#Rip Jag he will never know peace

[ma1dita]

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.3k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i held myself hostage in my car outside the gym until i got this right this morning — listened to forwards, beckon, rebound by adrienne lenker while writing this, thank you for your patience and happy september!

edited, doing taglist when i get back from the gym lmao

—

Falling to his death is taking a lot longer than Luke Castellan thought it would.

For a man with a multitude of regrets, he finds that he can count his biggest ones off the four bloodied fingers that stain his peripherals with every bump and tumble down the jagged rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

What a waste of a life.

Everything he’s ever tried to accomplish has come to this final, humiliating moment of being at someone else’s mercy. Life is so unfair, he thinks, to give everything for love and have it kick you off the side of a fucking mountain that reeks of eucalyptus and regret. Sure, it was wrong to steal the master bolt, to turn his back on camp, poison Thalia’s tree, have his little sister hold up the sky, try to kill Percy Jackson every so often, and cause all this chaos… (I mean you know how this goes) but the pros outweigh the cons here! Promise.

Luke was so sure that they would all see reason—that he was doing this all out of love, no matter how convoluted and backwards his way is compared to theirs, even if he’d never admit that. Change is supposed to be uncomfortable and war was never meant to be pretty. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, really. The gods weren’t meant to win.

But at the end of it all, love must be his greatest weakness. It has to be.

The Fates should be slicing through the fibers of his lifespan by now, ripping through the embroidered memories in his mind. Nothing of his is his own anymore—not his life, nor his love.

Love, if he’s learned anything in the two wretched decades that Hermes himself has cursed his existence with— hurts like a motherfucker. That, or Thalia was definitely wearing steel-toed boots when she kicked his ass off the cliff. He’s given his life for love, dedicating himself to the greater good of protecting his loved ones, and no one, not even the gods could stand in the way of that. A method to his madness or his undeniable naivety, he still can’t tell, but it's gotten him falling deep into an abyss at the hands of a bunch of kids who continually undo his plans to change the world.

Maybe love is little deaths then, and maybe Luke Castellan loves too hard.

There has never been a single moment in his life where he hasn’t gone down fighting—he never lets anything go, holding what’s important to him so close to his chest that it suffocates. Luke believes that after everything he’s been through, he was never meant for mediocrity—not even when it comes to love. Maybe his death would mean something then— maybe that is his glory. To love someone to death, even if it was wrong— if this is his end, maybe his death will bring peace he knows his love never could.

Four names run through his mind like most things do, intense and fleeting. His final thoughts as he plunges toward the earth are his last act of prayer. If the gods have never listened before, well, these thoughts are all he has to comfort him; they feel heavy behind his lips the further he falls.

Could the Fates be wrong?

His fatal flaw manifests itself into the names of four women he knows he could never deserve in this lifetime, but he’d die trying. He is, dying. This fall from grace is proof enough that he was never meant to be a hero. Excessive wrath bleeds from his being until all that’s left is love, and he’s ashamed of it.

Gods, he’s such a fucking loser.

Luke’s neck cracks against stone at the bottom of the cliff, white hot pain crawling up his spine with only one remaining thought clanging around in his brain—he should’ve never fucking come back to San Francisco.

And while we’re talking about regrets—Luke recognizes that the one thing he’s never had control of is love.

So he lets go, feeling the weight of his body crumple against the downhill slope of Mount Tamalpais like a puppet cut from its strings without a single cry of pain because Luke Castellan finally comes to accept the loves and losses of his life. His landing feels softer now, rolling to a stop like the waves on Westport Beach. Then he sinks into the earth with a bated sigh and it feels like gentle hands of loves that once believed in him.

Luke closes his eyes before his world spirals into black—because if these few moments are all he has left, he’d like to take this time to remember them.

MAY CASTELLAN [storgē - στοργή]

Luke Castellan was born into this world half-mortal, half-god, but 100% May Castellan’s son. From the moment he came into this world, he was fully her own. Hermes was a factor, yes—but the manifestation of a demigod is wholly that of the mortal parent in every aspect visible to the naked eye. Blood runs alongside ichor in his veins, but Luke is all hers in every way that matters—from the slope of his nose, his dark velvet curls, and the honey-molten warmth of his eyes. And they were happy together, once upon a time, even if it was mostly just the two of them.

The gods make their half-mortal children in the likeness and image of their human love since their own forms are ever changing. There is nothing permanent about being immortal—leaving their partners with babies that look like them but are vulnerable to the Mist. And when you love a god, the only tangible reminder left behind is one that goes where you cannot follow. Things most can’t understand— speedy baby steps padding down the hall, tiny hands unlocking the pantry door, and a motor mouth able to transmit meaning through toddler gibberish.

But before Luke even knew what love was, his mother made sure he knew hers was stuck to his being—like peanut butter and jelly on the roof of his mouth from all the sandwiches she made. His clothes used to smell like chamomile from her morning brew and his fingers were often stained blue from Kool-Aid powder. May would always let him mix, even if she had to pretend to not see him sipping from the big spoon in the pitcher. Loving a trickster meant she knew how to raise one.

His mother’s love was sugar sweet. It was in the cookies she baked, the kisses she’d press against his broken skin, and in the confectionery words she’d whisper to him before bedtime. As the years passed by, May would end up repeating herself and the ‘i love yous’ were more for her instead of him—like a mantra she needed to remind herself of who she was. But Luke always understood. When her voice would fail and tears would replace it, Luke learned to wipe away what his father left behind for him to take care of.

His identical chocolate irises watched hers turn to emerald, and it was then he knew that too much sugar could make everything rot.

THALIA GRACE [eros-ἔρως]

There was always this intensity whenever he was with Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus. And she made sure he always knew it—a static spark igniting between the two of them as soon as their eyes met in the streets of Charleston. Like him, Thalia always made sure to get what she wanted, two north poles of a magnet bullheading through life to get what they’re owed. By that same evening, they were elbow-deep in the golden dust of a dragon that had come home to find two bushy-browed little freaks with arrogance quadruple their size.

Luke and Thalia were a match made in hell—one always trying to outdo the other to get the upper hand when it comes to control. And at 12 years old, it was the first time Luke had ever had anyone fight by his side. But they were both short fuses and she always set him alight—a glint of her father rushing through her glare so hot that it burned blue. He would do anything to keep her attention on him since grabbing devotion by force is all he’s ever known. Moving quickly and being in her face was the only way to remind his mother of her affection so he assumed the same would go with her. That, and he couldn’t help being extra fidgety— being a son of Hermes meant he couldn’t sit still for long.

Though with Thalia’s growing annoyance of Luke, it was established that their dependence on each other was one of necessity to survive the odds stacked against them. She was repelled by what made them so similar, hubris that blinded them from wanting to figure out the difference between surviving and living. There was a poison of hate in their love for one another. A shame in wanting a love that understood the attraction that linked them so early on in life, however innocent.

Both were too alike and were burned the same.

They burned each other. A type of selflessness and selfishness that battled each other for balance, so close but so far away.

There was always something about Thalia that blistered at his confidence. A forbidden part of her he couldn’t bear. It’s why he spit words of acid instead of encouragement once he realized the Furies wanted her the most when they were running for their lives, Luke was always the fastest runner anyway—dragging little Annabeth up Half-Blood Hill and by the time he realized he’d left her for dead she became a hero (he admits now that he could’ve run circles and saved her too; he just didn’t want to).

Thalia Grace gave everything for this love. But she sure as hell never trusted him to do the same for her.

The spark they shared was snuffed out that day. And Luke continued to burn without her.

ANNABETH CHASE [philia- ϕιλία]

Luke Castellan had never been chosen for anything before. Growing up in the mortal world, he was used to watching families eat together through restaurant windows and children playing in parks that he would pass by, taking slower turns around the block so he could imagine what it felt like to be wanted. Luke was never once beckoned to take part, but he accepted long ago that he didn’t really belong anywhere.

It was nice to think about though.

The daughter of Athena doesn’t remember it anymore, something so trivial in that big brain of much more important thoughts—but when she reached her hand out to him instead of Thalia (after almost breaking his skull in with a rusty hammer), it meant everything to him. The kid thought he was a monster at first sight, and she still chose him after everything.

Annabeth Chase grew up idolizing him and he thrived because of it.

Like ambrosia, Luke was strengthened by her faith and it made him feel powerful. Having the daughter of Athena in his life was like being awarded a gold medal. He loved Annabeth like she was his biggest prize, gleaming on a shelf for him to admire when he was feeling down about himself. Both him and Thalia raised her with pride; with little to no material possessions, they learned to make something out of nothing—and they made it golden. He chased that feeling and it made him greedy for her affection—she announced his place in this world of cruelty. The harsh hands of fate were gilded by Midas himself as long as he had Annabeth. And she put him on a pedestal too—an unattainable goal in her mind that the highest form of glory was to be like her older brother and best friend.

Luke Castellan was finally good at something, and he had the proof to show for it in the shape of a small girl with inquisitive eyes. With her, all of his answers were right. To choose each other and be reciprocated with equal fervor helped him idealize what it felt like to win in life.

However Annabeth was not just his best student, but a prodigy that learned to outplay the trickster. An intellect like hers was never meant to corrode in a dusty, dark corner.

YOU [agape- ἀγάπη]

Plato wrote that humans were once created whole— with four arms, four legs, and two faces fused back-to-back for the entirety of their mortal existence. They were at peace, and how could you not be?

With your soulmate at your side, you could face anything, even the gods. And eventually Zeus felt threatened by their power, in knowing that humans could be invincible against any pain, suffering, and doubt as long as their soul was physically and intimately tied with their other half. So he separated humans from their soulmates in a snap of a finger. It was just another thing that jealousy would take away from humankind by immortal beings that would never understand what it means to live with an ending.

There’s a misconception that love is being together in our original state until the gods took it away. But in fact, it was written to be that love is the desire to become whole with someone else, in addition to yourself. Love is the choice to spend your life trying to find your other half—as we are destined to roam until we have someone to share the rest of our time. Humans have long accepted that we don’t know when the end will come—but the act of searching for our person to share it with, that is love.

Love is the ultimate sacrifice to meet your partner wherever they’re at, to make a home out of the rubble of your past and still choose it anyway knowing that the both of you will go hand in hand into the future. It isn’t glory like he’d convinced himself in the past; it’s not accomplishing some heroic feat worth the recognition of the gods—he knows by now that he couldn’t give a single shit about them. The answer had always been right in front of him, unwavering against the test of time with fluttering amethyst eyes and laughter that renders him senseless.

Why go through all that trouble? one might ask. But that is also his answer.

Fate had never cut him loose— tumbling down Mount Tamalpais was one of the many proofs of that, and with nothing else to do, Luke comes to the conclusion that loving you is a lifelong commitment he made to make more time with you.

Shitty deal, he thinks, trying to beat Kronos at his own domain without anyone’s help must have been a waste for it all to end so pathetically.

But loving you was a choice he made every day, even in your absence. It’s his reminder and solemn vow that loving you could never be a waste. Luke laments not being able to take you to meet his mother, or giving you the white house with the big bay windows, but by giving up his life, honor, and whatever glory is still attached to the name Luke Castellan— it must be worth it as long as you’re living the life you deserve.

Even if it means he’s not part of it, he hopes you’re still searching for him too.

—

In the end, even as he falls to his death, he finds himself calling out to his father for the last time. His plea reaches deaf ears of course—but he isn’t begging anymore. Luke Castellan thanks his father for the first and last time in his life and embraces his losses if it meant that he mattered. If not to the gods, then to his mother. To Annabeth. Thalia, even for a short moment, and you.

Especially to you.

Unwavering and without question, to live to the fullest is to have been by your side walking through the woods of Camp Half-Blood and hearing the sound of your cackles through the air, sending animals scattering from something he said.

Because to be loved despite everything he has done, everything he will do— Luke thinks he must be the luckiest man to have ever lived.

Death blankets the weary traveler, and time is an unflinching hand pulling him through a rip in reality. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, falling in reverse to where he needs to be next.

Somewhere, Atropos raises her scissors away from the indelible strand of his life force as she takes a breath and sits back, her sisters unable to do anything else but watch. This boy was becoming more trouble than what even the gods knew he was worth.

Luke Castellan must be lucky, indeed.

—-

Ding.

450, 451, 452, 453…

A wet cough from a satyr next to you disrupts the silence in the elevator up to Olympus; you give him a sideways glance that makes him shift closer to the door with what you hope is a blush and not a fever. It’s warm and stuffy in this 3x4 crystalline box that shoots towards the heavens, and a bit crowded for a weeknight—though you suppose it is the Winter Solstice.

You haven’t been back here since your ex-boyfriend stole the master bolt.

There’s a moment where you wonder if the Fates have ever found your predicament funny, but then the satyr sneezes with a boom.

537, 538, 539, 540…

It’s almost dusk now as clouds roll through the night sky and into the distance. Frost lines the metal frame of the elevator shaft and if you’re flying at the speed of light, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. But this trip is taking much longer than you thought it would for a decision you made on a whim.

You still have a final to take in the morning, and Annabeth wasn’t answering your calls—then her location on Find My iPhone sprung from San Francisco to the middle of Manhattan from the span of your trip on the Long Island Railroad.

Something was up. The sense of something important trickled down your spine like second nature. Can’t this thing go any faster?

It was second nature for you by now to know when something was up, especially with the trio. You’d always make the time for them. Besides, your life has been a little too quiet lately. Being an adult demigod does that; there’s no monsters that bump in the night anymore, just the ones in your head and the ones that make you take finals three days before Christmas.

…600.

Ding.

Weaving through what seems to be a celebration fit for the gods, your glove-clad hands push through the sea of minor godlings, heroes, and Olympians. Aphrodite sends you a wink that makes you feel hot to the touch before you realize Hestia’s eyes are also on you, the both of them clearly whispering about your treacherous love life. You shove your gloves and scarf into your jacket pocket. Bowing your head lightly in greeting, you keep walking further into the grand hall.

It seemed you were always a hot topic up here on Olympus. Great.

The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, thumping away to the accelerated beat of your heart and by the time you grab a glass of ambrosia-spiked champagne to help with the lump in your throat, you hear the sound of your name in the midst of all the chaos.

A gentle hand grasps your shoulder then, and it’s Percy Jackson adorning a cup of punch and brand new wispy white tendrils that hang across his face. There’s a story that should follow, but he gapes at you like a fish out of water. Looking up at him (this boy grows like a weed!), both of your confused faces mirror each other as you sidle out words he’s still able to hear over the music, “What’s the celebration for? And why have none of you been answering my calls?”

The son of Poseidon swallows hard, until the smell of salt and sea foam surrounds you and you find yourself staring at the god of the sea himself, standing alongside him. With a smile soft like rippling water, he gently says, “I’ll leave you two to it. And I’ll call your father and stepmother over. Good to see you,” Poseidon says your name as he takes his exit. You hoped it was a good thing then, that he knew you.

Percy wondered why he was always left to make the difficult decisions.

He almost sounds like his father when he speaks, calling for your attention again as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I need to tell you something, and I think we should…”

Shaking your head, your eyes are scanning across the room, meeting Annabeth’s as she drops the hand of the minor god she’s dancing with and makes her way over to you. From the other side of the room, Poseidon pushes your father in your direction as he juggles two golden goblets in each hand, led by his wife as they almost float towards you.

“Whatever it is, spit it out Perce. Your audience is growing by the minute.”

“Hey princess, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” You dad grins, nudging your shoulder and handing you one of the goblets. Ariadne presses a kiss against your temple and you smile, taking a sip before hearing Annabeth’s converse squeak to a stop next to you.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on right now,” your eye twitches and then you see Annabeth’s new strands of silver that frame her face as she grabs your arm and nestles against it.

“I…um…” the sandy-haired boy begins, and then your dad groans and you elbow him hard, wine spilling from his lips as his wife giggles like the sound of tinkling bells and you’re about to strangle the teenager on the marble tile he’s planted on.

“Luke’s…”

“Dead.”

Percy’s worried voice intermingles with a new one you haven’t heard before, like a crackling sound that leaves a metallic taste in your mouth, and then a girl shows her face—black eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking against each other as she looks into your eyes and blue meets purple.

So you start laughing. Cackling even, as your head nods slightly, and after they’ve given you a moment to compose yourself you take a big gulp of the drink in your right hand to then chase it with the one on your left.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s not dead,” you insist, and everyone looks at you like you’re insane, even your father, the god of insanity himself. Ariadne’s hand caresses the nape of your neck as she whispers, “Maybe we should take a seat outside, darling…”

“No…No! I mean it,” you say almost incredulously, a hiccup slipping past your lips when you take in too much air. “That motherfucker doesn’t have the audacity to die and if he did, I would know.”

“This is how we’re letting you know,” Annie murmurs, before Percy sighs and his shoulders fall heavy with what seems to be the weight of the world, “She’s right. He’s not dead.”

A myriad of responses blur in the space around you, all going hazy as you blink and stay focused on Percy.

“It’d be too easy…” you murmur, nodding again like you’re convincing yourself of the fact. Annabeth rubs circles into your forearm and you realize you haven’t breathed since the daughter of Zeus made her entrance, “I’d know if he was dead.”

Thalia Grace looks you up and down thoughtfully, “So you’re the collateral damage.”

“Thalia!”

Annabeth exclaims, her hand tightening around yours and you know deep down she’s rejoicing at the news of Luke’s survival. But for yourself, you were unsure if you felt the same, almost chuckling at the irony of almost all of Luke’s favorite people in the same room as the gods he swore to overthrow, “That’s me. You were a tree the last time I saw you.”

“That’s me. I kicked him off a cliff, thought it would’ve done the job, but he’s always been too stubborn.”

A smile spreads across both your faces. You think about Luke interrupting your date last month by barging into your apartment and how that was tough enough to explain to your roommate, much less if you tried to tell your parents and best friends in the middle of a Christmas party.

You make the choice to keep Luke’s visits a secret. It doesn’t come as difficult as you thought it would.

Hermes bumps into your little group, eyes focused on his caduceus as it pings with different messages. The rest of you go quiet, mirth dimming despite the smile on the messenger god’s face and the kids take that as their cue to exit.

“What’s happening? A group like this, and with you making an appearance,” he nods in your direction, “Must be something special.” He nudges your dad, and you’ve forgotten that they’ve been best friends for millenia.

“Your kid’s not dead. You’d know that if you were nosy in the right places,” Dionysus says through a gulp of wine, turning and walking away nonchalantly, making you smile. Hermes looks at you with his face a mix of shock and appreciation, though you’ve done nothing to earn it. He follows your father with a gust of wind billowing behind his traveling feet.

Those two are more trouble than you and Luke were.

Biting your cheek, you turn to Ariadne and scoff, “So…. Do you think I should tell my dad that the other campers snuck into the party half an hour ago?”

Your stepmother laughs, her eyes following her love across the ballroom, choosing to let everyone enjoy the Winter Solstice for once.

—

“When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?” - Ocean Vuong

[sophiethewitch1]

In Death's Embrace

Jason x Death!Reader

His head is in your lap, the sun peeking through the black locks of his hair. He grumbles at the light interrupting his nap, and turns and presses his face into your thigh. You chuckle, carting a hand through his hair just like he loves you to.

He’s at peace. The world is at peace. He’s safe here, in your unending embrace, and he knows he’ll never have to leave it. He knows that’s the way it should be.

“You’re so clingy today,” you tease him, and he chooses to ignore your words. The quiet is peaceful, and he longs for more of it, even as he wants your words too. Of course, as always, you understand. Instead, you whisper sweet nothings to him, gazing out at the wheat fields surrounding the two of you.

There’s a book in your hand, the one that doesn’t pet him. It’s in a language he doesn’t know, doesn’t recognise. It’s probably as old as you are.

He didn’t know much about you. He didn’t need to. He understood who you were, what you were. He wasn’t stupid. He understood that you comforted billions of others, held them like you held him. Maybe once he would’ve been jealous, but he knew that feeling was pointless too.

Here, you wouldn’t let him feel anything but peace. Here, he needn’t want for anything but you, and you’d always give yourself over to him freely.

Your hand pauses in his hair. It tightens. Jason likes the feeling, likes anything you do to him, but he senses your tension, and opens his eyes. You’re not looking at him, instead staring up at the blue sky. Mouth pursed, you tilt your head.

You look back down at him, smiling softly. It’s the same as every other smile you give him, but he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t trust it. Something’s wrong, and he’s filled immediately with a sense of panic he hasn’t known in years.

“Fascinating,” you say, and Jason pulls himself up from your lap, grabbing your hands in his. You let him move you, let him pull you to your feet, don’t resist as he follows his instincts, running into the strands of wheat like hell is on his heels.

It might be.

“Jason,” you call his name, your voice calm despite his hurried breathing, “Jason, dear.”

He pauses just long enough to look back at you, to look at the blue sky cracking open in jagged edges, to see the reeds pulling backward into a gaping void. He can feel the sucking gravity, and he plants his feet against the wind. You’re unaffected by the tear in the sky, your hair calm, your clothes still.

“Jason, it’s a good thing. Not many get a second chance,” you cajole him, pulling on hand from his grasp to cup his chin. He leans into your touch, savouring it, needing it.

“It’s not. I won’t leave you, I can’t,” he whispers, his words almost lost in the roar of the wind.

“You have no choice,” and your eyes are almost… sad. He doesn’t think that’s right. He doesn’t think someone like you should feel sad. You’ve seen so much, know so much.

What does it say for his future? What does it mean, when Death looks at you with pity?

“Save me, please,” he begs you, and you shake your head.

“I have no choice, either. You must make the most of it, Jason. You must do your best. And I’ll be here when you come home, waiting for you,” you promise him, and he has to choke down a sob. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

He was supposed to have you forever.

“How can I when you’re not there with me?”

You peer into his eyes, and the void rips wider behind you.

“You won’t remember me, darling.”

The last thought, before it takes him, before it swallows him whole, is that that’s the worst part.

Part two!

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[bunniekittiee]

Ahh alright so im sorry about anon’s request! It was late asf where I’m at and in my half asleep state I accidentally posted my barely started work of Smoke and I deleted it, but i ss the request, so I will just input it on here. So sorry about that, that was my fault.

Request-

Can you write a headcannons where reader gets kidnapped and Smoke goes to rescue his s/o?

Smoke x Fem. Reader

He was not sure how it happened, but his worst nightmare came to life.

Tensions were high with the Tengu clan, and Bi-Han was slaughtering quite a bit of their clan left and right.

However, they invaded the Arctika and created the worst chaos imaginable.

Tomas was worried about his s/o. He wanted her to be safe and sound, and he was almost sure that she was safe where she was at.

But he thought wrong.

When he went to find her, he saw that it was ransacked with blood smeared on the floor and she was gone.

His heart dropped and he ripped the place apart.

Kuai Liang had to interfere to get him to explain why he was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Once Tomas explained, Kuai Liang immediately jumps into action and goes to Bi-Han.

Bi-Han may not have a love life himself, but he knows that his brothers have their own. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it.

So when Kuai Liang tells Bi-Han about Tomas’ lover being captured, Bi-Han is ready to invade.

As much as he may tell Tomas cruel things, he knows that if they were not able to get her back, he would not be able to be the warrior he is.

So it is crucial to save his lover.

At least, that’s how Bi-Han reasons it in his head. He doesn’t want to admit out loud that he doesn’t want to see Tomas really torn over losing his significant other.

Tomas is definitely losing his mind knowing that their rival clan has her, and they can do anything to her.

Tomas can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t do anything else but work a plan inside of his head on how he was going to murder anyone who hurt her.

Although he was the sweetheart and kindest out of the brothers, he would not have any mercy for those who kidnapped his s/o. They took away the most important person to him.

That was something he would never forgive.

Bi-Han and Kuai Liang are concerned as they watch Tomas pace around, eyes alit with anger as he waited impatiently for the brothers to sketch out a plan to invade.

Was a little argumentative with Bi-Han which had taken the cyromancer aback as Tomas had never argued with Bi-Han.

Kuai Liang has to be the peace maker and eventually they have the plan laid out.

Tomas is ready to spill blood. He cannot stand the thought of her capturers being alive while she suffered.

He knew she was terrified for her life. As strong as she was, he knew that she was scared, and that made him so angry.

He was supposed to be a protector, not a failure.

Bi-Han wonders what is running through Tomas’ head as they trudge their way through the terrains. He sees his eyes have hardened and he’s deep in his thoughts.

Kuai Liang notices the tension around Tomas and feels guilty that they were not there to save her as well.

When they arrive at their destination, Tomas is ready for warfare. They go through the plan and invade quickly.

Tomas slaughters many, interrogating a few in order to find his lover.

He is drenched in blood, his gray eyes now burning with rage and hurt. He wanted his wife back, that is all that is important to him.

The brothers are a little concerned about Tomas’ bloodshed as he was never this rash before.

Ripping apart the village and the Tengu, he was able to find her.

She was bloodied and tied up, bruises sprinkled across her skin with jagged cuts along her body.

Tomas could not help but feel his whole soul being consumed by the fiery anger, one that was much brighter than Kuai Liang’s.

But he kneels down, cutting her restraints with his karambit and he holds her frail body close to his.

He knows he cannot let his guard down and tells himself that he will reunite with her properly when they are safe.

He finds his brothers who are still fighting off more ninjas, and he tells them that he found her.

The Lin Kuei finish the job and destroy the Tengu’s territory, leaving their mark on the clan for good.

Tomas is very fast to get back to the Arctika where he treats her wounds in silence while Bi-Han and Kuai Liang stand there with their words twisted.

They do not know what to say to make Tomas’ worries go away.

Tomas is exhausted, but he wants her to awaken. He had missed her so much, and she was back in his arms.

But she had not woken up since Tomas saved her.

This made him stress more.

Bi-Han eventually spoke up and told him that his wife needed to rest and that she would wake up soon.

Tomas sits next to her in med bay, holding her hand between his own.

In the middle of the night, she awakens and Tomas is immediately on his feet.

He hugs her close to him, feeling his eyes water and his lip quiver slightly as her arms wrapped around him.

“I thought I lost you.” He told her while he laid a kiss on her temple. “I am so sorry that I was not there to save you. It is my duty to protect you, and I failed.”

“Tomas,” she said as she gently grabbed his face. “You did not fail me. I love you, I am so happy to see you again.”

He still felt guilty, but he held her all night long and made sure she felt safe and comfortable.

There were some signs of PTSD from the encounter on her side which did not surprise the ninja, but his heart felt broken.

The guilt ate at him more as he felt that it was his fault she now had to face that burden.

If he was only quicker. If he only knew.

He does everything and anything for his s/o. I mean, he would before the encounter, but now he does everything for her.

Tomas will push back his duties to help her with any emotional distress or physical pain she was feeling.

He felt that this was the least he could do because he did not do his job.

Kuai Liang and Bi-Han see the guilt eating at him. They know that it weighs on Tomas heavily.

He is carrying the burden as well.

But he continues to show affection and love her no matter what. He is so in love with his s/o and he is willing to do anything to ease her pain.

“It will be okay, my wisp.” He cooed softly as he rubbed her back while she cried into his shoulder. “I am here now. You are safe with me. I will never let any harm come to you again.”

[sarahsmi13s]

When Sharks Attack

whumptober day 9: scar reveal

pairing: evan 'buck' buckley x reader

characters: evan buckley, fem!reader, the 118

warnings: blood, shark attacks, scar reveal, language, anxiety attack, let me know if i missed anything please

word count: ~1.3k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: when a call takes you to the scene of a shark attack you can't help but feel a sense of deja vu and reveal the one think you never thought you could

You sighed as you looked in the mirror, your fingers running over the arch shaped scar on your skin. It was old but it was as visible as ever. The scar rounded your hip before it disappeared under your waistband before it finished on the top half of your thigh. You were glad it was in a spot that could be hidden, but you also hated that you had to hide them.

It’s not that you were ashamed or anything, there was nothing to be ashamed of. But you didn’t want anyone to see the scars, they were jagged and ugly. You didn’t like people seeing them.

In the years since you obtained them, you had barely been intimate with anyone, not even your current partner, Buck.

You trusted him with your life, with everything. But in the past, people saw the marks on your torso and they ran. And you couldn’t lose Buck, you couldn’t.

You heard the bathroom door open and you dropped your shirt and started tucking it. 

“Hey, Cap has lunch ready,” Hen said as she poked her head in. You nodded and sent her a smile in the mirror, “Okay, thank you. I’ll be out in just a sec.” She smiled back and nodded, “Alright.”

She left, patting the door frame as she did, and you sighed a little before taking a deep breath and leaving the bathroom.

During lunch the bell went off. In the commotion all you caught was the location before you were getting in the truck and going toward the scene.

You had a pit in your stomach the whole ride to the beach and you didn’t know why. 

That was until you made it through the crowd of people on the dock and saw it.

A bull shark had gotten a hold of a fisherman and wouldn’t let go. 

The scent of copper and salt water filled your senses. Blood stained the dock and the man was shouting in pain as the beast refused to release him.

That pit in your stomach turned to bricks as you stopped moving. Your side began to burn and itch. You suddenly weren’t seeing the fisherman, but yourself on the dock next to your board and bleeding from your side.

You were 18 when it happened. You were surfing with some friends, padding into shore when a great white thought you looked like its next meal. The shark took a test bite out of your side and upper half of your thigh. It was a quick bite, but it was enough. 

Internal organs were damaged and you had nearly bled out on the beach but you were stabilized and taken to the hospital just in time. 

You survived, yes, but you haven’t gone back in the water since.

“Y/N? You okay?” Buck asked, turning to when he noticed you hadn’t moved.

With your heartbeat in your ears you hadn’t heard him and you all but shoved your gear in Bobby's chest and took off towards the engine.

They called after you but they quickly turned back to the emergency at hand.

You made it to the engine, leaning against it and ripping your button up open and untucking it and your undershirt.

Taking deep, grounding breaths, you rubbed and scratched at your side. 

Your scars always did this when you were stressed or when you got anxiety. Especially in the event of flashbacks or situations that triggered you.

Tears slipped down your cheeks and you wiped them away quickly with your free hand.

“Fuck, pull yourself together Y/N this is completely unprofessional,” you scolded as you tried to shake out the tension in your fingers. “You should be better than this. It's been 6 years.”

“Honey? Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” 

You gasped, startled as you felt Buck’s hands on you. You hadn’t heard him calling for you or running up to you. 

“Not-Nothing Buck, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You had dropped your shirt and looked up at Buck’s eyes to find them fixated on your side.

Shit. He saw.

“Buck..” 

“What happened?”

You sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to the cab of the engine and getting in. You closed the door and sat across from him. You rested your arms on your knees and played with your fingers. Now was the moment, and you were dreading it.

“The summer before I went to college… a few friends and I were surfing, on this beach actually,” you started not looking Buck in the eye. He mimicked your position and spoke softly to you, “I didn’t know you were a surfer.” You chuckled dryly, “I’m not… not anymore.” 

Buck just nodded, staying silent as you continued. “We were paddling into shore and all of a sudden I had this intense, hot pain in my side… A um, a great white had taken a test bite. I was brought into shore and I almost bled out in the sand.”

“But you didn’t,” Buck said, holding your hand in his. “You’re here, with us, with me.”  You nodded, sniffling a little. “I know that, I know. I just – it was terrifying…”

He nodded and kissed your hands. “I-I’m sorry I never told you sooner…” “Don’t apologize, honey. You don’t owe me anything,” he soothed, rubbing your knuckles.

You sniffle again and pull your hands away to wipe your eyes. “I should have been more professional, it was 6 years ago…” He shook his head, “Hey, you can’t control how situations make you feel, Y/N.” “I guess not…” 

Buck’s eyes flicked from your face to your side as he bit his lip. He knew it wasn’t his place, but he had to ask.

“Why did you never tell me?”

You sighed, “I was scared…” He furrowed his brow, “Scared? Scared of what?” You wrapped your arms around yourself, “They aren’t… pretty. And when people have seen them in the past…”

Buck’s heart broke. “You thought I would leave you…” You nodded, not looking at him. He tilted your chin up, “I don’t care about some scars, Y/N. They make you you.”

“You might not say that after you see them…” 

“Then show me…”

Your head whipped up to him, “Wh-what?” His face was nothing but serious, “Show me, Y/N.”

His blue eyes held nothing but genuineness and you nodded before standing.

Gulping, you lift up your shirt and look away from him as he sees the entirety of your scar. “If you want to end it-” He cut you off, “Don’t even finish that thought, I’m not going anywhere.”

He brings his hand up, his fingertips running over the marked skin delicately. 

“They’re beautiful…” 

You snorted, “I appreciate the lie Buck…” “I’m not lying. Do you know what scars mean?” You didn’t respond, looking down at your boots. “They mean you survived. That attack could have one or two outcomes. One of those outcomes includes me never getting the chance to meet you, and the other includes you and me in this truck having this conversation.”

He stood, “So, they’re beautiful because you are. Because you are alive.” 

You looked up at him as his finger hooked under your chin, “I love them because I love you. Nothing will ever change that.” 

You capture his lips in a kiss as tears still slip down your face. “Thank you, Buck… I love you too. But… I still don’t think I’m ready for sex, there’s just a lot I think I need to work through,” you told him honestly. He nodded and pecked your lips, “Whenever you're ready, I’ll be there. And I’ll be by your side until then.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, “Thank you Buck.” He kissed your head, “Any time Y/N.”

taglist: @bradleybeachbabe @mayhemmanaged @kmc1989 @lovinglyeternal @horseshoegirl @cassiemitchell @fanboyswhore9 @nightowlalltheway @86laura11 @els-marvelvsp @valmare @startrekfangirl2233

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

i can not stress this enough, but whumptober can have some very serious and heavy topics and i want to make sure i am doing my part as an author to prepare my readers for what they are about to experience and that includes not only warnings above but my taglists as well

so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Let me go

Luffy x GN!Reader

1.7k words

WARNINGS: contains talks of suicide and an attempt, do not read this if that is going to upset you

Your lungs burned with every breath as you ran for far longer than you ever would have thought you’d be able to. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the world to help you catch your breath, at least that’s how it felt.

A quick glance over your shoulder didn’t reveal anyone that was following you, but you weren’t naive enough to trust this observation. That rubber maniac wouldn’t give up so easily. He was completely hung up on you, him and his lackeys. There was nothing you could do or say that would deter him.

There was a cliff nearby, if you could make it there before he caught up, everything would be okay.

Well… Not okay, but at least you wouldn’t have to deal with it.

As you sprinted through the thick woods, branches sliced at your exposed skin. Each nick stung, but you refused to slow down, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to resume if you gave your body the chance to feel how tired it was. It felt like the forest itself was trying to stop you, doubly so when a tree root nearly took you out. Your ankle was screaming from tripping over it, but you managed to stay on your feet and not stagger too much despite the pain.

Finally, mercifully, the dense foliage gave way to the open cliff face. With a renewed burst of energy, you ran harder and faster, but you were too focused on the cliff to notice the rocks until your already hurt ankle made contact and rolled.

A scream ripped out of your throat as your momentum worked against you and sent you crashing over the rock bed. When you rolled to a stop, you were disoriented and in agony. And also at a complete standstill. The cliff wasn’t that far, no more than ten feet, but to your injured and exhausted body it looked like miles.

You rolled onto your stomach, trying to force your muscles to cooperate as you clawed at the ground to drag yourself closer. Closer to freedom. Closer to peace. Closer to your end.

For the rest of your life, you won’t have to act based on others’ needs.

Drag

For the rest of your life, you won’t be left to wonder how much worse the next day is going to be.

Drag

For the rest of your life, you will be in charge of your fate.

The prickly grass on the ledge of the cliff tickled your fingertips, a welcoming invitation to what was to come. For the first time in so, so long, you smiled genuinely. This was it. Your failures no longer mattered.

You can’t face the consequences of your actions if you’re dead.

As your head peaked over the edge, you took notice of the jagged rocks waiting for you at the bottom. If those didn’t kill you, the highly volatile and aerated water would. Just a little further and you would be tumbling down, both away and towards the world you’ve been damned to.

Your tired body flopped uselessly as you began to fall. You went completely limp, content to hand over the reins to gravity and let it handle the rest. Wind rushed past you as you lost contact with the ground. Briefly, you felt weightless, physically and mentally. Your fate was determined, so there was nothing left for you to worry about.

It was peaceful. 

Maybe you would have better luck in your next life? Or maybe things would end here and you would never have to suffer again. You could accept that.

The descent came to an abrupt halt, but not the kind that you’d anticipated. You lurched so harshly that you were sure your organs were no longer where they were supposed to be, but you hadn’t reached the bottom yet. You were looking down at the jagged rocks, so close that you could almost touch them. Almost. But you couldn’t. You were suspended just above them.

Then, just as jarringly as you stopped, you rocketed back up the cliff. 

Up? No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

After clearing the top of the cliff, you saw the answer for why this was happening. Straw hat, that damned straw hat wearing boy. His unnaturally stretchy limbs retracted back to their normal state, slamming you into him and both of you into the ground.

For a moment, you were shocked into a stunned silence, trying to process what just happened. The only noise was the sound of waves crashing into the cliff and Luffy’s ragged breathing. One of his hands was locked onto your wrist, the same one he pulled you up by. Your body was so worn down that you hadn’t even felt him when he grabbed you.

As the situation properly clicked in your mind and the shock wore off, it was replaced by a white hot rage. Your body shook, and your hoarse voice uttered out a simple, “How dare you.”

He said nothing, apparently still trying to catch his breath. His silence just pissed you off more.

Summoning strength that you absolutely should not have after everything that’s transpired today, you thrash your limbs while screeching, “How dare you!”

The second you make a move, both of Luffy’s arms wrap around your torso, effectively trapping you against him. You tried to get some leverage by digging your feet into the ground, but he immediately countered this by flipping you over so that you were on your stomach.

“Quit it! I’m trying to help you!” He yelled at you while keeping you pinned to the ground with an embarrassing level of ease.

“Help me?! Help me?! You haven’t done a god damned thing other than make my life a fucking circus since you showed up! You ruined everything!” Your kicking and screaming was doing nothing to get him off of you. 

“What do you care if I stop your stupid boss’s plan?! You won’t have to keep working for him if I do, you should be happy!”

“Happy?!” A sarcastic bark of laughter came out of you, “What would you know? You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’ve been through!” One of your hands grabbed onto his shirt. You tried to push him off you, but the awkward position made it hard to get any strength behind it.

“I don’t, but I don’t need to! Stop fighting me!” Luffy slapped your offending hand away and picked you up again. Both his hands held both of yours and held them tight to your chest from behind you, acting like a human straightjacket of sorts.

Moving your arms was useless, he was too strong for you to break his grasp. You tried to use your legs again, but he shut that down instantly by wrapping his own legs around yours. His bendy limbs circled your normal ones and left you almost entirely immobilized. Almost, but not quite. In a last ditch effort, you slam your head back into his own. 

He jerks back from the blow, then returns it with a snarl. In your desperation to get away, you forgot that he’s made of rubber, so a headbutt would obviously hurt you way more than it would hurt him. When his head made contact with yours, you lurched forward with a yelp. The pain from hitting him was bad enough, but this was worse.

It was effective in getting you to stop fighting, though. Your muscles went slack and you groaned as you tried to blink away with black spots clouding your vision.

After what felt like so much time, you were now forced to be still and there was nothing you could do about it beyond accept it. He was quiet as you took the time to recover from the headbutts and catch your breath. 

“Let me go,” you whispered. 

“No.”

Your voice trembled, “Why not? Why won’t you let me go?”

Luffy shrugged, “Don’t wanna.”

“This has nothing to do with you. You have no reason to be here.”

He hummed in thought for a moment, “I guess not, but I want to be here.”

The first of many tears began to make their way down your face, your frustration finally boiling over, “WHY?! Why won’t you just let me die?!”

Luffy didn’t speak, just tightened his hold to keep you in place.

“Please! I can’t do this anymore! I’m tired! I just want everything to end! I want to finally fucking rest! If you care so much about people’s wants and dreams, then let me have mine! Let me go so I can die already!” Your throat was raw and screaming was making it worse, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Do you really want that?”

“H-Huh?”

Luffy’s head leaned over your shoulder so he could properly look you in the eye, “Do you really want to die, or do you think that that’s all you can do?”

What… What else could you do? You could continue to live, but for what? It’s not like you really want to. Living isn’t worth it. You were ready to die and finally had the nerve to act on it, so why was this guy getting in the way? What does he have to gain from this?

“That is all I can do… I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m so fucking tired. And weak. And pathetic,” your head hung low, shame choking you as you opened up to what was basically a complete stranger. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, we’ve been trying to help you this whole time.”

As much as you wanted to snap at him, you couldn’t. He wasn’t wrong. Him and his crew wouldn’t stop pestering you. At first you’d chalked it down to being a trick, some underhanded method to get your guard down and stab you in the back. Now, though? It didn’t make sense. If they were just going to betray you, why would he stop you from offing yourself?

A loud sob came out and you slumped against him, allowing yourself to cry your heart out. Through your sobs, you were able to utter out, “W-Why would you want to h-help me?”

“Because I like you and want to,” he said easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Will you let me? Let us help you?”

Luffy didn’t rush you to answer, probably because he already knew what it was going to be. 

Desperately, you clutched his hands back, “Yes… I want that.”

[mingtinys]

[1:09 a.m.]

pairing : choi jongho x gn!reader

angst , fluff , hurt / comfort , lore based , outlaw!jongho , strictland!au

warnings : mentions of searches/raids , general ateez lore

word count : 1.0 k

requested? no

a/n : this fic is literally just the physical manifestation of how insane i feel about the trailers

You can't sleep. You're not sure how anyone can. Though it seems Yunho and Jongho have found a way, if their soft snores and still bodies are anything to go by. You can just barely make out the shape of their cots across the poorly lit room.

It's pitch back where the three of you sleep. Shut away in the musty confines that reside in the back of the mechanic shop the three of you use for cover. The door to which is concealed behind a false tool shelf. And though you know it's all in favor of staying hidden, you're not sure how much more of the space you can take tonight.

The walls echo far too much. Every noise from the outside seeps in and gets replayed on a haunting loop. Screams of rebels who couldn't escape in time. Boots stomping down the alleyway as Android Guardians begin their nightly watch. Homes being ripped apart by mandatory raids. Each sound sends your anxiety spiking through the roof.

Yunho stirs, and his cot makes a horrible creaking sound that startles you. You're surprised it doesn't wake Jongho, who recently developed the unfortunate habit of being a light sleeper. Your own cot whines under your shifting weight. The rock-solid mattress does nothing to help you relax. And the thin quilt over your legs starts to feel suffocating more than anything.

There's a shout in the distance, sirens, your body tenses. Your breathing becomes jagged and your gut screams at you to seek a way to ground yourself. You want– no, need comfort.

Your mind wanders to the two boys with you, gaze landing on Jeong Yunho first. He feels like the obvious answer. Gentle. Kind. A soft yet strong presence in a world you believed, prior to meeting him and his friends, had wiped away all that was good indefinitely. He'd probably stay up with you if asked, indulge your thoughts, and listen to your fears. Understanding and without judgment. But there's a pull at your heart and this little voice in the back of your head that pleads with you to seek out Choi Jongho instead.

A boy who, until a few months ago, you knew little about. He was the last to fully embrace you among the group of outlaws you'd stumbled upon some time ago. You never really knew what to make of him. At times, his hardened gaze and dauntless aura seemed cold. Intimidating. Unmoveable. Though it didn't seem to be out of disdain or indifference, but instead, an instinctual hesitance and innate urge to protect the only family he had left.

It wasn't until you were assigned to go undercover with him and Yunho that you finally began to understand one another on a deeper level. You told him of your past, your cause, and why you wanted to fight against the tyranny of your unjust world. And, eventually, he told you of his.

Yunho brought out a more playful side to him. And though they were rare, you had been privileged with occasional moments of carefree bliss with the two of them. You'd like to think you caught glimpses of who he might have been before all of this. When the world was okay. When he was allowed to show his emotions unfiltered.

You've grown to enjoy his peaceful and quiet nature. Seen moments of empathy and the concern that clouds his shiny eyes when Yunho cries about the unfairness of it all. Your feet carry you from your bed to Jongho's without much thought behind the action. Propelled by your growing nerves and heart slamming violently into your ribcage.

Reaching out, you gently shake his shoulder. He grumbles and turns to his side. Eyes still closed, he hums. "Mmm, what is it?" There's grogginess laced into his words, but he doesn't seem annoyed, which is good.

Still, you feel silly. Waking him up just because you're a little jumpy? Now that you're here, it even seems as though the outside noises have ceased. This is pointless, you think. But then that tiny voice in your brain pipes up once more and forces the request to form on your tongue.

"Can I stay with you for a little bit? Please." Though you whisper, your voice seems loud between the four walls and you cringe at how it echos.

Jongho peeks one eye open and you can see the gears cranking to life in his brain. He blinks a few times, looks to Yunho who's sleeping soundly, then back to you. His soft pout and half-lidded eyes don't give you much hope. For a moment, you consider rushing out an apology and returning to your own bed. But then, wordlessly, Jongho feels around for the edge of his blanket and lifts it. The metal frame of his cot squeaks as he shuffles and readjusts to create space for you to crawl in. You do. And that voice in your head finally quiets, as does the longing in your heart.

An impossibly strong arm encircles your waist and pulls you into Jongho's warmth. He cradles your head, face buried in his chest as his chin rests atop. "You're scared." He states, though you think he meant it as a question.

You wonder what gave it away first. The subtle shaking in your limbs, waver in your voice, the fact you sucked up every ounce of pride you had left just to approach him in the first place. But yeah, you are. 

"Yeah."

Something metal clatters just outside and you flinch, fingers hurriedly fisting the back of Jonho's cotton shirt. He only holds you tighter.

"Me too," is all he says before letting out a long breath and allowing sleep to overtake him again. His movements still and his breathing evens out to a steady pace. You match it, letting the safety he provides guide you to your first peaceful night in a long time.

[punk-in-docs]

Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair. 

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

~

JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver

[actual-changeling]

202X, London, Soho, Aziraphale's bookshop

"I never noticed that one."

Crowley gives a non-committal hum, too caught up in the soft rhythm of Aziraphale's fingers carding through his hair, and pushes his face further into his soft stomach. His shirt has ridden up while he has been teetering on the edge between dreams and wakefulness, and Aziraphale has never been able to resist a patch of bare skin.

While he technically does not need to sleep, let alone nap, slow afternoons like these are a simple pleasure in themselves. Two cups of hot cocoa, his head in Aziraphale's lap while he reads one book or another, the comfort of knowing that they're safe and free in the bubble they have created. He fully intends to drift back off, his eyes fluttering shut once more, when an odd pressure on the side of his ribs catches his attention.

Twisting his head as far as it will go, he watches as Aziraphale traces a long, jagged scar running almost parallel to his spin, although several inches to the left of it. Crowley cannot feel the touch itself, there are no nerves left in the scar tissue, but he senses the gentle brush of his fingertips right next to it.

"What happened?"

He blinks up at his angel and sighs, adjusting himself; it is not a pretty story, yet he knows he won't regain his peace until Aziraphale gets his answer.

"Remember Edinburgh?"

"Of course, but I don't—oh."

The second Aziraphale realises what he is getting at, all air leaves his body, his hand stilling, and Crowley can practically taste the pity rolling off of him in waves.

"My lot don't send rude notes, angel, and doing that much good all at once, well, let's just say Beelzebub wasn't pleased."

In the silence that follows, he absently considers simply falling asleep and leaving Aziraphale with his more than shortened summary of the events that followed their night at the graveyard, but a sudden rustle of paper and fabric tells him said angel has other plans.

Now pressing both his palms against Crowley's back, Aziraphale quickly bends down to kiss his hair before asking, "Does it still hurt?"

"Aches in bad weather, but no, doesn't hurt. Stop fretting, angel, it's-"

"If you say 'fine', Crowley, I swear I will- "Yeah, yeah, I won't."

It is fine, but he swallows the end of his sentence, and allows him to send low pulses of ethereal energy into his cells, smoothing over as much of the old injury as he can. Admittedly, it does feel nice after all these decades of distant pain, although it is entirely unnecessary. Once Aziraphale is satisfied, he kisses the back of his head again and tugs down his shirt, wrapping his arms around him and ignoring his book to hold him instead.

"Do I want to know what caused it?"

Crowley hisses contently and buries his face in the warmth of his stomach.

"No, but I guess you wanna know anyway."

"If you don't mind."

Letting out his second defeated sigh of the day, he tilts his head just enough to speak.

"They do this thing where they break your wings and send you down a chute to, eh, fall, for however long they want. I refused to show 'em my wings at first, Beelzebub threatened to rip out my spine, left the scar."

It's an incredibly condensed version of events. In reality, there has been a lot of blood, screams, and torn skin, but Aziraphale is already clinging to him like the earth will swallow him whole, so he decides not to elaborate. There is nothing one can say in response to that kind of confession, and Aziraphale doesn't try. Instead, he finally continues the drag of nails along his scalp. Crowley hums and closes his eyes.

"Can I please nap now?"

"Of course, whatever you want." Aziraphale pauses, and then, because he simply always has to, continues.

"I love you, dearest."

"Love you too, angel."

[steviesummer]

what you cannot hold (wanting)

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’ wc: #404 | rated: G| cw: angst, unrequited love (maybe)

There’s a hole in Steve’s heart that gets bigger every year. He doesn’t know when it started, surely just a pinprick, but he remembers when he first noticed it. He was 12; his parents talked about how grown up he was as they left on their trip, but all he could feel was that hole opening up inside him.

Nancy tore it further, grip strong from where she’d been holding it closed. Maybe he should have known better, known not to let another person get that close, but it was too late. It was only the arrival of Dustin and the need to protect the kids that kept him from bleeding out.

Robin snuck in, smoothing the edges other had left sharp and jagged. He wasn’t ready to let anyone in but that didn’t matter. It never mattered. He tucked her secrets inside, promising to keep them safe.

The kids starting high school undid all the progress he’d made. They needed him less and less- busy with school and full of hero-worship for Eddie Munson when he did see them.

He couldn’t blame them. Eddie was loud and never afraid to be himself. He put himself out there and played their game; he would have been more surprised if they hadn’t clicked.

Guilt and jealousy had him ripping at the seams of his heart, hoping one day he’d be able to pick enough threads loose that he could sew it up himself. Keep himself safe from pain.

Then Vecna came, and Eddie nearly died, and they got closer too. Steve thought maybe this was it, maybe Eddie would be kind to his tattered heart.

But Eddie was going places. Steve listened when he talked about getting out of Hawkins, becoming a rockstar. He knew he didn’t fit in that dream either. After all they’d been through, Steve just wanted peace. To feel safe and whole.

Every day, he smiled and ignored the way his battered heart raced. One by one, everyone moved on- to college or work or their dreams. Steve just stayed, couldn’t leave, not yet.

Maybe someday things would be different. Their dreams would line up or they’ll both find someone new or time would heal him. Until then, Steve can pretend like his heart is still in one piece. Until then, Steve would hold the gaping wound inside close. There’s a hole in Steve’s heart and it gets bigger every year.

[rise-my-angel]

Binding Opposing Foes

Pairing: Ezra x Female Reader

Length: 15.1k

Warnings: enemies to lovers, magical fantasy au, only one bed, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, threat of violence, angst with happy ending, hints of a breeding kink

Notes: Made for the lovley @supernaturalgirl20 for the Pedrostories secret santa 💜. The length got away from me as usual, I am so sorry. Hopefully it's something you end up enjoying!

Any hint of peace you awoke with this morning was quickly dashed the second you made it to the market. It was a quiet walk there, through the clearing of trees near your home there was a hint of fog remaining that sat on the forest floor. The air was cool and crisp that was mixed with dew that still dripped from the leaves. You got to enjoy the time it took to get to town only to have it dashed the second you approached your little nook. 

The tiny open clearing shoved between two well constructed vendors with fine, rich wood stood out against then soft fabrics hanging down as makeshift walls and one spread onto the floor to cover the stone pathway you occupied. Whatever tables and chests you kept there though, were turned over, tossed around and the tall narrow shelf had been knocked over to forcefully part if it sat in jagged pieces. 

The man next to your nook, just arriving had seen the state of your shop and the instant upset plastered all over your face and just chucked before ignoring you once again. You weren’t popular and you knew why, but the other vendors wouldn’t do this. There was only two options as to who would be responsible for it and one of them was quickly approaching, the streak of blonde against his dark hair stood out even from a distance. 

If Ezra or his men were responsible for this, at this point you might just give up. Leave town and never come back. 

Busying yourself, you now sat on your knees trying to match the broken wood to the remainder of the shelf hoping it wasn’t beyond your ability to fix. You already knew you’d have to repair it yourself, or somehow bargain desperately for a new one and end up dragging it across the market alone anyways. 

“Now who would let a misfortune like this fall upon such a prestigious saleswoman?”

You hated when he did this. His polite yet ecliptic vocabulary suddenly turning needlessly formal and condescending as if to mock you for your lack thereof. Glancing up, Ezra stood with an arm resting against the side of the other vendor looking around at the mess. You didn’t need this right now, not from him. “Go away, Ezra.” 

You didn’t need to look back up at him to know he grinned at you, the few steps he took inside already putting him rather close to where you knelt. You could see his feet, dirty yet formidable boots just at the bottom of dark trousers the only thing in your eye line. 

“Now is that anyway to greet a helping hand?” 

Jaw clenching, you refused to give him the satisfaction of having to look up at him from this position, as if he were too good to stand face to face. “What are you gonna do, rip down my rugs from their walls to finish the job? Haven’t you done enough?” 

His chuckle that followed infuriated you. He still didn’t even try to meet your eye, instead choosing to pace around the rest of the space inspecting what he could. “Now birdie, you aren’t insinuating that I am responsible for such a mess? I’m insulted, I thought we knew each other better than that.” 

Squeezing your eyes tight for just long enough to catch a deep breathe, you opened them only to see the beginnings of the usual early risers wandering into the street. “Why wouldn’t it be you? Either you did it out of spite because I wouldn’t give it to you, or you came looking and trashed everything trying to find it yourself.” 

You think he might be directly behind you now, the prickling feeling against your spine that screamed at your vulnerability. “On the contrary, I asked politely if you would be willing to share your goods for a fair trade. Saying no was a valid choice on your part, I have no reason to punish you for it.” 

“As if you care about getting permission.” You muttered under your breath but his chuckle would have been warm and comforting if he was anyone else. Ezra side stepped around the shelf and stood at an angle to watch both you and the street. 

“I think you’re mistakening me for the only other gentleman petty enough to throw a tantrum such as this.” Ezra knew who did this as much as you did, but blaming him was easier then accepting that the real perpetrator would only escalate from here. “You should be grateful that he still doesn’t know where you live, birdie.” 

The sounds of cheery voices got louder as more people trickled into the market, looking to take advantage of the best items and produce before it was picked off. Some of which, started to look your way. Judgmental laughter and whispers that pointed towards you made your eyes sting. You didn’t want to be mocked right now, all you wanted to do was go home, but even then you had to stay and fix your nook. No one else certainly would. 

“I have things to do Ezra. We both know you’re not going to help me, so just go rally your men and stampede through the woods or whatever you do.” Alright, that may have been you acting petty this time. You knew what he did for a living in detail just like he did you. It was probably the only reason he was one of the few people who would talk to you in this town, if only to put down your failures for his success 

Peeking a glance up, you could see his jaw shifting in thought. His eyes squinting as his head turned up into the rising sunlight, and turn on his heels to leave. Not before suddenly flipping up one of your smallest tables onto its feet, slamming his palm down on the top to show off how unsteady the wobble had become from being tossed over. 

A grin once again plastered over his face, he shifted it right in front of you to an innocent wide eyed look. Pointing at the wobbling table as he took his hand off of it, “You should really buy a new one, that’s rather unsafe to have around like this, birdie.” 

Ezra didn’t wait for your reply, he knew you wouldn’t. He simply walked out into the market, a light curious look gracing his features as he meandered to other vendors, happily chatting with the likes of who would never give you the time of day. 

It didn’t take brains to know that anyone passing by stared at you and whispered to one another as you tried setting everything upright. He was right though. The cheap little tables you owned were in bad shape, the threat of something with any real weight may topple the legs over for good.

The shelf you didn’t know how to fix. Your home was filled with furniture crafted from stone that existed in the cozy hut when you came across it for the first time. You had to plea with the carpenter for days and products of value at least four times greater then the cost of his cheapest work. But you needed something, and that day you had spent the entire afternoon dragging the furniture across the length of the street. 

You weren’t quite so sure he would even give you that this time, you were far less liked now than you were then. Most people considered trading with you as cursed, only the ones in specific need or an uncaring courage would even approach you for business.

Even then, they usually traded in spare food or run down fabrics hardly of use to them anymore. Almost never coin. The outsiders or ones passing through town the only ones who bought in coin, but just because they didn’t know of you. 

Eventually, you neatly stacked the broken shelf into the back and pushed the tables up against each corner to keep them steady for the remaining day and night until you found a way to fix it. 

It was humiliating to leave, your bag of items still strung across your shoulders as full as when you arrived. You were right, the carpenter wanted nothing to do with you. Not even gracing you the privilege of speaking to him inside, rather he elected to lean out the door that was just open enough of fit his body. 

You tried elsewhere, offering any trade or coin you had to even buy simple tools to try and fix it yourself, but no one budged. The only people willing to accept anything were produce stands who were constantly flooded with people. It at least let you try and blend in with your quiet asks and gentle payment that you could buy what you could before they realized and told you to get lost. 

You chose to do simple foraging for the rest of the day, wandering the patches of field not yet cut down and plowed over by the magistrate. You were always spoiled in lavender here, and it was going to be a sad day when they finally decided to lay it over as more land for his estate. 

The sun had set on your journey back. The market empty save for those just passing through in the darkening sky. Chattering and joyous laughter echoed through the stone from the tavern, no doubt the destination of most. Keeping your head down, you only looked up to peek inside your nook to make sure the mess wasn’t back. 

In fact it was the opposite. Your tables were gone from the corners and the pathetic pile of broken wood removed. Instead, all set up in the exact way you would lay things out was fresh wood. Walking in you immediately trailed your hand over the tables.

They weren’t just smooth and well carved, they were strong and unmoving. A quality wood was used to make these. And right near your lone stool, sat a shelf. The same woodwork and strength on the make of it, but the shelves now instead of sitting thin and sometimes too high for your reach, they were wider the insides more deep and barley went above your height. 

You bit your lip in a contrast of joy and apprehension. This was more than you ever would have asked of these people and it was going to be so wonderful to be able to set everything out so nicely and without accidentally shaking things against the other. 

On the other hand, you also didn’t know who did this. You were pretty sure it wasn’t Ezra. He in all likelihood wasn’t the one who threw your stuff around, so he also had no reason to replace it. The only other one who could have done this, would only then replacement as a trick. 

If it was him, no doubt the next time you came into town, you’d be summoned to his home, and graced with his generous gift to you only to ask for something in return. But the things he would want you feared. He wasn’t a kind man or even just a good one. Just selfish and greedy with no regard as to how he got what he desired. 

The magistrate was not to be trifled with, and not only had you on too many occasions made an enemy of him, but he also had no qualms about his glee from extracting revenge. Ezra wasn’t much different, but at least you were confident enough his revenge for you would be more akin to sabotage then physically harming you. Either way, you walked much quicker home then normal. Checking around you many times to see if you were followed. 

By the time you arrived it was pitch black. If someone had been watching you, they wouldn’t be able to get in was the only assurance you had. Your palms were pushed up against the wooden door, only turning your head enough to look out at the darkness around you. 

You never could see it yourself, but you felt it. Almost like a shock, a pulsating wave of energy surged through them was the only indication you had of what you were doing. To any onlookers, they would just see a strange golden glow flash over your eyes, and a ripple of the same gold quickly flash around the perimeter of your home like a fire. It flashed into existence in an instance, and circled around your hut and disappeared just as quick the further it went. Like a tail following the light. 

You finally went inside, and the only evidence of life to be seen was the gentle orange flow of light peeping through the closed shutters. Your only solace within the small space, but enough to keep your heart and mind from spiralling too far.

While leaning over to peer into the fireplace where a large stirring pot hung above the coals, a memory popped into your head. Ezra had approached you one day outside your hut. You had been placing small piles of feed around the backdoor steps, enticing the curious squirrels to come closer to you. 

Just as a particularly friendly one was slowly making it’s way close to you, something behind you had startled it away. It was only a second late that the distinct shuffling of feet in the grass had you whip around, wide eyed and almost immediately out of startled breath. 

It was the first time you had seen him alone, no large brutish men at his side waiting for any preferably aggressive order. His bright brown eyes gleaned in the sunlight as he took in your small abode. “Hard to imagine such strange and powerful concoctions have been so beautifully crafted in such an unimpressive structure. You didn’t respond, just clenched your hands in the clothes at your side as he turned his head to look at you nonchalantly. “The inside must truly be a wonder.” 

He didn’t make a move to go inside, but you shifted just slightly to have a better chance at beating him to the door if necessary. “What I do is none of your concern.” 

Ezra smiled, a typical response to your irritation towards him. “Oh quite the contrary, what you do is of great interest to me. Especially when it is my territory you are encroaching on.” Before you even had a chance to speak, he begun pacing around the outside of your small back garden. “Don’t you give me that look, birdie, you know exactly where I am talking about.” 

You did, but calling it his territory wasn’t fair. He had no right to claim what was apart of nature. “You can’t just kick me out because you got there first.” 

Ezra’s head tilted to the side, a pretend doubt crossing his features before making his pace direct towards you. “You twist my intentions here, I come here not to conquer, but to bargain.” He stood over you, feeling more tall then he likely was.

He was a large man with a broadness to him that took up much of your view. The glint in his deep brown eyes always crafting an agenda he kept to himself. You had once overheard a conversation about certain...endeavours he engaged in, but they had walked away before you learned anything else. So the softness of his features that framed his face so pleasantly made you all the more angry. 

“What could you possibly offer me that I’d want?” 

Ezra smirked, leaning close enough to feel every exhale. “Protection.” 

Looking back on it, you knew he had been purposely vague. You had yet to have any problems with someone other then Ezra and his men, but he knew better. He knew exactly what would start to happen should and when the magistrate learns of your existence but he didn’t even have the courtesy to warn you. 

Your face fell further and further into a glare. “I don’t need protection, and I don’t need pity. You take what you need from these creatures by force, I don’t. I have no reason to be fearful from anything except men like you trying to trick me.”

His face didn’t change, at least from a distance. Up close though, his eyes narrowed just the slightest, a darkness brewing in the corners of them that made you uneasy. You couldn’t show it though. “It’s not your talent I’m doubting birdie, it’s your naivety that has me extending an offer.” 

The conversation didn’t last much after that. He knew right away that you felt insulted and took more than a few steps back from you, arms out in surrender. “I mean no offence, simply just looking out for a fellow collector such as myself.” 

Your head was beginning to hurt, “You don’t collect anything but to willingly hand it over to men somehow worse than you. I don’t create anything harmful with what I have and I don’t need to shed any blood to get it.” 

Ezra opened his mouth but you had enough. “Go away. I have things to do, and I don’t want you lurking around for any of it.” 

The darker look faded to a discernible one. It was softer and much more downtrodden, but you struggled to put any distinguishable feeling to it. He raised his hands high in almost a wave as he back away. Reaching the end of what you circled out as your land, Ezra looked towards the piles of left over seeds, then to you as you stood perched on the bottom step. “Best be careful with feeding these ones, get them too familiar and they’ll dig into your garden crops like vultures.” 

Ezra had been a continuous adversary every since. Always holding his upper hand over you with confidence and leaving helpful hints or tips only to rub in how much better he has fared in the same work you do. 

Only now in present times, you had something over him even as small as it was. A little something that made you keep your shutters closed to the world, and create a barrier from any greedy hands from finding out. 

The next time either of you ran into each other, the sun was looming low in the sky and you had at least some modicum of success in what you sold. Mostly trades today but enough coin to procure some winter seeds to add to your storage. Surprisingly, you had very little trouble. 

The new woodwork was exactly as it was put, you were able to give people their specific requests. Shockingly, most people who wanted to avoid you suddenly were kind and forgiving when they came to you to help with a specific ailment. They didn’t know why your small vials did more to help than anything the town doctor could treat, but when they needed medicine they always came sneaking over to you.  

You always did it, no matter who asked you of it and yet it never changed how far they would go to stay away from you afterwards. 

It was right as your hut came into view that you saw him. His broad stature leaning up against the stone wall, a troubled look on his face. You paused in your step, staring at him with wide eyes and a heart beating faster and faster. He typically left you alone here, but the sudden feeling of being watched the night before reared its ugly head. 

You stepped slowly, looking at him distrustingly despite him never moving. “You. You were watching me last night. Why? Did you hide here or just follow me home?” 

Ezra shrugged to himself as he pushed up off the wall. “It’s been a time since I’ve found my way around here, the work you’ve put into this is quite extensive. You should be proud.” There was no threatening manner as he came to a stop in front of you, but his eyes watched you almost like he was caught between the now, and lost in a distant thought. “The protective charm even moreso.” 

Panic flooded your veins and swam all the way into your heart. The townsfolk threw cruses of a witch at you, but all baseless accusations. You didn’t know anyone had seen it for themselves. You wanted to step back, maybe run from him but there was no use. He wasn’t done anyways. 

“I have something I would like to talk to you about, but I suggest we do this in the privacy of your own home. It pertains to our...line of work.” Ezra's eyes darted around him with a suspicious glean. 

“Why would I ever let you in where I live? You’ve never given me any reason I could possibly trust you-”

Ezra stepped into your personal space so quickly you had no time to back away before he was leaning close into your own face. “I’d keep your voice down, birdie. The trees have ears, afterall.” 

So what you thought. You had no doubt Ezra likely had men hidden around him no one could see or even know about. “They know what you know anyways just say what you want then leave.” His eyebrows raised almost in warning to play along with something you didn’t know the rules to. “Just get this over with so I can go inside.” 

His eyes once again seemed to squint, scrutinizing something behind you before leaning back into your space, a hand finding it’s way to rest on your arm. As you tried to flinch away, Ezra yanked it back with little force as he spoke low and commanding. “Either you let me inside to speak with you calmly, or I can walk away now and let the magistrates esteemed crew of untrained degenerates finally catch up and do it for me.” 

You bit your lip, the thought of how they knew where you lived now darting in your brain. He only could have found it if Ezra was the one to tell him. But standing here in your face, he insisted once more. 

“Just a short talk, birdie. One collector to another.” It was so fast you almost missed it. A blink of colour swirling through his eyes and gone again, shined bright in your face the glow of gold that you saw in your own doings. 

This was something else entirely. He didn’t just know about you, he recognized it from himself. Looking away you tried to peek to the side to see anyone else around but you stood in the front of your hut alone. You didn’t look at him as you nodded, but he let go of your arm as he stood back to proper height. 

You hesitated by the door. There was no going back after this, you couldn’t hide what was inside but you had a heavy feeling in your chest that he was here about that very secret. So you unlocked your door, and made just enough room for him to come inside. 

Before closing, you peered out to the treeline. Nothing still in sight, but a shimmer of gold trailed itself along the ground anyways.

Locking behind you, you pressed your back against the door fingers tapping at the wood as he strode around. The ceiling not many inches higher then he was, and his broad frame took up much of the space. Peering at the kitchen which mostly consisted of shelves along the wall stocked full of an assortment of things, and the even smaller counters also full with bowls, pots, and anything and everything you needed to store your medicinal liquids. 

The most notable part was the large hanging pot set firm in the fireplace with a few chairs surrounded by far too many books on the floor then you were okay with, but it was small. The half shut door to your washroom was just as uninteresting as anyone elses, and the closed door to where you bed lay went unseen by his investigation. You knew Ezra lived in a proper house, on real owned land with space for anything he desired. This must be pathetic in comparison. 

“Cozy, very cozy. I am indeed impressed, once again I might add.” The stiff troubled look on his face had almost died completely now that you both were tucked inside your hut, but you still felt rigid wondering when the first noise from your closed room door would become too distinct for Ezra to not hear. 

“What do you want, Ezra?” Your voice smaller and weaker then you wished it was. 

His fingers trailed over the stone slabs carved into seats of some kind around a carved in table to the wall. “I had a visit from the lovely magistrate himself this morning. He seeked the answer to a question I knew I shouldn’t answer, but I had only just been rudely awoken. I wasn’t quite ready to be so propositioned to early.” 

You had yet to move, but your eyes glanced to the door every few seconds as you let him speak. A thing he was always better at then you. “You see, he’s been using my own, creations,” Ezra almost gestured in a silly manner as if subtly hinting at the one thing you both already knew the other did. “He also, has requested your own kinds on more than one occasion, testing the use of both to see if his own, lets say..indiscretions could be better treated. At first there was no one vial better then the other. Our work was equally matched.” 

His head looked up to your worry one, but not in mockery, it appeared to be a compliment. You could insult him all you wanted, but he did work just as hard as you to acquire and create your vials of ailment. You also knew where he was going with this story. 

“But not long ago, something changed. He would praise my work up and down, each time showering me with gloat and greed for my offering, only to then show me my work he had been using. And find out it was actually yours.” He paced very slowly around the small space once more as he now looked anywhere but you, a deep furrow in his brow as he spoke again.

“Not a very observant man for someone claiming to be as prestigious as he. He was quite rattled by the revelation, and just today has demanded I find out how you’ve done it and either bring you to him myself, or take your work from you by force.” 

Unknowingly you had slunk back against the door, trying to make yourself smaller as the stupidity fell over you. Everything should have been so obvious but it wasn’t until now. 

His men had always called what they did hunting dragons, but it dawned on you that Ezra never did. He only called what he did collecting, much in the way you just said you collect from the creatures you work alongside of. 

Your mixture of slow and steady kindness and finally a shared understanding of over worldly ability, did take what you needed as you left gifts in return. Tales of dragons painted them as fierce destructive creatures but most lived in saved solitude, wanting peace as much as you did. 

Something about the almost ethereal bodies of water that sat within the caves held some properties not found in the nature around you otherwise. Their eyes casted gold matching displays of shimmer, and you now realized that it must have reflected in their eyes making you one in the same. 

“He doesn’t know about you. That I never spoke of.” You were still pressed up against the door, but Ezra stood in the middle of the room, nonthreatening and doing no more then gently tracing his eyes and fingertips along innocent surfaces. Your muscles were stiff as you pushed off, pulling your bag over your shoulders. 

He watched you hang it across the corner of a bookshelf, no real space around you to put it anywhere proper. You weren’t sure you were brave enough to come closer, in fact you weren’t sure you ever wanted to be near him again after this. He knew about you because he was one in the same and yet he continued to align against you for money. 

Your voice was quiet, tight and rigid as you almost spoke through your teeth knowing where this tale was headed. “But he wants to know what I’ve done to make my vials so drastically different.” Your eyes met this time, and he appeared a tad guilty for reasons you couldn’t discern. “And you’re here to get that information by force. Right? That’s how your men do all of their work.” 

Your body jolted upright as Ezra suddenly stalked towards you, slinking coyfully like a snake for attack. “My men, are merely brutes who once worked for the great magistrate himself. Gifted to me for protection after being gifted the firsts of my work. They work by force, I however, am far more interested in the journey then skipping right to the climax.” 

His smirk had a darker tone lurking behind it, but not one of danger. You didn’t know why he was toying with you that way though. Just taking advantage of towering over you in such a small inescapable space. If he heard how hard you swallowed your nerves, he didn’t move or peep a word on it. “I offered you protection once, and by now I’d have assumed you understood it wasn’t from me. Not a quick as you claim you are.” 

You wanted to be angry at his condescension, but your brain hazed over with a confusing fog that offered no solace. “Why would you care, you don’t even like me.” 

A dark tone remained, but also glazing over with a much more familiar amused grin. “Now when have I ever claimed such a thing, birdie?” He gave a full laugh at your deepening glare.  You knew he was toying with you, but why did he have to do it here in the sanctity of your own home? 

Ezra had the audacity to reveal a huge secret about him and expose that he knows one of yours, and yet here he stood giving you the same treatment he always has as if nothing’s changed. Unfortunately for you, opportunity struck at the worst time possible. 

Tiny chirps echoed from the closed bedroom door, before morphing into squeaky roar like growls as your other secret vied for attention. There was no escaping this one. Ezra of all people, knew exactly what that sound was. His head swivelled to face the door, a curious look spreading across him as he took a step to the side. He faced you but was making his way over. 

“Now what on earth I ask, could possibly make such a notable sound hiding away in the only room I have yet to be shown?” 

You fidgeted in place, crossing and uncrossing your arms before finally sighing deeply with your head hanging low. “You know exactly what that is.” 

Looking back up, Ezra wasn’t looking at you in superiority, nor nefarious and smugly. No he was looking at you in an almost curious awe. He didn’t make any other steps towards your door but neither did you.  He was sent here for one reason, and if not for you he’d likely take this as compensation. The magistrate wouldn’t do any good with it. He has no idea how to work with a dragons ability, he’d end up killing it. 

 Your voice was just a tiny whisper. “You’re just going to take it from me.” 

If you didn’t know better you’d say Ezra looked sad, almost shameful for giving you such distrust. He only said two words, and you knew that no matter if you were equally matched, he was bigger and stronger and he would overpower any fight back. 

“Show me.” 

Chest constricting, you disguised your panic and pounding fear with a steeled, flat gaze. You made the small way to your bedroom door hand paused at the handle and other palm pressed against the wood wishing you could apologize to your companion in advance for what you were bringing in. You felt Ezra presence at your back, but sighed without turning your head to him. 

“He’s gentle with me, but please don’t be forceful with him. He panics easily.” The man gave no response and you weren’t sure if it was out of focused curiosity, or he simply didn’t care about your request. Pushing the handle, you walked into the room as you opened the door to see what the fuss was all about. 

He was small, still a baby. Not even a foot long in length or even wingspan, and skinny with little scales to show off. His high pitched roars only were able to come out as somewhat of a coo, which purred softly at the sight of you, only to cause him to hiss and fling his small body back against your bed as Ezra came in behind you. 

Instantly you knelt down closer to his height on the bed, a shushing noise coming from you. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on, it’s alright.” At this point you tried not to help him up, he wanted to do it himself getting used to his wingspan proportioned oddly with his small stature. 

Ezra behind you sounded in awe, a tone akin to a dry croak as he whispered with no trace of malice or intent. “How on earth did you secure such a creature?” 

Your tiny friend tilted his head at you, making you smile. You sat down on your knees to allow him to hobble up close, communicating in a cooing that you had come to learn was suspicion. Ezra appeared in your side view, but only slightly bent at the knees as his hands rested on them. He seemed to understand the creature was wary of him and didn’t come over to quickly. “This is why you’ve come up with such powerful creations. You’re not just trying to add to their properties, you’re creating alongside them.” 

Your friend hopped to look at Ezra with another head tilt. Seemingly taking his respect and curiosity as no hostile intentions. Slowly Ezra bent down more to crouch beside you as you spoke. “Not really them, just this one. I didn’t even realize I had him until I came home one day from the caves. He must have snuck into my bag and hide until he knew it was safe.” 

Ezra furrowed his brows as he peered at you without quite taking his eyes off the infant dragon. He knew you weren’t talking about anything you did. The only other humans who dared to venture into a dragons cave was himself and the brainless brawn that had been assigned to assist him. “I was in another cavern then you. I don’t even think you knew I was there. Your men were yelling and screaming somewhere not too for away at what sounded like a very angry adult dragon. I also could hear you yelling at your men in even louder anger but it was too muffled through the cave walls to understand.” 

The infant dragon stepped closer to the edge of the bed, his feet carried him closer to the safety of your familiarity, but his small slit gaze eyed Ezra and his hands that rested in front of his body still not breaching the bed’s edge. “I don’t know why he was alone, but I think the sounds scared him. Something must have made him trust me, because I hadn’t even realized I had company until we were here.” 

For one, the man beside you was rather silent. His usual ability to find endless things to speak on suddenly quelled by the strange series of events unfolded in such a short amount of time. So you took over his role, filling the void with the only thing you could. 

Hoping desperately that if you softened the blow to him, just maybe he could convince the magistrate to at least to try and not harm him. “There's so much more they can do, Ezra. It’s like their waters is just one aspect of their ability. Just drops of blood or a tear, even the flame is something else all together. Like the ones we see is just defensive, but I’ve seen him gently blow out a blue almost green colour. It’s like they have all of this just inside of them, but-” 

Ezra interrupted with an affection you’ve never heard from him. “But it’s like they need someone with out abilities to create something out of it.” 

Your tiny friend finally took tiny hops over to him, his gaze falling from what he likely thought was a flaring dangerous slit in his eyes back over to the brightness inside them. Ezra still didn’t reach out to touch him, and it didn’t go unnoticed how respectful he was being. 

A side you’ve never seen before, or not at least to this extent. He was competitive with you to an infuriating degree, but you had to give him credit that never once has he tried to sabotage your own work. You were starting to think it should count for something. 

The silence was palpable but not uncomfortable. He and the dragon looked at one another, almost communicating in the same ways you did with the small creature. It left an odd feeling in your chest. How close you both were in such a vulnerable moment that almost no person gave you the time of day to experience. 

A fondness crept up in your throat that you didn’t appreciate, he was only being kind to manipulate you into giving you or your companion up without a fuss or fight. You needed to remember that as you watched Ezra smile so genuinely at the dragons little huff. His wings flapping and a hop in place you knew what he was asking for. “I assume your new partner wishes to find a home near your fireplace.”

 You turned to look at his side profile only to startle at how close he was, looking directly at you. “Judging by how cool it is in this room, especially now that the sun’s left us.” Not thinking twice, a motherly instinct took over as you stood up instantly and put a hand hovering over the creatures back, prompting him to the edge of the bed. 

“Come on, let’s try this again. You’ve gotten so much better at it since last week.” You bent over closer to his head to murmur much quieter. “It’s not going to hurt you remember? That’s why we put the rug down, you can do it.” 

Wiggling in place, the small creature flapped it’s wing and jumped. Only to fair a few centimeters in distance before losing his steadiness and tumbled to the ground. Just like you reminded him, he wasn’t hurt by it. But embarrassed? Absolutely. Much like a cat, he scrambled onto the wooden floor and took off in a pattering sound to his favourite spot curled up just in front of the fire away from the scene of the so called humiliation. 

Which just so happened to be in the middle of the largest free space. You’ve learned quite quickly to forge a path around tight gaps and strange angles to climb over. 

Ezra came right beside you, his arm so close to touching yours that you felt the warmth radiating from his skin. His voice deep and almost a raspy quiet near your ear. “It’s miraculous what you’ve done. These aren’t easy creatures to gain so much trust in, but this one looks at you like a mother. And you love him like one back.” 

Your head whipped around to him in shock. His voice was an admiration never given to you before from him, and his eyes swam with a genuine affection you couldn’t quite name. His dark eyes bore into yours unwavering. As if he saw right through whatever walls were in place and carved it’s way right to your insides, and it was too much for you to handle. 

Looking away, you crossed your arms over your stomach and shuffled your feet. You weren’t sure if he even heard your tiny plea. “I’m going to miss him.” 

But he did, and Ezra’s face fell into a conflicted frown that let a kind of heart wrench peek out from it. You hadn’t gotten but a few feet into the main room again when you both heard it at the same time. A bundle of voices in uniform tones. 

For the briefest of moments, you had seized up. They had never found you before, and you hadn’t thought to take any precautions when leading Ezra inside. He on the other hand, wasted no time. 

His large stature allowed him to get to the front window shutters in but a few steps, his body flat against the wall as he peeked out of the cracks. A distinct golden flash in his eyes. You don’t know why, but for just a moment, you wondered if yours looked just as beautiful or if it was just an extension of his own. 

Shaking it off quickly you stepped over to the door next to the window he looked out of. Hands fumbling with the locks, not even having the foresight use the very abilities they likely were seeking you out for. 

Whipping around your eyes blazed in fury, “You said you were here alone, you told me you came here alone that I wasn’t going to be taken by force,” Fire blazed in your eye but your trembling voice, the unsteady shake of your hands told a story of hurt and betrayal. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, you just wanted one thing from me-” 

Ezra invaded your personal space with a dangerous look of warning as he seemed to command you silent with a slip of your name past his lips. “This was not my doing. I told you he would rather steal you from your own home, but I implored him to let me go in place.” 

You shook your head and tried to back away, but there was really nowhere to go. The hut was small and the door was pressed up against a flat wall. “You’re the only one who knows, about me, about here.” Ezra's hands reached out in the air to placate you but realization dawned in your eyes. “It was you, last night you were the one watching me, you destroyed my stuff? For what? To scare me into thinking it wasn’t you? To trick me into gaining your trust so you can lead them right to me?” 

Your voice grew and grew into a shattering panic, but Ezra all put pushed you against the wall with his step forward. Dark eyes infuriated and a snarl willing itself onto his face. “I protected you. I kept his men away from you, don’t you dare stand there and accuse me of forcing you into anything.” 

The sounds of voices grew louder and as you turned to open the door to attempt a protective charm, Ezra snatched your wrist in mid air and gripped it tight. “Ezra I-” 

“Already have done it myself.” At your shifty gaze to the door again he pulled your wrist in closer. “You were panicked and froze, I took up the mantle myself.” 

He still refused to let go of your arm when you tried to pull back again. His body was still and unmoving as much as his heavy gaze on you as if this didn’t at all phase him. “I didn’t freeze, let me go I’ve casted one several times-”

His face leaned into a mere inch or two from your face, he hand pulling your arm behind him enough that it forced your chest far closer into his own. The slightest sensation of this thumb running over your skin sent a shiver through you as did his low tone. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, birdie. I am perfectly capable of taking care of you.” 

A tiny hiss spat out, and the two of you looked to the fireplace to see the tiny creature lifting his head up just enough to watch Ezra with hostility. Hand still in mid hair, he let go of you and lowered his own slowly in the creature’s view. It seemed satisfactory as he once again curled his long neck up onto his body looking like a lumpy ball on the floor. 

A beat of silence passed between you. There wasn’t an aggressive attack towards you nor was there more shouting or orders passed around. Ezra’s hands sat on his hips as he looked down slightly, giving you a modicum of space. “I wouldn’t worry much, those appear to be meager footmen not soldiers of any effectiveness. They’ll simply watch and pray for you to come out willingly until dawn hits and they need to return.”

Luckily your new friend seemed unaffected by any of this. Sleeping soundly in front of a cozy warm fire, uncaring about the current situation. Most likely he’d stay asleep until early morning when he knocks over things in your tiny kitchen seeking easy food. 

“You uhm,” your fingertips tapped against your legs as you avoided eye contact. “You’ll need to stay. I might not be able to make a new one in time if you leave. Especially empty handed.”

Ezra nodded understandingly, he turned to the room and once again found himself milling about the small space, not even needing to watch his feet as he comfortably stepped over the green lump on the floor. “Good thing you have such generous accommodations for such an occasion.” You rolled your eyes as your body relaxed in a slump. “I’ve always felt as if the rough edge of a stone stool makes for a tremendous resting spot.” 

Your arms crossed against your stomach once more as you walked into the other side of the room, not like it made much of a distance between you granted. “I- you’ve been...kind..today. Other days, I don’t really..it’s been a strange evening.” 

“That it has.” His calm unchanging demeanour was either an inhuman blessing or a purposeful tool to stay one level above you. But you had no energy to fight him for it. 

You ended up by the kitchen and tapped your fingers against the little counter space untouched by clutter. “I don’t have much to offer, but I have a little bit of stew and some day old bread I got from the market today...” 

It was awkward, offering him such normal things in your evening routine, but he was kind enough not to make jabs at you for it. He did however, narrow his eyes slightly. “Now birdie I know for a fact that very seller makes his bread fresh into the evening.” 

You shrugged your shoulders, but turned to busy yourself in gathering what was left of the stew made the day before. “Not like he is going to sell his finest or freshest to me of all people.” You muttered just under your breath, but not enough for Ezra’s fine hearing to catch it. “Him or anyone else.” 

Your back was turned, missing the frown he gave as well as his quick appearance behind you. You almost jumped at the sight of him so close. His large hands quick to hold onto your arms gently to keep anything from spilling over. 

Without removing his hands, they slid down the length of your upper arms to your hands as he kept eye contact. “I’ll assume you can trust to let me handle the act of pouring liquid into pot and scooping it back out.” 

This time your eye roll was less annoyed and for closer to playful as you nodded, and let him take it from you. Only turning long enough to realize he would need a ladle, and seeing you already grabbed one for him. 

“I’ll leave you to the bread.” 

The next little while was actually quite peaceful. Ezra’s comfortable silence as he knelt by the fireplace watching for a boil. Not even the interruptions of silence as he mindlessly chattered at the sleeping dragon bothered you. 

He steered clear from today's events. Choosing to go about the casualness of his day, and prompting you with genuine questions about yourself. Questions you found yourself easily answering without hesitation. It wasn’t long until it felt like a real conversation, and it didn’t even occur to you how strange it was compared to the usual hostility between you both. How easily warmth and laughter was shared when your greivences were set aside. 

Ezra was quicker than you to get used to it, he was almost making you second guess the ways he interacted with you. Making you wonder how much of that hostility stemmed from just you. There was a guilt there, the wonder of how much of his hostility did you deserve for the way you’ve treated him first. 

That was a feeling which grew louder the longer as the evening turned into night. You couldn’t let him sleep out here, there was no space for his broad stature and the only thing not with a stone base was your bed. It would be large enough, but the idea made your heart beat and your nerves to tighten. 

You’re head was muddled about him tonight but the idea of treating him as uncaring as you might have not too long ago suddenly didn’t sit right with you. Ezra had been milling about your space, commenting on your storage and ingredients, how well you’ve utilized such a small space for how much you do. 

He was mostly stalling as it grew closer for you both to go to bed, he didn’t want to make you feel awkward by going to sleep as you watched him find whatever space he could make for himself. Choosing to stay awake and preoccupied to spare you that, only you may not have given him that chance. 

You whispered his name, once, twice, until you knew he couldn’t hear you from your nervous spot at your door. You feared chickening out, so your mind blurted it out for you. “You should sleep in here.” 

He looked at you, a raise of his eyebrows at you hands wringing together in front of your open door, body standing to the side enough that would allow him room. “I understand perfectly, birdie. This is your sanctuary not mine, I have no need for-” 

“No, like...in here, with a bed..” His intense eyes with that unblinking stoicism had you nibbling on your bottom lip trying to sound more confident then you felt. “It’s...I told you that you’ve been kind to me today, even when I don’t really deserve it.” 

You weren’t looking at him, so you missed Ezra chomping at the bit to argue with you on that point, but you powered through those nerves anyways. “You shouldn’t sleep out here, that wouldn’t be fair. It’s the least I can do.” 

Your muscles felt like they tingled at the tender smile on his lips, making his way over to the lantern by the kitchen and blowing it out. You stood frozen watching him, his broad frame taking up so much room in this small space and his watchful eyes barley moving from you. He stood in front of you, his chest so close to yours and his face searching for an answer you didn’t know the question too. 

You seemed to square up as he leaned in, your eyes wide and unknowing to you, but flashing over with a desire he knew all too well. He was so close his nose almost brushed against yours before he raised his chin just over your shoulder to blow out the lantern by your heads. 

Now the only thing keeping the hut alight was the glow of the embers in the fireplace, and the much smaller flame in the one lantern in your bedroom. Ezra gestured for you to go ahead of him, casually pressing it against your lower back as he followed you inside. 

You quickly moved away from the side of the bed he was near to stand by the window, opening the shutters slightly more. Glancing over at him you just tilted your head to the sky outside, “So it’s not completely dark.” 

Ezra broke his gaze on you as he knelt down to take his boots off, as you merely slipped off the flat ones you wore in seconds. For a moment before he stood back up, your hands automatically went to untie the strings of your front before realizing you weren’t alone. Ezra had looked up to see a hesitation, hands fiddling with drawstrings that would reveal far more skin then he’s ever seen on you. 

Moving right up to the bed, Ezra just nodded for you to go around to your side. “I take no issue with keeping everything on if that’s what you are most comfortable with.” He peeled off his outer layer to show only his thinner long sleeved shirt underneath. The collar of the shirt undone and perhaps undone a far bit more then a commoner might deem acceptable. Without any other obstructing articles of clothing on his upper body, the skin exposed on much of the middle of his chest hummed with the orange glow of the room. 

Nothing else was taken off as he climbed under the sheets, his body leaning to sit up and watch. “It’s your bed, birdie. I want you to be relaxed.” 

“Relaxed?” 

Ezra lowered his head in almost a lecturing appearance, “Comfortable, birdie. I want you to be comfortable. Just lay down for me.” 

Why were your nerves so on fire? Why were you feeling this way towards Ezra of all people, no one in this town ever gave you enough mind to stir up this tightening warmth inside of you until here and now. But you climbed in otherwise. Slowly moving down to rest on your side as he watched you. 

“Ezra?” With a shake of his head whatever thought he was lost in went back out of focus. “The light? Could you?” 

Craning his head to the side, Ezra twisted just enough to blow it out. Setting the room dark, with the only light being streaks of a blueish tint from the moonlight. 

It didn’t take long for both of your eyes to adjust, and it was hard to ignore that the bed wasn’t large enough to create a wide gap between you, and that you both lay on your sides facing one another not yet asleep. 

The length of Ezra’s hand was the maximum amount of distance between your bodies and even in the moonlight you could see his brown eyes and their penetrating gaze on you. You tried to look away from his eyes, but instead of just closing them, you lowered them only to find yourself looking at the outline of chest that was exposed. 

Neither of you said anything, but there was no fooling. You both knew the other was wide awake. Your body felt tense as if it screamed at you to move more, but you laid so perfectly still that the arm pressed under you ached in the pressure. He was close and his features were so much more predominant in this glow.  

Not just the blonde against the dark hair, but his nose that framed his softness so handsomely that it made looking away from him a difficult task. His lips were hard to see, but you kept fighting to push back the images of how plump and soft they always were. 

You didn’t notice that you had started to shiver, but it wasn’t from the cold. Your nerves shook from this strange warm need and the fight against how complicated it made you feel. “It’s cold, birdie. Come closer, I run a twinge warmer then the average.” 

His whisper was raspy and it stunned you how badly you wanted to hear it again, so you didn’t move. Your free hand dug into the sheets in front of you as he spoke still quiet but more firm. 

“Always so stubborn for me.” 

Ezra moved a tad closer as he reached out to press against your back and lean you into him. His chest was so warm, and his arms were as large as the rest of him. You hadn’t thought about it when your fingertips reached up, a few of them hooking into the exposed collar of his shirt further down his chest. A spark buzzing into your body as you felt the brush of his chest against you. 

His own hand trailed up and down your back, exploring a place he’s never been. “Better?” 

It felt natural as you pressed a little closer to his front, a mutter of “You’re warm,” let a smile break out on his face that you couldn’t see. 

“Good.” It was a few minutes of silence, but his hand tracing your back over your clothes and the occasional shift and reaffirming your fingers hold on the edge of his open collar told you both neither was asleep Just like he usually did, it was Ezra who broke the quiet. “I wish you’d have learned by now, birdie that I don’t hate you. Quite the contrary.”

Such an emotional side wanted so badly to cling onto that as the truth, and as it turned out, having your body pressed against his in your own bed let that emotion win out. So you nodded with a hum. 

“You see how someone who does much of what you do, only I get treated without being insulted, shunned or talked down too. And I certainly haven’t made that feel much better for you by just letting myself play off of your easy annoyance with me. Though your face being rather cute when you’re grumpy may have played a role.” 

As much as you could you turned your head up to see him, but his own was tilted upward watching the shine of streaked moonlight against the ceiling as his hold on your back grew more solid. His press of you against his front much more distinct. “Most of these townsfolk have been cruel, and I am truly sorry for my own actions in that. You deserve to be treated better then to be outcasted like a curse.” 

You didn’t know why you did it, but you leaned back to catch his eye line better, your hand now pressing against his chest as it trailed back and forth from the broad strength of his torso to the softer stomach underneath and back. It wasn’t your mind that made the choice, it was an action guided by heart. 

Something Ezra had done for much of the day. But you still asked. “How would I deserve to be treated?” It was innocent, a genuine question. This town has pushed you into the mud and laughed when you struggled to stand up. 

Ezra’s jaw tensed, his body growing quite tense beneath your hand, and in response, you pressed more firmly against his chest to gently run down his torso hopefully more soothingly. It was a resolve of his will power that snapped. 

The second you trailed your hand just a tad further down, brushing over his shirt enough to just barley graze the coarse hair leading to a much different kind of touch. Maybe you hadn’t realized it, it was dark and you were quite gentle up until then. 

But the slightest pressure of your fingers close to his growing need erupted a boiling point within him. In a flash, Ezra grabbed your hand and flipped your body to fall flat on your back as he pressed up against your side, his upper body learning over yours to hold your hand down in his grasp. “It’s a dangerous game to toy with a man’s greed, birdie.” 

Your chest heaved to match the quickness of your heart. Where his body touched yours felt like a flame but one without the agony. You could better see him this way, his eyes dark with an undoubtable lust and his lips slightly parted with grit as he shamelessly looked over you. 

Did you mean it? Your sudden courageous touch closer to a part of him you thought he’d never care to give you? Was it what you always wanted but struggled to understand it? Your brain was so muddled as the authoritative press he had against your hand pinning it and you into place had part parts of you screaming. 

Your thighs rubbed together trying to quell the screams but it only caused his dark eyes to look down to the shuffling. His grip slowly released your fingers until they barley touched. Just as they parted Ezra almost violently pulled the sheets away from you. So quick you were unable to hide the desire the parts of you Ezra dreamt about most spoke. 

He pressed a palm onto the sheets closer to your waist as he raised his body enough to better lean over you. “If you’re toying with me, birdie, this is nothing short of cruel.”

It flew out of you in a breathe, no planned out thought behind it, only pure instinct. Your body writhed along the sheets just enough where you just barley felt your hips brush against his. “What do I deserve, Ezra?” 

His jaw clenched more as he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours and tracing it’s length. “Want? Or need?” When you didn’t answer a second later, Ezra moved his hand to dance over your waist and hips with a clenched hand needing more. “You can’t just want this, birdie. I need you to need it. I need you to tell it to me. Tell me you need this. Need me.” 

Just a single doubt of if this was a plot passed through you, but he played dirty if that was the case. He lowered his hips just enough for you to feel quite a hefty weighted pressure against your own hips. Not just heavy, but no doubt, something much more sizable then the very few you’d seen before. 

“I need you.” He was greedy and it wasn’t quite enough, but he knew you’d know what to give him.

“Please?” 

Christ almighty it wasn’t even a beg, it was such a sweet little ask. Almost innocent sounding if his cock wasn’t pushing into your hips begging for you to spread your legs. But it was a please that growled through him. 

His hand perched on the sheets rose up and grasped your jaw, his breathe hitting your skin as his lips brushed against yours with his sole response. “Thank you.” The only thing you felt next, was his lips harshly against yours, an aggressive commanding kiss that left you breathless with his greed. 

The very first thing you realized about Ezra as a lover, was he was unforgivingly passionate. His lips were soft but paired with a force that demanded you let him guide you. His kiss become more aggressive with each passing breathe until his tongue brushed against your lips. 

Your senses felt overwhelmed, all you could feel, hear, even taste was Ezra. Your hands grasped meekly at his shoulders while his own large ones encompassed your hips as he swung his legs over to hold himself over top of you. He squeezed handfuls in such a greedy tight grip that you couldn’t move them much. 

What he wanted. He didn’t grind his covered cock against you now, but he kept your hips pinned to his as he continued to keep the weight of it pressed into you. Let you feel him grow harder right against where he intended to devour. 

A small whimper left your mouth as he brushed his tongue once again at your mouth and he took his opening, sliding his tongue inside and brushing it against yours before pulling back and starting all over again. He coaxed you each time to explore his mouth as much as he did yours, one of his hands releasing your hip to cup the back of your head.

Pushing you up more into his mouth, keeping you connected as he gave a muffled moan as you finally felt the confidence to taste him as well. It wasn’t graceful or even delicate, no this kiss was messy. Ezra not caring for technique or talent, but keeping the taste of you with him any way possible. 

More then once you tried to pull back with a gasp of breathe only for him to follow your mouth once again. Your hands finally started to move, once again trailing the path you started only this time without the trepidation. 

Fingertips dancing at the bottom of his shirt, Ezra gave you no doubt. Pulling away from your mouth, a string of spit just barley there before breaking as he sat upright not taking his shirt off, but grabbing your hands and sliding them under the fabric for you. He leaned back into you, pressing his cock harder into your centre. Grasping your neck and jaw he turned you to his pleasure as his mouth moved up your neck, leaving a cool path in it’s wake as he nibbled a patch and then soothed it with his tongue before moving on. 

Your hips now free arched up into him with a gasp, the sting of his bite racked your body with an overwhelming need that made your hair stand on end. His unwavering focus left him barley separating from you as his beard and moustache rubbed into the sensitive skin he created. 

A stutter trembled out of your mouth as you felt his cock much more clearly. Your hands holding onto his waist as you moved slightly against him, feeling him grow harder against you. It also though, left you in great wonder as to where he truly started and ended. The firm pressure against you felt so much larger than you could imagine and you found a shameless greed fly through you wondering how heavy it would feel on your tongue. 

But the moment passed as your hands finally ran down to feel the coarse hair that set him off before. In a fleeting moment you suddenly pushed yourself up, forcing Ezra to sit upright once again his mouth draped open and swollen from his force. Your eyes this time held no insecurity. 

You shoved his shirt up the length of his torso before leaning up as much as possible to pull it off before he took over and yanked it the rest of the way. You felt a rush of desire at how truly large he was. Broad shoulders and chest with arms that could hold you down with no real force. Down and down was a softer stomach that was where your palms kept running over, dipping to the coarse hair and soothing back upward as he just watched you. 

Quickly he forced you back, his hands slamming down onto either side of your head as he rasped out, “It’s truly a crime that you’ve kept this breathtaking sight from the world.” His eyes slipping shut with a moan as your nails scratched ever so slightly below his waistline. 

“Oh? You have any intentions of sharing this with others?” Ezra’s eyes snapped open, the moonlight hitting his back hid the incredulous look on his face in shadow, but you certainly felt it as he sat back up grasping your thighs. 

“You misunderstand me birdie. I was being generous, what I meant was how much I can’t believe you hid any of this from me.” His hands grabbed the bottom of your skirts and bunched it up in his hands. “You’ve given yourself to me, and I am a selfish man.” He dragged it up and up exposing your skin to the cool air. “And I don’t share.” 

Pulling it up as much as he could, you had to move quick to sit up in time as he pulled it off of you completely. The only thing keeping you from him now was a flimsy piece of fabric he had every intention of keeping for himself. Like he said, Ezra was a selfish man and if this is the only time he can ever share this with you, then he damn well is going to keep a small part of it with him. 

You were quiet for a moment as he looked you over. His visibility much better then yours as the blue tint of the moon painted itself all over your skin. His hands once again on your thighs, he squeezed the flesh just as tightly as he did your hips. 

His voice was tight, strained. “You have no idea the pain it’s putting me in to stay gentle with you. You have the audacity to just lay there, showing me damn near everything I’ve ever dreamt about you but I’m still wrong.” 

Your face fell, spiralling down into a sea of what flaws he possibly hated so much to even point out. His grip on your thighs, his own face staring at your own chest tried to convince you otherwise. As did his own words. “Every night I imagine you just like this, you always slink up to meet me halfway, nails dragging over my chest with a knowing greedy look in your eye like an animal waiting to strike. But you now? You just lay there, looking at me with the most genuine eyes I’ve ever been graced with, and this...quiet uncertainty like I’m going to just take this all back.” 

You could feel your lungs constrict, a shame once again setting in that maybe this has all been your fault. That this rivalry towards one another has been one sided the whole time and that you should consider yourself lucky to be blessed with his patience for you. 

In theory, you followed what his dreams played out, but your palms smoothed up his chest not scratching nails, and there was no sultry look about you, but a genuine heart wrench. Your hands gently cupped the sides of his face, his facial hair scratching your palms beneath. “I, this isn’t your fault and I’m sorry.” 

Ezra raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in question. One of your hands danced along his collarbone to avoid this face. “Maybe it’s all been in my head, or it’s changed between us, or I just treated you this way for no reason but..it’s different, tonight- I don’t know how to, it’s.” You stopped, took a deep breathe as he patiently waiting for your thoughts to collect. “I don’t know if I want to go back to what we were after you walk out of here. I don’t know if I can go back to it.” 

Ezra didn’t respond, merely leaned down enough to gently kiss you, not pushing or pulling at you, just a chaste press of his lips against yours. “I had no intention of going back, birdie. I finally got you to open up to me, and like I said, I’m too selfish to let that slip away.” 

Shuffling back on his knees, Ezra grabbed your underwear and tugged it down. His eyes watching you the entire time. Your heart was almost too loud in your head but you pushed that way regardless. You lifted your hips, and let him pull it off, baring you to the cool air entirely. 

Sitting up on his knees, Ezra balled the fabric up in one fist, while pushing open your legs for him. You felt exposed, nervous at what he may think or see but you felt the pressuring shove to keep your legs spread wide the second you attempted to close them. 

“I promised something you deserve. Will you let me show it to you?” You nodded but your heart grew louder, thumping against your chest as he didn’t crawl back up to you. No, instead holding your legs out just slightly wider then his own broad frame as he leaned into the core between your thighs. 

You didn’t say anything, and Ezra had no intention on talking, not this typical way that is. His large hands spread your thighs as far as they could go to fit him, and your gasp of surprise caused a grin to form on Ezra’s face that could only be described as smug. 

With no warning, Ezra pulled you forward enough to lean his head against your mound, the sound and sensation of him inhaling your scent sending shivers throughout. “Now that, is more divine than anything you or I could conjure out of thin air.”

Your strength left you, back falling against the sheets losing sight of him completely as you were only now bent at the hips, at the will of the man you least thought would ever choose this with you. The tip of his nose nudged against your clit a few times, your hips jerking as tiny sparks of pleasure came alive. With one more tease left in him, Ezra shoved his face right between your legs, dragging his tongue up from your entrance and back up to your clit as he ran his mouth over it as if a kiss. 

Your moan turning into a whine as your legs were shoved just out of his way. Ezra’s eyes bore over your body as he took no slow enjoyment of making a show taking his pants off. There was no patience to drag his need out for you any longer. 

He didn’t give you a view for long, just enough to see the how large he was all over, and just a hinting outline of his cock that even for a flash, hung thick and heavy between his legs. But he once again took what he needed. This time no second was spared as he devoured you. 

His tongue tracing a path from your clit to your entrance and teasing you each time. Edging himself just enough inside you to garner a taste as it seized your legs up in tension, but the whines of your mouth had him smirking into your skin. “Ezra, please,” 

You didn’t know what you needed, but he did. Oh did he know. 

Ezra finally pushing his tongue inside of you, licking and tasting you as his hands once again grasped your thighs to push open. There was a twisting, burning fire flaming hotter and hotter with every stroke of his tongue and your moans weren’t the only ones. 

The vibrations from his own sounds contrasted with the otherwise softness of his mouth and tongue tasting between your legs but it was an overwhelming fire that threatened to take you, and he wished it too. Your arms grasping at the sides of your head as if in an agony of desire while he rode the wave of your writhing against the sheets. 

He seemed to mumble endlessly into you, nothing you could make out. There was a ringing in your ears that only heard the sounds of Ezra pushing you more and more towards the waters edge. A wet tasting as he refused to leave you to even speak his prayers of thanks for you to hear. 

His eyes darted open to see your hands dancing to find a grounding, and one of his took ahold of the closest to him. As he moved his body upwards, his mouth took focus on your desperate clit and it echoed your need through the air. His hand holding yours forced it onto your breast and squeezed tightly. Moving and encouraging you to pull and tease in tandem with his tongue on you. 

The other refusing to leave anything out, his larger hand took up so much more of you as he gave your breast such rougher touch then your own. But just as he nibbled oh so lightly at your sensitive clit, he grasped your nipple and tugged. A tight hold and rough tug that had you cry loudly. 

He did it again, and again each time his greedy licks turning into a much more feral buzzing in his body. A snarl left his mouth as you cried his name out, the only beg you knew and he yanked your hips up to his mouth more. His cock leaking onto your sheets as it pressed up against the bed, but he could ignore it. He couldn’t ignore how he licked into you with such aggression. 

A hand on your hip shifting only to roughly press against your clit once more and rub into you with a firm pressure refusing to give. He could sense your orgasm, your body tensing up as your cries turned to breathy gasps. Your insides like a coil ready to be let go, “Ezra, I-I’m-” 

He barley tore his mouth away. His lips brushing against your soaked folds with every breath, he could only hiss out through gritted teeth. “I know, give it to me, I need to taste you.” You stuttered trying to give any response but he couldn’t stop himself. “This cunt, this-” shoving his face once again to aggressively lick into you before speaking again, “magnificent cunt, let me taste all of you. And you can have me.” 

The vision of what outline you could see and the heavy bulge once pressed against you spun in your minds eye as you grappled with words. “I want, fuck I want it, I want you.” 

He still kept his pace but spoke with such ferocity to make you answer him. “What do you want, birdie.” You didn’t answer him again right away and he slapped the outside of your thigh. Not so hard it hurt but enough to make you jump. “Tell me what you want, whatever it is I’ll give it to you but I need you to say it.” 

Ezra hissed the words out and you forced yours through a gasp for air. “Your cock. I want your cock, inside me-please, god please, I need you to fill me.” You couldn’t even understand what you were saying, your orgasm teetering on the edge spilling out any desires you lusted for. 

He stopped though, his grip so tight bruises already asked to form, as his breath spat into you, “You need me to fill you up? Is that what you need?” 

“Yes, please Ezra please,” 

He pulled you over the edge in an instant. His tongue inside of you making a mess as he dragged it out of you and up to your clit once more, soaking you so much you could hear it. His mouth licked at your clit in short tight circles until it hit you like a wave. 

Nothing of matter cried out from your mouth, just pure pleasure as your back arched up and Ezra slinked back down to drink from you until he could feel your breathe settle from it’s frenzy. 

A man not of patience he shoved himself up your body and kissed you, even more sloppy then your first. Your own taste on his tongue and essence smearing over your face where it still sat fresh on his as he licked into your mouth with the exact same treatment. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and your hands grasped one shoulder blade and another through his thick hair as your legs wrapped higher on his hips. As he moved his hand down you felt his tip press up against your soaking wet cunt. Rubbing the thickness up and down smearing your own wetness and mixing it with the precum already on his cock.

Biting at your lip you dug your nails into his skin as he kept prodding his cock inside of you not even an inch. “Tell me again, birdie.” 

Before you could beg, he pulled from your mouth to look you in the eye as much as could be for so close. “Tell me you’ll have me now and tomorrow.” Your heart lurched in your chest, but you couldn’t remember the conflicts that plagued your relationship for so long. 

You could only hear a sincerity and a rough need edging on his tone. “Tell me this can be us now, and I’ll fill you up with me. I’ll fill you with every inch of my cock, and then I’ll fill you with my cum. Spill it all inside of you, maybe keep my cock shoved in there to force you to keep every drop.” 

His cock was almost properly pushing inside of you, but you knew he needed the words out loud. Gently, you raked your nails through his hair, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, his nose and back again all while he held his cock still. “This is us, this is all us.” You whispered against his mouth and a shaky breathe left him. “Now fill me Ezra, I want you, I need it all inside me.” 

He gave you no time to adjust, your cunt was so soaked as well as his cock that his entire thick length shoved into you with no resistance. You moaned the others names out, Ezra falling into your neck with moans and your head tossed back grasping onto him. 

Ezra didn’t pound into you as you thought he would. Instead he slowly dragged his cock along your walls, teasing every nerve inside of you as he slid in and out. Never leaving you, but making you relive how thick and deep he was every time. 

The wetness was almost obscene as the thrusted in and out of you. Without removing his head from your neck, he blindly pulled your legs higher along his hips and it let his cock slide deeper. You clenched around him as the stroked along a razors edge that startled you with how good it felt. His mouth dragged itself up to your ear as he kept his pace slow yet deep. 

“So good, you are unfair to me, birdie.” His voice rasped out, higher in pitch the more he thrusted into you. “You squeeze my cock so fucking good, fitting my cock as if we were created to lock together. You’re always so good, so talented, so fucking clever.” 

His thrusts pounded a little harder, and when you cried out louder, Ezra pained himself to pull back to a gentle slide inside of you. “You take such good care of the things you love. Now, will you let me take care of you? Spill my seed deep inside of you? Once? Twice? Will you let me fill your cunt up with my cum until it just can’t fit anymore of me?” 

Your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair curling in dampness as you pulled his face to look at you eye to eye. His dark eyes blown wide open and his mouth unable to close from the mounting pleasure in both of you. He never slowed his pace, and you wrapped your legs around him more, closer to his own legs to try and bring him deeper. 

“Please, fill me up Ezra.” You pulled him into a kiss breaking off only to mumble against hips lips before kissing him again. “I’m yours to have, please. Cum inside me, please just this one please.” The burning pleasure filled your limbs as you could only move against his thrusting hips to seek out your orgasm before it could be taken away, not that he would dare deprive himself of it. 

You rambled, not knowing what you were saying but driving him mad through it all. “I’m yours, whenever, wherever. Fuck me until until you’ve had enough of me, until it takes, please cum inside me you can have whatever you want.” 

Ezra grasped your face harshly, kissing and licking into your mouth as your orgasm swam into the shores. The fire between your legs making you almost cry in tears, leaning up into his warm touch, letting his kiss consume you as all you felt was his cock slick against your walls. 

Your head was high in the clouds, surrounded by white noise of his creating. You were too far off to sense how insane you drove him. Neither of you could have expected his feral, snarling desire to keep you all for himself. But you told him to fuck you until it took, and it lost him.

There was no discernible drive behind it, not that he knew of at the moment, but it consumed with with the concept of fucking you every chance he gets, spilling his cum deep into you without any care to take precautions over it. 

That thought pushed him over the edge. His hips pushing shallow thrusts deep inside you as he buried his head into your neck with a tight hold moving throughout your body. His cum spilling inside of you, warm and so deep you buried your own face into his hair as your clenching walls milked him for all he could give you.  

You thought he may be mumbling something onto your skin, but whatever it was seemed to be another language. You were too far gone anyways, burrowing yourself into his arms as you both stayed there. Hips locked together, neither of you understanding why either of you held this back the way you did. 

You didn’t talk about that though. Once you both came back down, Ezra pulled up, giving you one last kiss, but not of deep lust, just a simmered passion that left you chasing his lips after. 

You also didn’t speak of the very reason he had to stay that night, likely still out there until the sun arises. Ezra didn’t care about them, he didn’t elaborate but he was very clear that he didn’t ever come to you with intention of handing you over. For once, you truly believed him, and he had such a genuine smile of happiness of true peace between you.   

The rest of the night was quiet, intimate. Ezra watching with fond curiosity as you sat with the tiny dragon now awake with company. Watching you both work together, whispers at him and coos and purrs at you, a golden glow shining in the small space in front of the fire pit as you showed Ezra the charms you had been teaching him or working on together. 

He tried some of them too, with varied success but never once did he become short or annoyed by your own success. He just watched you guide and praise the small creature, support him to work with you, prompting what you know he can do. 

His smile only warmed up fonder as he quickest of images replaced the one in front of him. One where the creature in front of you was something much more human. One with dark curls and a growing patch of blonde standing out against a softer face that much more resembled you. 

It wasn’t a thought that lingered, but he didn’t chase it away. This was new for the both of you. He treasured how much you understood each other once the walls dropped. 

You had mentioned that once the sun came up you’d have to figure a plan out. “He’s small, and he’ll stay small for quite a while, but this just isn’t..”

“This isn’t a place to raise him.” Ezra brave enough to run a finger over his wings and not get growled or snapped at finally. “We’ll find somewhere. I’ve passed a fair few places before settling here, any one of them could give you both a real home.” 

You watched the creature, you didn’t look at him but there was a watery weight in your eyes. “Just the two of us? You’re life is here, right?” Ezra smiled but you didn’t cut your brain off. “You’ve done enough, you’re life shouldn’t be uprooted for a baby dragon, not for the only person who you’ve competed against for years.” 

You tried to steel your face impassively. But Ezra didn’t falter from such a casual relaxation. “Well now how could you two travelers even consider leaving your own companion behind? Frankly I’m offended.” 

Your head shot up in panic, only to fall flat at the playful jest on his face. “You don’t have to though, really.” 

Ezra furrowed his brow before hauling himself up more. His heart leaping as you so harmoniously reached for him as soon as he cupped your cheeks for a kiss. Pulling way he nudged his nose against yours, “You know better then anyone, I’m a stubborn man.” You laughed out loud, your forehead affectionately resting against his. “You aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon, birdie.” 

A chirp croaked out below you both. Ezra poked at the little green attention seeker. “Yeah, yeah same to you, you winged nightmare.” The dragon shaking it’s head with a squeaky growl, hopping away from you both completely. Once again turning himself into a lumpy green pile on the ground ruminating by the fire. 

You and Ezra both laughed, and it once again struck him at how parental it felt. The image of a baby, looking much like your best traits together, cradled in your arms and you in his own came back up. 

He wouldn’t push that thought, wouldn’t read too heavily into it until a true life has settled with you, somewhere far from the noise and nonsense that drove a wedge between you both in the first place. He never hated you, or even disliked you but Ezra understood why his own attitude didn’t lend itself to healing. 

It was hopeful now, such an intimate domesticity between him and you felt as if it was what was truly meant to be. What was behind the animosity previously getting in the way. 

Maybe though, he would wait a while before telling you he was the one who had all of your market belongings replaced. He did it out of a burning need to give you something you needed, something good you deserved. 

But he had a feeling you would still accuse him of ruining it in the first place as an excuse to get you new things. The magistrate clearly ordered it done to intimidate you instead of doing literally anything else more effective. But Ezra can’t lie to himself. 

He absolutely had thought about doing exactly that just to try and get your attention.

[skinnyazn]

In the Bleak Midwinter

The sequel to this story: The Masks We Wear

Ch.2 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader Chapters: 2/5 Notes: Simon wakes up from a lil nappy nap, he can't stop thinking of Jag but she's gone, what's a man to do??, it's a short chapter but sets up the next chapter

Part One | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | AO3 | MASTERLIST

It’s like floating through zero Gs—weightless in an endless void, deprived of all senses. He must be dead. He’s not known this kind of peace since a past life, but that was so long ago. And it’s easy to give in to its blanket-like warmth. A promising caress enveloping his entire body, conforming to him soundly and telling him it’s ok to yield—to stay. It’s peaceful here.

It’s hotter now, a searing heat infecting his limbs. He must be in hell. He’s fevered and pained and it makes him crave his endless void. He wants to go back. The inferno consumes every extremity and organ. The darkness is ripped away; that warm blanket set on fire. Please take me back. But there’s no rest for ghosts.

____

The lights were too bright when Simon woke. The throb of his killer headache made him want to vomit and everything was spinning. Movement felt like trudging through mud. His fingers slowly probed his face and he let out a sigh when they scratched a fabric mask. He shifted on the bed and was hit with a wave of vertigo.

“Easy there, Simon.”

Things were staring to come into focus. A sterile room with a bland curtain. The steady beeping of a monitor. An IV in his arm.

“Fek, you’re a tough bastard, hey?”

Price. Johnny. Simon’s eyes scanned the rest of the room, searching for something he couldn’t quite remember.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Soap’s hand pressed softly onto Simon’s shoulder. It felt like needles.

Simon groaned. He opened his mouth to speak but it was all sandpaper.

“How long?” he croaked.

“Just under a week. We had to induce a coma with all the blood you lost,” Price said. “You’ve been drifting in and out the past five days.”

Searing heat and pain. Grasping for the void that wouldn’t come.

“Gave us quite the scare there, Ghost.”

“Worried about me, Johnny?”

The Scott smiled. “You know it.”

Simon groaned as he shifted. “Would murder for a water.”

Soap laughed and uncapped a bottle. He gently lifted the bottom of Simon’s mask and gave him a sip.

“Cheers.”

He screwed back on the cap.

“What happened in Kokshetau?” Soap asked in a low voice.

“Jesus, Soap, he’s only just bloody woken,” Price chided.

Cold and white and beautiful. Snow crystalized on long, black lashes. Red cheeks flushed with exertion.

He tried to recall more but the memories were slow to percolate.

“Bastard dead?”

Price exhaled. “Yeah, yeah. Plus three others. Mission accomplished, Simon. A job well done.”

Simon hummed contented. He closed his eyes.

“Let’s let him rest, Soap.” Price stood and left the room. Johnny started to rise from his chair.

“Johnny,” Simon spoke, eyes still closed.

“Awrite, chief?”

“How is she?”

“Sound and well,” he gave a weak half smile. “Back home now that the job’s done.”

Of course. He knew she’d leave when it was over. People in her line of work didn’t stick around; people like him never got closure. But some selfish part of him hoped that she’d stay—that she’d be here in this room when he woke up.

Stay alive. And I’ll tell you one of my biggest secrets.

“She did visit though. Quite a lot actually. She uh, slept in here the last night before she left.” Soap’s eyes weren’t subtle when they flicked to the pulse line on the monitor. He shifted in his seat.

“Good man, Johnny.”

Soap rested his hand on his shoulder and gave a nod. He shut the door quietly behind him on his way out. 

____

It was weeks before Simon was out of bed and nearly back to himself. Considering his near-death status, he had progressed exceptionally. But he hated the mundaneness of physical therapy. The scar on his thigh itched, and he had too much time to think about her.

“When’s my next assignment?” he asked Price in the mess hall. His captain looked at him.

“Think you need some more time off, Simon.”

“Think I need my next assignment.”

The older man sighed. “Take another week off, keep up with your P.T.. We can revisit the subject then.”

Simon's stare was gelid but Price didn’t budge.

“That’s an order, L.T..”

The metal chair scraped across the linoleum floor as Simon stood and walked out of the room. He reached into his pocket for his phone and dialed a number.

“Simon, this is unexpected… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Got a favor to ask, Laswell.”

***** For those who wanted to be tagged!

@emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago, @shuttlelauncher81, @k4marina, @embers-of-alluring

[alicepao13]

I wanted to rewatch S06E09 before writing this, preferably with subtitles and a better rip, but someone's dragging their feet, so maybe I'll write another post at some point. Some good parts, some I didn’t care about, some that I personally wish they were different (not really bad but I had other thoughts).

So, in this NCIS Hudson and Rex episode:

The first shot seemed like kind of a small ship, it probably wasn’t but the shot made it that way. Sorry, Canada, I’ve been spoiled by all the aircraft carrier shots through the years lol. The one where it turns from day to night, I hated that. It seemed so fake.

The way Charlie’s dad kept criticizing him about everything got on my nerves. I also don’t love the casual sexism of him implying that it’s best if a wife stays home. Definitely shows that Charlie barely had meaningful interactions with this man. And to mention Sarah as Charlie’s “office romance”? Ugh.

This is where I decided that Charlie was raised by Aunt Miranda. It was a good thing that his dad probably missed quite a bit of his childhood.

“Charles” makes me feel like they should be inside the Buckingham palace. And truly, this is the only place I’d ever think they’d feed a dog using a toothpick. Poor Rex had to eat off a toothpick to satisfy that man! I kept hoping that he’d bite him.

Imagine this show having any continuity at all. Charlie would have to explain some of his latest adventures, the poisoning, the jail, etc.

I like that Sarah touches Charlie as soon as he tells her that the killer could be one of his dad’s sailors. She understands what this means for him.

Classic “found the killer the moment they appeared on screen” episode.

Sarah, we have chairs. (Nah, just keep doing that, actually.)

I didn’t know that Canada also had JAG officers. Now I can't help wondering who investigates crimes committed against Navy personnel lol

Here’s where Commander Hudson’s possible motivation doesn’t make that much sense: In most Navy ships, the higher ups barely know their sailors. So, he wouldn’t feel like he needed to protect them. He would most likely feel like he needed to protect the Navy's reputation from possibly harboring a killer. Having said that, I have no knowledge of how big this ship is. And the initial footage was kinda terrible. Understandable, because this isn’t that kind of show, but still terrible.

I love Rex's defensive reaction to the Commander throughout the episode. He can sense how much he unsettles Charlie and makes him change things about himself.

Charlie’s dad implying that Rex has an attitude problem when he is trying to cover up a crime… the nerve…

“...my boys” Oh no he did not. I know how much that can hurt.

The hilarity of the justification of sending troops in the other side of the world, to “keep the peace”… I expect this from military shows, I don’t expect it from shows like Hudson and Rex. And the triumphant music in the background… we get it.

Rex’s barks as Charlie puts the guy in handcuffs could mean nothing other than “suck it, asshole”.

Charlie was a bit… I’m not sure how to put it… Not exactly himself during that interrogation. I imagine he knew his father was watching, but he seemed like he’d jump the guy, or his JAG lawyer, or both.

How did we get from “office romance” to “my son is a lucky man”? Who knows. I mean, Sarah is quite impressive, but this seems like some kind of witchcraft.

Well, at least they didn’t make the bad guy be the Lieutenant in an episode full of men with bad behaviors. Also, I didn’t know they pronounced "Lieutenant" the British way.

Charlie is learning Rex’s language (growl). I find nothing weird with this.

The scene with Joe was nice. But Joe, just put a damn pillow on that couch. You know that none of your subordinates actually sleep in their homes (which is one more reason we’ll never see a bedroom set *sigh*)

John Reardon’s voice drops another half octave when he’s lying down. Good lord. Also, I started praying for his poor neck in that position, at least he didn’t stay there for long. That would have incapacitated me if I stayed like that for even ten minutes.

“I let my issues with my dad…” Which are…? Please, elaborate.

Charlie beckoning Rex when neither of them has slept for a day. Leave the poor dog alone, you sadist. Dogs don’t understand the meaning of overtime.

So, I guess when Hudson men have sorrows, they literally run?

I wanted to keep hating his dad a little more. Why’d they have to reconcile them so fast?

Good episode. I’d have liked if Charlie said a bit more about what bothered him in his father’s behavior, and not regarding the case. It seemed like his father just wasn’t around as much and possibly considered his sailors as his children, maybe even more than his actual children, and Charlie seemed to resent him for that, understandably. But we were also already at the part where the two men were trying to mend fences, and although all the effort seemed to he made by Charlie at the start of the episode, it shifted towards the end to his dad making the effort.

Promo: The dreaded (by me) golf episode. Let me get this straight: The team went golfing and found a body? We can’t take these guys anywhere. 

Poor Rex! If that's a serious head injury, I’ll sue. That’s what we have Charlie's head for. But also, please allow Charlie to lose it a little.

Charlie Hudson is having such a bad time in this season, and I’m loving it.

[dixonlvr-online]

Mine to lose Part 4: "Reader"

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Daryl Dixon x Leah

Genre: Angst, fluff

Summary: A love triangle story inspired by Taylor Swift's songs betty, august, and cardigan

A/N: My favorite part of the series so far (includes some old Daryl x Reader fluff). If you'd like to be on the taglist please reply or message me :)

masterlist | previous, next

The house was lively, every room lit up and full of people, snacking and chatting and laughing. It was like the old world again, which you guessed was the point. You’d gone to enough of these parties to get used to the idea; not everything had to be about survival all the time. You were allowed your moments of celebration.

Still, most of the time you preferred to sit in the corner and observe rather than join in. It was fun to listen in on silly conversations, root out who had a crush on who based on stray glances, and sit back and feel the energy of the room. It was peaceful, though admittedly lonely these days. You didn’t used to do this alone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a young couple against the wall, shoulders pressed together and hands intertwined. They never took their eyes off each other, so immersed in their own little world they had no interest in what was happening around them. You had to smile. It was nice to see two people so completely in love with each other, so absorbed in the other’s company. It brought you back to the prison days, to your own version of this picture…

It was supposed to be a simple run. Get in, get the stuff, get out. Of course, when you’re cocky enough to think it’ll be easy, it never is. On your way out, half a dozen walkers had emerged from behind the building and jumped your group. You’d had the numbers to fight them off, but the surprise knocked you off balance. Literally.

A walker managed to push you into a row of shopping carts, where a jagged edge ripped into your shoulder. You’d stuck a knife in its head before it got the best of you, but the blood pouring from your shoulder had sent you spinning. Luckily, Glenn had pulled you to your feet and bandaged you up enough to get you home, to Hershel and the makeshift infirmary.

That was where you sat nursing your stitched up shoulder when Daryl came barging in, demanding to know what happened and if you were okay.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, but his eyes were still frantic. He settled in beside you, carefully running his thumb down your stitches. One look between you and you could see his panic subside, taking a deep breath at the sight of you alive and well and smiling. 

He cupped your face in his hands, staring into your eyes as he told you, “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I’m serious.” You smiled, placing a hand over one of his and leaning into his palm. 

“It’s just a scratch. It’ll heal up in no time,” you said. Daryl frowned anyway, pulling away to study the injury once again. Slowly, he leaned forward and placed his lips to it, “kissing it better” he said. You gleefully giggled as he did it again, and again, and again, making his way up your shoulder and to your neck as he did.

“Whatcha laughin’ about?” he grumbled into your ear, pausing his ministrations. You grinned at the man, turning his head to face you.

“I’m just happy,” you said. He lightened then, leaning in to kiss you full on the mouth. You kissed him back eagerly, smiling against his lips and wrapping your arms around his neck.

What the two of you hadn’t noticed was Carol standing in the doorway, smiling to herself as she observed your bottled moment.

The memory faded in a rush, the intensity of the scene too much for you to carry on remembering. Still eyeing the young couple, you felt a heavy choke in your throat, face burning as you held in the rising emotions. It wasn’t fair, you thought, that your love had been stripped away while others got to keep theirs. 

You collected yourself quickly, resting your drink on a table and sweeping out of the room, out the doorway, and onto the moonlit street. You glanced up at the sky, eyes holding on the full moon, large and bright and breathtaking. Walking home, you found yourself wondering where Daryl was now, and if he too was looking up at the moon, thinking of you.

--

taglist: @thefemininemystiquee @just-always-tired @idkseraphine @xojdmasf @tiredbibi @simplereader

[theundyingrose]

Of Sun and Moon

In a infinite universe we only get to see one sun, a star that burns and gives us warmth and hope. Moons come avast but the most beautiful is the one you can reach, but most importantly the one that you can call your own.

"Moon, always shadowing the light and I being your lily. Tell me why I sprouted in your absence." She says gazing out into the stary night, her face faintly lit by the lantern a few feet away. Her beautiful pale skin, her eyes of purple lavender, her soft small lips painted a light red, her long hair red as a apple. All details beaming towards the moon, never losing focus. Every moment of the night spent like this for many days.

She sits hugging her knees and staring out from a dock on the ocean. A place so quiet and long abandoned, a place she considered home. The small crashing waves, the clanking of wood being pushed back and fourth, the only sounds so abundant but yet so calming. It is her place of rest, her place of peace, her place of getaway.

Hours pass, silence calms the night until its broken by footsteps. A man approaches and sits on the dock edge with her, looking up and smiling. "You truly never leave here huh, forever entranced by the moon. You were here the day we met and still return even now" he says trying to engage conversation with her. She looks over at him, his eyes beam a bright blue, his hair  short golden burning flames, his lips black matte. He wears white robes and wings to match, a jagged white halo above his flames, and a large hole in his chest where his heart should be.

She scoffs and returns to facing the stars

"I come here to be left alone, to be away from the world. You turned me into a monster and yet you keep coming back, why?" She asks

He sighs, opens his mouth to speak but hesitates for a few moments "the things I did hurt you yes, but you are no monster. In fact you are better now that I am gone are you not?"

She shakes her head and in a very angered tone responds "not a monster? NOT A MONSTER!?!? Im tearing myself apart because of you, you lit a fire in my heart then ripped it out leaving me feeling cold"

He rubs his chest and nods "okay fine, but you did return the favor"

She gives a sinister grin "you deserved it and you know it"

Time passes and when the sun should be rising it remains missing from the sky, moon still up high not a inch moved.

He stares confused, wondering if it'll ever come up.

She breaks the silence this time "I hate you, I hope you know that"

He chuckles "I can take the hint"

"Killing you brought me solace, the pain still lives on but the joy of you being gone along with your sun is a reminder of it all" she tells him

He looks down, dips his feet in the water and swings them splashing water around. "My death brought you peace with knowing I can never continue on to find happiness ever again didn't it? I loved you, you meant everything to me. Im just sorry that I felt what you did was never enough, you were right in the end. You deserved better lily" he says in a sad tone

She sighs deeply "after everything you did, no apology could ever soothe my soul. The pain, the abandonment, all of it. I lost a major part of myself because of you, I just want it back. I just want to take back my life and you gone" she then waves her hand and he disapates as ash into the wind. Moments later he walks back up and sits down again.

"No matter how much you want to get rid of me, you can't. I made you a promise, you hold onto it even though it pains you. As long as you do I will always be here and I won't go away" he tells her

She turns to him "I will always keep you as a memory, it reminds me of the fantasy I lived. Just like that boy icarus I flew too close to the sun, caught in the illusion of beauty while unaware I was losing my wings" she responds turning back away

He gets up and pulls a envelope out of his robe, placing it down next to her before turning around and getting ready to leave.

"There has to come a time when things end Lilith, I have to say goodbye. You have to let go, you killed me and can't find your own closure. Someday you'll look back and laugh and think of how you killed the sun in the name of love. I Sol died by your hand, my lily.....my Lilith. I did this not you, you can't blame yourself for I am the killer not you" he says before taking in a deep breath and walking forward, his footsteps slowly getting fainter and fainter till silent.

Few more hours pass then she picks up the envelope and opens it, a page containing a poem

Lilith of the sun, Lily of the moon

You gaze at the brightest star at night

Crying at its beautiful sight

Hoping to hold it in your arms

You are entranced by its wonderful charm

Even when its so far away

You want to be with it everyday

She sets the page down and cries, releasing her pain as the sun finally begins to rise. Its rays shining down on her skin and providing her warmth, wrapping around her and hugging her.

"Thank you, for everything in the end" she whispers

[sylvaridreams]

Gripping knee drawing blood. The thing about Auruim. Is that he does kinda suck. But mostly he hurts. He's in pain because he can remember what life was before Mordremoth, he knows who he was, he remembers Alba as his friend and brother and mentor and confidante. He joined the Vigil and went in with the Pact fleet to make him proud, to show what he could do, and the jungle dragon sank his teeth right into him and tore him out of that life and into a new one. And beyond the trauma of the physical and mental changes, the immediate and lasting pain of being blighted... he spent the better part of a decade in the jungle like that, and he had to adapt and become stronger than anything, had to learn to lead and to do whatever it took. Even after Mordremoth fell, the modrem remained, and he had to keep leading.

And then after years like this, after this had long become his normal life, his real form, he was ripped away from it with jagged edges, forced back into his sylvari mind, forced to change physically again to reverse the blighting. Forcibly domesticated, caged and leashed, fitted with a muzzle to keep the wild thing from biting.

He hates Alba because who else is there? Who sent him out there, who left him, who brought him back? He's mourning all angles of himself: the tender sapling he was before the jungle and the glorious champion he was within it and the pathetic vile bastard he is now. Can't look himself in the eye when he sees his reflection because he's revolted: not sylvari, not mordrem, allowed to peer at society, to gaze at the wilderness, to toe the edges of both but never breach either. Who else is there to blame for any of it but Alba, this Commander that he loves so much, that he called out for as they warped him into something better and worse, and now he's nothing and has nothing and has no one. He clings to his mordrem identity even as it repulses him, even as he fears it and shies away from looking directly at it, because it feels like all that he has left. This violent hard mask that he wore for all those years, paint that never washed off his skin, scars and ugly missing pieces that he clings to and keeps close.

He's vicious and violent and cruel and he does suck but he has nothing else to hold onto, and if his hands are empty he'll be forced to face himself head on, look into his own eyes and acknowledge that it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't Alba's fault, and sometimes bad things happen without leaving behind someone for you to hate about it, without leaving you a trail of vengeance to follow to your peaceful end. He has to get there at some point but first he has to suck so much. And I love him. He's like a little orange for freaks and he means so much to me.