair. It doesn't look how it used to, it's taken on a grey pallor and waxy feeling ever since the summer before sixth year. It's the stress, the bad eating habits. It's not his fault he can't keep food down. It's the nightmares, the way Aunt Bella thought it fun to poison his food every so often for giggles. Draco misses how it used to look. All white blonde and shiny. He misses how soft and feathery it used to feel ever since he'd quit slicking it back with those charms his father had insisted he use. He supposes that's what happens when you become a child soldier, a spy. Things don't get to stay nice or pretty or good. 

Salazar. 

He shouldn't be able to miss that right now.

He's scared. So, so scared. He isn't ready. He'll never be ready. Not for this. Draco tells him so. 

"I can't do this." 

Draco can feel his gaze on him filled with its usual encouragement and tenderness. He presses a kiss to Draco's hair. 

"You can." 

"I'll die." 

"You won't. I've got you, my darling, my Draco. I'm here, just let go. I'll keep you safe." He speaks it like a promise and the word safe is what does Draco in. It's all he wants. All he's wanted for a long time. Safety. 

He can already feel the occlumency shields cracking and he lets them slide away, a violent sob clawing its way out of his throat. It leaves his mouth and makes him feel raw and exposed. It's heart-wrenching and frightening how broken he sounds. And it hurts. 

Because now he can feel everything. 

Disgust. 

Regret. 

Self-loathing. 

Fear. 

Grief. 

Guilt. 

Shame 

Weak. 

But mostly he just feels useless and sorry so very sorry. 

And he feels like he's suffocating like he's dying. Like he'll never breathe again. Tears flood his vision and it's revolting and it makes him feel sick. And he feels like a monster. 

He tries to get away from him, scrambles off of his broad chest, and tries to pull far far away. Draco doesn't deserve to touch someone so good with his hands that have hurt and maimed and-and killed. 

But he won't let him, won't let him get more than a few centimetres away. Grabs his wrists to stop him from leaving, till he's stuck straddling him, wrists clutched into hot palms. 

"No. You don't run away. You don't run from me, never me. Tell me what happened." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't recognize his own voice for a moment, it doesn't sound like him. It sounds hysterical and far away and Merlin, everything hurts. He shakes his head violently back and forth. He doesn't want to tell him. He tries to pull his hands out of his grip to rip at his own hair. He doesn't deserve this comfort not after what he just did. He shouldn't have taken down his nicely built walls that kept him perfectly in check. He should have just buried these feelings in with the others. Should've let someone Obliviate him instead of having to deal with it. This feels like dying. 

"Draco. Draco! Stop!" He says it forcefully, his hands tightening around his wrists and it breaks him out of his hysteria. Draco freezes, he knows that tone of voice too well. It startles him into silent tears instead of the loud sobbing he had been doing. He doesn't want to hurt him too. And if he hurts himself and carries on like this it will hurt him. 

"Harry," He chokes the name out painfully and looks at him through watery eyes, "I'm sorry." 

Harry frowns and pulls Draco's hands towards his lips. Draco feels the horror wash over him before Harry gets the chance to finish what he's doing. 

"STOP!" He yells the word frantically, Harry halts his movements. 

"Please," Draco begs weakly, "Please, they're dirty. I-I hurt, I k-killed a-a child. A help-helpless child. Please don't. Please." 

Harry looks at him firmly, fiercely, locks him in with a determined glint in his green eyes. He pulls each of Draco’s hands to his lips, one at a time, and kisses his palms, his fingertips, the back of his hands, his wrists. Each press of his lips makes Draco gasp and cry like he's in pain. Maybe he is, he can't tell anymore. Harry does it with delicate care like he hadn't just washed blood off of them, like they hadn't just done foul, nasty, unforgivable things. 

By the time he stops, Draco has his eyes twisted shut painfully. He can't watch as Harry worships hands that have torn people's, children's flesh and blood from their bodies. He can't bear it. 

"Look at me, my love." 

He doesn't. 

"Look at me, Draco." 

A plea. his voice bordering on begging. This time he does. Harry should never have to beg someone so monstrous for anything, it's wrong. 

Harry's eyes are so beautiful. Draco hasn't seen anything green and living in so long not since the Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts and scorched the surrounding lands. They remind him of the grass in the spring and the leaves on the big oak trees in the summer, of emeralds and pine. They remind him of something soft and comfortable and safe. They remind him of Harry and how much he shouldn't and can't love him right now. Not without having to kill little pieces of himself for hurting someone so good and beautiful and kind with his dirty and foul being. 

And there are tears in his eyes again. Draco can feel them as they fall down his cheeks. Bloody fucking hell. A piteous sound comes out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath. He can't. 

Harry pulls his inconsequential and fragile-looking hands, a dangerous deception seeing as what they're capable of, down against his chest. The action makes Draco flinch. He puts his large and callous and warm ones over top of them keeping them pressed into his shirt till he can feel Harry's heartbeat. It unconsciously soothes him. And he hates himself a little for relaxing even the slightest after he did something so heinous. 

"You are not your actions. You are not what you were forced to do to survive, just as I am not my actions or my failures. You, Draco, are not to blame for the lives you could not save, just as I am not to blame for the death of those who fought to protect me. If I'm not allowed to blame myself for the casualties of a war I never asked for then neither are you. Are we clear, my love?" 

His words are calm and soft-spoken but the way his eyes are fixed on Draco makes them so much more intense and concrete. And he isn't wrong. Draco had had the same conversation with him before. But that time he had been the one to hold Harry as he cried over the death of Sirius Black, of Dumbledore, of Cedric Diggory, of Alastor Moody and blamed himself for them all. But it's different. Those were all good people who lost their lives to Death Eaters and Draco, Draco is a Death Eater doing what they do best. Hurt others. End lives. It is not the same. 

"It's-but that's different. They-you can't control-" 

"It's not. I can't control what others do for me just like you can't control what's done to you," Harry says letting one hand reach up and brush tears from Draco’s cheek, he doesn't flinch this time, "I know Bellatrix and the Carrows force you to watch these things. You wouldn't unless you had to. I know you would stop them if you could. But you can't. Not yet. And I know it hurts every time you have to move their bodies, every time you try to revive them but you can't. I know. And I'm sorry." 

And he's right. Draco would kill them and every other nasty Death Eater if he could. He would fight them with everything he had if he could. Throw every dark and dangerous curse that Aunt Bella taught him right back at her and revel in her suffering for what they did. Draco can feel the anger thrum under his skin but it simmers down into anguish again with the way Harry sighs. The way his pretty face smiles at him mournfully. 

"I wish you hadn't done this, Draco. I wish you didn't have to watch so many die by their hands. I wish you never had to get this," Harry traces his fingers along the inside of Draco’s left wrist. 

It's stained with the Dark Mark and scars from where he's tried to scratch off his own skin. It's shameful, and it makes Draco want to pull away again. He doesn't though. He's more here than he was before. More in his body and less in his mind. Harry's heartbeat always seems to bring him back faster than anything else. It's why they send him to get information and not someone else. And they promised never to run from each other. He isn't going to break that promise now. 

"I'm sorry," Draco whispers back, he's stopped crying now. He's ashamed. He always is after he's had an episode like this. He can't help it no matter how delicate and kind and sweetly Harry handles them. 

"Draco? My love? Are you all the way back with me?" Harry sounds hopeful, his eyebrows scrunch in question, and it makes Draco's heart clench. He's missed him. He hasn't seen Harry in three weeks. It's been too long. This war has been too long. He hasn't properly looked at him yet. And he is still beautiful, still so painfully open despite who Draco is. 

But he looks tired. The bags under his eyes are darker, deeper, and his skin is more sallow. He's paler than he once was, his brown skin no longer looks dusted in gold and sunlight but his hair is the same disaster of dark raven curls. It never changes even when the rest of him does. 

Draco carefully pulls his hands from Harry's grasp and slides them up along his body. He traces Harry's broad shoulders, brushes his fingers along his too-defined collar bones. He isn't eating enough either, none of them are. Draco skims them up to Harry's neck and cups his jaw with oddly still hands. He's almost always trembling now. But not with Harry around, never when he's around. 

He smoothes out the wrinkles in between Harry's brows with a swipe of his thumb. And places a kiss there too. He hates to see him so exhausted with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He should have noticed sooner. 

"Yes. I'm back, Harry, my darling. I'm sorry it took so long tonight." 

And in spite of the circumstances, Harry smiles at Draco. He smiles like Draco hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Draco can't help but think that Harry is the one who should be smiled at in that way. He's the one who will save them all as much as Draco hates the very idea of him having to. It should have never been his job in the first place. He was-is only a child. 

"S'alright, not your fault. Want to tell me what actually happened? I know you never hurt any of them, I know it's never you. Tell me what they made you watch." 

Draco sighs and leans forward till his head rests against Harry's, eyes closed. He strokes his thumbs over Harry's jaw. He needs to shave, Draco can feel the stubble growing in again. It makes him smile faintly, remembering the first time Harry had let Draco shave his face for him. It felt like a lifetime ago when in reality it was a little over a year ago. 

He feels Harry's hands trail down to his thighs straddling him and then up to hold his hips. Harry draws circles into his skin with calloused thumbs. It's soothing in a way that Draco still feels he doesn't deserve but he lets him anyway. He's too weak to resist any comfort given to him. 

"They said if he liked muggles so much they would show him how vile and primitive they were," His voice shakes as he speaks and he feels sick and dirty all over, "How-how d-dangerous. They-they cut him to pieces, Harry. I couldn't-I couldn't help him." 

Tears wet his face, trail down his cheeks in torrents. He opens his eyes to blink them away. It doesn't work. His hands tremble violently and he tries to draw away from Harry. He doesn't want to hurt him on accident, doesn't want to scare him. He knows Harry won't let him go far so he settles for putting his hands over Harry's heart again, leaving their heads bent together. At least this way he won't accidentally scratch his face with his shaking hands. 

Harry frowns at the action but doesn't stop him. Instead, he rests his hands over top Draco's again. He strokes the back of his hands. He says nothing as Draco shuts his eyes and learns to breathe again. And when he's finally caught his breath, Harry speaks. His voice is tender and sweet, his eyes no doubt the same. 

"Who, Draco?" 

"His name is Leonidas Baros. The name's Greek. It means lion strength," Draco laughs wetly through the new wave of tears that cascade down his cheeks, "Not a bad name for a first-year Gryffindor is it?" 

"It's a good name," Harry murmurs. 

Draco laughs again but it comes out more of a wet sob than anything else. He keeps his eyes closed,  it makes talking easier. The feeling of Harry's skin against his own urges him to continue. 

"It is. Was." -Draco chokes a little at the thought- "It suited him so well too. Little muggle-born Leo with his loud mouth and his stupid bravery. He reminds-reminded me of you." 

Draco gets quiet after that. He gets caught in the memory of this little eleven-year-old boy with dark hair and fierce eyes storming up to him in the corridor in defence of his friends. He hadn't drawn his wand but held up his fists instead and called Draco a bully, an arsehole, a bloody racist bigot. Told him off for being a coward for having something so 'bloody brilliant’ and wasting it on following 'Magical Hitler' and being a 'Nazi'. Leo always was loud and reckless in his acts of defiance and his screaming had caught the attention of the Carrows. They told Draco either he could punish him or they would, so he had grabbed Leo by his robe front and dragged him into the nearest classroom shouting and struggling and cursing the whole way there. 

'Listen to me, brat!' Draco had hissed once the door had shut behind them and Leo continued to struggle, 'Listen! I am a bully and a bigot and all those other things, I'm probably even whatever those bloody muggle terms were but you need to listen! I have to make it look like I've punished you. So I'm going to glamour you with all sorts of cuts and bruises and you're going to go out there shivering and shaking and crying if you bloody well must and put on the best-damned show they've ever seen. Do you understand me?' 

'My name's Leonidas, not brat. And why should I?' He'd spat back, fury in his eyes, utter revulsion and hatred. It had sent a strange pang of shame and pride through Draco's body. He'd never had the boldness to do anything so blatantly defiant. Then he'd seen the boys tie. It was red and gold and an act of defiance in and of itself. A flash of Harry's face had crossed his mind and he knew he needed to protect the insufferable brat causing such trouble. 

'Because if you don't I'm sure they'll be more than happy to find someone less averse to tormenting children. Now, do we have an agreement or would you rather the Carrows play with you and your little friends?' 

'Fine. But I don't like you.' He'd growled arms folded over his chest but Draco could see the fear at the mention of the Carrows.   

'Oddly enough, I feel the same,' Draco said flatly, an irritated look on his face as he drew up his wand, 'Now, let's make this believable, Leonidas, was it? Scream.' 

"Hey, hey, my sweet love, come back to me. Where did you go? What happened?" Harry murmurs kissing the corners of his mouth. Bringing him back to his body and out of his memories. 

"Sorry," Draco whispers against his lips, brings his hands up, and strokes the sides of Harry's face to remind himself of where he is, "I'm wasting time. But, he didn't deserve this. None of them did. He deserved better, they all do." 

"Yes, they do. As do you. We all deserve better than this war. And you aren't wasting anything, we've got all night." 

Harry's hands latch back onto his hips. His fingers pet the soft skin on his midriff making him shiver. He's missed being touched without being hurt. No one else is allowed this close to him without a serious fight. Everyone else is a threat. He hopes when this is all over and it will end, one way or another, that he will be able to allow others near him again. 

He misses the closeness of it. That's why he and Harry are sharing the same air right now. It's why he can't bring himself to pull away from where their heads are bent together, lips grazing over each other, breath mingling. 

"Still, it's selfish. The others could be in here hiding from-" 

Harry cuts him off with a kiss. It's slow and soft and mournful. A lot of what they do now feels that way. It feels as though they're always grieving for the carefree love they never got to have. 

"They will be just as safe at Aberforth’s as they would be here. It's not selfish. You need this," -Draco pulls away to give him a look- "No don't look at me like that, Draco." 

"You just wanted to see me. Don't lie to me and say that isn't what this is. I miss you too but-" 

Harry interrupts him with another kiss. It should be a sin how easily that can make Draco fall quiet. It's an unfair tactic. 

"Yes," Harry says, bumping their noses together, "A part of me just wants to be with you for the sake of being with you, but I also know that if you're weighed down by all that you've seen you won't be able to feed us as much information. That is why this is not a waste and it is not selfish. Okay?" 

The soft earnestness in his pretty green eyes halts all sorts of arguments from leaving his mouth. Draco sighs and relents. 

"All right."

Harry smiles at him easily and Draco melts just a little at the sight. He pecks him on the lips once more before letting his body sink further into Harry's embrace. Till he's lying directly on top of him their legs intertwined and his head and hands resting on Harry's chest. 

Draco listens to Harry's steady breathing and the familiar sound of his heartbeat. He hasn't felt this calm in months. He can't wait for this war to be over.

They stay that way for a long while, Harry's hands rubbing soothing lines up and down his back. Until Harry's breathing evens out and Draco can't help but to shift up and gaze at his sleeping lover's face. 

He is beautiful in a devastating way. It makes Draco's heart lock up with all sorts of mushy feelings neither of them has time for. He smiles a small fond thing as he brushes an errant curl out of his face. 

"I love you, my Harry, my darling." 

Draco whispers it like a secret, kissing him on the forehead, and then settles himself back down against his broad chest. 

And a small part of Draco still wonders why Harry lets him --the monster, the Death Eater, the coward-- touch him, the sun, the Savior, the brave. 

But he never asks because he knows the answer. 

Knows that Harry will never leave him. 

Knows that they will never run from each other. 

Knows that if he ever asks, Harry will frown and get that painfully endearing confused look on his face and answer back with a question of his own. 

"Why wouldn't I? I love you, Draco."

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

[henrycavell]

obsession

summary: she managed to escape him for a short time, but now he had found her. word count: 2,353

pairing: august walker/unknown ofc

warnings: this is noncon smut!! if you’re not into that please do not read, i don’t want to upset or trigger anyone. also breeding.

a/n: please tell me what you think!! im so nervous. this is my first time writing smut all by myself, too, so please be nice ok love you guys thanks

tag list: @evnscvll​ @promptandpros​ @iloveyouwhiskey @crimsonrae​ @littlefreya​ @mary-ann84​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @vacant-writings​ @wondersofdreaming​ @80scavill​

Nothing had looked out of the ordinary, everything was quiet and untouched like it always was. She closed the door behind herself, locking it like she always did, setting the chain into place. Dropping her bag by the door and sliding out of her heels, she moved through the hall, already beginning to undress from that day’s work clothes. Tugging her blouse up over her head, it fell to the floor just a few feet from her bedroom door. She froze, her eyes trained on the floor where she saw loose rose petals scattered, leading further into the room. In her bedroom, strewn across her bed were multiple roses, with long stems covered in thorns. A pink card rested on top of the gray downy sheets. 

Her body ran cold, paralyzed by fear as her eyes fell to the card, not realizing he was standing right behind her. Forcing herself to move, her hand dropped to the bed, picking up the little pink note. Her name was scribbled on the side facing up and when she flipped it over, there were only three words jotted down, in a handwriting she could never erase from her mind; 

𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁.

Dread ate at her insides as she stared at the card, feeling vomit in the back of her throat. The note fell from her hand, but before it could even land back on the bed, August stepped forward, reaching a hand up to brush the hair back off of her shoulders. His thumbs brushed over the thin straps of her bra. It didn’t surprise her that he had found her, but now that he had, she wished she had run just a little faster. 

“Do you know how badly I’ve missed you, angel?” August’s voice was smooth and honeyed, his breath tickling her neck as he pushed her bra straps down her shoulders. His touch was cold and almost desperate, as if he was fearful that she would disappear in the blink of an eye. And almost just as bad, she ripped herself out of his hands, backing away as she turned to look at him. It had been years, now, nearly three since she’d stared into those zaffre eyes, since she had been petrified by that dead, sobering glare. 

“I- you… c-can’t be here,” she stumbled over her words, the last bit of color leaving her face as she looked onto his face. 

“I can’t?” August answered her, his brow pulling down as he stalked towards her, his hands reaching up to his collar, loosening his tie. “Who's going to make me leave?” Sliding his tie from around his neck, August held it loosely in his right hand, a little sneer rising to his face. 

The air around them almost felt suffocating. Each one of his words came out in a soft, gentle breath, almost as if he was worried he’d scare her away like some stray animal. “I’ve thought about you every waking moment we’ve been apart,” August closed the distance between them, “thought about how it would feel to taste your lips again, run my fingers through your hair, be inside of you again,” the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her breath caught in the back of her throat. 

“No-” she whimpered, but it was too late. Before she had even realized it, August had wrapped his arms around her, tying her wrists together behind her back with his tie. And now it was too late to react, to struggle. He continued to back her up against the wall, caging her inside of his arms. “O-ow,” she choked, his weight pressing her flat against the wall, squishing her hands beneath them. 

August grinned, his hands running down her curves to the waistband of her jeans, where his fingers teased the button and her zipper. “Are you going to try and fight, baby girl? You know I love a good fight,” he purred. Pushing them down her hips, she couldn’t help the pleas that it evoked. His hand was forcing its way between her thighs, driving her legs apart. “Stop-” she choked out, the tips of his fingers pinching and pulling at the thin layer of lace that shielded her for the moment. 

It was hard to remember a time when she wanted August, yearned for his touch and would beg for it. That time had long since passed, back when everything was masked by smoke and mirrors. When she didn’t know the truth of who he was. 

“Your body doesn’t seem to agree with you.” It was true that her body was betraying her, warmth pooling in her gut and she had wet through her panties, excited and sticky for his touch. Animalistic and carnal noises broke in the back of his throat. She arched her back, but tried throwing her shoulders against him, squirming her legs. Any attempt to push him off of her, but he had her pinned firmly between his body and the wall, unmovable like a mountain. His fingers pushed her panties to the side, the sensation of his fingers exploring and dipping inside of her causing her breath to catch in the back of her throat. “Nice and tight, no one’s been in here since me, have they, darling?” 

Her face blushed red, burning hot from embarrassment as she looked up to meet his royal blue eyes. She’d never admit it to him, but since August, no other man had been able to please her in the way he could. Having him here now felt like some weird mash up of a blissful dream and a hellish nightmare. Her body was responding in ways she hated, her thighs were trembling and every new touch had a desperate moan dripping off of her tongue. 

Supple lips caressed over her shoulder, towards the crook of her neck, placing gentle, sweet kisses up her neck. “You thought that you could leave me, that you could get away from me,” the tone of his voice was now taking a dark shift, his tongue sharp enough to cut like a knife. The tender prodding he’d been doing between her legs finished, August forced two of his fingers into her cunt knuckle deep, eliciting a sharp painful gasp from her pouty lips. “You’ve always belonged to me, angel.” 

There wasn’t much fight in her, not for August. She’d always been so terrified of him, it had taken every ounce of courage she had to leave his apartment that night. Under the light from the hanging moon, she had left all of her things and just escaped. And now that his body was crushing down on her, forcing the air from her lungs, forbidding any sort of noise from now leaving her lips, he fucked her relentlessly with his fingers. August had every intention of taking back what was rightfully his, and tonight, he’d make sure to tie them together for the rest of their lives. 

Pulling his hand free from between her legs, he admired the glistening wetness that coated him. Just another thing that pushed him further into delusion, helping him to believe that she really did want this. Stepping away from her, the woman took in a deep breath, crying out in relief as air flooded her lungs. She collapsed to her knees and he just laughed, circling her like a predator hunting its prey. “Isn’t that a beautiful sight.” 

Stopping behind her, August grabbed her up by her arms, moving her to the edge of the bed where he slammed her chest down into the mattress. Her face was pressed down into the blankets, hot and sweltering already as she cried, begging for mercy though her voice was hidden and muffled. “Stop it, August! Stop, I don’t want this!” Kicking her legs and trying to squirm back up to her feet, August leaned forward and held her head down firmly into the sheets, stomping at her legs until her fighting stopped. 

If it hadn’t been obvious before, she knew now that she had no choice in the matter. She belonged to August, she always would. And he was here to take back what he owned. 

Flinching at the sound of his zipper, she gasped when he kicked her knees apart, positioning her just how he wanted. His hand moved up the curve of her ass, to her lower back where he pressed down sharply, forcing her to arch her back. On display for him now, August admired her sopping wet core, red and swollen, begging for attention that he was ready to give. Slapping and grabbing at her round ass, August probed another finger inside of her, a hot tingle running straight to the head of his cock. She was intensely tight around him, squeezing and hugging onto him in an effort to keep him inside. “You can’t keep lying, just admit it, you want me.” 

“No!” She refused to budge, clawing and grabbing fistfuls of blanket in her hands, keeping her eyes screwed shut tightly in an attempt to keep herself from crying. Continuously, she tried to close her thighs, hide herself from him but he would just force her open once more. August grabbed her hips tightly in his hands, his fingers pressing into her skin so firmly he was sure to leave bruises behind as he mounted her. Lining his cock up with her entrance, all he cared about was feeling her stretching around him, his own satisfaction.

The head of his cock teased and slid against her folds, “I’m going to fuck this pussy so hard you won’t even be able to think about running away from me again.” Sliding himself into her until his balls slapped against her cunt, August groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. A frenzied cry tore through the room and she pressed her own face down deeper into the mattress, biting down on the blankets to keep herself quiet. She knew August enjoyed a loud show, enjoyed knowing just how much pain he was putting her through and she didn’t want to give him the pleasure. 

August didn’t care to wait for her to accommodate to his girth, instead, beginning to ram himself back and forth. Her walls stretched and molded around him, squeezing him tightly and coercing him to fuck even deeper. The fevered sounds of skin on skin slapping echoed through the room, her quiet whimpers of pain and ecstasy breaking through every now and then, but August didn’t halt. The bed underneath of her rocked and swayed, threatened to collapse with the force August was exerting into her.

He didn’t allow her to get used to his rhythm either, reaching forward, he let one hand free of her hip to wrap her dark hair around his fist, forcing her to arch up off of the mattress. No longer could she use the bed to quiet the sounds of her cries. August fucked her with a fiery passion, completely taking over her body as he held her flush to his chest. “Scream for me,” he moaned into her ear, sweat already perspiring across his face and shoulders. 

Slamming into her cervix, waves of ecstasy and pleasure seemed to be crashing around inside of her as his size demanded to be felt. Her brain felt foggy and dazed, unable to think rationally any longer as she panted and moaned, relaxing her back against his chest as he fucked into her. Her hands, still tied behind her back, tried grabbing at his shirt, twisting the material in her fingers as he broke out into raspy, hot grunts.

She was almost beginning to enjoy herself, getting over how she had wanted nothing to do with him, wanting nothing to do with this. She felt so full, molded around him, like he fit so perfectly inside. Had she missed him? His arm wrapped around her chest, his hand running up until her neck was held tightly in his grip. Closing off her airways, she gasped for breath, tears burning the corners of her eyes as she grinded her ass back on him, partially enjoying herself, partially wishing for it to come to an end, for him to just finish. 

“Fuck,” August groaned against her ear, his breath hot, yet still sending shivers down her spine. “You feel so good, missed you so much,” he pressed his lips to the back of her head as he continued to press himself harder into her. “Gonna make sure you can never leave me again,” he promised her, his strokes becoming slower but deeper. August was making sure to take his time, enjoying every single second of feeling her cunt squeezing him. 

With his hand still gripping her throat, she was unable to speak, her face turning a pale shade from the lack of air. All she could do was wheeze, her fingers scratching at the skin beneath his shirt. Every ridge and groove hugged August’s cock, his head kissing her cervix as he sheathed himself deep inside of her. She couldn’t ignore the sudden hot sensation washing over her as her cunt spasmed and gripped him tightly, feeling little explosions going off in her stomach as she came hard on his cock. 

That was all August had been waiting for. He released his hand from her throat, letting it fall back to her hips as he dug his nails into her, releasing his hot load deep inside against her womb. Still bucking his hips up into her, August rode out his climax alongside her. Deep, guttural moans almost completely hiding the sound of her crying as he filled her. Her knees began to violently shake, and her chest fell back against the mattress, heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Tears blurred her vision and smeared down her face as she felt August leave her, his hot semen dripping from her core. He moved back to his feet, his azure eyes trained still between her legs, watching as his essence trickled from her cunt like some sweet nectar. 

“You can never escape me now.” 

[ilosttrackofthings]

parasimmons + couch

A quick drabble because I failed to write anything more substantial this weekend.

Much as Jemma hates to admit it, Malick must have a great deal more fortitude than she’s given him credit for. Under the onslaught of two exceedingly judgmental stares, he remains fixed firmly in place, determined to see through what he’s begun.

Of course, what he’s begun is stupid, and so Jemma informs him, “You’re in the way,” just in case he might have missed the rather obvious fact that he’s standing between them and the TV.

“He has a meeting,” he says again, just barely managing to keep his tone civil.

“Really?” she asks, not bothering with civility at all. She turns to Alveus. “I thought you were a god.”

He grins. She doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s amused by her playacting or just pleased she’s not treating his delusions of godhood as, well, delusions for once. Or, most likely of all, he’s pleased by the way she’s pasted herself even more closely against his side simply because it irritates Malick.

She fought the soulbond between them on Maveth. Not because she didn’t want it but because that initial drive to consummate the bond was getting in the way of her research into bringing them home. When they finally made it, the bond asserted itself quite forcefully and even so many weeks later she can find herself near overwhelmed by a simple touch from him. Though he’s far too pompous to admit it, she suspects Alveus feels much the same.

“I am,” he says patiently.

Jemma turns back to Malick. “He’s a god,” she tells him quite seriously. “Which I rather think means everyone else is on his schedule, don’t you?”

Beside her, Alveus shakes with repressed laughter.

Malick shakes with something else altogether. It takes him several seconds to compose himself well enough to say, “Of course. However, sir-” he looks pointed at not her- “you did say you wanted the report on the ATCU’s progress. I’ve arranged a meeting with the director, who is not aware of your status. I’m afraid she’s not Hydra and, as such, it is in all of our best interests to, ah, play along with her misconceptions for as long as possible.”

The problem, Jemma’s learned, with one’s soulmate being significantly older (if a difference of several thousand years can be called merely “significant”) is that the additional years give them plenty of opportunity to get into trouble. Not, of course, that Jemma’s against trouble as a rule; her friendship with Skye has certainly opened up her mind on that score. But there is a difference between breaking a rule (or twelve) in order to help one’s friends and being the bloody head of all Hydra.

Luckily, however, Jemma has also learned how to work around that particular problem.

Beneath the blanket covering them both, her hand fists in the front of Alveus’ shirt and her knee hooks over his. Even through the fabric of their clothing, her skin buzzes at the contact, eager for more.

“But this is my favorite.”

Alveus’ chest rumbles with more laughter. “They have all been your favorite.”

“But this one is about a wormhole to the other side of the universe. It has a special place in my heart.” She traces her finger over his. “Besides, it’s Jodie Foster.”

Alveus hesitates a moment more (a “god” can’t give in too easily, not even to his soulmate) before shrugging his shoulders. “I am afraid Jemma is right, Gideon. Your director will have to wait.”

Malick’s eyes widen and for a moment Jemma really thinks he might lunge at her. In the weeks since their return from Maveth, he’s grown increasingly aggravated by her presence. That she’s a SHIELD agent is bad enough. That her status as his god’s soulmate gives her unhindered access to him and the ability to distract him from all of Malick’s grand plans will, she thinks soon, become unendurable. What Alveus will do then, Jemma doesn’t know, though she’s privately hoping whatever move Malick makes will be sufficiently dramatic to convince him Hydra is no place for them.

Fortunately (because Jemma really does love this movie), the day of Malick’s inevitable snapping is not today. He marches out, somewhat stiff on his feet, leaving them to their entertainment. Jemma twists to grab the remote from where it fell beside her but, before she can find it, finds herself dragged into Alveus’ lap.

“What are you doing?” she asks, the words coming out rather high-pitched thanks to his hand already slipping beneath her top.

“You have distracted me from my meeting,” he says into her neck. Her head drops back and she clenches her teeth against a moan. This, she thinks, is why it’s customary for the newly bonded to be relieved of all obligations for a few days of endless shagging. Putting it off has left them completely unable to control themselves. “So I,” Alveus continues while moving down her neck, “will distract you from your film.”

“But—it’s—my-” She means to say it’s her favorite, but the teasing statement is lost amidst his kisses.

They don’t finish the film until very late that evening.

[loveisnotadagger]

Love Is Healing - Chapter Five

Chapter 5/?

The next day Arianna focused on healing Loki's burns since she hadn't been able to the night before. Arianna knew that Frigga and Thor had to leave that day, so she let them stay in the room with her as she worked. Plus, she didn't want to be alone with Loki. He had gotten under her skin the night before and she was still a little irritated with him.

Loki had been right about one thing, however, and that was that she hadn't been able to draw power from the Tesseract the night before because she'd been too tired. She had since slept and was using it fine now.

She worked on Loki for a few hours before leaving him, leaving the tower to go out and see how much destruction had actually been done.

"Oh my God," she said as she stepped out of the building and into the world outside.

She hadn't really seen everything the day before. There were buildings still smoking from yesterday, and there were piles of rubble on the ground from the buildings and the streets having been hit. Seeing as this wasn't a residential area, most of the buildings were businesses and restaurants. It hadn't lowered the death count or the amount of people that had been hurt.

Police were still out, so she wondered if they were still searching the ruins for victims.

"Let's go," Natasha said from behind her. "Tony has a helicopter waiting for us. We'll go to the closest hospital and work our way out."

They had to cross the street and use the helipad there because the one on Tony's tower had been destroyed. As they walked Arianna began to feel as if she were in a movie about the end of the world. The apocalypse had come to Manhattan.

She felt like crying, but tears were for victims and people who had time to cry. Arianna, however, had a job to do.

"We've got clearance, right? No roadblocks?"

"We should be good." ----------

When all was said and done, the injured were numbered in the hundreds, as were the dead. Arianna healed in a logical, systematic way, starting with the most injured and ending with the least.

She spent about two hours each day with Loki and by the end of the week his burns and lacerations were completely healed. The only injury he had left was his broken ribs.

She brought him meals each day – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – and he was now able to eat solid food. She noticed he had quite the sweet tooth when she brought him some ice cream and a small piece of pie for dessert once. He's asked for more and had neglected his dinner.

It made sense when she found out that Asgard didn't really have any sweets. The sweetest thing he'd ever had was fruit, so she hoped the extra sugar didn't make Loki sick.

On the day Fury was supposed to come and retrieve Loki Arianna brought Loki pancakes for breakfast. He didn't know what they were, but he enjoyed them. Arianna had basically drowned them in syrup. Loki was able to eat only one, but Arianna ate the rest.

"Those were mine," he said, though Arianna could tell he really didn't mind.

"I made them," she reminded him.

"They were quite delicious."

"Thank you.

"So . . . Fury is supposed to come today. I'm not sure exactly what that means. He'll probably take you away and lock you up. I don't think he'll put you with other people, so you'll be safe at least."

"Or they might just torture me some more.," Loki said quietly. "Even mortal I have much information that could be useful."

"Then don't let them know."

Arianna didn't know why it made her almost want to cry at the thought of Loki being hurt further, but it did and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

"Pretend you have memory loss if you have to, but don't let them know you know anything that they don't unless you intend to tell them."

Arianna was under no delusions of thinking SHIELD was all good. It was a government agency and, therefore, could get away with a lot of things nobody should be allowed to do. They would torture him if they found need of it.

"Would you like to go outside? If you don't today, you may not be able to for a while."

Loki considered for a moment before smiling weakly. "That would be nice." ---------- Loki didn't know what he had expected, but being allowed to go out of the building without any restraints wasn't it. He hadn't expected the other Avengers to let Arianna go out alone with him either, but there they were.

They'd just stepped out of Stark Tower and onto the sidewalk, and Loki suddenly wanted to go back inside. Things outside were horrible. Buildings had been destroyed and roads had been turned to rubble. The costs of the war he'd brought upon this city . . .

He really shouldn't have left the tower. What if someone recognized him? They would probably try to kill him. Try and fail. He knew Arianna would never allow harm to come to him while under her watch.

"This isn't what I want you to see," she said. "But we need to cross the street to get to the helipad."

"We're going to fly?"

"For a little bit. Low enough so you can see things. I don't know if you should be walking around outside."

Loki couldn't help the relief he felt at Arianna's suggestion. He shouldn't walk around outside.

Once they had reached the helipad and the helicopter and were in the air, Loki felt a freedom he hadn't felt for a long time. He'd learned to fly when he was just a boy – not a helicopter, of course, but they did have machines that could fly in Asgard.

Arianna was silent for the most part until they had been in the air for a while. She didn't even seem to be enjoying the view, and what could be seen now was beautiful.

"May I ask what is bothering you?" he asked.

"I hate this," she said immediately. "This . . . us giving you up to Fury. I mean, no, you're definitely not the most upstanding citizen, but you were pushed into this, pushed into coming here and trying to take over. You would've been tortured if you hadn't. Most people would've done the same as you have."

Loki stared at her. Arianna had this way about her that made Loki feel as if he was cared about. His heart craved it and rejected it at the same time. If he was being honest with himself, Loki knew he craved affection from someone who could love him for what he was. He was nowhere near as bad now that Thanos wasn't playing with his mind, but he was far from what a normal person would consider good.

Arianna could accept him as he was, but he also had to admit that such open affection wasn't completely welcome. Feelings got in the way of other things.

Besides, right that instant he was feeling only gratitude. This girl had done more for him in a week than many had done in his entire lifetime.

His thankfulness wasn't misplaced. ---------- Fury was already at Stark Tower when Loki and Arianna got back. Arianna came to a halt and she felt Loki run into her before he stopped as well. He'd barely touched her back and she barely moved.

Fury stood between two agents, both of whom had a gun. Tony was there, as were the other Avengers – minus Thor, who, along with Frigga, had left days before taking the Tesseract with them.

"Are the guns really necessary?" Arianna asked. "He's in no shape to put up a fight."

"The guns aren't for him," Fury said, firm but also somewhat uncertain. "It's to ensure that you don't put up a fight."

"Me?"

Arianna was honestly confused about this. She wasn't a threat to anyone.

"Yes. My superiors are not happy about you siding with the man that attacked this city. Consider this a warning. You were dangerously close to treason."

"I was doing what I knew to be right."

"Not to mention, she'd promised Loki's mother that she would take responsibility for his healing," Tony said. "Who knows what would've happened had she refused?"

"Indeed," Fury replied. "I wasn't finished. Agent Grace is a valuable asset to this team. One I don't wish to lose. The Council and I agreed that she could very well help the Asgardian acclimate himself to our ways."

"What?"

"In exchange for information Loki can remain free. He'll be under constant surveillance, of course. Agents Barton and Romanoff will be watching him. Everyone will remain here, and –"

Tony interrupted. "I think everyone keeps forgetting that this is my place."

Fury ignored Tony's words. "If you are amenable," he directed at Arianna, "I will alert the Council and things can proceed as usual."

Arianna looked at Natasha and Clint. "Guys? Are you willing to give up time to do this?"

Arianna already knew her answer was yes, but it wouldn't matter unless the others went for it as well.

Natasha agreed, but Arianna knew it was only because Fury had asked it of her and not because she had any real desire to do so. Clint agreed because Natasha had agreed.

"Tony?"

Arianna turned to him now. This was his home. He could turn them all out at any time and Arianna wouldn't blame him.

"You guys haven't been too much of a nuisance," Tony quipped. "You can stay. But no touching my stuff."

Arianna grinned. "Seeing as to how I don't know how to use most of your stuff, that won't be a problem."

She then looked at Loki, who had been strangely silent throughout the entire exchange, only to find that he'd wrapped his arms around himself and was staring suspiciously at Fury and the two agents with him.

"Loki?" She touched his arm gently. If he'd withdrawn into himself, she didn't want to alarm him. "What's wrong?"

"Why?" he asked. "Why not lock me up?"

"Information," Fury answered. "As long as you cooperate . . ."

Arianna tensed, as did Loki, though each had a different reason for becoming tense. Arianna was angry but not surprised that the people she worked with would stoop to threats to get what they wanted. She was also furious that Fury and his superiors were no better than the monster named Thanos.

Loki had tensed because of the threat itself. It had reminded him of the words Thanos had said about him failing to conquer Midgard and failing to bring Thanos the Tesseract. There would be pain. He was in the same situation now with another enemy.

"Loki, just say yes and you can stay," Arianna said. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Okay," he said. "I accept the arrangement." ---------- That night Arianna made plans with Tony to have someone get her things from her apartment in Washington D.C. and to have them brought to the tower. She also needed to break her lease, which she was going to get Fury to take care of since it was his fault she had to relocate in the first place.

She talked Tony into giving Loki an actual room, which really just meant that Loki would be able to have more than just the bed and closet space that he had at the moment. He would eventually be able to have things in there.

Loki still had the room next to hers, which she didn't really mind. He actually was fairly harmless at the moment. She could probably do more damage than he could right now.

It was true that she had healed him almost completely, but he still wasn't at a hundred percent energy-wise.

That first night, Loki caught her before she could make her way into her own room.

"Agent Grace?"

His voice stopped her. He'd never said her name before, had never even shown that he'd thought to remember her name, but here he was using her name with what could only be described as respect.

"Yes, Loki?"

She turned to him. He was standing in his doorway, his posture a little slouched due to his still injured ribs. He didn't have any hostility in his face or eyes, so she assumed it was safe to approach him. When she reached him he grabbed her hand, which she hadn't expected at all, but he was being gentle and careful so she didn't pull away.

When he set his lips upon the back of her hand for a few brief seconds she froze. Heat traveled up her neck and settled upon her cheeks. Loki obviously noticed because he smirked slightly before lowering her hand back to her side.

She would have been angry, but she couldn't see a hint of an ulterior motive in Loki, and she would've felt it from the skin-on-skin contact if he'd had a negative reason for kissing her hand.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything you've done for me. For what you're still doing. I don't quite understand why you're doing it, but I don't think I have to. My mother said I should befriend you because you have a good heart. I do believe she was right."

Arianna had no clue what she was supposed to say to any of this. No one had said such things to her before without wanting something in return. What did one do in a situation like this?

"Um . . . thank you?" She sounded unsure to her own ears, so she had no idea what Loki would think. She told herself she didn't care.

"There's no need to be nervous. It's just a thank you."

Loki gave a small but genuine smile, and Arianna answered with her own.

"Well, you're welcome," she said sincerely. "And you can call me Arianna. Good night, Loki."

"Good night . . . Arianna."

@smallangryandpink, @purplekitten30

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Pretty lies, ugly truths

The control room had detected a new singularity. This one was located in the spanish capital of Madrid in modern day.

Da Vinci: we can't detect much about the singularity itself, it seems that there's a powerful magical field around the whole thing.

Rex: well fuck... will we be able to even communicate?

Sion: we'll work on making communications work while you're out there but for the beginning you'll be on your own.

Rex: ugh...

Gordy: you'll be able to handle it, can't be that bad of a singularity right?

Rex: I feel like you're jinxing us.

Da Vinci: regardless, this one's a big one. It needs to be handled soon!

Rex: we'll handle it!

Chaldea was sending in Rex, Quetzalcoatl, and Mash Kyrielight into the Madrid singularity to handle things. Soon the three got into their coffins and rayshifting commenced.

3...2...1!

Once they were inside the singularity, they noticed something odd... it was snowing heavily.

Rex: holy crap... that's a heavy snow...

Mash: yes, maybe the snow is what's interfering with the signal.

Quetz: does that mean it's a magical snow? Like in sca- Ugh!

Out of nowhere Quetz doubles over in pain

Rex: Quetz!

Rex runs over to help but before he can something interrupts them.

???: Weigh Anchor!

Out of nowhere a huge ship appears in the streets of the city, heading towards the group

Mash: Senpai!

Mash moves to shield Rex and Quetz from the ship but ends up knocked away along with Rex

Rex: fuck!

Then coming from the ship, chains appear binding Quetzalcoatl, who was too weakened to be able to break free

Quetz: que?! What's going on?!

Rex: Hey! Let her go!

???: finally! We've been waiting for you for a long time!

Quetz: huh?!

When the group looked up at the ship, they recognized it. It was the Santa Maria that Columbus captained. But the man on top looked different.

Columbus?: I'm so sorry Missy, but the boss needs your spirit origin. And what the boss wants, he gets.

The man dressed similar to Columbus but looked much younger and less sinister.

Rex: who the hell are you?! Let go of my wife!

Columbus?: you don't know who I am? Well... then again... I guess you've become accustomed to the real me. Alright! Listen up laddy! Because this will probably be the last name you hear about before die!

Rex and Mash looked up at the man, both angry at the bastard.

Columbus: I am Christopher Columbus! But specifically I'm the Columbus you were told about in your schools! The heroic traveler who against all odds managed to discover America! I'm not the horrible schemer and slaver you're accustom to!

Rex: so you're the lie we were fed as children to justify your farce of a holiday?!

Columbus: rude way to put it but yes! Now if you'll excuse me!

The man snapped his fingers and out came an army of men clad in red appeared.

Rex: what the-

Mash: senpai! That's the spanish inquisition!

Rex: seriously!?

Mash: looks like them!

Columbus: that's right lil lady! Anyways, I'll be leaving you to them while I take this lady back to the base! Seeya!

The boat leaves, with Quetzalcoatl inside, unable to do much.

Rex: DAMN YOU!!!!

Rex wanted to make chase but the inquisition members blocked him off

Soldier: give it up master of chaldea! You do not stand a chance against the inquisition!

Rex: fuck off asshats!

In all his Fury Rex blasts fire at the soldiers, while Mash fights them off with her shield.

Mash: senpai! There's too many!

Rex: to hell with that! We've faced worse odds and came out fine! I'll be damned if I let them get away with my wife!

But the odds really were looking grim, until suddenly the snow intensified around them, mostly focusing on the soldiers.

Soldier 1: ack! The snow! What's happening!

Soldier 2: must be that damned ice queen!

Rex: ice queen?

Then from behind Rex and Mash, another servant comes in to get them out of there, Shakespeare.

Shakespeare: come on you two! We need to get you to safety!

Rex: but I need to save Quetz!

Shakespeare: that can wait! You need to be alive to do so anyway!

Rex: alright fine!

Then the two follow Shakespeare towards safety.

Soldier: where'd the two go!?

The group came out of the storm and were taken into what looked to be a book store. Inside were the two other authors Rex was familiar with.

Anderson: how'd it go Shakespeare?

Shakespeare: not amazing, they got to her.

Murasaki: how unfortunate.

Rex: can someone tell me what's going on?

Mash: yes, I'd appreciate that too.

Murasaki: this is a very unique singularity, it was intended as a trap.

Rex: a trap!? For Quetz?!

Anderson: yes, for whatever reason some mastermind wants her spirit origin. We're not sure why or who, but we do know it can't be good.

Rex: then we have to save her!

Murasaki: you're not in a condition to fight right now, and besides that mastermind won't won't able to do anything as of yet.

Mash: how can you be certain.

Shakespeare: we've been summoned here for a while and we've observed that the man in charge isn't here. There's someone in charge of the singularity but they're taking orders from someone else, somewhere else.

Anderson: and I've stopped their communications with said boss with my Ice Queen's blizzard.

Mash: you're responsible for the snow?

Rex: how can you make such a powerful snowstorm with a fictional character?

Murasaki: that's the nature of this singularity. Somehow authorial works have far more power. We assume who ever made this trap of a singularity is responsible.

Mash: have any guesses as to who it is?

Shakespeare: oh do we!

Anderson: we're pretty sure it's Miguel de Cervantes.

Mash: what makes you so sure?

Murasaki: because one of his most famous creations is also one of the greatest threats here: Don Quixote.

Rex: Don Quixote? But he was just some old delusional fool who thought he lived in a knight story!

Anderson: yeah, normally. But it seems his delusions became a noble phantasm! That turns fantasy into reality.

Mash: could that be why stories are becoming real all in this singularity?

Murasaki: we believe so...

Mash: fantasy to reality... so that makes you three the perfect allies... but what's the plan...

But Rex was getting antsy, wandering the shelves of the book store. He hated being without his wife, it'd been a long time since they were separated like this.

Mash: senpai...

Shakespeare: he can't handle it...

Rex looked through the books, eventually coming to the comics section...

Rex: hey... if you can turn fantasy into reality... how about pulling a Moriarty on me...

Mash: huh? Senpai what are you talking about?

Rex: Moriarty has that gun from that one German story... if the authors can do something similar to help me... I can save her.

Murasaki: that doesn't sound outside the realm of possibility.

Anderson: what did you have in mind?

Rex: lemme see If I can find it...

He looked through the comics, until he found what he was looking for.

Rex: ah ha! This here!

He pulled out a book, and opened to a particular page. In it was planet, a planet made of a dark colored ooze. The inhabit creepy looking slime monsters.

Rex: this! Symbiotes from marvel.

Shakespeare: interesting...

Anderson: not sure how I feel adapting a modern work like that...

Rex: just do it! I'll be able to save her with these powers.

Rex already had some servant abilities, with a small amount of authority from Quetz and the leftover spirit from Cipatli. But they weren't much, with this he hoped to complete it to make a proper spirit origin, or something akin to one.

Mash: senpai... is this really a good idea?

Rex: I Need to save her... I hate being without her... and I want to skewer the fools who took her away...

Murasaki: I can see the pain he's feeling... we should help...

Anderson: fine, we'll turn you into an alien monster. But it likely won't stick when this singularity's fixed.

Rex: so long as I get my wife back I'm fine with it.

The three authors put to use their abilities to infuse Rex with the alien symbiote. Slowly an ooze formed onto his body, colored dark blue, black and red. Then his body was complete engulfed in the slime. It formed something akin to a tight fitting costume with a mask not far off from a lucha mask.

Rex: ...feels weird...

Mash: at least it looks to have worked... what can you do?

First Rex changed his hand to form a large blade.

Rex: that... I can slice a bitch.

After changing it back, he was then able to form flames from his hands, dark blue in color.

Rex: oh!

Anderson: how the hell?

Mash: he did have some of Quetzalcoatl's authority. Maybe it's been enhanced.

Rex: hahahaha! Now let's go! Where the hell could they have taken her!

Shakespeare: not exactly sure where they operate, but Columbus should now.

Rex: you think he'll be out there?

Murasaki: yes, him and his inquisition have been hunting us ever since they found out about us.

Anderson: as authors not aligned with Miguel we pose a great threat here.

Rex: yeah, I can tell why.

Then Rex's communicator started up.

Da Vinci: hello?! Is this thing working?

Rex: we hear ya!

Da Vinci: finally! How's everything?

Mash: not so great.

Da Vinci: what happened?

Rex: the enemy took Quetz!

Da Vinci: what!? And what's with the getup? And why do you have an avenger class spirit origin?

Rex: long story, I'm a monster now. Going to save Quetz!

With that Rex leaps into the air to hunt down Columbus.

Da Vinci: Mash, can you explain?

Mash: somehow, fantasy can become reality and senpai used that to become a monster to save Quetzalcoatl. And he's currently hunting down Columbus for information.

Da Vinci: ah...

Mash: now I'll go catch up with him!

Mash runs off to follow Rex, seemingly forgetting the authors.

Anderson: well... should we leave them to it?

Murasaki: we really should follow, to help make things go smoothly.

Shakespeare: and I can't miss out on the story this will be.

Anderson: *sigh* ok then

Off with Rex he's found the Santa Maria and immediately rushes to fight the captain, leaping into the air with hand blades to kill the captain.

Rex: COLUMBUS!!!

Columbus: what the-? Is that the master of Chaldea?

Seeing the threat Rex was posing Columbus prepared to unleash his noble phantasm but before he could Rex manages to slice at him, injuring him severely.

Columbus: fuck!

The captain falls over, already too weakened to fight much.

Rex: Where is She?! Where'd you take her!?

Columbus: how'd you get so strong?

Rex: Tell Me!

Columbus: you're not getting any info from me...

Rex: we'll see about that

Rex grabs the captain by the arm and slowly stabs into his side, with the shape-shifted blade burning with divine fire.

Columbus, in pain: Aaahhh!

Rex: tell me what I need to know.

Columbus: aaahh! Fine! She's at the capital building!

Rex drops the fool, satisfied by the info. Finally Mash comes in, having caught up with Rex.

Mash: senpai! Did you find out where Quetzalcoatl is?

Rex: the capital building!

Mash: great!

As they finish Columbus starts to fade, tho now looking more like the one we're all familiar with.

Rex leaps off the boat and joins Mash as the boat fades along with it's master.

Mash: we're likely to run into Don Quixote there

Rex: doesn't matter.

The two leave towards the capital building. Having to fight off inquisition soldiers who got in their way. Eventually they find the capital building, a knight clad in sparkling armor with a strong looking horse stands guard.

Rex: that's him isn't it?

Mash: more then likely

Quixote: ho! You two! What brings you here?

Rex: I'm here to get my wife back!

Quixote: ah! You're the man I was told about! You look far more monstrous then I thought.

Rex: good! Now prepare to die!

Immediately the two clash, Rex's blades against Quixote's spear.

Mash attempts to help but is quickly surrounded by more inquisitors, having to fight them off before helping.

*slash*

Quixote: quite an interesting power you've got there! But you'll fall regardless monster!

Rex: Shut Up! I'll kill you! And then I'll get my wife back!

The two clash even more, Rex also having to fight off soldiers at the same time. Eventually another man comes out of the building.

???: Don! What goes on?

Quixote: the enemy master has come my lord!

Miguel: oh! He's come to save that goddess has he?

Rex: give her back!

Rex says this as he continues to clash with the knight.

Miguel: unfortunately I cannot, my master has requested her capture and I must follow his orders!

Rex: Fuck You!

Quixote: how vulgar!

Then, just as before the snow intensified, blinding the enemies.

Miguel: of all the times for this to ha- urk!

The spanish author feels a sharp pain in his chest, he looks in front of him and beyond the falling snow he sees the pissed off Rex.

Rex: I. Said. Give. Her. Back!

Rex then slices straight up, cutting the author in half.

The snow was still intense and the knight was now clashing with Mash, unaware of his master's death but also unaffected by it.

Rex runs into the capital building, the slimy symbiote receding into him to appear normal still. He then finds Quetzalcoatl inside a box similar to the coffins used for rayshifting.

Rex: mi corazon!

He goes over and busts it open and picks her up out of it.

Rex: are you ok?

She's only semi-conscious and isn't able to say much

Quetz: mi amor...?

Rex: I'm here! You're safe!

Outside Mash continues to fight Quixote, in the clash she manages to break his spear.

Mash: yes!

Now the spear appears far more old and damaged then it did before she damaged it. Quixote looks at it, and seems distraught.

Quixote: it's a lie... isn't it?

Mash: huh?

Quixote: it's all just a story... chivalry... it's all a lie...

Out of nowhere Quixote's armor becomes old and worn, his horse weak and also old. Then the snow stops entirely.

Mash: what happened?

???: you broke his trance.

Mash looks over and sees Shakespeare and the others.

Anderson: with Miguel dead, he was weakened and him seeing his spear I'm it's tru form broke his delusions. Now the fantasies are fading.

Mash: so it's over?

Murasaki: looks like it

Don Quixote then fades away himself. Then Rex is seen coming out of the building carrying Quetz.

Mash: Senpai! Is she ok?!

Rex: she'll be fine. Just need to get back.

Da Vinci: so you saved her? That's great to hear! Now let's get you two back before the singularity fades.

Rex: but who the hell was their master?

Da Vinci: not here, so we'll handle it when we get there.

Rayshifting in 3...2...1!

A/N: there's the story I've been planning for a bit. There's going to be a small epilog soon enough but for now there's that.

Tags

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @renmeo @kazmetic @grievouslyxorvia @valiantstrawberrymilk

[khoicesbyk]

The Royal Romance.

A/N: I’ve decided to go into my own little TRR world and create an AU. This will be fun! So; Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Rated: Explicit. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: King Marquise Rys (LI) and Queen Shanelle Dawkins (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and certain original characters, created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 1,500 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Song And Story Inspiration: NOLA-August Alsina | Away From Me/Control-Puddle Of Mudd

Prompt Time! Using @wackydrabbles prompt #76 “You’ll Feel Better In The Morning”. It’ll be in bold in black.

Tag List: @lifeaskim @choiceslady @secretaryunpaid @bebepac @pixie88 @txemrn @glaimtruelovealways @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @choicesfannatalie @hopelessromanticmonie @shanzay44 @wackydrabbles @choicesficwriterscreations

I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY NSFW! READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED AND ENCOURAGED!

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or DM me and I will gladly add you. 😁😘

Chapter 21.) Shadow Of The Crown.

(This is from My King’s POV)

Here I sit with a drink in my hand while staring at the documents on my desk. One is the hotel blueprints I showed Tariq and the other is the Royal decree of debt collection for Lord Winslow. All both needed was my signature and a few lives would be turned upside down. But could I really do it? Could I be that heartless? Short answer: yes! Long answer: hell yes!

They deserve it after all. They’re coming after me and what is rightfully mine. They’re coming for My Queen. And they would have succeeded had that idiot not sent handwritten messages to me and Shanelle. I have always been afraid of becoming somewhat of a dictator like my father and my grandfather before him. But, now I understand why they ruled the way they did. Their enemies stopped at nothing. And clearly mine aren’t either.

Sure, their challenge for the crown and throne doesn’t bother me. But what does bother me, is them thinking that they’re going to undermine or intimidate My Queen. I can’t have that. I have to protect and shield her from them. That’s my job as her fiancé and her future King. I serve her before I serve my people.

They pushed me to this point. I don’t want to be this way. But if I’m gonna be honest, I actually like being selfish. Making them fear The Crown and it’s unbridled power is quite satisfying. I now understand why my father enjoyed it so much. He loved when nations feared him as much as they respected him. He always said it helped to know who was weak and who wasn’t. Just like now.

And sure, the court won’t like my decisions should I decide to make them, but then again that damn court doesn’t like anything that specifically makes them look bad. As long as I fall in line with what they want, they’re happy. My happiness and sanity be damned. Which is why I fight so hard for Shanelle. I want them to see her as the queen that she will be for all of Cordonia. But their stubborn determination will never let that happen. They’d much rather I be with someone like Duchess Kaitlyn or better yet, they’d rather I’d reunite with Madeleine.

Poor Maddie truth be told we were doomed from the start. Not just because I couldn’t get over My Queen but, we just weren’t compatible. And it didn’t help that she was still somewhat in love with Leo. Yet and still we tried to make it work. But the court and their whispers of an heir needing to be produced the minute we returned from our honeymoon, became too much. I do think she was a great queen. But with her endometriosis, she could never have children. And with no true blood heir, our marriage failed. I don’t hate her and I sincerely hope that she doesn’t hate me. She was a queen for Cordonia, not for me. I need a queen for me and I found her in My Goddess.

She is everything I could ever ask and pray for in a woman. Which is why this whole ordeal is so frustrating. I found the queen that I need and want. And the court has their noses turned up at her. Instead they’re actually leaning towards the Duchess and her idiot of a fiancé. Preposterous to say the least. They’re worried Shanelle would bring the country to ruin. But they have no idea how much ruin this kingdom would be in if the parliamentary vote goes in their favor. And when and if it does, they’ll be sorry.

All of this makes me thankful for whiskey because without it, I’d be out of my mind. It’s also making my current decision making a lot more fun. So do I or don’t I? I know the risks that I’m taking by signing these but a clear message has to, no…a clear message needs to be sent.

But what would she think? How would she feel or respond? Will she understand my decision? Now I have no delusions. I know that she’d be furious with me, but I’m only doing this for her and her protection. I see the way the vultures in the media treat her. Like she’s a fresh carcass for them to scavenge upon.

And while I’m proud to see that she is doing a fantastic job in her lessons with Regina, she’s still vulnerable in the eyes of the court. I realize that but I also know that she is a brilliantly resilient woman and I have full confidence that she will make a great queen.

That’s why I choose her. Her resilience. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit. The way she faces, challenges and takes down adversity is awe inspiring. She makes me a better king and a better man.

But the more I think about it, the more I lean towards approving the documents in front of me. Because I know that they won’t stop until she leaves me and Cordonia forever. And that will be the moment that I become the dictator that it was rumored my father was.

Many in the court whispered that he changed after my mother’s death. Which is partially true, he became suspicious of our enemies and certain allies and with good reason.

Many in the court didn’t like or necessarily agree with my mother. They opposed her being for and about the people. They wanted her to be about maintaining the court and its image. That wasn’t my mother. Like Shanelle, my mother was not a native Cordonian but my father loved her. Dearly. And much to the courts objections, he married her and eventually they had me. They were happy. He was happy. Until she was stolen from us.

My sweet mother. I miss her so much. I just want to hug her. I want to hear her sing to me. I want to see her smile again. I want to tell her how much I love her. Don’t get me wrong, I love Regina and will move heaven, hell and earth for her. She’s been good to me and my brother and she was a saint to my father. I do love her but it’s just not the same.

The way the court treated my mother is how they treat My Goddess and as a king and especially as a son, it’s infuriating. Both are beautiful, fierce and compassionate. My mother would’ve loved Shanelle. And much like Regina, she would’ve done everything that she could to convince the court, that she’s the one. My mother was young and vibrant when she was killed.

I’ve known for years that it wasn’t accidental. But I never knew who murdered her or why, but I vow that I will find out and when I do I will crush her murderers.

I can hear her beautiful voice in my head.

She would be disappointed with me. She would say, “my son, I know that you want to protect your fiancée but this isn’t the way to do it. I raised you to be better than this.”

And she’d be right she did. I am better than this. But I am also a king. My rule is being challenged. So I must do what I have to do as king to protect myself and My Goddess. Which is why these documents sit on my desk. This is how I protect us. What people don’t understand is that being a king is not just a title, it is a responsibility. I am responsible for the health, prosperity and safety of my people and especially my queen.

And what kind of king would I be if I can’t and don’t live up to my responsibilities?

And sure I could just brush off Duchess Kaitlyn and Tariq as nothing. And I really should but I don’t want to. I want them to fear what I can do. All with the swipe of a pen. And well this kind of power is delicious and it makes me understand who my father really was as king.

So if I sign these I will be the dictator that many in court said my father was. And honestly, especially now that I’ve thought about it I don’t care. I’m at my limit and this keeps me from plummeting towards having public executions just for the hell of it.

I can hear both my mother and My Goddess tell me not to do this. They’d say “Marquise you’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. This decision isn’t who you are. Go get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” And they’re right I will as soon as I sign these decrees. And sure, Tariq and Lord Winslow will hate me. But that’s what happens when you cross me.

And with the stroke of my pen it’s done.

Long Live The King!

Forever I shall reign!

[alirhi]

random snippet again

as promised, @feralgoblintea here's the (temporary) scene where the two sisters meet for the first time since one went missing as a child

note about the nickname: Rachel's middle name is Miranda; everyone has called her 'Andy' from that since she was a little kid. it's explained in her story, but not in this scene, so I just wanted to explain it here lol

"Your parents are very eager to know where you've been and what you've been going through all these years," the doctor told her, deep voice oddly gentle and soothing. Rachel smiled sadly; his voice reminded her of Amadeus. "Most of all, they want to know that you're alright."

She knew he thought she was crazy. Her parents definitely shared that opinion, which was why she was here to begin with. Still, she couldn't help asking, "And, in your professional opinion, am I?"

He caught her lightly mocking tone and snorted, leaning back in his chair to mirror her pose. "In my professional opinion," he shot back, though the sarcasm left his tone before he even finished his sentence, "you've been through Hell, Rachel. The trauma you've suffered is very, very real. If you're asking, do I believe in demons and portals and time travel, I'd have to say no. But that pain and fear came from somewhere... I'd like you to come back in for regular sessions, if you're up for it; see if we can cut through the fantasy, see past the demons and find the real monsters who hurt you."

"That's why I'm not coming back." She stood, shaking her head a little. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me - I probably wouldn't believe it, myself, if I hadn't lived it - but it's a bit frustrating. What I told you isn't metaphors or delusion. It all happened, and I'm not interested in having someone rip it all apart and try to make me doubt my own memory."

"They call that 'gaslighting' these days."

Startled, the blonde whirled around to face the source of the new voice; a woman she sort of vaguely recognized was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, smiling at her. After a long moment, her brain helpfully edited the image before her to make it make sense; wild red hair to dirty blonde, violet eyes to mismatched green and blue, face younger and body smaller and more plump. "...Beck?!"

Rebecca's smile widened and she stepped forward with a nod. "Hey, Andy."

"Oh my god!" With a laugh and a delighted screech, she launched herself across the room and threw her arms around her little sister. "What are you doing here?"

Nearly squeezing the breath out of her, the younger woman murmured, "I heard you were back and had to see you. Stand your ground, Andy. Don't let them make you forget or doubt that it was all real. We know the truth." She released her, only to bring her hands up to grip the sides of her sister's head. "Magic is real."

Rachel froze, staring at Rebecca's mouth long after it closed and the two long, wicked fangs that had drawn her attention were hidden from view. "...What happened to you?"

"Not here. I'll tell you everything, but not here."

"Okay." Without so much as a backward glance at the shrink, she followed the redhead out of the office, past their fretting parents, and out into the bright sunny day that made Rebecca hiss.

She cringed and immediately donned a beat-to-hell baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Fuck, I hate sunny days."

"You always did." Rachel couldn't help smiling faintly; so many years had passed, more than anyone in the world around them could ever understand, and yet so little about her baby sister had changed.

"Yeah, well... I've only gotten more sensitive to it."

Once they'd made it deep enough into the woods behind the Industrial Park that there was no risk of anyone overhearing, they stopped, and Rachel asked her point blank: "You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Rebecca laughed, gratefully leaning back into the shade of the nearest tree. "Only in our lives is that a casual conversation starter. And yes. Thankfully I'm old enough that daylight won't kill me. It's just unpleasant."

With her own accidental time travel in mind, the blonde asked, "How old are you?" Thirty-seven, she knew, in the eyes of the people around them; to them, Rachel herself had only just turned thirty-nine, and yet both sisters looked at each other with exhausted, haunted eyes millennia older than they could ever hope to make anyone else understand.

"As a vampire, or in general?" She smirked, shrugging off her own question before her sister could answer. "In general is harder to pin down, but I've been a vampire for about six thousand years, give or take a few."

Leaning against a tree roughly opposite Rebecca's, Rachel mirrored her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was Queen of an entire planet, and then POW and slave on a second, then a fugitive... I managed to send my older daughter home, before I got stuck on a third planet with my boys and little girl. It's been about ten thousand years."

"You have kids?" Rebecca grinned, once again showing those distractingly long fangs. "Me, too! I have two daughters, Madeline and Alice."

"Senna, Kieran, Caspian, and...Cassie," Rachel told her in answer to her unspoken question. She couldn't help blushing as she listed her children's names; she'd since learned what senna was, and hadn't actually given her younger two children names beginning with the same sound on purpose. It had just sort of worked out that way.

"Twins?"

She shook her head. "Caspian's my stepson, kinda, and Cassie was named after-"

Rebecca flinched, remembering. "After Cassie Wade, right? I was so focused on figuring out what happened to you, and then fighting to survive, I'd forgotten she went missing with you."

"She..." Clearing her throat, the blonde squared her shoulders and pulled her strong front around herself like a familiar safety blanket. "She saved our lives; she didn't make it. And, yeah. I named my youngest after her. Anyway, they're all grown, and Kieran..." Jaw clenching, she forcibly dismissed thoughts of her rapist and merely said, "He's my perfect warrior prince. Well, King now. I love them all, and desperately miss Senna, but Kieran, despite his more questionable choices, has a special place in my heart."

Rebecca took her sunglasses off and studied her for a moment before venturing, "Y'know... I literally eat rapists for breakfast."

That got a startled bark of laughter from her big sister, who shook her head. "Even if my boy hadn't already killed him, I doubt his gross, rancid blood would sit well with you. He wasn't human."

The redhead shrugged, smirking again. "Doesn't have to be. I've eaten Fae, elves, one vampire that pissed me off royally..."

"Not such a picky eater anymore, huh?" she teased, grinning. "Was it some badass revenge on your sire or something?"

Laughing, Rebecca shook her head. "Nope, no sire. I'm the OG vampire, babe. The first of the species. My younger daughter, Alice, is the first of the natural born vamps."

"So, wait... You could still get pregnant after you were turned? What?" Rachel frowned, beyond confused. "And how the fuck...?"

"I'm not dead," her little sister explained with another laugh. "Everything's slowed way the hell down, but hasn't stopped. I can't have kids with a human, or probably most Fae, but a certain trickster God..."

"...God?"

She grinned and nodded, though her haunting violet eyes looked sad. "Loki. He's Alice's dad."

"Huh. So the Gods are real." Rachel snorted. "Go figure. And my sister banged one."

"I loved him," the other woman whispered, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth as if to speak further, then seemed to reconsider and closed it again, clearing her throat.

To spare her from some clearly painful memories, whatever they were, Rachel asked, "What's a Fae?"

"Fairy," was the simple enough answer. "Fairies are real, too. Maddie - my oldest - is Fae."

Is she Loki's, too? She didn't dare ask - Loki was clearly a touchy subject - but she was dying to know.

As if she could read her mind, Rebecca, still avoiding her gaze, explained, "I was still mortal when I had her. Her father was Fae."

As the light breeze shifted the leaves above them, making the light dance across Rebecca's ghostly white skin, Rachel finally noticed the scars. At first, they'd looked like tribal tattoos, done puzzlingly in a silvery-white. When she realized they were actually a complex web of ancient scars, she also noticed they covered every inch of her sister's flesh that she could see around her shorts and tank top. Her face was the only place free of the oddly beautiful swirling lines, though she did spot a faint scar on her forehead, running from hairline to cheekbone and through the outer edge of her eyebrow.

"Is Madeline's father why you hunt rapists?" Is he the one who tore you apart?

"He didn't rape me... Technically. But yes, he's the one who scarred me." At her startled look, Rebecca smirked; it utterly failed to reach her eyes, but it was a start. "I can read your mind. I'm trying not to - I find it unspeakably rude and invasive - but when you're actively thinking about me, it tends to cut through my shields. The scars are from a spell he worked on me; blood magic. It's what made Maddie's conception possible, and chained me to him for years."

"Kieran's father was my greatest enemy; Crown Prince of the people who'd been attacking and slaughtering mine. King by the time I escaped." She didn't know what made her suddenly share this, but it felt like the thing to do. Her sister had told her something deeply personal and troubling; it seemed only right to meet candor with candor. Besides, Rachel and Rebecca had been two peas in a pod as children, as close as two sisters could possibly be. There was no amount of time that could strain their relationship. "I was captured in battle and kept as a slave for around a year and a half."

"How did the other three come about?" She smirked again, shoving her wild red hair back off her face impatiently. "Even when we were kids, I'd have bet just about anything that you're gayer than a rainbow, so how do you have so many kids?"

Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes. "Political marriage gave me Senna - born in a dungeon, thanks to me being pregnant during the battle and not knowing it yet. She was smuggled home to her father after she was born. I made a friend in that Hellhole, Emil, and he'd been raising Caspian; he's not his biological father, but that never mattered, just like it didn't matter to me that I didn't give birth to him. That boy's just as much my son as Kieran. We were supposed to go back to my home when we escaped, but something went screwy and we ended up on Achlys, instead, where I met my girlfriend and we all decided to just settle and raise the boys."

"So you cheated on your husband?" Rebecca's grin was teasing - and, thank god, reached her eyes at last! - but Rachel still threw an acorn at her when she said, "You whore!"

"I never saw him again! And he wouldn't have given a shit," she explained with a laugh. "I was, like, his third or fourth wife. And like I said, it was purely political; I was Queen, he was my advisor, he wanted power and I wanted an heir. Enter Senna, who boosted Raziel from random noble to father of the next Queen, and assured that there would be someone to take the reins if I died."

"So..." Her sister began ticking points off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shrewd political moves gave you Senna, you're co-parenting Caspian with a friend, we won't speak of Kieran's origins... How and why was Cassie a thing?"

Rachel shook her head, gaping at her. "A thing? That's nice, Beck. Real nice."

"Gods, you've missed so many cultural shifts, dude." Rebecca shook her head right back, trying not to laugh at her. "Just answer the question, old lady."

"Emil and I, and my girlfriend Trinity, all talked and decided to hell with conventionality; we all love each other, so we'll all be together. Em's my exception, I guess; the only man I've ever been attracted to even after seeing him naked. Our boys were grown, Senna was long gone, we'd made a whole new life for ourselves, so we decided to have another baby. Enter Cassie." Rachel sighed, staring off into space. "And now she's grown, Kieran's back in that awful place trying to turn it around, married to a great girl, Caspian's there with them to help..."

Though she had a feeling she knew the answer, the vampire asked softly, "And your lovers?"

"...Dead. Cassie - Cassie Wade, I mean - died in prison, Trin and Em were killed in the second war." A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Kieran and Cas are running a third."

"There's always another fucking war," Rebecca grumbled. "I've watched so many of them come and go, fought in two, myself... It never really ends."