#and before i sense the looming ‘wrist stretches’ posts and all that coming my way—

[iced-souls]

Oh the urge to draw to be forced to a stop from the wrist of pain

[slxsherbunny]

Shelter from the Storm (Brahms Heelshire x GN reader)

Anon: Can we get some fluffy cuddles with wall boy, Brahms? Where he just craves cuddling time? 💞💞 (It's nice to see a new face btw! So far I really enjoy your writing :D Can't wait to see more of your work!!)

(Re-post from my older, defunct blog!)

When you return to the house, the windows are all dark, save for one. When you’d left in the morning, you had made sure the lights were all off, one of your duties that remained from when you’d first started working for the Heelshires. You had gone into town in the morning to fetch some groceries, and run a few errands, though your speed was admittedly hampered by the weather. The rain was heavy, thick droplets that seemed to chill you to the bone, your umbrella the last line of defense from the torrential downpour. It was rare these days that you would leave, though when you did, you felt a looming sense of guilt about it- you understood why Brahms might not want to tag along on your errands, but it made you feel awful leaving him behind at home. 

You shake off the thoughts and the rain, and unlock the front door quietly, slipping inside. You wonder if Brahms had seen you pull into the driveway, if he’d been watching all morning for your return. Your suspicions are confirmed when you turn to hang up your jacket, and Brahms is there. You greet him softly, part of you worried he’ll be angry you were gone so long. He waits all of ten seconds for you to take your muddied boots and drenched jacket off, before he’s got you in an embrace. His arms are tight around you, and you can’t help but notice how warm he is, especially compared to the storm outside. You find yourself melting into his embrace, a little desperate for the extra heat. “Did you miss me?” you tease, though the way he squeezes you slightly harder, a little warning, tells you he isn’t in a joking mood. In an instant, he has you by the wrist, leading you deeper into the house. You find yourself cursing the sudden loss of warmth pressed against you; but you follow, as you imagine there isn’t much of a choice.

You find yourself in one of the house's many sitting rooms, the fireplace already alive and crackling. You look around the room for a brief moment, and find that the window to the outside provides a perfect view of the long stretch of driveway. You feel that small pang of guilt again- how long had he been sitting here, waiting for you to come home? Before you can get too caught up in your worry, Brahms is pulling you down, onto the plush sofa, and into his lap. You go without hesitation, his arms snaking around you, and your torso pressed against his. He’s so warm, you can’t help but worm as close to him as possible, which you’re sure is what he wants. A crash of thunder sounds from outside, and his grip on you tightens, just short of crushing. It dawns on you then, that your absence may not have been the only thing troubling him today. He holds you like that for a moment, before seemingly growing restless. He moves you, his weight shifting on top of you, and for the briefest of moments you’re reminded of a heated blanket. He curls up on top of you like that, a bit too tall and wide to find comfortably with another person on the couch, and your hands find their way to his hair, stroking softly. He hums contentedly, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of your clothes. He holds you, as if worried that you’ll disappear if he lets go. Eventually, he slots his arms around your waist, and you suspect you aren’t going anywhere soon. Not that you mind; these moments of genuine affection could be rare with Brahms, and usually led to him wanting more than just cuddling. If you had to ride out the storm like this, in his arms, then that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

[bullshxtvixen]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Pairing: Bokuto x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Song: Put It On Me - Matt Maeson 

Warnings: 18+, Coercion(dubcon themes), size kink, cream pie, virginity kink, corruption kink, rough sex, spitting, spanking, light choking, light assplay(I couldn’t help myself), dom!bokuto(he’s kind of an ass oops).

A/N: So uh, it’s finally here…My first fic in two months and i’m ngl, i’ve been dreading posting for so long, but i tried to give you guys something good for my return, so please let me know what you think and go easy on me, i’m a little rusty sksks. However, this is a gift for @thekraziesreside because she drew me them most amazing Kenma x Me icon and i needed to pay her back somehow!!

Shoutout to my amazing friends @deathcab4daddy​, @dymphnasprose​ and @spicykzumeknma​, who i’m sure are sick of beta reading this by now and having me freaking out about posting it. Thank you for all your grammar corrections that I will probably never learn from, I love you all

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I-I’m a virgin.”

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

The large hands that had been tracing the contours of your body stilled. You had to stop yourself from flinching when his intense golden stare shot to your face.

“What…” He let the word trail off, a well-practised mask of surprise coming into place on his features.

It was second nature to him now, letting his face morph into whatever expression he needed it to at a moments notice. No one ever suspected the friendly Ace of being anything other than a good guy, and really, he wasn’t a bad guy. No, he just relished in taking the innocence of unsuspecting women who easily fell into his trap.

Like you.

“I’m a virgin, Kou.” Even though you were straddling him, you still had to look up to meet his eyes. 

With the tips of your ears burning, you moved to get off of his lap as if you could escape from your embarrassing confession. You couldn’t believe you’d openly admitted you were an inexperienced virgin to the guy you’d only just met a week ago.  A mutual friend had introduced the two of you, and you’d quickly fallen for his ‘nice guy’ act.

You hadn’t even put a foot on the floor before you were pulled back and thrown into the pillows. The weight of Bokuto’s body was quick to settle on top of you, pressing you down into the plush mattress. 

“What are y-” before you could finish your sentence, your wrists were pinned above your head, rendering your arms useless in his firm grip. The muscles in your abdomen tightened at his rough treatment, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that fell from your lip. Turning your head to the side, you tried in vain to hide your flustered expression.

Bokuto felt his cock twitch in the grey sweats that hung low on his hips.

The innocent ones were always the most responsive. He fought off a grin as the thought crossed his mind.

“Did you really think I was going to let you get away after telling me something like that?” He growled, warm breath ghosting over your face and across your neck. He watched with a glint in his eyes as you shivered under him. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Do you know what that means, little bird?”

Your heart raced at the nickname.

Could he make you sing for him?

Certain he could hear your heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird's wings in your chest, you silently prayed for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. The mortification you felt was palpable in the space between you.

Bokuto thought it was cute how bashful you were, so unsure and unwilling to show him your real feelings, even though your body told him everything he needed to know. Still, he’d have you voicing your innermost desires sooner or later- it was only a matter of time.

“Well?” He pressed, not allowing you to dwell on your thoughts any longer. He didn’t want to have to put in too much effort to break you.

Your voice was small and unsure when you answered him, eyes looking anywhere but his direction, “No.” 

He was so close, closer than any man had ever been before. The proximity made it hard to think straight as the warmth of his body seeped into your bones, and his masculine scent invaded your senses. 

It was almost stifling.

His tongue darted out, licking a wet strip up the side of your exposed neck before pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. He felt you shiver beneath him before pulling back and watching a deep blush journey down to your chest. It was so pure...He couldn’t wait to be the one to defile your virtue.

Gently grasping your chin between his thumb and index finger, he turned your face until you had no option but to meet his simmering gaze. 

Begrudgingly, you looked up at the man looming over you and found he was already observing your flustered expression. He stared so openly and without shame that you began to squirm under him.

Bokuto saw your blush deepen further and wondered what you’d look like when he eased his cock inside your virgin hole.

Would your eyes roll into the back of your head? Would your nails imbed themselves in his back? Or maybe you’d simply cry out in pain and pleasure as he ripped through your innocence?

All kinds of scenarios whirled around in his brain, sending his mind into overdrive. 

Unconsciously, he ground the head of his cock against your clothed slit and was rewarded when he heard your sharp intake of breath. 

Heat pooled in his groin. 

It was such a pretty sound. He wanted more, and he didn’t need to feel the slick collecting in the crotch of your underwear to know your feelings mirrored his.

His smile was predatory as he answered.

“It means that I’ll be the first person to fill your tight little pussy up with cum. I’ll stretch your walls around my cock and pump you so full that it’ll be dripping out of you for days.” 

The lewd words fell from his mouth with ease, and you found yourself shifting as your body all of a sudden became too warm as if the temperature in the room had spiked, but you knew it was his words alone that had caused your reaction.

You hated how easily he affected you.

“I bet you want me to corrupt your sweet little body, don’t you?” He already knew the answer.

Your body responded of its own accord, turning into putty beneath him. Your hips rolled against his as your back arched off the bed at the feeling of his cock nudging against your clit. The knot in your stomach tightened. 

The grip on your wrists tightened. Bokuto took a few steadying breaths, struggling to hold himself back. You seemed so tiny and fragile as you lay beneath his brawny form, and he was scared he would break you if he gave in to his own desires too soon.

Maybe that’s what you wanted. The sadistic voice in the back of his mind purred. 

“I- I don’t know.” Your voice wavered as you answered him honestly. Doubt had begun to gnaw at your gut. Waiting didn’t seem like the worst idea- there was no rush, after all.

He closed his eyes for a split second to hide the annoyance that no doubt flickered through them. When he reopened them, he became the personification of a bird of prey, and you were his next meal.

Your mouth became dry as you lied entrapped by his stare.

“Come on, I can make you feel good.” As if he was digging his talons in to prevent your escape, he rolled his hips against yours once more, making sure that his cock rubbed firmly over your swelling clit. The side of his mouth quirked up when a tentative moan left your parted lips. 

“That’s it, you like that, don’t you? You want me to make you feel good, don’t you, little bird?” another roll of his hips, and he watched the doubt dissolve away for now.

“Koutarou...please.” Your voice was small, uncertain as you begged. 

You didn’t know what you were begging for, you just knew he could give it to you, whatever it was.

Golden eyes flashed at the way your voice was saturated with need. For a moment he thought that maybe you weren’t a virgin, but instead, a succubus, come to steal his soul. 

He would let you.

The weight of his body left yours, and in seconds, you were stripped of all of your clothing, which was thrown haphazardly around the room. His soon followed.

Eager eyes drank in the sight of your naked body before him. Your skin was so beautiful and unmarred by another person, so enticing and begging for his touch. Soon you would be littered in his marks as he lay claim to your body, inside and out.

Growing self-conscious under his prolonged stare, you tried in vain to cover your most intimate parts.

“There’s no use trying to hide from me. I’m going to become well-acquainted with your body by the time I’m done with you.”

A gasp escaped your lips when his fingers reached down and ghosted over your folds. A groan left him when he felt just how wet you were.

“Well, looks like someone’s already dripping at the thought of being ruined by my cock- isn’t that cute?” Though his tone was mocking, his words still sent excitement trickling down your spine.

Spreading your lips, he circled a thick finger around your twitching entrance, smiling devilishly when you whined for him. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he witnessed your jaw go slack as he eased the first finger past the slick opening, surprised when he was met with little resistance. 

Soon he was able to work himself knuckle-deep, and your walls fluttered around him in welcome.

Such a slutty pussy for someone so untouched. 

“You’re so tight, baby. Your pussy’s sucking my finger in so nicely; I bet you’re going to feel amazing when I stuff my cock inside.”

You groaned as his fingers started to move within your previously untainted walls. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling like you’d feared it would be- it was almost like a welcoming pressure had settled deep within you. 

“Kou… more.” 

A chuckle met your ears in line with his warm lips brushing against your pubic bone, “Your wish is my command.”

When the second finger was added, the discomfort became evident on your face. He didn’t pause his movements; instead, their pace increased as pain and pleasure fought for dominance at the apex of your thighs.

“That’s it, you can do it. The pain will stop soon,” At that moment he chose to curl his fingers and press them against the spongy spot deep within your sopping cunt. The pain dulled and was overshadowed by pleasure as he played with your body as if it were an instrument he was fine-tuning. 

“Ah- fuck, I-” Your breathing accelerated as the pressure in the pit of your stomach began to increase . Your hips started to buck up off the bed when his thumb joined his ministrations and began working tight circles against your clit. Sparks of excitement like nothing you’d felt before shot through your veins. Stringing thoughts together became almost impossible.

If this was what his fingers could do, you weren’t sure you’d be able to remain sane once his cock entered you.

“There it is,” he cooed, fingertips rubbing against the same spot, this time with a little more vigour, “God, you look so beautiful with my fingers inside you, you’re drenching them, baby.”

A thick fog came over your mind as they stroked and stretched your walls, creating a pressure in your abdomen that threatened to overflow at any second. It almost scared you, and yet, you couldn’t prevent your hips from desperately grinding down against his hand.

“More,” you cried, your breaths beginning to come out in pants.

The wet squelching sounds of your pussy filled the room as his hand became a blur between your thighs. The sound only added to your arousal.

When your legs began to quake, he lowered his head and added his mouth to the mix, suckling skillfully at your puffy clit. His lips were cool as they attached themselves to your heated skin, the difference in temperature causing a prolonged whine to leave you.

His tongue swirled around the sensitive nub, his fingers working your insides, coiling, stroking and stretching until the pressure that had been steadily rising in your stomach finally exploded within your body. It erupted from your core, spreading through you like wildfire.

Your hands found hair, pulling and twisting the soft locks as you came hard around his fingers. He moaned at the flash of pain in his scalp- causing his own desire to heighten. Your walls pulsed as he continued to curl his fingers against your g-spot. 

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, Kou, fuck, oh god, oh god!” Your cries of delight were music to Bokuto’s ears. It excited him so much that he couldn’t help but gently rut his hips into the mattress. His cock was painfully hard now, and precum leaked freely from his swelling tip. He needed to be inside you soon or he’d lose his mind.

Pulling his fingers from your pussy, you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth and began to eagerly lap at them. 

“Koutarou…That was....” Your brain was still riding its high, unable to give you an end to your sentence.

He pulled his hand from his mouth, “I told you I’d make you feel good. Now, before I fuck your brains out, why don’t you see how good you taste?”

The musky smell of your arousal filled your nostrils as he brought his fingers to your lips.

“Open.” It wasn’t a request.

At your hesitance, he quirked a brow, “I promise you taste amazing. Now, open.”

You obeyed, still riding the endorphin high he’d pulled from your body. Because of this, you didn’t even notice that he’d reached over and pressed record on his phone that was propped up on the nightstand. He’d made sure to angle it so the camera pointed directly at your face.

He found people were much more...compliant... if he had video footage he could use against them in the event that they changed their minds.

With a grin, he placed the two fingers he’d had knuckle deep in your cunt against your tongue.

The tart taste of your release was quick to spread over your tastebuds. His eyes darkened when you began to swirl your tongue around his fingers, lightly sucking on them until they were completely clean of your arousal. 

It was so erotic that you found it hard to maintain eye contact. 

He released a shaky breath before pulling his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying ‘pop’.

“You’re a little minx, you know that?” He teased, allowing one of his hands to come to rest next to your head while the other reached between your bodies. Taking his length in his hand, he watched a mix of anticipation and fear come over your features when you looked down.

Your audible gulp was heard in the silence that followed.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was beyond anything your mind had come up with. Even though you’d never had sex before, you knew he was big. His cock was thick and heavy where it hung between his legs. Veins ran along the sides of his shaft, the largest one snaking directly down the centre before splitting in two near the swollen head. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like having something so big inside your body.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Your voice wavered, doe-eyes shining with fear as they met his.

He acknowledged your fear with a condescending sneer, “Oh, little bird, you really think you have a choice?” he nodded towards the nightstand.

The blood in your veins turned icy, and your body began to tremble as you lay eyes on the phone, screen open and recording.

Breathing became difficult as panic rose in your chest. You’d been so naive. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It’s been recording for the last couple of minutes. Now,” his rough fingers came to rest against the sides of your throat, squeezing lightly as he brought his face just inches from yours, “you can either behave, and this will feel amazing for both of us, or you can be a brat, and the only person this is going to be fun for is me. Not to mention, I’ll send the video around to every person you know, including your boss.” 

At the mention of your boss, your whole body deflated. He had you right where he wanted you. While the thought of your friends and family seeing the video was mortifying, you couldn’t risk losing your job. Your virginity was a small price to pay to make sure the video stayed hidden.

Anger bloomed in your chest as you leered up at the spiky-haired man, but you had no fight in you. It was useless to even try.

“If I do this, you’ll make it go away?” You tried to make your voice sound confident, but it cracked at the end.

He couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face when he realised you were giving in, “Of course- no one else will ever see it.”

He watched the internal battle going on behind your mind before your eyes hardened.

“Fine, so be it. I’ll play your sick game.” You spat, what else did you have to lose?

Bokuto’s eyes widened when you reached down and removed his hand from his length before replacing it with your own. It was softer than you’d imagined, yet firm at the same time. Like steel encased in velvet. 

“You like the feeling of my cock, baby? It’ll feel even better when I'm balls deep inside you. You’ll be my little slut and take it all like a good girl, won’t you?”

The man above you let out a rumbling moan from deep within his chest when your fingers flexed around him, head falling against your chest. Your wavering hands felt so small as they struggled to circle his impressive girth. It again reminded him of the size difference between the two of you.

Your eyes darted between him and the phone. He took the hint and reached over, turning the phone off and laying it flat against the nightstand.

He turned back to you with a smug smirk. 

You wanted to slap the look right off his face, but violence would probably result in the video being circulated faster.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you dipped the head of the thick muscle between your folds. Your slick coated it instantly. Lining him up with your entrance, you waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did, he saw the hatred burning in them. It made his cock throb in your palm.

When he pressed his hips forward, all at once, the air left your body as heat flooded your core.

Bokuto studied your face intently, drinking in the way your pupils dilated and your mouth dropped open into a silent moan. If he could burn one image into his mind, it was your face at that moment as he stole the last remnants of your innocence from you.

“Hng-fuck...it feels...s-so-” Your hands blindly grasped at his broad shoulders, seeking some kind of anchor as the burning feeling of his cock threatening to split you open sent your mind into a frenzy.

“So what, baby?” He cooed, body tense above you. “How does it feel? Come on, little bird, use your words.”

Nails dug into his shoulder blades as he worked himself into you. Hissing out a breath, he savoured the way your lower muscles clenched around his girth before relaxing, only to repeat the motion moments later, pulling him deeper into your heated sheath.

“So full. So so full, so fucking good.” You whimpered, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. It was a fullness, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Every nerve in your body had come to life, and a familiar heat began to pool in your lower body once again. Bokuto’s control began to slip, and he soon realised he was trembling above you in an effort to hold back. Heat was surging through his own body, clouding his mind and bringing him closer to his climax. If he didn’t move soon...

“Ah, fuck, I need…” He couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence, his mind was lost to the beast you’d unleashed inside of him. With a harsh snap of his hips, he sheathed the rest of his cock inside your wet heat.

A scream ripped from your throat as your poor cunt was suddenly filled to the brim with the Ace’s cock. His hips lay flush against yours as he bottomed out inside you, the plush head of his length kissing your cervix. He stretched your body in such a sinful way that for a second, you forgot how to breathe. 

Even though you never wanted anything to do with him and the thought of him being inside you made you feel sick, you couldn’t stop your body’s natural reaction to him.

On instinct, your legs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing against his ass. You didn’t know where your confidence had come from, and in your lust-driven craze, you didn’t care. In fact, it was almost as if a switch had been flicked in your mind. All you knew was that you craved him.

“Shit, you’re choking my cock with that sweet little pussy. Fuck.”

“Koutarou...move. Please.” You panted, cutting him off, “I need you to move, now.”

The heels of your feet dug into his ass while you simultaneously rolled your hips into his. The movement sent flares of desire straight to your core.

Bokuto didn’t need to be told twice.

The first few of his thrusts were short and practised as if he was testing whether or not your body could handle him. When he was met with mewls and whimpers, he couldn’t stop himself from picking up his pace and slamming mercilessly into your greedy pussy. 

The pressure you’d experienced before started to build once again, only this time it felt more intense, almost out of control as you writhed beneath him.

There were many ways you’d imagined losing your virginity; slow, soft, romantic sex with someone you’d known for years; gentle caresses and stolen kisses beneath a slither of moonlight as your lover whispered loving words into your ear.

This was nothing like that. 

Bokuto’s thrusts were bruising, unforgiving, and the power behind each one jolted your entire body. He was animalistic as he fucked into you.

This wasn’t love-making. This was rough, hard fucking, and you found yourself growing intoxicated as you were forced to drink in every sensation he was pulling from you. 

He’d been wrong before, you weren’t like the other girls at all. They’d all cried and begged for him to go easy. But you, you thrived on him using your body, even savoured the feeling of being fucked like a whore.

The realisation made his head spin. If you liked being fucked like a whore, he was happy to oblige.

A strangled cry echoed through the room when his teeth latched onto the sensitive skin of your nipple. His hot tongue swirled around the pebbled nub, sending bolts of desire splintering through you as the pressure inside you bubbled up and threatened to explode at any moment.

His mouth left you all too soon.

“Such a good girl. You’re taking my cock so well. Who knew a virgin could be such a dirty little slut? I bet you’re loving this, being used like a cocksleeve.” The words left his mouth in a rush as if he’d forget them if he didn’t get them out fast enough. 

Leaning back, he hooked his arms beneath your knees, still continuing his assault on your cunt. He couldn’t help but reach around and press a hand on your stomach. Desire stirred in his groin when he felt himself moving beneath his palm. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot. I’m practically in your stomach…” His words died off when he felt your walls begin to spasm.

“Kou, I’m- fuck- I’m going to cum.”

No, he wouldn’t let you cum just yet, it was too soon. He knew if he drew it out much longer, you’d be too sore for another round, but he wanted- no, he needed- to test just how far he could corrupt you.

Without thinking, he leant over your body and allowed a string of his saliva to slowly drip from his mouth. It gave you enough time to move if it was too much for you.

You didn’t move. No, instead you eagerly stuck your tongue out and waited for his spit to drip onto it, like a puppy begging for a treat.

When you swallowed it with a smirk on your face, he finally lost all semblance of control.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened next, but next thing you knew, you were stomach-down on the bed.

“Wha-”

The sound of impact as Bokuto’s hand met the supple flesh of your ass rang in your ears. You barely had time to register the searing heat blooming across your rear before he brought his hand down again on the opposite side.

“Get that fucking ass in the air.” 

Bringing your knees under you and sticking your ass out as much as you could, you waited for his next move as your orgasm began to dwindle.

Bokuto bit his lip as he watched you present yourself to him, puffy lips glistening in the dim light.

Gripping your hip with one hand, he used the other to give your ass a few slaps with his length before realigning himself with your entrance. You were so wet and stretched so well that with a harsh snap of his hips, his entire length was buried deep in you with no resistance.

“Fuck!” Your voice was hoarse as you cried out from being stuffed with his cock again.

The angle this new position set had his cock dragging along your walls, caressing them as he fucked into your heat. The new pace he set was brutal as he chased his own high.

Skin against skin became the only sound in the room as his weighty balls slapped against your clit- each time the coil in your stomach tightened.

Your body stiffened when you heard him spit, followed by the feel of moisture coming into contact at the top of your ass.

He’d been lost in his mind as he watched your puffy slit suck in his length, and when his eyes travelled up to the puckered hole just above, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t worry,” He spread the spit around your pucker with his thumb before gently applying pressure, “I’ll ruin this hole next time, little bird. But first, I want you to get an idea of just how good I can be to you.”

When his thumb slipped past the tight ring of muscle, your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

A sense of euphoria settled deep within you as you lay there and let the Ace pound into you with reckless abandon.

Bokuto became drunk on the cries he was sure you didn’t even realise were falling from your mouth as drool pooled beneath your cheek and turned the bedsheets a darker shade.

It wouldn’t be long now. He could feel his balls tightening as heat spread through his body. Not to mention, your legs had started to quiver with the first signs of your release.

“You ready to come for me again, baby?” His hips never faltered from the harsh pace he’d set.

“I can’t...too much...fuck.”

He found it almost endearing that you thought you had a choice. 

“Wrong answer.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to fuck you any harder, but a last burst of energy had him pistoning his hips into you with such force that you had to reach above your head and press a shakey hand against the headboard to stop your body from jolting forward.

Your body couldn’t take much more stimulation and seconds later you cried out your release into the mattress.

Your first orgasm was nothing compared to the pure ecstasy you felt in those following moments as you came hard around the thick muscle still pumping into your aching walls.

Stars flashed across your vision as your toes curled, and your hands blindly clawed at the mattress. It was as if you’d been washed out to sea in an ocean of bliss, and you had no choice but to ride the waves crashing through you.

Bokuto’s thrust became sporadic until finally, his body went taut behind you, balls tightening as he emptied his seed into your spasming walls. 

His cum was warm as it splashed against your cervix, staining every inch of your insides with the thick fluid.

White noise rang in your ears as your body rode out its chemical high.

Bokuto pulled his thumb and cock from your holes once his balls were empty. Once removed, your body collapsed to the side, exhausted.

Bokuto’s own energy was about to run out, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your twitching cunt. His cum had started to dribble out from between your swollen lips in a steady stream of white.

Instinct had him reaching out and pressing as much of it back into your body as he could. He ignored the weak cries that the action coaxed from your mouth as his fingers brushed against tender flesh.

He’d fucked you raw. 

You’d be sore for days after this. Hell, a dull ache had settled in his own muscles.

With a groan, he used the last of his energy to scoop your thoroughly fucked body off the bed and carry you the short distance to the bathroom. Placing you gingerly down into the toilet seat, he only let go when he was sure you weren’t going to fall face-first onto the cold tile floor.

Grabbing a small cloth, he made quick work of rubbing the musky smell of sex from your body before jumping into the shower and ridding himself of the thin layer of sweat sticking to him. The warm water felt amazing against his skin, and suddenly, tiredness came over him. All of his limbs felt heavy as if weights had been attached to them. He’d definitely been rougher than he meant to- fucking never usually took this much out of him.

You’d been so lost in your after-sex daze that he almost jumped out of his skin when you finally spoke.

“So...When can we go again?” Your voice was far more lucid than he’d expected. It seemed in your daze you’d forgotten your hatred towards him. He knew some gentle persuasion was all it would take to unlock your inner animal.

Raising a brow, he turned to see a sly smile creep onto your face as you sat naked on his toilet. 

You at least had the decency to blush at your request.

“I mean...that’s if you want to. Oh, and you’d better delete that video or I’ll rip your cock off and shove it down your throat.”

He thought you might just be a succubus after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

THERE IT IS!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK<3 Likes/Reblogs/Comments are always appreciated and mean more than you realise ^.^

You can add yourself to me taglist here 

[littlefreya]

Easy Prey

Summary: Direct sequel to Jerk. Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise. 

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+, dark, kidnapping, bondage, dubious consent, teasing, dirty talk, gunplay (yeah add this to the list of kinks I gave you), sweet degradation and praise.

A/N: You thought August is going to sweet talk this one, didn’t you? Surprise! This was a short drabble brought by a prompt, turned into a one-shot and then my beta @agniavateira suggested this as a sequel to Jerk before I posted. Since most of you may be in a thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, enjoy my own early b-day gift to you! Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming and @sapphirescrolls who convinced me to post this. 

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. 🖤

Easy Prey

August Walker lived his life swinging between the two sharp edges of a sword; but then, how could he not? He had to maintain a handsome prime-alpha male reputation while hiding his true cruel nature masked beneath mist and shadows.

It took everyone by surprise once it was revealed that the slick, charming agent was a vicious, Armani-wearing monster. A hard-to-swallow pill for most, but these two diverse entities were always one and the same: 

August Walker was John Lark the way darkness followed light. 

And how unfortunate it was of you to be lured into the spider’s web, stunned by the beauty of the pearly silk; you’ve gotten too close and had your limbs caught in the sticky threads. Now captured, you’ve earned yourself a taste of August’s sweet toxin yourself. 

Fear wasn’t even close to the sensation that was gnawing in your gut.

The suite was cosy; a sleepy fire crackled in the mantle, shy beams of maple light kissed your bare breasts while you laid upon the softest pillows. It felt like a sinister joke compared to the ropes charring the supple flesh of your wrists. August had you stripped of any remnants of protection of course, save for the little jewellery circling your finger which he eyed with a blank stare that screamed in its contained silence.

Fully clothed, he stood at the fore of the bed, wearing a blue three-piece suit as if he was attending a royal wedding. A magnum was clutched in his right hand and a dagger in the other. The calmness and elegance of his appearance only made you arch and grunt in your fruitless attempts to set yourself free.

“Ropes too tight, angel?” He hummed, his voice so pleasant it felt like your lungs were floating in a void. His crystal-pale gaze dawdled upon you, invading beneath the skin, penetrating the warm crease between your legs which you fought to keep shut. 

He felt it, or maybe even smelled the arousal that wafted at his direction and chanted his name.

“I’d save my strength if I were you. We’ve already proven that no one can hear your screams and we have a long night ahead of us.”

His words covered the bones of your spine with a thick layer of frost and in your searing throat, a bitter substance reemerged. Screwing your eyes shut, you wished more than anything for this to be a nightmare; but every time the binds twisted about your hands, you remembered the dreadful meaning behind the pain. 

It was there to remind you of the harsh slap that was reality.  

August tilted his head, a smile beginning to spread from each corner of his mouth: all pleasant and  charming as if this was nothing but a couple’s naughty getaway. 

“You can’t wake up from this, this is not a dream… or a nightmare, depends on your disobedience,” he assured, boding a sudden hollow in your chest. “Now, which one do you prefer? The knife or the gun?”

“Fuck you!” 

Defiant, you gathered yourself to scream a trembling cry, sending your legs to kick the mattress in a hopeless fight. Only it made things worse as August was able to spot the little dew-kissed orchid between your legs, glistening-wet with invitation. 

Flicking a tongue over his upper lip, he crept close. His broad shoulders strained, his posture that of an elegant predator; as you saw the large outlines of his heavy cock stretching his navy-blue trousers, even hatred and horror couldn’t mask the pang of need that shot through your core.

Despite the panic, the traitorous instinct of life whispered of undisclosed, primal lust. You wished so badly you could fight or hide it, but alas there was no hiding from August. He could sense it, see it, and even taste it on his wicked tongue. 

“Gun then,” he answered and slid the knife back into the holster in his belt.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you watched paralysed as he aimed the gun between your legs. Strong tremors coursed along your skin and your knees buckled and wobbled as the cold metal touched you; and yet, in that very moment, you did the impossible and moaned.

“Has it been that long since you had a dick inside you?” August observed with a vicious grin crisping his lips. It made his moustache twitch almost comically. 

“Don’t worry sweet angel, we’ll fix that soon.”

Pushing the gun between your kneecaps, he forced them open and ran the barrel feverishly down your inner thighs. The metal was freezing against your flesh, eliciting little tingles to spiral beneath the tender brush. Gasping, you looked away from him ashamed. You were terrified, not just of him, but from how much the wanton centre of your sex clenched from his ministrations.

You were bound and kidnapped by a dangerous man, and yet in your mind played the sick fantasies of him unbuckling his belt and giving you his full girth hard and wild. 

“You will soon have me in every hole,” August continued with a promise on his honeyed lips while lowering the brim of the weapon perilously close to your radiating heat and toying with the sensitive area teasingly. “I will make it hurt real bad, you’ll feel me there for days if not more,” he hummed and swerved the barrel between your engorged lips. 

“Please!” You gasped and writhed away slightly, tugging on the binds that began chafing your delicate skin. August raised his glare to meet your pleading eyes and leaned forward, his shadow looming over you entirely. Reaching one hand to your nape, he clutched you forcefully while his icy glare pierced right through your skull.

Slow and sensual he began to run the gun between your soft petals, gingerly grazing the hard shaft at the plump peak of flesh that made you cry out with both pleasure and despair. 

“Aww...” He keened and groaned. Never stopping his coaxing of your cunt with the still object, his breath huffed hot upon your cheek as he rounded his beautiful lips in faux pity. “Poor helpless little butterfly.”

Crying and dazed, you stared directly into his eyes. Words of plea kept running caged inside your head, unable to make their way out while you watched August’s large shoulder move back and forth. The movement resulting in the unwanted pleasure. Back and forth, he stroked you, gradually increasing the pace, and not without style even. Ruthless, August was keen on making you come.

You weren’t even sure what it was that you begged for at that point.

Grunts and sobs escaped your throat unwillingly. You squirmed and pushed against it, your body craving for more: not just for the rough friction that tingled at your cunt but also at the large bulge visible at his groin. The more rapture began to creep through your flowing tendons, the further you sank into delirium, wondering how he would feel like buried deep between your tight walls, fucking you the way only someone who has no boundaries would.

“Fuck!” You screamed, grinding against the metal while August leaned even closer and kissed the corner of your mouth before groaning and moaning at your lips. His hand worked hard between your thighs, the cold barrel now warm, the hollow edge coated with your elixir. 

The wall of your protests crumbled as the simmering surge of climax began pushing itself down your belly, leaving you teetering between self-loathing and ecstasy. 

“That’s right my beautiful butterfly, I’ll pluck your wings,” August promised in a husky whisper, watching you as you coiled and cried louder, your walls convulsing tightly around a sad, empty space as you came. If only you didn’t wish it was August choked between them instead.

As you slumped down, sweaty and breathless, he drawled a growl of content and slowly withdrew the gun to hold it next to your shivering face.

“I swear, Sloan’s assistants keep getting sluttier every year; the last one I fucked had a thing for me choking her,” he mocked while grazing the wet barrel against your cheek, “do you think you’d be into that too, sweetling? My hand around your throat?”  

Rounding your eyes in utter fear, you swallowed the dryness in your throat. August sighed with a malicious little grin while twisted awe danced between the blue, sparkling sapphires that examined you ecstatically, so fascinated by how easily he managed to break and bend you to his will.

Still holding the neck of the gun pressed next to your cheek, he reached the other hand above your head. A part of you was relieved for a moment, thinking he was about to untie the bind. 

But your hope quickly died as you felt his fingers rolling the ring that decorated your finger.

The diamond reflected onto the deep blue of his eyes as he examined it closely before throwing it directly into the fireplace.

“No!” You cried out brokenly, as the last memory of your old life disappeared in flames.

“Save your tears beautiful,” August retorted, his voice once again so soft it chilled your very core. He shifted his entire weight between your straddled thighs, and leaned in to kiss the wetness below your eye, “you won’t be needing it anymore.”

His tongue slipped out to collect the briny liquid that gathered on your cheek, and another hum of delight rumbled in his chest as his covered cock unmistakably ground against your mound, “I am your man from now on, might as well accept it and let me do whatever I want.”

Shivering under him, you took a deep breath, your body already swaying in demand as you felt him throbbing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. To your own horror, your head fell into a slow nod of shameful consent. 

It wasn’t just August you were afraid of, but also for yourself.    

[outofangband]

“bound” for @whumptober2021 small snippets on the captures of Maedhros and Húrin respectively 

CW: mentions of dead bodies (of unnamed characters), mentions of blood, restraints, manhandling/elf-handling, implied survivors guilt, broken bones

I’m just...really fascinated on the disoriented horror both of them felt, caught in the adrenaline high of the fight and the dawning realization that they’re being taken and not killed. 

Maedhros’s capture mini masterlist Other masterlists

(edit: I deleted my previous post about making the Narn worse because I felt bad about not knowing yet if I was going to post about it but yeah still feel free to inquire to me!)

I But Morgoth sent the more, and there were balrogs. Maedhros was ambushed, and all his company were slain; but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth and brought to Angband (”Of the Return of the Noldor”, The Silmarillion)

He was lying face down in a pool of blood that was not his own. The blow to his had rendered him temporarily witless and the Balrog (the one who had screamed horribly into the night when he had dragged his father away from his final battle stood above him,) kept a painful pressure upon his back while another creature yanked his arms up. He gasped out sharply and nearly choked on the mouthful of blood he took in. A kick landed to his side and Maitimo heard the sizzling of his armor, uncomfortably hot against his skin. The orders that were barked above his head were not of a language he knew but their meaning became clear almost immediately when he felt still more pressure upon him and a new sensation of coarse ropes being rubbed to his flesh as his wrists were tightly bound.  An ankle was then grabbed but another order from the Balrog clearly in charge lead to its release. Instead, he felt himself dragged back along the ground as his boots were torn off. 

The world swam before him as he was roughly pulled to his feet but there was no time for it to come back into focus. Yet another demon had gripped his hair, come loose from the helm already taken, and pulled back. Maitimo had not realized he was still struggling but he was and despite his lessened coordination, he was strong enough that his bound arms were seized too so he could be held in place while a stretch of cloth was wrapped around his head, tightly enough to hurt where his face was bruised. Maitimo swayed on his feet when his hair was released. 

He had not realized that the balrog spoke any tongue he could understand. The voice was loud and grating and the note of taunting clear despite his lingering confusion.  “The order is to bring you alive and ready for my Lord to break, little king. But He will not fault us for some injuries should you require more forceful handling,” his hair was grabbed once again, this time forcing his head up, “Keep this in mind.” A rope leash was then fastened around his neck and he felt his face burn when laughter broke out on all sides at the sight.  Maitimo did not fully parse the demon’s words as they were spoken, still dazed from the blow to his head and the shock of the ambush that had spiraled so quickly out of control, beyond his worst predictions. It was over an hour later as he was dragged between two remaining orcs, the rope cutting into his neck and wrists, from the balrog’s grip on it, that his declaration returned to him along with the burning indignity of being forced along like an animal. He passed it over and over again in his mind as his pace was kept brutally. The blindfold prevented him from taking in the sight of the location that awaited him but could not cover the dread slowly rising as they drew nearer. 

II Seventy times he uttered that cry but they took him at last alive by the command of Morgoth who thought thus to do him more evil than by death...Gothmog bound him and dragged him to Angband with mockery (“The Battle of Unnumbered Tears”, The Children of Húrin)

Húrin was alive as he was dragged forcibly from the deluge of broken armor and bodies alike. This was all that he could think at first, that he was alive. Not too many days ago he would have considered this a near miracle, to be able to utter the words I am alive after such a battle. He did not feel this way now.  As soon as he was placed on his feet, Húrin was knocked back to the ground by a blow from a blunt object. He managed to pull himself forward, seeing weapons all around him from both ally and enemy, dropped where their owners had fallen. The axe he had wielded lay only paces away, nearly within arms reach. The demon who he had first seen when it had forced him and Lord Turgon aside some time before seemed to become aware of this too. Húrin could not help a yell of pain as his arm was trodden upon. The sound of the breaking of the bone rang through him, causing bile to rise in his throat. For a few moments he lay there, his breath shallow, fighting down the urge to vomit. It was precious time his enemy needed and he knew it.The balrog stepped over him again and Húrin wondered if he should close his eyes. But the final strike did not come. He had half expected to feel the sharp agony against his neck before the inevitable nothingness (or whatever it was that came next) but what he felt applying pressure to his throat as the demon loomed over him was not a blade of any kind. It was something like a hand. Much larger than his own or indeed than any man, its fingers pressed painfully into his skin as he was pulled to his feet again, one arm hanging limply at his side, broken and useless. Húrin struggled to keep his senses when pain once more radiated through him, spots appearing in his vision. He supposed he should be grateful. He did not want to see the sprawl of the field before them. His exhaustion had been kept at bay only by the rush of the fight and as the balrog who had cornered him forced him round, a part of him that he could not bring under his control seemed to decide that the fight was over. But to what end he did not know until his enemy spoke, an awful sound made worse by the eerie silence around them. 

“Never been ordered to take one of your kind alive,” the demon grunted in heavily accented Sindarin. As he said this he pulled at Húrin‘s armor, jostling his broken arm painfully, leaving tears in his clothing and several gashes as it was unceremoniously stripped away, joining the countless other relics upon the ground, “You should be honored.” It actually smiled at him, sharp and wicked, leaving a burning anger in the human’s chest that could not quite bring his energy back. 

[underfell-crystal]

HAHA TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY. I'll most likely write a third one today. Make sure to check out the art I've done for this series with the hashtag #StoryGlitch: UnderFell or #SG: UF !

I do not own any of the characters other than Crys, the girl with the white hair.

~~~Chapter Two: Meeting the Boss~~~

When Crys awoke, she was immediately assaulted by the smell of mustard. She blinked blearily at her surroundings, and heard a VERY loud snore from right next to her. She jumped, then looked to the side. She was greeted with Sans' sleeping face. Or, rather, she assumed he was sleeping. He still had a grin on his face, but his eyesockets were somehow closed. Fascinated, Crys squirmed into an upright position in his arms and pressed a small hand to his cheekbone. The bone was surprisingly warm, and tingled lightly under her touch. Sans grunted and snorted again, shifting at her touch. Crys touched the bone covering his eyesockets, and one opened, revealing a red light inside it.

Sans blinked at the small human child that was inches away from his face. "Uh.... kiddo? Whatcha doing?"

Crys tapped the bone above his eyesockets.  "How?"

"Huh?"

"How do your eyes close? You're just bone."

Sans chuckled, the rumble shaking Crys' entire body. "Well, babybones, I'll tell ya a secret."

Crys looked at him with large, curious eyes. Sans continued as she hung on his every word. "Now, ya can't tell anyone about this, okay? The secret is..... It's.... magic."

He winked conspirationally, grinning as Crys frowned, disappointed with his lack of explanation.

"That's not a real answer!"

"'Course it is, babybones, ya just don't like it."

Sans stretched and yawned. Immediately, Crys reached out her tiny hands and touched the edge of one of his sharp teeth.

"Ah... kid?? Wha ar ya 'oin?"

Crys was too busy poking his shark teeth to answer. His large hands carefully took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from his mouth. Crys huffed, and Sans chuckled nervously.

"Uh... don't go around pokin' into people's mouths, okay kiddo?"

Crys nodded and sat back on Sans' 'stomach'. Sans grinned at her.

"Want some food now?"

Crys nodded eagerly, and Sans picked her up again and shuffled into the kitchen, reheating a plate with two hot dogs on it. After they were done, Sans set her on the couch and gave her the plate. Upon further inspection, Crys noted that the hot dogs had tiny cat ears and a feline face carved into it, and solemnly ate the cute little thing. She was almost done with her first hot cat when a faint shout broke the silence. Sans jumped, then swore.

"Shit! I forgot Boss' shift is over!"

Sans scooped her up, looking down at her apologetically. "Sorry kid.. I'm gonna keep ya hidden, okay? Jus' don't move around too much."

Before she could protest or question him, Sans lifted up his red sweater and dispensed Crys into the cavity beneath his ribcage and above his pelvis. A moment later, his sweater went down, leaving Crys with very little light. The shouting was quite close now, and she heard the sound of a door being slammed open, a sharp, grating voice ringing through her ears.

"Sans! Why the fuck weren't you at your post earlier?!"

Sans coughed. "Well, Boss..... I uh.... jus' overslept is all."

The grating voice got shriller, and Crys winced, covering her ears. "Sans, you lazy ass, what if a human came through?! We must be on guard at all times! Do not let me catch you slacking off again, or I'll dust you!"

Loud, stomping footsteps made the stairs groan, and a door slammed somewhere. Sans let out a breath, his shoulders sagging. He lifted up his sweater and removed Crys from his ribcage.

"Sorry, kiddo... that was m' bro."

Crys blinked owlishly at him. "He didn't seem very nice."

Sans chuckled, though it seemed empty. "Yeah.... but he's a real softie."

Sans ascended the stairs, human child secure in his arms. He shuffled past the first door, entering the door with odd colorful flames coming out from under it. He closed the door and set Crys on the mattress on the floor. He sat down in front of her.

"Okay, babybones... we need to get ya a disguise."

Crys tilted her head. "What for?"

Sans looked nervous. He rubbed the back of his 'neck', looking away. "Listen, babybones, people.... aren't very nice down here."

"But you're nice," Crys pointed out. Sans let out an amused huff.

"Yeah, well.... everyone else isn't. And they'll likely want ta hurt ya and take yer Soul."

"My Soul?"

Sans gave her an odd look, before a look of understanding crossed his face. "Okay, babybones, don't panic, okay? I'm gonna show you yer Soul."

Crys nodded slowly, still confused. Sans leaned forward and pressed a large hand against the front of the red sweater, and when he drew it back, he was holding a blue heart. Sans sucked in a sharp breath, and Crys looked up at him. His gaze was locked on the heart in front of her. "Babybones.... what happened to yer Soul? Who hurt ya?"

His tone was low, almost a growl. Crys looked back at the blue heart and saw that it was cracked- a single white crack down to the center of the heart. Crys couldn't find it in herself to answer him. Sans cupped his hands around the blue heart gently, like he was holding a baby bird. Finally, his gaze lifted and met hers. "Babybones.... yer Soul is damaged... 's halfway through shatterin'... what happened to ya?"

Crys' throat was dry. She licked her lips and looked down, fidgeting with the hem of the sweater. She saw a couple white particles floating around her legs. "I.... I dunno... there was a man with blue strings... I kept going back, until I found a way to.... to escape... it hurt so much... I..... my momma..... I couldn't- I couldn't..."

Sans flinched as her eyes welled up with tears, his gaze darting down to the small blue Soul in his hands. He carefully moved closer and let the heart go back into Crys' chest. He picked her up and sat down on the bed, stroking her hair as she started to cry into his sweater, murmuring soothingly to her. More white particles appeared as she cried, the memories of the pain and the screaming resurfacing and hitting her like a tsunami. Finally, when she was all cried out, the particles slowly disappated. Sans rested his skull on top of her head, still running his bone-fingers through her hair. "Shh, babybones.... 's okay.... yer okay..."

Crys gulped and took a shaky breath, tilting her head back to look at him. "I-Is that why m-my.... Soul is broken...? 'Cuz of the man with the strings?"

Sans looked regretful as he nodded. "'Fraid so, babybones... and I dunno if ya can be healed... never seen a Soul halfway through shatterin'."

Crys sniffled, a couple white particles appearing around her arms. "So I'm gonna be broken forever?"

Sans shook his head, sensing her growing distress. "Yer not broken, babybones... yer strong. Ya lived through a huge amount of trauma. That's crazy!"

Crys looked up at him, tears slowing their waterfall down her face. Sans grinned at her. "Yer the strongest li'l human I know, babybones."

Crys smiled shakily at him, wiping away her tears. Sans nuzzled the top of her head, still cradling her protectively in his arms. "Let's get ya somethin' new to wear, yeah?"

Crys nodded, and he stood up, walking over to a messy closet. He began sorting through the clothes with one hand, holding her with his other arm. He grunted, pulling out a few articles of clothing and a pair of shoes that were far too large for her. He shuffled back to the bed and laid out his findings on the bed. There was another sweater- a black one-, a red hoodie that looked it could drown her in the amount of fabric, a pair of thick yellow socks, and a pair of black trousers. Sans turned away as she pulled off the tear-stained sweater and dressed in her new garments. She struggled to tie the shoes with the long sleeves covering her hands, but Sans came to her rescue, lacing them up tight enough so she wouldn't trip over her feet every time she took a step. He chuckled.

"Yer tiny, babybones... ya need some actual kid-sized clothes."

Crys nodded. She knew she looked ridiculous, with the huge shoes on her feet and the hoodie that was obviously meant for a person much bigger than her. Sans shuffled over to the closet again and came back with a white cloth mask with a cartoon smile printed onto it. Crys stared at it, then at Sans. "What's that for?"

Sans let out his rumbly laugh. "So ya won't be immediately recognized as a human, babybones."

He tied the mask around her nose and mouth. Some of her skin was still showing, and Sans moved her hair so most of her forehead was covered. He surveyed her with a 'this is good enough' look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but an angry shout interrupted whatever he was going to say.

"SANS!! Get your lazy cocyx down here before I drag you out myself!!"

Sans turned towards the door, grumbling. "I'm comin', I'm comin'!"

Apparently he wasn't going fast enough, because as he was reaching for the door, it was slammed open, a very, VERY tall figure looming in the doorway. A pair of cold red lights locked onto Crys before turning to Sans.

"Sans..... what the fuck is that?"

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~AHAHAHAHA NOW I AM THE WIELDER OF ANGST AND FLUFF. Feel free to ask questions about the story, share your thoughts, ask headcanons, or send fanart! Make sure to check out the cover art and other drawings I've done for the series with the story tags! Thanks for reading, my gems!~

[clair-void-ance]

Lucky Love (1/3)

Pairing: Cedric the Sorcerer x Alchemist! Reader

Word Count: Roughly  words

Warnings: Mental health mention 

Notes: Oof, this took longer than I thought it would; sorry about that. I ended up making this into a three part series in order to pan out the story with a tad more detail, so more chapters will be posted soon! Hope you guys like it :) Feedback and requests are always welcomed <3 This ones for my boi @queen-of-british-tea !!!

“The secrets of alchemy exist to transform mortals from a state of suffering and ignorance to a state of enlightenment and bliss.”

― Deepak Chopra

“He wishes he were a skilled poet, it would fit his chosen image perfectly; the poor, tragic, tortured artiste. But he has no talent for words, neither for paints nor music; his uselessness is tremendously total.”

― Curtis Ackie

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Being born the daughter of Master Erwin, there was never a doubt that your destiny would be written in the stars. His blatant adoration for the universe beyond Earth’s doorstep had been clear to you from an early age and, given you were his only child, he desired nothing more than to pass all of his knowledge down to you. 

The only issue that arose with that desire was that your focus wasn’t entirely directed towards space; your ambitions were more...Earth-based. 

Completely unbothered by this fact though, your father set out on a journey to find the most fitting subject he could study with you. Because, in his eyes, your interests were his interests; and having a relationship with his daughter was far more important than any of the mysteries the vast and never-ending universe could hold. 

The search didn’t take as long as he expected though, because your likes and dislikes fit surprisingly well with a subject he was very familiar with in his schoolboy years: Alchemy. 

By interpretation, Alchemy is a “sort of terrestrial astronomy” that deals with all sorts of human and worldly aspects. Which fit both of your interests to a “T,” thankfully.

When that was decided, he began to introduce you to the magical world of alchemy and what it entailed. Each day he would offer new texts on Alchemy, Magic, and the universe as well as provide fresh insights on the universe’s effects on the human body. What filled you with the most intrigue though, was how you could use the items the world offered you in order to heal, change, and create other living organisms. So much so that you ended up working together to create a spell and potion that turns rocks into ravens.

Sadly, your passion for contributing to the world around you was so blinding that you completely forgot about how you would go about implementing that knowledge and passion.

That is, until you had been told you were to be sent off to a real academy by your mother. The one place you did not want to end up going.

That fact had left you slightly heartbroken since you could no longer spend your days endlessly pouring into Alchemical books and having passionate discussions with your father, but excited you with the prospect of a proper education…….One where you would have to attend a school that had none of your friends. One where you would have to spend all of your days and nights toiling over the assignments your teachers assigned to you. One at Hexley Hall.

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After two hours of travelling to the esteemed ‘Academy of Wizardry,’ you had begun to feel stiff and in dire need of a decent stretch. Even if it meant standing outside in the chill September wind. 

At this point though, you were willing to do anything to rid your body of its mental and physical stress. Up until now, the only thing that kept you distracted from the bile your anxiety had been threatening to dispel from your body was reading the book your father gave you: “Distilling Nature’s Secrets: The Sacred Art of Alchemy.” But you had already finished that in the first hour of the ride and were now left with the gnawing feeling of dread that came with being thrown into an unfamiliar environment; one where you wouldn’t have the comforting words of your father to calm you down.

Before you could drive yourself further into a sense of dread, the sight of a tower looming over a hill stole all of your attention.

Pulling yourself to the carriage’s window, you saw the place that you would be spending the rest of your childhood at: Hexley Hall. 

The school that would teach you everything you wanted to know about the ancient art of alchemy. 

Its windows glistened with evening dew and its structure held a contrast you were not familiar with until now. Growing up in Enchancia’s castle, you had only known modern, sleek, and upbeat architecture. Hexley Hall though, defied all of those tropes. It possessed intricate designs, a soulfully picturesque look, and an eerie aesthetic. One that you felt you could get used to. Especially if the inside held a matching look.

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

After making a swift landing, you thanked your coachman, acquired your luggage, and began to make your way towards the crowd of fellow newcomers. 

The entire entrance to the school was bustling with excited new students, and their confused glances and demeanors were beginning to ease your anxious mind. Maybe everyone else was as 'in the dark' as you were...Maybe you weren’t alone in your strife.

That discombobulation you all possessed didn’t last long though, and soon enough you were all ushered in by what seemed to be one of the teachers. After being brought into the Great Hall for a brief rundown of how the school worked and who would be teaching you all, schedules were floated to their respective owners and maps of the school were provided to each student. 

Looking down at the map, each child had a glowing mark on where their assigned dorm was located. Ironically enough, yours was in the area dedicated to potioneers, alchemists, and other magicians dedicated to the physical arts. 

Dinner commenced shortly after introductions were made and, after a bout of awkward shuffling, you found a quiet location to eat and began your trek to your new dormitory.

By chanting a wandless spell to the map, an arrow led to your room where you began to unpack. 

Given you didn’t bring many items besides books and clothes, you quickly laid yourself down on the comfortable mattress and ran through the events of the day. Although you still hadn't met any friends yet, you did gain insight into the place you'd be spending the rest of your teenage life at.

Putting aside those thoughts, you curled around your pillow and fell into a blissful sleep. 

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

Schedule: Year One- Semester One

Student: (y/n) Erwin

Study: Alchemy

Study Order

Breakfast

Class One: Potions

Class Two: Intro to Alchemy: The People, The Places, and The Items

Class Three: Intro to Magic: Wands and Guidelines

Class Four: Gnosticism, Occultism, and Esoteric Beliefs

Lunch

Class Five: Magical Creatures and The Human Spirit

Dinner

Looks about right, you thought to yourself as you made your way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Although you would have preferred Alchemy as the starting class of your day, potions was definitely a good choice as well. 

What bothered you more than the order or your classes though, was who would have to interact with during these assigned classes. 

But that’s a problem for later, you thought to yourself as you devoured the first of many breakfasts at the Wizarding School of Enchancia. 

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

Being the first person to class, you had the advantage of picking the best seat in the classroom. At least, that was what you hoped to happen until a mop of multi colored hair caught your eye. 

Although you didn’t mind the place he had sat in before you could choose, he was sitting in the spot next to the one you DID prefer. 

that doesn’t matter you thought, maybe he could be my first friend….He couldn’t be that bad could he?

You decided to try your luck and hesitantly tapped the young boy's right shoulder. Whipping his head around he gave you a questioning look that you assumed meant: "??? Can I help you?"

"Do you mind if I sit next to you? I like the feel of this corner and you don't look half as bad as the rest of our class."

His startled, yet hopeful, look gave you the impression he didn't get approached much. Let alone get told that he looked welcoming. 

Despite that though, his face softened and he said, 

"Really?....I suppose I don't mind." 

He cautiously lifted his palm to you and said, "My names Cedric. I'm coming here to become the next Royal Sorcerer. What about you?"

With a firm grip, you shook his hand and settled down into your seat. Taking out your schedule you replied, "(y/n) Erwin! I'm studying to become the Royal Alchemist!"

Gripping your chin with an inquisitive look, you added a quick, "You wouldn't happen to be related to Goodwyn the Great would you? I thought I recognized you at first, but I couldn't quite place from where…."

"Uhm….Yeah, I am. D-did you live at the castle as well?"

You fiddled with your papers until they were straightened properly and looked at him, saying, "Yep. My dad's the Royal Astronomer, so we get to live with him at the castle…..I've seen you around you know….I always meant to say hi, but your dad and sister seemed to take up most of your time."

He rubbed his wrists anxiously and let out a, "yeah, they tend to do that…...but I digress. Do wanna compare schedules? I don't have any friends either, and you don't seem that bad as well…."

Looking down at the schedule he gripped in his hand, you noticed that it didn't seem so far off from yours. You were both new to the school after all, so it made a tad bit of sense. Luckily you wouldn't have to split up very much for the next couple of years.

Schedule: Year One- Semester One

Student: Cedric Goodwyn

Study: Sorcery

Study Order

Breakfast

Class One: Potions

Class Two: Intro to Alchemy: The People, The Places, and The Items

Class Three: Intro to Magic: Wands and Guidelines

Class Four: Intro to Magic: Practice

Lunch

Class Five: Magical Creatures and The Human Spirit

Dinner

Surprisingly, it seemed as though you would be seeing a lot of each other. Which didn't seem to bother either of you that much. After confirming your new friendship and planning your day out together, you both set up your supplies and began your first class of the day.

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

After cleaning up your respective area of the shared potions table, you reminisced on how well the class had actually gone. Despite both of you being new, you and Cedric seemed to work in a sort of synchronized state. Even your teacher pointed out how good you two were together. This had made you both proud, but you noticed that it had made Cedric especially happy. 

Given the way that he had acted and responded to your questions, you inferred that his home life…..probably wasn't that great. Especially if the tiniest amount of praise made his day ten times brighter.

Which is why you had made a vow to yourself that you would do everything in your power to make him realize his self worth. After all, not everyone had a supportive father and family like you did. 

Picking up the last of your mess, you threw your bag over your robbed shoulder and asked, “Would you mind if I sat with you in our other classes as well today? I’m not really…..friends with anyone else here yet and we seem to make a good team. Plus, you seem really sweet.”

“I’d love to!,” he said in an excitable raised voice. His face broke out in a flustered blush at how desperate he sounded and quickly let out a, “I mean, if that’s what you want to do…”

To that, you chuckled and lightly punched his shoulder saying, “Of course I would you dork. Now let's hurry up so we can get the best seats in our next class."

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

After that day, the two of you were like two peas in a pod. Whenever you both had a class, were going somewhere, or ate, you were attached to the hip. Even teachers knew that, if they couldn’t find one of you, they wouldn’t find the other either as well. 

For you two, there was never a subject left unstudied, never a prank left undone, and never a conversation left undiscussed.

It started off with you both teaming up in your shared classes, meeting for meals, and talking on the way to class, but soon branched off outside of school. 

With coaching from you, and years of positive reinforcement on your end, Cedric had been coaxed out of his hesitant and neglected shell. All it took was one fond look and a caress of his hair from you and Cedric was turned into mush. The love you showed him through the years made him see that not everyone was out to get him. And not everyone was untrustworthy. 

In summary, you brought hope in humanity back into his life. Something that he surely would have gone off the deep-end without.

To others, it seemed as though you had put him under a spell and transformed him into a new man; Cedric had never felt so confident in his life.

 Especially since he never had anyone to support him. Until you, that is……

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

(Year 7 at Hexley Hall)

Flicking your wand in a cursive “J” formation, you pointed your wand at the painted black stone and whispered, “Avifors.” 

Within seconds, the rock morphed in size and began to take the shape of a sleek, black raven. 

Pecking the tip of your index finger, it cocked its head at you and turned to inspect Cedric.

Cedric, gazing back at the bird, looked absolutely stunned at the sight of this seemingly never-heard-of spell and immediately began to shift his eyes to you and then raven. He wasn’t sure where you had learned that, since you were only taking alchemy classes, but he was beyond interested in knowing.

“Merlin’s Beard! Did you make that spell up all on your own?”

“Not exactly,” you chuckled, “My father and I worked for days to come up with the correct spell and paint concoction when I was a child. But it worked out, and now I have a way to create any type of bird to do my bidding!”

Setting his chin in his palm, he began to gaze fondly at the scene in front of him and think about all the things he has yet to learn about you. 

“Would it be alright if you taught me that spell? I know it’s yours and everything….. but it’s too bloody brilliant to be left unpracticed.”

“Sure!.......I'll write it down for you by tomorrow.”

You blushed and stared down at your feet. Showing him you and your father’s spell had made you nervous at first, thinking he would find it childish compared to his studies. But his unwavering attention in it showed you that maybe it wasn’t that bad after all…..

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

After that day, you knew that you were in love with Cedric. He had been with you at every step of the way through your years at Hexley Hall, and you knew that he would be there for you for days to come. Working at Enchancia’s castle wouldn’t stop the bond that you both had formed over the years. Especially since you two would be working close together. 

With each other until the end, that’s what you both had promised one another. 

‘If only it was in a romantic sense,’ you thought to yourself, gazing up at the great expanse in the night sky. 

With a huff of a laugh, you kicked the rocks in front of you. 

As if…………..

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

You Know Better - Part 37 - Epliogue

-gif source unknown-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: The final, final piece of this story.

Warnings/Labels: All the fluff

Approx. Word Count: 1,300

A/N: August 18, 2016. That is the date I originally posted the very first part of this story. Almost four years ago. That feels absolutely insane and I apologize for the hiatus taken in the midst of it and the way-too-long wait times between updates. I cannot believe how many of you have stuck with me for this ride and I am forever grateful. You guys are amazing and I love each of you, no matter when you hopped on this train, whether it be yesterday or three years ago. This is the longest story I’ve written and now completed. It is a major accomplishment for me and I can’t thank you guys enough for the support you’ve given me.

Story Masterpost

“You getting slow on me?” you taunt after landing a blow to Peter’s abdomen. He chuckles at you, but manages to scold you with his eyes. “I feel fine,” you assure him before he can twist his look into words. “Stop holding back.” He gives a tilt of his head and before you know it, you’re on the ground, the wind knocked out of you.

“You’re still rebuilding your strength,” he reminds you from above. He offers his hand to help you up and you playfully swat it away. Your breaths are heavy, but shallow and even your stubborn ass knows it’s time for a break.

“It’s been a month,” you complain, sitting up and pushing yourself off the ground, back to your feet.

You’d been in the hospital for a couple of days before getting the all clear to return home. Despite both Derek and Peter’s urges for you to stay with one of them for a while, you insisted on going back to your own place. By the following week, you were back to working out and Peter allowed you to spar with him at low levels.

Things with Peter have been different in a good way. Without the looming pressure of death and chaos, the air between you is lighter. There’s more laughter over coffee. There’s actual cuddling on his couch. You never really thought of Peter as a cuddler, but when that man throws his arm around you, you never want to get up. Most of the time you just… don’t get up. It’s caused you to end up spending more time at his place than your own lately.

You stretch your arms over your head and arch your back, working out the kinks that keep building up. You hate missing so much training time. It’s so much harder to come back without the built up strength. Peter gently takes one of your wrists and moves behind you. Holding your arm straight into the air, he brings it down to shoulder height and presses his palm against yours, his other palm on the back of your shoulder blade. He pulls your palm gently, giving your shoulder a much needed stretch as your arm pulls back.

He repeats the motion with your other side and when your shoulder pops, you let out a pained, but relieved moan that brings a chuckle from him. He digs his thumb just under your shoulder blade to ease the pain. When he releases you, you turn on your heels and face him. Neither of you seem to have personal space anymore, the other always creeping in to be nearby. And you’ve both found that you like it that way.

“No ice,” you warn him. He smiles down at you. “I’m so tired of ice.” It sounds a little more like a whine than you intended, but he’s not arguing so far so who cares? He presses a finger under your chin to tilt your head up and urge you closer.

“How about a little heat instead?” he whispers before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss hold no trace of chasteness, his mouth opening to yours instantly. Your hands press to his chest, sliding over his shirt, contemplating removing it for him. The finger on your chin turn and slip upwards, his hand cradling your jaw. He shifts forward, pressing his pelvis to yours and that’s when you open your eyes and give him a gentle push.

“Not right now,” you tell him, reluctantly pulling away. “I’ve still got to get home. Do laundry. Clean the food I haven’t been eating out of the fridge.” You give his chest a small pat and then slip away from his grasp before he convinces you to do otherwise. Again. You start to gather some of your things scattered around his apartment. Clothes in the bedroom. Toothbrush from the bathroom. The cake pan out of the kitchen that you’d brought over insisting you were going to make him dessert like you said you would one day. As you’re shoving it into your bag, rattling it around to make it fit, you hear him come into the kitchen behind you.

“When are you going to sell it?” he asks. You look over your shoulder at him, confused.

“The cake pan?” He rolls his eyes so hard that he looks like Derek. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No, not the pan. Your place.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you panic internally for a moment. Were you supposed to be selling your place? Had you said you were going to do so at some point? You wrack your brain for any clues, but keep coming up empty. Peter sees your utter helplessness at this conversation and with a look to the side, decides to help you out. “You practically live here already,” he says. “You’re here more than you are there anymore. Just makes sense.” He shrugs casually, but is carefully avoiding looking you in the eye. It finally clicks into place and you put your bag down, slowly walking up to him.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” You can’t keep the smile from your face and his eye roll is much less harsh this time.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” he starts to backtrack. You tip up onto your toes and press a quick kiss to the side of his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’d love to,” you tell him. He was right, after all. You did spend most of your time here already. If the logic wasn’t enough to convince you, the way your heart fluttered and your stomach flipped over certainly was. He smiled softly at you and you swear there’s just the slightest look of relief as he brushes a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Think Derek will throw a fit?” you tease. He chuckles and turns to wrap his arm around your waist, walking with you out of the kitchen.

“It might surprise you to know that he’s the one you suggested it.” He chuckles at your wide eyes and open mouth signaling that yes, it does in fact greatly surprise you. He presses a kiss to the side of your head as he leads you through the living room and down the hall, clearly headed towards the bedroom. “Technically he thought we were already living together.”

“I think Argent does too,” you admit, happily letting him lead you. “When he came by to check on me and return my destroyed clothes, he did come here after all.” He spins you to face him as you approach the bed so that it’s behind you now. He presses a kiss to you, done with the conversation.

He kisses you hotly, his hands already slipping underneath the hem of your tank top to brush his fingers over your ribs, making you giggle just slightly. You return his kiss, all thoughts of ever returning to your place having already floated away. You let him push you down onto the bed – your bed now – and crawl over you, lips barely ever leaving yours.

When his lips move down to your neck and your eyes flutter closed, you can’t help but think about how happy you are and the thought makes you laugh a little too much. Peter pulls back, unsure if he should be offended or worried at your fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” you say between giggles. “It’s just… who would have thought Peter Hale would be the one to make me this happy?” The laughs fade and you’re left with a soft silence as he looks into your eyes, your fingers gently stroking his face. You can see it in his eyes; the almost confession. The words reflect so clearly. I love you. He’s not going to say them yet and you don’t need them. So you smile instead and pull him back to you. Maybe one day you’d both voice your feelings with words, but until then, it’s practically screaming in actions

As he removes your clothes in what you can now call your bed, in your shared apartment, you can’t stop thinking that this feel like just the beginning of a beautiful story.

The End.

[rideboldlyride]

The Morning of the Dragon (Pt. 1)

This is all @doodleladi‘s fault. I love the art in this post of theirs. Please go look at this art... and all of their other beautiful Zutara art! Here’s AO3: Link 

It’s under the break- And this is just part one of two. I can’t guarantee part two will be out before Zutara Week (I’ve got to finish those prompts first) but the second half will come soon, I promise!

She had only been in Caldera City for a few days, staying at the Palace at the Fire Lord’s particular request. It wasn’t an unusual request; it was a standing invitation to all of his old friends. In official capacity as a representative of the Southern Water Tribe, she was making her semi-annual visit to reconfirm trade agreements between her people and the Fire Nation. In an unofficial capacity, she had been written by her friend, Zuko, to help with an imminent threat of unknown form. It was rumored as an attack against the throne but no intelligence had been retrieved to give this looming threat any substance. 

Finally speaking in person with him, he had seemed only mildly concerned, in contrast to the tone of his letter. When she pressured him over this he moved from his desk and paperwork without comment. Upon reaching the door, he dismissed his guard retinue before closing and latching it tightly. He had been studiously avoiding her gaze during all of this, and when he returned from the door, he sat down in the second guest chair with a rather undignified flop. A deep sigh escaped him. 

“Sometimes I forget that others don’t have to play the mind games…”

A dark brow rose at his words, her blue eyes questioning. He began to absentmindedly rub his forehead directly above his scar. Golden eyes avoided her.

“Yes, Katara, I am concerned. I’m too close to some major changes in the nation. Change doesn’t always sit well with those comfortable in their positions.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that they’d rather my father or my sister on the throne.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she now understood his request for help. But why her? Not that she was upset, she admitted only to herself. That question wasn’t worth asking, and she was quite content to metaphorically stretch her legs again in something other than politics. 

“What can I do to help?”

With that, the next two days were spent elbow deep in intelligence reports, and meeting with the Fire Lord’s Head of Intelligence, a stern faced, graying woman. From as far as they could determine, it was Azula sympathizers. As for the date and actual form of the attack, Katara was at a loss. These dissenters were a well-organized crew and tight lipped. The first sign of their existence was a misplaced pamphlet. And while some of their activities were easy to track, there were large brush strokes missing in the overall painting. By the third morning, she awoke feeling more frustrated and inexplicably drowsy rather than rested. 

As she withdrew the curtains, the brilliant morning light was sharp and piercing. Her head pounded. Pulling the water from her nearby water bowl, Katara’s hands glowed as she placed them over her temples. As the pain eased, she was surprised to find that the drowsiness refused to budge. On instinct, she followed her Qi lines downwards, following a small ripple in their flow. The ripples grew into a full turbulence in her belly. Even through the fog, her mind snapped into place. 

She had been drugged. 

With a wave, she leeched the toxin through  her skin, and flicked it out the open window. Mind finally clear, a sudden litany of observations flooded her consciousness: there was no fresh water in her bowl, no attendant at her door trying to rouse her at this late hour, no Zuko doing his morning kata in the courtyard. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. With a mad rush, she sprinted first to the Fire Lord's office chambers. 

No guards outside the door.

No Zuko inside. 

Next, to the throne room, and once more, there was no guard. 

Another empty room. 

With bile rising into her mouth, she bolted down the hallway. In the transit, she was amazed to find no staff or guards wandering the Palace. Outside the Fire Lord's chambers, two guards sat slumped. Scorch marks and melted armor told her who had been there. However, she was mollified, in a morbid way, to see that smoke still rose from their mortal wounds. Their visitor was recent. And potentially still within.

Moving quietly to the door, she laid an ear against the wood grain. Ever so slightly, she could make out the familiar quiet but frantic female voice. A meaty thump echoed, followed by a muted groan. Katara's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She didn't need to wait any longer. Pulling water from the very humid air about her, she coiled it like an angry snake, and with it's strike it broke open the door before her. 

Anger sparkled like icy crystals behind her eyes, as the waterbender took in the room. While she was certain there were others involved, the room held only Zuko and Azula; the former, bound and gagged on the floor. A mist rested over his eyes, and Katara was certain he too had been drugged. 

A cackle escaped his sister's mouth, and she turned to the angry gaze of her older brother. 

"Look, Zuzu! We're having a reunion!" Wild amber eyes flicked back and forth between the two. The younger woman was ready for this insurrection to end before it had truly started, but as she reached out to pin Azula to the wall, she saw the fear slip over Zuko's eyes. Katara faltered in that moment. 

Azula smirked, pointing two lazy fingers at her. 

"Bam."

And Katara's world went dark. 

***

She awoke again, sick to her stomach. While not sure of what had hit her, she was sure it was not Azula's lightning. For one, Katara was certain that if she had been shot through with lightning, she would not have woken back up again. Secondly, the only thing that ached was her head. The pain was only exaggerated, she found, by the pressure and sway from her motion. In her addled brain, Katara felt the sea swell around her but as she reached out blindly, there was only a haze of water about her. Something held her hands in a solid clasp, and they moved together only, still drawing nothing from the ocean that must exist beyond her eyelids.

Confusion seeped through the fog enveloping her mind. How could she sway without the sea, be bound without seaweed at her joints, have her head throb without the pressure of the ocean's depths?

Sway…? Bound, pain…? Her mind was jumbled, until they crested a wave, broached. The jostle forced her eyes open, as she struggled to make sense of her last waking memory. Through pure muscle memory, her body remained limp, allowing her eyes to take in her surroundings before moving. Her joints remained loose, and as she swayed, she attempted to make sense of what she saw. 

Instead of the blues and greens of the ocean, or even the inky blacks of the sea at night, she found rock and dust, cast in a flickering red glow. She swayed, not with the waves, but with a gait. Seaweed did not rest around her wrists and ankles, but rather coarse rope. And the pounding in her head, she suspected, originated more from the cause of the drizzle of blood that seeped from her hairline to one of her eyes. 

The waterbender was dazed, her thoughts still a jumbled mess, but she tried to sew together the tapestry. With a sudden pop of recognition, she saw her last moment before the dark. 

Azula… Zuko!

The memory of her dear friend brought the unease from her stomach to the back of her mouth, and she swallowed the acrid taste back down. It was better for her captors to think her still incapacitated, and unaware, as she gathered whatever intel she could glean from them. Through the roar of a non-existent surf, she could make out the shape of the words spoken around her, but only with intense concentration. 

"... over there. I want her fully within view." It was a growling voice. Angry, dismissive, sneering. Solidly masculine. 

Her current mode of transportation stopped, pulling themselves upright, before moving again. As the joint of the wall and the floor came into view she willed her body limp. Her courier was less than gentle, but she forced the pain away from her face, allowing a neutral facade to stay in place, as she was dumped unceremoniously against the wall. 

Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on the rest of her senses, including the pull of the moon on her skin. She knew they must not be too far from the surface, for while it was distant, it was not unattainably muted. Maybe midday? The waterbender had not been unconscious for too long. 

The floor under her felt cold but dry. Around her, past the smell of dust, a faint rancidly sweet smell permeated from every pore and crevice. At the rustle of fabric, she heard metal jangle, being dragged both across stone and something else metal. Heavy metal. Desperately, she tried to piece together the puzzle, but the only connections she could make were hardly settling her concern. A hearty thump reverberated near her, bracketed by a pained grunt. 

It took all of her willpower not to open her eyes at that moment. Fear danced in her belly, for Katara was certain she knew who had made that noise. Instead, she waited until footsteps moved towards her. They stopped just shy, closer to the origin of the enclosed space's newest inhabitant. 

"Here, Father. And that peasant is the one I spoke about." Azula. Her voice was high. Too high. The water tribeswoman wondered if she had stopped taking her herbs, or if the seeming taming of the young woman over the past few years had been an act all along.

Wait. Father?!

Katara's heart jumped into her throat. She had never heard Ozai's voice before but it was easy to place that scathing voice with the warped scar on Zuko's face, and she felt a bitter anger grow from her chest, down to her fingers, tingling. All she had to do, Katara knew, was reach out, and she would be able to feel his heart beat, the blood rushing through his veins. And with a snap, she could end it right there. It's what Zuko would deserve- a fresh slate wiped clean with the blood of his father. Her mind wandered to Azula- how she might actually be able to heal without the presence of Ozai…

But in that half breath, she released the tension in her body, and let the thought crash upon the rocks of her mind. It's not what Zuko would want- not what would be good for anyone. Instead, she waited and the dark wave washed over and away.

"Good." The older man purred, and she listened as a ruffle of fabric brought him closer to the ground. "I thought I told you, Zuko. Defiance would be your downfall. Consider this the push."

With a flurry of sound, she heard the footsteps retreat, along with the scraping of bare skin upon the stone. A grimace tried to cross her neutral expression, but she caught it in time. The healer knew she was going to have her work cut out for her once it was all said and done. Far enough away now from the sounds, she felt confident to open her eyes to slits. 

They were in a meat locker. An old, unused one, but its original purpose was obvious. Meat hooks of various weights and sizes hung across metal grids, above. Blue eyes watched worriedly, as the older man reached for one of the stockier hooks hanging, dragging it to where his son laid discarded and bound on the floor. A growl on his lips, Ozai snatched his bound hands and caught the rope on the hook overhead, latching it into place. It was just high enough that she recognized that Zuko stood high on the ball of his feet. 

Father and son stood eye to eye.

"So." Ozai began, his voice only betraying disgust at the young man before him. Katara's heart sank, as she spotted the one thing Zuko was desperately trying to hide, to tamp into the deep recesses of his expression. Fear. "You thought you could usurp my throne."

A strangled noise came from behind the young woman and Katara recognized with a pang of surprise, that Azula stood directly behind her. The thought caused an immediate reaction, so quick that she couldn't suppress it. The waterbender jolted. Evidently Zuko wasn't the only one who couldn't control the fear these two wrought. 

Azula jumped upon it like a cat-wolf on its prey. Fingers with jagged, raw nails, dug into the flesh in her arm. She felt the prick of blood breaking through the surface of her skin. 

The pretense was gone, and Katara turned to face Azula, fury behind the tumultuous seas in her eyes. While Zuko had been gagged, she had not, and in the moment she took advantage of it. 

"I wish I had been wrong about you." Katara's words were like venom, and the noble woman's expression fell. Taking advantage of the lull, and the sudden release of pressure from her arm, the waterbender turned, and bit down hard upon the closest thing she could find. It ended up being Azula's forearm. 

There was a certain level of justice she felt when she withdrew, leaving bloody teeth marks embedded in her flesh. Azula withdrew with a cry and fell back, clutching her arm. With a spin, she knocked the young noble off her feet. Reaching for her bound ankles, Katara pulled at the water around, but could barely gather enough for a small wisp of a stream. 

Behind her, she heard a degrading laugh, and it lashed like a whip across her back. Defiant eyes flashed towards the prior Fire Lord. 

"You." Her voice was rough, growling. "You're out of your crate."

She watched with satisfaction as her words hit home. His unblemished gaze turned in rage towards her. 

"Mongrel." He sneered.

Disgust rolled through her, as she pulled at the rope coiled at her ankles, feeling it finally break free. A sound caught her attention, as Zuko released a muffled cry towards her. His eyes were wide. 

Water was nearby, but too far away for her to pull to her easily, and with an unhinged disgraced princess and an infuriated ex-Fire Lord so close, the effort would be deadly. For a moment, she questioned her verbal jab, but didn’t have any real time to consider it, before she heard the crackle of fire. Rolling, legs now free, she ended back on her knee and foot, sitting low, as blue fire licked at where she had stood just a few moments prior. As much as Katara wanted to focus on Zuko, and getting him away from his father, Azula forced her attention on to her only. 

Desperately, she reached again for water, but found it still inaccessible. But like a whisper in a room, she felt a tingle at her arm, now dripping with her own life force. There was another option…

***

Zuko watched the fight starting across the room from him, leaning into the heat from his sister’s fire. Straining against his binds, he had dismissed all thought of his now non-bending father, until his face swam before him. As powerless as Ozai now was compared to him, the young man was not naive enough to think he held no threat. 

“This was going to be an easy transition, you ceding the throne to save your little peasant friend.” His words sneered, hinted at something more, but Zuko didn’t care. “But now, it seems we’re going to have to go about this the old fashioned way.”

A flash of light off steel, and Zuko knew what fate his father had in mind for him. Instead of watching what neared him, he tore his face away, desperate to watch for Katara’s success and survival. A hand behind his head, gripped at his hair, pulling him forward, and his father’s words were in his ear. Amber eyes refused to turn to him, but the words were as cold as the steel he felt slip through his skin.

“I should have just let you die the night you were born. You’ve been nothing but a disgrace to me.”

Zuko knew of the night he had been born, under a full moon, in the depths of winter, for he had barely breathed, and was far too cold. He had been told of how his father kept him warm for the next day, against his skin. That was when his family still had a chance of joy. Of happiness. And now… this final betrayal of his father’s love hurt more for the lack of surprise. 

Abstractly, he felt the cold steel slide out of his side. The pain had yet to flare, but his knees gave way, and he sagged, all his weight now hanging from his arms. Ironically, he thought, the pain in his shoulders was worse than the one in his side. A shot of electricity from his side flared and a groan escaped him, unbidden.

Oh. He thought. Oh, there it is. 

***

She danced, feet light, slowly working her way around, while the enraged princess spewed fire about. Katara's head still pounded, and it made her work hard to concentrate on through the haze. The small sliver of water she had pulled at earlier was slowly working its way through the ropes at her wrists as she twisted away from yet another geyser of flame.

A groan reached her ears, and she turned in time to see Zuko sag as a dark line grew across his abdomen, and slid effortlessly down his lines. 

"No…" it wasn't a cry of anguish, a scream of rage, but rather a whisper of fear.

The distraction was all Azula needed, and she felt the heat wrap around her shoulder. A smell of scorched hair, fabric and flesh tickled her nose, as the fire blossomed on her. She rounded, fury now in her eyes, as the ropes fell away. 

In her peripheral, she registered Ozai's retreat up the stairs, his prison garb flashing red, but she watched the more dangerous of the two- Azula. The action of the fight brought Katara to bear, and the wild-eyed woman now stood between her and her goal: Zuko, who's belly was becoming slick and dark in the dim light, and the skin around his eyes was becoming tight. Even still, his gaze was locked on the battle before him. 

A new feeling coiled in her belly, one of warmth, certainty, when their eyes met over the head of his sister. She was familiar with the feeling- she had felt it years ago, when she had to fight her way to him across the coronation plaza. The difference now was that she was old enough and experienced enough to put a word to the feeling. 

Now wasn't the time to name it though, and instead, she used it as fuel to clear her mottled brain. The tingle was back at the liquid pooling down her limp arm, since the pain of the fire rendered it temporarily useless. It wasn't water, but the flow of liquid, and intuitively, she knew that while it may be slightly more sluggish to move, bending it was fully well within her reach. 

With her free hand, she pulled the blood away from her arm, and it twisted threateningly, it's shadow purple in the blue flames. Eyes narrowed, she matched the harried gaze of Zuko's sister, and dropped her tone to ice.

"You have a choice. Either you move," she dipped her head menacingly, "or I go through you, Azula."

An angry, broken cry echoed through the room, as blue fire flared from her fingertips, following the wild swing she took towards the tribeswoman. Uncontrolled and wild, Katara easily sidestepped, bringing her whip of blood around, grazing it's sharp edge against her cheek. It drew its own line of crimson. Light brown eyes filled with tears, and she stumbled for a moment. 

Twisting to round again on Azula, her bloody whip (disconcertingly) growing, Katara turned onto her heel, leaned back, and softly molded the dark mass of fluid before her. Her fingertips danced hungrily at its shape, crafting something new. Standing back, one leg drawn in closer, but loosely placed before her, she eyed the other young woman. The look in Azula’s eyes was familiar, as she paced like a caged boar-hound. As she passed directly in front of the water tribeswoman, something popped behind her eyes, and the unsteady girl dropped low, knees bent and arms drawn up to her chest. 

Letting loose a volley of fire balls, Katara’s dark mass of blood surged, flattening before her like a shield. Foot sliding forward, she leaned into the motion, dragging her arms, even as the smell of metallic burning reached her nose. She pulled more from the open wound in her arm to replenish the blood burnt away by the saving motion. A shift in her hands, and the free flowing blood became a circle over her head, as she swept the noble’s feet from under her. The strike of the bent material on Azula’s already wounded cheek acted like a splash of cold water, and she came up sputtering. Katara used the moment to keep her on her toes.

“What are you hoping to accomplish, Azula? Ozai’s already gone.”

“He’s gone to secure my throne!” Her dark eyes flashed, and she recovered, sending out a new spray of fire. Katara merely side stepped, gripping her wrist with the now-whip, and using it to tug her forward and off her feet.

“It didn’t sound that way to me…” A dark brow rose over a too-blue eye. “Sounded like he was warming the throne solely for himself.”

“That’s because you’re a peasant!” The girl spat back at her. “You wouldn’t understand the throne!”

There was no fire in Azula’s hand as she leaned forward again, still struggling to regain her footing. Her ragged nails were the only part that made contact with Katara’s cheek. Three new lines of crimson blossomed across her cheekbone. The blood bender merely added its contribution to the crimson pool before her. 

“And I have no desire to, in the way in which you rule. Tell me, Azula,” she slid sideways again to avoid the flailing of the other fighter. She had no fire, no spark in her actions. Katara had no more fear for Azula. All of hers now waited on the other side of the room, where Zuko’s head now dropped forward loosely. “Tell me, who would you rather care for you? Rule over you? Ozai? Or… or Zuzu?”

The nickname felt like poison on her tongue, having only heard it used derogatorily. But she also knew that, once upon a time, that nickname was everything to both of them. She hoped her words might stir that memory more than before. Azula stood stock still before her for a moment, and blue eyes watched her warily. 

The prior Crown Princess, however, was defeated, and not by Katara’s whip. 

Slowly, a knee quivered, and then crashed to the ground, followed by the rest of the young woman’s body. The heels of her palms crushed into amber eyes. Sobs, slow and heartfelt escaped her as she crumpled onto the floor. 

"...he left..." her words were full of pain, slipping between sobs, "... gone…t-took it all away… again... but Zuzu…" 

Sharp nails clawed through disheveled hair. Katara sat up, recognizing the threat as now non-existent, but still moved cautiously around her. As soon as she moved away from the kneeling figure, the waterbender bolted to Zuko's side. His body hung limply from his wrists. With a twist of her hands, his binds fell away, and he slid to his knees with a loud thunk, but she caught him before he fell the rest of the way. His head slumped on to her shoulder. Panic flared in her belly, and tears sprung behind her eyes. 

"Zuko? Zuko?" Fingertips slipped into his hair, trying to rock him into consciousness. "Please. Please. Don't leave me." 

Desperation clawed up her throat. All the things that had sat unspoken, desires and fears, that were at the back of her brain, always at the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't do anything. There was no water, nothing she could pull to heal him. Eyes tight, tears began to trace lines down her cheeks. 

Tears. 

She pulled what she could: tears fallen, sweat on bare skin, condensation on the walls and steadily the water gathered at her hands and glowing, gently, she laid her fingertips on his open wound. 

"Please, Zuko…" she pressed her lips into his hairline, "don't leave me. I have too much to tell you…"

***

Part One/Part Two

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (10)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 10: Return of the Jedi | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Chapter 9 | Next: Chapter 11 | Masterlist

10 of 11

Not only did Cal feel the emotions that you allowed him to feel again, you showed him the memories that truly mattered. He was seeing everything in your point of view.

He saw himself—his old self—leaning against the broken wall of the Vault’s outer enclave, staring at the sunset upon Bogano. It was as if he was reliving the memory of his past self—he felt your hand slipping into his, in return, you clutch it back as both of you peered at the suns sinking behind the mesa.

However, your vulnerability allowed him to intrude beyond that line. He found you inside a house that he’s never seen before and he caught a glimpse of the Holocron being hidden away in a box by a pair of hands; before the slip-up could get any worse and expose Obi-Wan with the Holocron, you pushed him out and erected the same wall.

The vision ended and he jerked his hand away at the abrupt jab of light, a deep buzzing sound cracked in his ears as he shifted back into reality. The Grand Inquisitor saw how the Eleventh Brother appear disoriented—surely, he must have gotten some results.

“Well?!”

“I… I saw it… it was being kept away someplace.”

“Where is it? Where is that place?!”

“I… I don’t know…” the boy shuddered.

As he stepped into the light, it terrified you more when he got closer to you. Your lip shivered in fear, goosebumps pelted your skin, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. The Grand Inquisitor shoved Cal away and stood eye-to-eye with you.

“I see,” he purred. Then through his jagged, pointed teeth, he hissed. “With the Holocron nowhere to be found, yet the boy claims that you’ve seen its contents, perhaps not all is lost after all.”

“I can see that your overconfidence is your best asset,” you spat.

“Charming,” a sarcastic smile crawled about his lip pale, ivory lips. With a flicking gesture of his fingers, the operator pushed the button and the shock was so sharp that your spine arched against the bed. “You will either tell us what we want to know or you die in this very contraption.”

“Maybe I’ll go with… PISS OFF!”

“Very well,” he sighed, sarcastically rolling his eyes. He abruptly turned to the operator and barked. “Set the voltage level to five!”

Another notch turned, followed by the press of a button. The two conduits hummed as it closed in on your body. As the cold, metal pads pressed against the flesh below your collarbone, the only thing you’re able to do is suck in a huge dollop of air and release a gut-wrenching scream so loud that your throat has gotten dry from all the crying. Your body jerked in response to the high voltage—your knees buckled, your wrist pivoted underneath the cuffs, and the agonizing throes of your body to all sides rattled the machine itself.

The Grand Inquisitor threw his fist in the mid-air, signaling the operator to pause, and interrogated you again. There was a sinister glint in his eyes at the instance of an afterthought.

“You know, there is another proposition that may perhaps be of great benefit for either party,” he sniggered. He didn’t await a reply from you, and so he continued. “Join our ranks, I’ll let you live and you will be of better use to me, far better than that traitorous Jedi, Cere Junda.”

“You don’t know Cere! She is a far better warrior than you could ever be!”

“Such misplaced faith, such misguided strength,” he subtly turned to Cal. “Now, I see why he was so eager to take you in because he told me you’d prove me of something—and I’m beginning to see it just now.”

You glanced over the taller Inquisitor’s shoulder to find Cal, he stood there, his eyes avoided you in the brief second that your gazes met.

“I’m impressed that the Eighth Sister spoke highly of you,” the Pau’an added. “As matter of fact, it’s a first for her! She never really liked competition.”

“Send her my regards then,” you spat.

“So, [y/n], what will it be? Die a ‘noble’ death here or see the true magnitude of your power—something that the Jedi nor your Master was ever able to unravel for you!”

Another shock. Your body is gradually growing numb from the electricity coursing throughout your body, your muscles are now suffering from spasms, your heart rate is three levels above normal—any more and it would get touch the critical level—and your breathing labored as you endure the pain.

“That high pain threshold is quite impressive. Not many can live beyond six,” he sniggered. “Notch the setting to seven!”

“No… NO!!!”

As the level of the shock increases, it went from mild to excruciating. Your muscles sprained due to your thrashing, you could feel your nerves burning at the intensity, every limb in your body jerked and curled at the mercy of the voltage.

“Well, he was right about one thing. You are strong, indeed. I am only keeping you alive because he told me that you can be of use to me.

“CAL… PLEASE!!” you cried out, throwing your head back to release an ear-shattering, painful scream.

The sensation was similar to being burned alive, except this one packed a bigger punch—since electricity consumes the body slower than fire, therefore it causes the victim to suffer for longer while still being partially-alive depending on their pain tolerance.

“What’s it going to be, child?!”

“I am a Jedi…! You can never break me!”

“I often find heroics quite dull,”

The indigo cracks of voltage danced before your eyes, your vision has blurred and you could only make out the colors and the silhouettes of those in the chamber. Cal shirked farther back in the room, he was slowly dissolving into the shadows from your perspective, and your cries of pain mixing with the call of his name were agonizing and stomach-churning.

He averted his eyes, even shut them tight with his hands tucked behind his back, and struggled to ignore your cries for help.

“CAL… HELP ME…!!”

Involuntarily and suddenly, a memory that the two of you shared played before his eyes. He saw you clinging on the edge of a cliff after a Nydak destroyed the stone pillar you used as a stepping stone. Your fingers were digging into the muck but you were slipping away.

“Cal, help me!”

“I got you! Don’t worry, baby… I got you!”

The memory of him running to you, grabbing you on both arms to pull you back up. He catches you in his arms in the final tug and cradled you.

An energy he has been unknowingly piling up was almost too much for him to contain. This energy rooted from all kinds of emotions—hate, pain, and anger.

“No…” he mouthed, his eyelids relaxing but keeping closed.

“HELP ME…!”

The Grand Inquisitor has sensed it, but reacted too late. Cal released perhaps the strongest wave of energy, inflicting Mass Push and Empowered Slow in quick succession on everybody in the room except for you, he switched on BD-1 using the Force and ran to you. While the little droid took a minute to reboot his entire system, Cal unbuckled the restraints as quickly as he can. Your body, limp and exhausted from enduring all that pain, fell away from the machine.

“I got you …!” Cal gasped as he caught you.

“Cal…?” you struggled to open your eyes, a blurry image of his face filled your sight.

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you…! Can you stand?”

You didn’t answer, you struggled to stand and Cal supported you by wrapping your arm around his shoulder. Both of you hobbled away from the machine and to the door. Apparently, the effect of Cal’s abilities against the Grand Inquisitor wore off sooner than the rest.

“YOU WEAK, INSOLENT COWARD!” The Grand Inquisitor bellowed while trying to break free, you and Cal were taken by surprise when you saw the Pau’an flexing and stretching his neck and shoulders.

Knowing he had to think fast, he used the Force to pull your lightsaber resting on the control terminal and handed it over to you; he also found that BD-1’s back to full function.

“BD-1, come on!”

When the little droid saw that Cal was helping you, he made a quick, cheerful chirp and flew towards the both of you with his turbojets and perched onto Cal’s shoulder.

“Yeah, buddy, I got you!” he patted the little droid’s head and it chirped in response.

BD-1 voluntarily popped out a stim for you, which Cal caught in the air and injected right into you, hoping that the substance would help you recover enough strength to fight.

“Here,” Cal hands over your lightsaber. “Can you fight?”

A smirk curled at the corner of your mouth as you turned to face him and the both of you traded nods—an unspoken conversation that only you and Cal know the words to.

Your lightsabers ignited and hummed in unison, the both of you positioned into a defensive-offensive stance. It was two against one, though the Grand Inquisitor appeared to be unfazed by the odds. Both parties lunged at one another, the Pau’an deflected both sabers on each side and despite your combined strength, he didn’t back down—rather, he shifted all his weight against the two of you, and the dark warrior loomed over the two young Jedi.

For every jab either of you have for him, he always had a way to parry it. His skill was commendable, but it was also irritating and frustrating.

“Your skills pale against mine! I am more powerful than any Jedi combined!”

“Does he always gab this much when fighting?” you remarked. “It’s annoying, really.”

Cal smiled to himself. He almost hate to admit he missed your sarcasm.

“YOUR BLIND FAITH OF A FALLEN ORDER SHALL BE YOUR DOWNFALL!” The Grand Inquisitor snarled, in addition, he produced his ignited lightsaber in retaliation. The halo that encircled the hilt started spinning in a dramatic speed.

This time, it was the Grand Inquisitor who was in the offensive. He was more adept in using the aggressive, acrobatic forms—you detected a mix of Forms IV and VII, Ataru and Vaapad respectively—and he always managed to keep up with your next attacks, it’s as if he’s foreseen it before you could even make the move. The only thing you had against the Grand Inquisitor is your numbers; if you could overwhelm the Inquisitor with alternating attacks between you and Cal, it would confuse him and lose his focus—even for just a minute or a second, it counts.

You were on the defensive side of the duel; meanwhile, Cal sent a flurry of attacks in the Grand Inquisitor’s way—he attacked with a medley of fast-paced flourishes and spins, at the end of his figure-eight spin he stopped with a backhand that acted as a deflect against the Inquisitor’s overhead strike.

“[Y/N]!!” He simply called.

Cal made sure there was enough space between him and the enemy, he also timed in dropping his lightsaber to the most precise split second, enough for you to slide into the space between them and catching the falling saber altogether—when the black hilt fell into your grasp, the slightest turn of the wrist pointed this blade against the Grand Inquisitor and you slashed him across the shins.

“Agh!” the Grand Inquisitor exclaimed as the saber seared through his greaves.

You couldn’t help the feeling but celebrate in-battle—it was a bad habit, whenever you know you have taken the upper hand that is when you start partying inside your mind while still flinging a lightsaber at the enemy.

He fell to the floor, on his knees, but he was still able to deflect your overhead strike. He stood upright again in the small window of a second after he fell to the ground and was back in action. He focused more on Cal, hell-bent on destroying his former protégé who turned tail at the last minute. Crimson blades torched the darkness and the collision produced a fountain of sparks. The Grand Inquisitor did a cheap shot and jabbed Cal in the jaw with his able, the boy stumbled and it was the Pau’an’s chance to strike—but you quickly deprived him that when you directed your Force-Halt on him.

The Grand Inquisitor remained cemented, with his body still as a statue, and you ran up to him with a downward slash followed by the hardest kick your leg could muster. The impact of his fall was so hard that the gray little discs attached to his ears fell off, all of a sudden, a hybrid of high-pitched white noise and a deep, low buzzing entered his eardrums and nauseated him. The two of you backed away as you watched the Pau’an writhe on the floor with his hands padding his ears, your eyes searched for the gray ear discs and kicked it to the farthest side of the chamber.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here!” you cried.

The two of you made a run for it, Cal destroyed the control panel and the door froze in a partially-opened state. Vaulting through the sizable gap that the door left, the next gauntlet was getting past the bridge. A Stormtrooper punched the alarm before joining the fray, you and Cal easily cut through the numbers and sped across the bridge until you’ve reached the other side.

“[y/n], help me with this!”

Both of you tore the bridge apart by severing its connection until it was fully dismembered from the main platform. The bridge groaned as it became a slope upon its collapse, bringing down the Stormtroopers with it. Cal led you to the elevator and searched for the right button in the middle of a panic, he crunched a button of that eventually led you to a series of corridors.

“Cal, where are you taking us!?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Just now, actually!”

“Then follow my lead!”

For every one out of three turns in a hallway, you are met with a patrol of Stormtroopers who are now vigilant due to the high alert that’s been set off.

“Wait, there they are!”

Cal fished out a thermal detonator from his utility belt and tossed it right into the spot filled with Stormtroopers and then used the Force to shut the door until the bomb went off. A muffled explosion quaked the corridors and the siren howled in a continuous tone. With Cal on the lead, you covered the flank, cutting the path between yourselves and the units of Stormtroopers on your trail.

Your running speed has noticeably slowed down, you could barely keep up with Cal and looking over your shoulder to check if there are enemies behind you.

Come on, [y/n], come on! You coaxed yourself mentally. The exhaustion was eating away at your body for every step you take.

Along the way, you and Cal alternately destroyed the control panels of the doors that you’ve passed by, further cutting off the Stormtroopers chasing you.

“Here, [y/n], here!”

You come across a control room, but you emptied it of Stormtroopers and a single Imperial security droid. Cal approached and peered through the wide windows.

“There’s the hangar!” Cal pointed. “I think we can hijack a shuttle there and get the hell out of—!”

He turned around, his smile that was filled with the hope of a successful escape melted the moment he saw you fumbling to the ground and clutching your torso.

“[y/n], are you okay?” he ran up to you and caught you once again in his arms.

You didn’t tell Cal, but the successive exhaustion of being tortured via electrocution, being caught in combat, and now in the middle of a hot pursuit during a breakout has taken its toll on your body.

“Cal…” you fought between speaking and breathing, managing a tender cooing tone. “My baby… save yourself…”

“No, I’m not leaving you! Not when we’re so close!”

The response he received from you is your labored breathing, struggling to hold on for dear life.

A violent tremor shook the entire structure, the bridge must have totally gone down and damaged the lower levels. Subsequently, the destruction would cascade down to the fortress’s core; if you’re not quick enough, you might as well go down with the building.

“Come on, up you go!”

Cal scooped you up in his arms and sprinted through the hallway that leads to the shuttle hangar. He gently put you down behind some crates and fought off the guards blocking his way to the ship.

“There’s the traitor, stop him!”

A team of Stormtroopers led by a Purge Trooper rifleman blasted away at Cal, the barrage overwhelmed him and he didn’t exactly have Cere and her Force field to shield him from the hail of bullets. He banked the bullets back to their senders but a gunner from the upper platform sniped at his lightsaber with a charged shot—supposedly his head but his hand slipped.

The destroyed lightsaber clattered next to your feet and Cal slipped to the covers with you. You ripped open a concealed section on the right leg of your cargo pants and fished something out of it.

It was Cal’s lightsaber.

“You idiots didn’t search me,” you lightly thumped his head with the emitter as you sniggered.

He held your face and pulled you in for a kiss—it was abrupt, but you could feel the press of his lips against yours.

“I’m glad we didn’t!”

He ignited his true lightsaber, the radiant beam shone over the gloss of his eyes, and a grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

Now back in action, Cal banked the next shot at the sniper; vaulting over the crates, he carved a path to the group of Stormtroopers who were backing away in fear of the one-man army. He took down the leader Purge Trooper and then pulled all of his enemies around him, the lightsaber flew in a fan-like motion, tearing down the Stormtroopers in a single sweep. He returned to you behind the crates and found you unconscious, he checked for a pulse—there was, but it was weak.

“Come on, sweetie, up we go!”

He scooped you again bridal-style and slammed the door button open. Upon entering, he headed for the lounge and laid you down on the couch, kissed your forehead and then darted to the cockpit. BD-1 hopped over on the dashboard and watched Cal work his magic on the ship—a crank of the main power lever that wired the ship to life, and then lightning-fast pace of typing the coordinates and prepping the ship for hyperspace both at the same time. BD-1 noticed another team of Stormtroopers flooding the hangar and shooting the ship, he alerted Cal in a string of frenzied trills.

“I know, BD, I see them!”

He turned the analog stick of the guns in the direction of the Stormtroopers and sent them flying in a single blast. Not wasting a moment’s notice, Cal hovered the ship and made the jump to lightspeed as soon as he got enough altitude from the crumbling fortress.

“Boo, woop?”

“It’s okay now, BD. We’re going home.”

Cal caressed little BD’s head, profusely apologizing to what he did to his first friend and even touched the little droid’s flat, rectangular head with his forehead.

[virtuosin]

💗

Send 💗 to kiss my muse tenderly without explanation

It hadn’t been that long since they departed Shedola, though they hadn’t left under hospitable circumstances. They entered while a storm ravaged the planet’s surface, leaving little time then to restock or refuel, nor were they given the time of luxury to do so when leaving. And so, the unlikely pair ventured off into the dark abyss of space knowing a pitstop would be required soon, lest they float adrift, vulnerable and accessible for any raiders or--light forbid--Maroda. In truth, Sona eagerly awaited the next rest stop. She wasn’t restless of space travel, no. If anything, she had missed the languid flight through the cosmos. To fly in space was unlike anything she’d experienced before, and she hardly doubts the sentiment of adventure and discovery would fade any time soon. No, the reason why she was so anxious to land was to avoid being in a quiet space with a certain Ordinal for too long. She was his prisoner, so that should be expected, but...after Shedola, Sona was feeling great confliction. For the first time since being under his supervision, the Templar endured that nightmare--the vision of the future. It would leave her sobbing, shaking, unraveling without hope. Too used to the tormented experience was she to ask for help or confide in others about it. Habitually, she’d cover her mouth to muffle what little gasps she’d produce and sob silently in the night. Silently, isolating the heartache from sight. But not from Kayn. Somehow, he already knew she was distressed--perhaps his senses were so finely tuned that the shifting of her body alerted him first, or the subtle sounds of terror muffled into a palm. Whatever the case, he hadn’t approached her with malice or the intent to pry secrets from her while torn by her emotions. He held her. Tightly, with both arms tucking her body so close to his, he held her so she had no other choice than to cling desperately to his back and let it all out. She sobbed so hard that her throat ached. It was a woeful indicator of how repressed her anguish was, to have it all pour out against the Ordinal’s chest like that. But he had comforted her that night, something she didn’t think he was capable of. Sona uttered her thanks then, but in truth, she’s done her best to avoid thinking of his tenderness--all in vain, of course. At least she could stretch her legs and step away from Kayn, at least to a certain degree. The planet they happened upon was smaller in size, though you might not think it given the dense population of the city they landed in. It was modern enough for an edgeworld, appearing to be a smaller scale trading post compared to the one he had snatched her up at originally. Kayn had wandered off to get fuel and supplies arranged for the ship, but not before getting lodging secured. It sounded as though it would taken a night to have everything delivered that they desired, leaving them little choice than to hole up for the night in a hotel again. Sona would swallow hard at that news. Another night in a small room with Shieda Kayn. How perfect. He had told Sona he’d be an hour, and that she should not leave the room. It was a direct order, explicit, but when one hour turned to three, the Templar found anxiety dwelling in her heart. She may be his ‘prisoner’ but there was a modicum of concern held for the man, more than she wanted to think about. Whether they wanted to confess it, they were a team, leaning on each other out necessity--for the sake of survival. Mostly. “Kayn,” She grumbles in the room, pacing for the umpteenth time around the perimeter. What if he was found out as an Ordinal? Not may places in the edgeworlds appreciated the Empire. Surely, he wasn’t wearing his uniform and had left the eyepiece behind which helped disguise his appearance. Even so, the idea of Kayn taking this long was alarming. A man like him wouldn’t be this tardy without good reason, though none arise that aren’t riddled with conflict. Frustrations boiling over, Sona conceals her Ora markings and pulls her hair up into a large ponytail. Grabbing a nondescript cloak she’d been using before, the Templar would fasten it across her shoulders and head for the door. None would recognize her based on features alone. Her Templar regalia hid all her physical features for good reason, including her gold-tipped tresses of white. She felt comfortable enough taking a peek downstairs as is. This wasn’t Shedola--she needn’t dress the part of a man to blend in and avoid attention. So she thought. The main floor of the establishment was a bar--though perhaps calling it a night club would have been the better definition. There was an extensive amount of seating, waitresses dressed in skimpy uniforms, and patrons littering the open rotunda with sinful indulgences in hand. They must have come in close to opening hours because there were far more individuals occupying the space, many of whom were casting their gaze upon her. Doing her best to pay no heed to the eyes of vultures, Sona strode for the counter with an air of dignity and grace, chin elevated above the masses. Crossing the large expanse, the Templar flagged down the bartender and signed to them in hopes they’d understand her. He was an older gentlemen, human, one who seemed to pause at her hand gestures as if he didn’t comprehend it. Thankfully, he did. After a brief exchange, she learned that Kayn hadn’t returned since originally leaving, giving Sona even more reason to feel perturbed. This felt like a far more cruel mind game of his, but surely he would not test her like this--not after all they’ve endured thus far. Where in the universe was that damnable man and how dare he leave her fretting for this long? “Oi!” A boisterous voice comes from behind, causing Sona to shudder. She would have walked straight back to the stairs without acknowledging the source of that bellow, if she had been given such a choice. However, a thick hand smacks down beside her on the wooden countertop, causing several mugs and glasses to chitter against the surface. A large, pompous looking man, skin tan and decorated with various scars and black hair pulled into a topknot. Thick ring of smoke puffs out at Sona as he huffs the cigar, dragging out a look of displeasure from her. “Ya not from ‘round these parts, ey? Woulda remembered a face like yers~” He’d coo, coming to sit in the open chair beside her. That calloused hand would motion to the chair she stood beside, as if inviting her to sit, though her stiff posture made it obvious she’d do no such thing. Finding her stubbornness comical, he’d let out a roar of laughter and smack his knee. “Cat git yer tongue, girlie? Bahaha! C’mon, lemme buy ya a tipple o’ whatever yer heart desires!” “E-Er, I apologize, sir, but she-” The bartender begins meekly, doing his best to appear knightly but wilting in the face of this looming mass. After a quick glance toward Sona, he’d clear his throat and continue with a bit more strength than before. “The lady cannot speak...and she is awaiting her companion. I would ask you desist hassling our guest.” “Watchu mean she’s waitin’ fer a companion? Hah! I see no companion ‘roun ‘ere ‘cept fer me!” The man leans closer, the stench of tobacco and liquor revolting to her senses. Instinctively, Sona takes a step backwards, putting distance between her and this cretin--but something touches her back; then, a hand finds her shoulder. The next moment comes in a blur, but sadistically her mind experiences it in slow motion. There’s a force gripping her ponytail, yanking her head up and backwards with less force than she expects. There, towering over her is the man who’s been haunting her mind and future alike. Those eyes spoke of anger, but there seemed to be something pensive in his features. Before there is time to consider the meaning, the Ordinal dips down, claiming her lips without hesitation. It would elicit a tiny gasp from the barkeep as well as a grunt from the man beside her, but in truth Sona couldn’t hear a thing--not over the oppressive drumming of her heartbeat. It would have been one thing if it was a quick kiss, but no, that would have been too kind. It was deep, passionate, as if Kayn wanted to be as dramatic and over the top as possible with the display. Sona had been stunned by the tenderness, her body stiff with shock. Frustratingly, she felt her body melt apart, and despite her best efforts, she found herself pressing her mouth into his with equal force, reciprocating Kayn’s kiss. As if wakened from a trance, the kiss would break and a brief, tense moment occurred where they peered at each other. If she didn’t know any better, he seemed alarmed she’d kiss back, but there was...something smug to him. If only she realized why he smiled, but she hadn’t a clue how red her face was, or how breathless her expression became after their mouths departed. What came next should have been expected. “Oi!! Fuck off why donchya, ey?! I’m tryin’ to fuckin’--” WHAM!! In a fluid motion, Kayn steps around Sona and slams a fist in the center of this man’s face. A satisfying crunch echoes in the space, and a spray of blood goes flying across the countertop of the bar, staining mahogany a violent shade of red. The man gripped his face and leaned forward, as if he was going to throw a punch right back. With dexterous ease and a bored expression, Kayn deflected the blow with the back of his hand, though he pivots his hand to grip the other’s wrist, twisting it inward. With a well timed yank, Kayn would land an elbow strike against the man’s cranium before knocking him off that chair and onto the floor. A foot lands against his windpipe, applying a small amount of pressure to the throat--though with the way he wheezes, it’s apparent Kayn is taking sweet pleasure in applying more weight. “She is MY woman,” Kayn’s familiar cadence fiercely calls out to the man on the ground. “I would kill you for merely looking at her, but I’ve more pressing matters that need attending.” A quick side glance is offered to Sona, and for a moment, she feels a bolt of energy course through her body. What was this feeling? It wasn’t quite intimidation, but she felt even more anxious while under that glare of his. As if sensing her frazzled state, Kayn would plant a firm kick against the side of the man’s face--one that is done with far more grace than she thinks is physically possible--and turn towards Sona. A hand curls around her waist, fingers resting just over the side of a hipbone. With that grip, he guides her towards the stairs, as if escorting his beloved somewhere private for a tryst. She isn’t entirely sure what’s worse; the fact his eyes are molten with ire, or how roguishly handsome the curl on his lips is.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 15

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,800 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Also on ff.net and AO3. ...I lied.  This is totally a harem story. *flees*

She held onto my coat that night, like a kid lost in her sleeves Oh we warmed the ground, we hushed our sound We slept on walking feet Oh Darlin’, pardon me Can you help me remember When we were all flying free

-Gregory Alan Isakov, “Living Proof���

————————–

After.

Barbara breathed out as she stood before the large, warehouse-like building, gazing anxiously up at its second floor (and watchful security cameras she knew were installed overhead). The reinforced structure still seemed relatively sound despite the recent disaster. The… original occupant certainly knew how to choose a hideout location and prepare for all potential outcomes. …Must've been a habit he picked up from his previous landlord.

With a wary hand, she buzzed the doorbell.

Sooner than she expected, the entry flew open to reveal an unfamiliar face: a young man with a short crop of mane spiked in the front like flames, similar in color to her own.

"Well hellooo there," he greeted with a wide grin, eyeing his guest up and down. "What can I do you for, miss?"

Barbara stared at him in surprise.

"Er, is Tim home? He… does still live here, right?"

The stranger licked his lips, resting toned muscle casually against the doorframe.

"Who cares about him? What say you and me get to know each other a bit first, as fellow redheads, hm?"

He loomed towards her, admiring her luscious saffron locks. Barbara grimaced, getting ready to give the kid a good taste of a police twist hold (if not taser) – when a voice she recognized interjected from behind.

"She's a cop, Roy. And she used to be Batgirl. I wouldn't try anything if I were you."

Tim emerged beside the other teen, regarding the two dully. Unfortunately the statement only seemed to fuel his friend's lust further.

"Hot damn. You here to arrest me, officer?" He waggled his brows. "Slap some cuffs on me and take me down to the station? I wouldn't mind that on the first date."

"Roy."

"Kidding, kidding. Jeeze, you really have no sense of humor now, do you?" He lowered his limb dejectedly. "Anyway, you didn't tell me you were acquainted with such a gorgeous babe. Ain't you gonna introduce us?"

Tim sighed.

"Roy, meet Officer Barbara Gordon, the Commissioner's daughter and former Batgirl. Babs, this is Roy Harper, a.k.a. Speedy, Green Arrow's ex-sidekick."

"Ex-partner," the other boy corrected. "And it's 'Arsenal' now."

"Whatever. Now could you please give us some privacy?"

"A'ight, I can take a hint to take a hike," Roy smirked with a suggestive wink. "I've got a 'date' myself anyway. I'll leave you two alone. Don't wait up~"

He whistled and growled as he passed by Barbara on the way out, who shot him a dirty look before resuming attention to Tim.

"I see you've been keeping company. Honestly, he's worse than the Flash." (What was it with all the male copperheads she met giving her ginger brand a bad name?)

"We know each other from the Titans," he replied in a dry tone. "He needed a place to stay after Queen kicked him out – again. Dick said it was okay."

Barbara paused.

"You talk to him recently?"

Tim shrugged as he moved aside to allow her in.

"We keep in touch. He calls every so often to check up on… things."

She studied his backside as they started heading upstairs to the loft.

"And? How are 'things'?

"Fine."

She glanced around the interior of the room as they approached the top; it looked pretty much the same as she remembered. There was the ornate wall of Asian-styled checkered windows overlooking the city, and the ninja sword rack hanging next to a decorative dragon panel (behind which she knew there was a concealed compartment that used to contain Nightwing's costume). Dick did always have a flair for the Orient.

Running her hand wistfully along the armrest to the sofa, she recalled how she and Dick used to sit and cuddle together on it, enjoying late-night Chinese takeout and talks, among… other things.

A frown settled on her face as she noticed something… "off" about the couch cushions.

"'Fine', you say. …Is that why you have 'this'?"

Tim's eyes immediately narrowed as she stretched behind the seat and unzipped the foam, removing a bag of greenish-purple powder from deep within.

"It's not mine."

He answered, a little too hasty.

"Whose is it then?"

"Roy's," he stated flatly, seeming nonchalant about selling out his flatmate.

"And you're telling me you've never used any?"

He hesitated, eyes slanting aside in silence. She scrutinized the stash, recognizing to her horror that it was likely the popular new drug that was being distributed in the streets amongst decadent youth; an isolated chemical strain similar to Joker toxin, but more mild. Not strong enough to cause permanent psychological damage (at least when taken in minor doses), but enough to mimic the euphoric high for hours on end.

"Have you been doing deals with Jokerz?"

"Like hell I would," he snapped.

She reached out to sternly grab his wrist, trying insistently to meet his eye.

"Tim. Be honest with me. Please."

He yanked his arm away, glaring fiercely in anger.

"What is this, some kind of bust? Fine, go ahead, book me. I don't care. Why don't you just charge me with murder while you're at it?"

"Tim…"

"You don't get it, Barb." He clutched at his sleeves, digging digits deep into his skin. "You don't know what it's like, living with fucking laughter inside your head all the time. At least when I'm laughing louder I can't hear him."

She swallowed, biting her lip. Gently, she set the plastic down on the table.

"I do understand," she whispered softly.

He blinked at her.

"Tim, the reason I came here, is because… Lately, I've been having these… visions." She sank down on the lounger, steepling fingers in front of her. "You remember the time Scarecrow gassed me and left me in a hallucinogenic nightmare state?"

He nodded.

"It's like that, only now, I get them when I'm awake as well, at complete random. Ever since the quake, I'll experience these abrupt panic attacks, and see all kinds of terrifying shit. Then, the flashbacks start, and there's one that's always recurring…" She closed her eyes, reflecting reluctantly. "All of a sudden I'll see myself back at Arkham, fighting against Harley. We go over the edge of the cliff, and I'm hanging on like before, and she starts to slip… Only this time, I fall with her. I – I die, just like that time in my dream."

She hunched in on herself further as she continued.

"It doesn't end there though. It keeps going, and I can still see everything else play out, like when I visualized my dad going after Bruce afterwards. I – I see him and Joker, and you – JJ – there with the gun – and – and… The shot hits Batman instead."

Her speech tapered off as she finished the sentence. Her audience was deathly quiet as she carried on in a tremulous hush.

"Then you and the Joker – he – he makes you do all these horrible things – so many deaths – including Dick's – and finally my dad's the only one left – and he has to take you both down by himself – and it ends with either him shooting you – or you shooting him – and either way everyone I love is… gone."

She looked at him, tears starring her eyes.

"I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear any of this. I – I just had to come see you…"

"To make sure I haven't gone on an insane murder spree?"

Barbara lowered her head in apology.

"I didn't mean it like that…"

Tim exhaled, unlinking his limbs as he leaned back against the table.

"For what it's worth, I don't think I've done anything recently that would land me a spot in Arkham. …Anyway, shouldn't you go see a doctor about this or something? Or someone else who can help, like…"

The weight of unspoken word hung heavy in the air. She shook her head.

"I'm scared. What if they can't treat it, say my condition's permanent? I'm no good to the force like this, I can't function out in the field. I'll have to give up my badge, after I worked so hard to finally get here..."

Tim rolled his eyes slightly.

"Gee, I wonder what that could possibly be like?"

Contriteness crossed her countenance again.

"…Sorry. That was dumb, I shouldn't have said that. I was being selfish, only thinking of myself. I shouldn't have bothered you with this. You've got enough to deal with, you don't deserve to have my issues dumped on you as well."

Tim held up his hand.

"Look, it's okay, Babs. …Is there anything I can do?"

She lifted timidly, chewing her lip.

"I – I was just hoping maybe we could… I don't know – talk for a bit?"

Tim remained mute, mulling for a moment, before turning and walking over to the mini-fridge. Opening it, he retrieved two chilled beer cans before revolving back.

"You want a drink?"

She boosted an eyebrow, but nevertheless gratefully accepted the offering of booze.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got these."

She muttered as she popped the tab and started to chug it down.

…

A nearly emptied six-pack later, they were both more than a bit tipsy, but Barbara especially so. Turns out she wasn't very good at holding her alcohol.

"I mean, who do those jerks think they are?" she slurred as she slammed her container down. "I'm not some little girl or someone's possession. I can date whoever I damn well please."

Tim perceived her lurch lopsidedly as she groped for another, growing concerned.

"Don't you think you've had one too many?"

"I'll be the judge of that," she hicced as she swatted his hand away. Tim persisted however, prying the prize firmly from her fingertips.

"That's it. I think you've had enough."

As he stood up to put the beverage back, he simultaneously fished out his phone and began dialing with his free hand.

"I'm calling your dad to come pick you up."

He felt a pressure on his lower waist, and he looked down to see Barbara clinging to the back of his shirt, burying her flushed forehead against his spine.

"Please," she mumbled into the fabric. "Just let me stay here a little longer."

He gulped, but submissively sat back down. She warmly nestled her head against his shoulder, causing his chest to beat rapidly in confusion.

"…What the hell happened to us, Tim? How did we end up like this? The four of us, hardly even speaking to each other? Dick would never return my phone calls, and Bruce – God, Bruce – I don't even know where to begin with him."

"To be fair, he was never much of a conversationalist to begin with," Tim griped bitterly. "Besides, don't you, uh, have a new boyfriend now?"

He cleared his throat, and Barbara sighed as she sat up, hugging her knees close to her for comfort instead.

"Sam's great. He understands, but… He doesn't really 'get' it, you know? What we've been through."

She traced a rim of condensation on the counter.

"Hey, you remember that time Bruce almost married a plant-woman? That was wild."

"Yeah? What about when Farmer Brown unleashed a bunch of giant mutant insects on Gotham? That's got to be the craziest adventure we ever had."

"Please. You weren't there when Baby Doll and Killer Croc teamed up and nearly nuked the city. I mean, can you imagine those two together? You can't compete with a weirder pair than that."

It was startlingly simple, to slip so smoothly back into nostalgia. Swapping stories, trying to one-up each other's exploits. Barbara would even fondly describe some of the times she worked with the original Dynamic Duo, back during the "good ol' days" – of colorful costumed villains, wacky crimes, and ridiculous motivations. Telling increasingly tall tales and amusing anecdotes that almost made Tim laugh. …Almost.

"So let me get this straight," she repeated, "You flew the Batplane all the way to outer space… to the Justice League Watchtower… by yourself?"

"Yup," Tim responded as he sedately cracked open the last metal vessel still in his lap and took a sip.

Barbara shook her head in disbelief.

"You always were a risk-taker. I still can't believe Bruce went missing and got brainwashed… again. How come I never knew about any of this? Why didn't you contact me?"

"You were off at grad school. I figured I could handle it."

Barbara propped her elbow on the plush, leaning her cheek thoughtfully against it as she tucked her legs underneath her.

"...It's good that you went to them for help."

Tim peered down, picking absently at the paper label, peeling off aluminum.

"Mr. Kent told me afterwards, that Bruce did call him in secret. The operating room's walls were lined with lead though, since they used to take X-Rays and brain scans there. Even the curtain and that stupid apron Joker wore had lead shielding. He had hench-spies stationed everywhere, in Metropolis as well, so he could render me unconscious as soon as Superman showed up and I wouldn't be able to scream. …He really was prepared for everything."

Barbara couldn't believe it. Just how long had that disgusting sicko been planning this?

"What about the Martian? He's a telepath, isn't he?"

Tim shook his head.

"Apparently the last time he attempted a city-wide psychic sweep to look for Luthor, he wasn't able to shut it off. The flood of thoughts nearly drove him mad afterwards. Bruce didn't want to risk it."

"That still doesn't excuse-"

"What's done is done," Tim curtly cut her off, crushing the canister in his grip to transfer his own resentful rage, before tossing it in the trash. "I've accepted the damage. There's no use in going back and flinging hindsight accusations at this point."

Barbara surveyed his sullen expression in overwhelming sympathy.

"…There's one thing Joker didn't count on."

"What?"

"You fighting him off in the end. You were stronger than him. You won."

Knuckles balled on Tim's kneecap.

"That wasn't a win. We lost the moment I confessed everything to him."

"That's not true, Tim."

He shook his head.

"I killed him, Barb. I did what none of us were ever supposed to do. And the worst part is, I – I was glad about it."

She extended her palm to wrap reassuringly around his wrist.

"So? You have every right to be, after what he did to you."

Tim's fist only tautened further as he avoided her eyes, ashamed of his own ugly sin.

"You know, it's ironic – Batman got gassed by Scarecrow once too. Only instead it took away all his fear. He was seriously out of control, to the point where he wasn't even afraid to kill criminals. I had to take him down myself. I… managed to keep him from making a big mistake."

He laughed then, though it sounded hollow. His eyes had such a pained look, moreso than anything physical could've caused him. The hurt was in his heart and soul. Barbara's own heart broke to see him like this. Her brain swam, swarming with remorse. Wishing there was something she could do to help heal him, convince him that he had a good heart, one that was still worthy and capable of loving others, and of being loved in return…

…

Slowly, she inclined forward – and kissed him.

…

For a second, all Tim could register was the flavor of liquor mixed with black licorice – lush and luscious on her lips – before panicking and pushing away.

"What are you doing?"

"I… don't know."

"…I think you're making a big mistake."

Barbara bristled.

"Who says?"

From their positions, she was practically on top of him. He grasped her shoulders, keeping determinedly at bay.

"You're drunk. And probably hallucinating."

"I'm not hallucinating."

He sighed, scraping a hand through his hair.

"I'm not Dick or Bruce, you know. …I'm nobody."

"You're not nobody."

Conflict clouded his eyes.

"Look, this is all kinds of wrong. What about Sam? Besides, your dad would probably kill me…"

The whites around her blue irises widened.

"Kill you…?"

…Shit.

"Babs, no, I didn't mean-"

She slid off, seizing arms around herself, impressing into her flesh.

"He'll kill you. You'll kill him. …Everyone's going to be killed. And it's all my fault."

Shit. Shit shit shit. He should've known better.

"No one's dying. We're all still alive." (…If what they had could be called "living".) "You're just imagining it."

Her claws only clamped tighter.

"Sam… What if he comes after Sam? I'm putting him in danger. Oh God." Her pupils contracted, zoning into the distance. "Sam, don't open the door – he's got a gun!"

This was not good. He was losing her. He tried to twist her around, get her to see him instead of… of… whatever it was she was trapped by.

"Babs? Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me. Whatever you're seeing right now, it's not real. You hear me? It's not real."

She stayed stiff as a board though, staring far off into vacant space.

"Dad. Oh my God, what's he doing to Dad? He's trying to turn him crazy too. No, no, make it stop!"

Worriedly, Tim shook her shoulders.

"Babs, hey, c'mon! Snap out of it!"

Her eyes were glazed, no longer glued to one spot but rolling everywhere else. Darting frantically to and fro. Features contorted, seemingly in some kind of phantom agony.

"My legs. I can't feel my legs. He took my legs."

Nails curled around her abdomen area, clenching cloth in anguish. Scrabbling, scratching, as if searching for something.

"Babs!"

"The baby," she sobbed. "I lost the baby. I couldn't protect him. Couldn't protect… im…"

The last part was muffled by a wounded choke, but… From the way she said it, it kinda sounded like…

His name.

Helpless, Tim looked on with an aching empathy as the normally tough, take-charge woman he always knew coiled into a fetal form, crying miserably. He mused if this was how he must've often looked to the others back then. He didn't know what to do, how to help her. He felt so utterly useless.

Running over options, his mind halted at one possibility. Something that used to help him deal with nightmares as a kid, before… everything. It was probably dumb and desperate, but it was worth a shot.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

He dashed to the bedroom, opening up the nightstand drawer and fumbling around inside. Withdrawing the object from the far back, he considered it grimly for a beat, before gritting his teeth and resolutely taking it back to where Barbara was now rocking herself.

"Babs? Hey, look: Remember this?"

She ceased instantly when she saw the Batarang suspended in front of her.

"You always felt safe whenever Batman and Robin were around, right? Nothing… bad can happen to you as long as they're there."

Sentiment welled in her ducts as she reached out tentatively for the reminder, cradling it close to her breast.

"Just in case you run into trouble up there."

"Dick… Bruce…"

Tim drew her in towards him in a compassionate embrace, soothingly stroking her quivering back as if she were the child.

"It's okay, Babs. It's okay." He reiterated the phrase in her ear. "You're okay. I'm… okay. We're okay."

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually the shudders and sniffles subsided as she seemed to fall into a fitful sleep. While she still whimpered occasionally, holding the Batarang nearer did appear to help somewhat.

Just then, he heard the opening and closing of the front door as Roy returned from his "date", bounding up the steps and stopping short upon witnessing the scene before him.

"Whoahey, am I interrupting something?"

He grinned, and Tim scowled at the guy's terrible timing.

"This isn't what it looks like. Just hurry up and help me get her to the bed."

Roy was about to open his mouth to make another snide remark, but promptly shut it upon seeing the searing look Tim speared at him, and the sweat and tears on the moaning visitor's visage. Switching into serious mode, he lent a steady hand with supporting her to the mattress. He was still a hero himself, after all, always available to aid any damsels in distress.

As he agreed to take over looking after the patient for the time being, Tim thanked him and left the bedside temporarily, pulling out his cell again as he traveled downstairs. Inhaling deeply, he began to punch in another number he knew all too well, forever engraved in the back of his skull.

After a couple rings, the other end picked up with a gruff greeting.

"…Yes?"

The cold, almost impatient lack of pleasantry was all Tim needed to confirm he had indeed reached the right person.

"Bruce, it's me. …Barbara needs help."

…

When Barbara finally awoke, the first thing she spotted was Tim sitting on a reversed chair next to her, chin reposed idly on his forearms.

"Hey."

"…Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess. …How long was I out?"

"The whole night. You were tossing and turning a lot."

She elevated gradually, sensing a moist towel fall from her crown onto the sheets in the process. Had he been nursing her this whole time?

As she tracked its descent, she saw she was still adhering to the Batarang as well. She blushed a bit at how babyish she must have seemed, to have to rely on something like this to calm her down.

"Um, thanks. …You can have this back now."

He relieved her of the improvised crutch, and in exchange he handed her a small vial of medication.

"Here, take this. It's similar to what Dr. Thompkins used to give me, but more concentrated. It's not a permanent cure, but it should help with the terrors. It'll likely knock you totally out for a few more days, but you won't have to suffer nightmares during it. If it doesn't work or you're still experiencing symptoms afterwards, call her and she'll adjust the dosage."

"You got this from Leslie?"

"Bruce did."

She gaped in astonishment.

"You actually spoke to him?"

"He just told me what I needed to know, then hung up and sent Alfred over with the stuff. …Typical, huh?"

His jaw drooped a little further into folds, as did his tired-looking lids.

"You're not the first Scarecrow victim to undergo relapses like this. It's rare, but everyone responds to the fear serum differently. Yours is a more severe case."

Barbara thought about how many others had to live their lives in a compromised state (or lost them entirely) all because of some psychopath who kept breaking out of Arkham – no matter how many times they put him back in – if not released through the revolving door due to (hell, courtesy of) all the corruption in the system. How many lives were really spared, while others still suffered because of their incompetence? Inconsequence.

"You know, sometimes I wonder: If what we were doing was ever really the right thing? After what happened with the earthquake… God, I don't know. Maybe this city is beyond hope. …In the end, did we even make any difference? Was it worth it – any of it? We've saved a bunch of people, sure, but at what cost? I mean, just look at us… We're a mess."

Tim simply shrugged.

"At least Dick's still doing okay over in Blüdhaven. And Bruce seems to be handling things fine on his own. Besides, it's not like he ever really needed us anyway. Because he's Batman."

Barbara observed as Tim toyed with the Batarang in his hands, balancing the tip on the chair back. She dropped her view towards the blankets.

"…You're not him, you know," she pronounced harshly. "You'll never be him."

Her own fingers fumbled with the damp napkin, and bottle of medicine, before looking up again with a smile.

"But, that's not a bad thing."

As she said this, she extended out to pat his cheek, noting the dark bags under his eyes. Had he even slept at all, she wondered? …Then again, she was probably taking up his bed, she realized with sudden embarrassment.

Tim seemed even more embarrassed by the affectionate contact, turning away with a cough. The memory of what she had done surged back to her cheeks, and she hastily detached, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which bloomed a matching humiliated hue.

"Listen, about what happened last night…"

Tim merely waved off whatever she was about to say in advance.

"We were both drunk. It doesn't count."

"…You're awfully quick to dismiss." Detecting his fidgeting, she gleamed in comprehension. "Ah, don't tell me – you've never kissed anyone before?"

A pure pink tinge faintly colored his complexion, corroborating her suspicion.

"Ehehe, did I steal your first kiss, Boy Virgin?"

"Sh- shut up."

His flush deepened further.

"It's not like I've exactly had much opportunity to try it," he murmured in his defense. "…Besides, if we're counting that kind of thing, technically my first time would've been with Dick."

"Oh."

He sniped a sulk at her reaction.

"I gave him CPR once. What were you thinking?"

"Nothing," she declared innocently, hand hovering over her mouth to obstruct a snicker. "I bet this time was a lot better though. I'm sure you must've thoroughly enjoyed it, if not to some extent."

Tim averted his eyes again as she winked at him.

"Wh- who knows."

"Oh please. Don't deny you were the least bit curious. You think I never noticed you sneaking peeks while we were getting changed?"

Tim burned burgundy as he shifted sight down to his toes.

"I was 13. What'd you expect?"

She nodded sagely.

"You are a boy, after all. It's only natural for these things to occur."

She giggled in entertainment at his expense. When the chuckles died down, she checked the time on the alarm clock by the pillow.

"…I guess I should get going now. I'll need to call in to the station to tell them I'm taking the next days off."

He helped see her out. Standing awkwardly in the entrance, he rubbed his neck before addressing encouragingly.

"You're a great cop, Barb. You're gonna do a lot of good things for this city. I know you'll make it a better place."

She beamed.

"Thank you, Tim. …I'll start by confiscating 'this'."

She held up the contraband, which Roy had taken the liberty of hiding again, but there was no way he could outsmart a Bat, even if she wore a different symbol now.

"And I better not catch you with anything like this again, or I will take you in. Got it?"

Tim winced at the strict lecture and slap on the wrist, but nodded. Barbara softened as she reached around to envelop in a broad hug.

"…Don't be a stranger, Tim. You're the only one I can still talk to about all this."

He wavered, but kindly reciprocated the gesture. As she withdrew, she raised an arm to lightly pet his hair, discerning he had finally hit that growth spurt; he was almost at her height now.

"Listen. Someday, you're gonna meet someone special, who loves you just the way you are. And she's gonna be so lucky to have you in her life."

Tim scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Like that's ever gonna happen."

She took his hands in hers. Hands that still twitched and trembled every once in a while, as if afraid to even be touched. Hands that had, in his opinion, committed the greatest act of transgression, taking another's soul and doomed toll on his own – but had also toiled all night to keep changing her cool kerchief, tending and tenderly wiping her temple in enduring devotion to charitable ideals. That had prostrated and prayed, begging for a favor from "God" for her sake, subjugating self in spite of whatever spiteful feelings he bore towards said sore subject. …That had rescued so many lives at the risk of his own, without asking for any reward other than to have a place to call "home", and a "family" who cared for him as much as he did for them. (And even that had been mostly taken from him too, something for which she regretfully shared the blame.)

"Don't give up hope. Things will change. It's gonna get better. I promise."

She stooped forward to peck his cheek, before letting go.

"Thank you, again, for everything. I'll see you around, Tim."

"Yeah. See ya."

She left with a wave, and he halfheartedly did the same as he watched her go.

…

About a week later, after she'd fully recovered and gone back to work as good as new, she received an urgent call from Roy at the hospital.

…

Tim had tried to kill himself.

————————–

That sky glowed all calico, like phosphor in the sea To the ground we fall, she owns us all Kings and boys and beast Kings and boys and beast

[im-fairly-whitty]

Friends -- A Dr Facilier Oneshot

I’m finally able to post what I wrote for the Princess and The Frog 10 year anniversary zine! Enjoy my take on how the Shadowman got his start with his friends on the other side.

“Marceline, come on, I thought we are friends?” Facilier crooned, smiling with a pout as he crossed his long bony arms on the tabletop.

“I’m your older sister, not your friend,” Marceline said sharply. The gold hoops and small bones hanging from her ears clattered together as she shot him a dark look. “And I said no, André. You’re already deep enough in hell as it is without voodoo. Now get.”

“Aw, those are mighty fine words coming from a witch.” Facilier said with a grin. He smoothed one hand across the silky maroon fabric of the tablecloth and plucked a sickly green feather from the pile she was sorting. It made his fingers itch with an icy hot feeling, “And I told you, I don’t go by André anymore.”

“Well I’m sure not calling you “Doctor” nothin’,” Marceline snapped, snatching back the feather with ring encrusted fingers, her long nails scratching his hand. “You’re not even a man yet and already so full of yourself you’d think you were a royal dandy, strutting around with that ridiculous silk hat of yours. Did you kill someone for it, or were you rifling through trash again?”

“Marci please,” Facilier said, dropping his smile, leaning heavily on the table, palms up amid the scattering of foreign coins and silver trimmed tarot cards, “I need an introduction, and I know you know them.”

“Which is why I’m telling you no.” Marceline growled.

Facilier could have sworn he saw a flash of otherworldly purple light in her eyes just now, and the sight sent an excited shiver down his spine.

“What do you want?” He asked eagerly, “Marci please, I’ll cut you a deal, whatever you want, I’ll get it for you, but I have got to meet them.”

“This is why I’m not letting you meet them, you idiot!” Marceline said, standing and slamming her hands on the table, a sound like a thunderclap shaking the small heavily draped room.

He glanced around the dim room, his breath catching a little as the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to sway and swirl on their own. He looked up to see Marceline’s own shadow, cast from the flickering light of the kerosene lamp on the table, loom up over him.

It seemed even angrier than she was, and if his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, her shadow was watching him.

“You and your deals,” Marceline spat, her gold canine tooth showing its tiny ruby inlay as she sneered at him. “You’re so desperate for what you want that you never think about what will be required of you. You’re so filled with jealousy and greed that they would chain your soul in an instant and you wouldn’t even know it until you were being dragged into an early grave. You have no self-control André, that’s why I’m not introducing you to them.”

But Facilier barely heard her, only seeing the way her shadow was stepping around the walls of the room on its own accord, the way that the old wooden masks hung on the walls seemed to be looking down at him with intelligent fanged grins, and the dark electricity in the air that he could feel tingling through his bones.

So much power.

Real power.

He had to have it.

“Look Marci,” he said, getting to his feet, a small switchblade slipping down his sleeve and into his hand behind his back, “I need the kind of power you’ve got, and it’s not fair for only you to have it. I came here hoping you’d do me a favor, but if you want to do this the hard way then-”

Marceline snapped her fingers and he felt himself thrown back in his chair hard enough to crack his head against the high wooden back. His wrists were pinned to the arms of the chair, something dark and solid feeling nearly crushing his wrists, forcing his hand open to drop the switchblade, the knife silently falling to the plush carpet underfoot.

Marceline walked over to him, gripping his face in one hand hard enough for her nails to cut into his skin. There was definitely a harsh purple light in her eyes, as purple as Mardi Gras beads, flickering and glowing as clearly as the lamp on the table, which had turned a shivering lime hue.

“No.” Marceline said.

Facilier was pretty sure that for at least that moment, when her voice dropped deeper than any human he’d heard before, that her dark skin became translucent, showing the bones beneath, making the dark curls escaping her bandana even darker against the pale bone.

“Okay!” Facilier said, not having to fake the sweat breaking across his forehead as he tried to lean away from her, trapped against the back of the chair, “Alright, I’ll give it up, okay? Just let me go, I’ll leave.”

Marceline glared at him for another moment, then released his face with a shove. The darkness around his wrists slid away and he saw her shadow slip back out up the wall behind her.

He felt his jaw gingerly, getting to his feet.

“But how did you meet them?” He asked.

Marceline snarled slightly in warning, her arms folded tightly. The shadows in the corners of the room whispered and swirled, their hushed chattering sounding teasing and mocking.

“Well,” Facilier said, stooping to retrieve his switchblade, taking the moment to scan for something promising looking that he could steal, but seeing nothing that caught his eye, “it was nice seeing you Marci,” he straightened, tipping his top hat to her like a real gentleman, “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Not likely.” Marceline said dryly.

She flicked her wrist and the door out slammed open, making Facilier jump. Just a little.

“Give up your search.” Marceline said, watching him sharply as he walked out the door, “Trying to make friends on the other side will only chain you down, not get you the freedom that you want so badly. Promising away your soul will only end badly for you.”

“Have a wonderful rest of your evening, Marci.” Facilier said, waving a hand gaily as he walked down the alley without so much as looking back.

He heard the door slam shut behind him, and when he glanced back the door had vanished entirely. Marci’s place was completely gone, leaving only overgrown cobblestone in its place.

Facilier ground his teeth together as his pretended smile dropped.

He had been so close, so close. He had seen it, he’d felt it, all that power and Marci had kept it all to herself.

Anger rattled through him as he savagely kicked at a crate, picking up an old stick from among the trash and cracking it in half against the wall. He panted as he held the broken half of a stick and continued to beat and kick every bush and box and bit of trash in the ally. He didn’t care if he looked ridiculous, he needed to take out this overwhelming rage on something.

He spotted the flickering sickly pale lamp high on the wall above him, its flame an odd yellow green, almost like Marci’s had been.

He growled, looking around for a cobblestone he could heave at it to shatter the glass.

But stopped when he felt something.

It was a soft kind of tug at his feet, a tingling sensation where his shoes and his shadow and the cobblestones met. His shadow was stretched along the ground and halfway up the opposite wall.

His chest was still heaving a bit from his tantrum but his eyes were wide as he stepped closer to the wall, letting his shadow move up it in full.

“I want to make a deal.” He said quickly, holding up his hands, making his shadow do the same, “I need some friends on the other side, I want power, I want glory, I want to be even more powerful than my sister.”

His heart raced as his shadow smiled, doing something shadows should never do.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said, rushing on, “money, my soul, the whole city, whatever you want, just help me.”

He watched as his shadow creakily began to move by itself, one dark hand peeling itself off the wall, black bony fingers reaching out to him as if offering a handshake.

Facilier grabbed the hand, shaking it as hard as he could.

It felt like a bolt of lightning struck him, a shattering thunderclap rocking the ally, making him stumble back as colored sparks and dancing shadows swirled in his vision. A biting shivering sensation ate up his arm, sweeping through him in a single painful moment.

He blinked hard, trying to clear away the ghostly afterimage of a cackling...something...from his sight.

He gasped for breath as he shakily pushed himself to his feet. Apparently he’d fallen. He still held his half a stick in one hand, his other, the one he’d shaken with, felt as though he’d burned it in a fire despite looking perfectly normal.

Facilier shook a little, looking around for some sign that whatever had just happened was real.

“Is that it?” He yelled at no one, “Where are you? I wanted power!”

He felt another tug at his feet, a much stronger one this time, and looked up to see his shadow waving at him. Instead of the stilted slow movement it had had a moment ago it now shifted as easily and loosely as he did, as if a second him were casting it.

His shadow smiled when it saw it had his attention, tipping its hat. It held up the shadow of the stick they held in their left hand and pointed to it, making a snapping motion with its free hand.

Facilier looked at his broken half of stick, a mounting sense of excitement growing in his chest. He snapped his fingers and nearly dropped the piece of wood when it changed into a sleek glossy cane with a burst of light, leaving tendrils of purple mist to fall through his fingers.

He started to chuckle, a chuckle that turned into a full laugh as he brandished his cane at the night sky in triumph, the purple knob at the top glinting darkly in the weak lamplight.

“Yes!” He called into the night, not caring who heard him.

Because he had done it, he’d done it.

He glanced back at his shadow, who applauded silently in approval, grinning as widely as he was.

Facilier tipped his hat back into place, leaning grandly on his new cane as he looked down the alley, then started walking.

It was going to take a lot of experimenting to see what it was that he could do, a lot of trial and error and a lot of deals to get stronger and stronger. He knew enough about magic to be sure of it.

But he was grinning as he stepped out into the street, his shadow trailing behind and to the side of him in the wake of the streetlights above.

Because he didn’t care, he’d finally gotten power and he couldn’t wait to see what he could do.

[littlefreya]

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down. 

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue) 

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution  

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs. 

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?” 

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure. 

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?” 

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body. 

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.  

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them. 

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.  

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately. 

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin. 

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them. 

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid. 

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug. 

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel. 

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently. 

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare. 

But her laughter soon dies. 

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint. 

“Time to fall, angel.” 

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death. 

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.” 

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker. 

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’ 

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station. 

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his. 

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.” 

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull. 

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache. 

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks. 

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction. 

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them. 

A true king among peasants.  

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright. 

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him. 

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.  

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.  

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in. 

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air. 

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she? 

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever. 

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades. 

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut. 

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them. 

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her. 

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms. 

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…” 

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids. 

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death. 

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.” 

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest. 

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?” 

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest. 

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips. 

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”  

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.” 

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will. 

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue. 

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.” 

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out. 

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision. 

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely. 

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her. 

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her. 

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.   

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god. 

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world. 

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.  

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave. 

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’ 

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming. 

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns. 

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes. 

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined. 

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.  

‘How is she even real?’   

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp. 

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky. 

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss. 

Epilogue. 

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump. 

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings. 

“Loki!” 

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose. 

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir. 

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles. 

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove. 

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.  

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck. 

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

[the-fickle-muse]

The future has fangs

Colleseum AU timeline. Set post SUF 3k words.

Chapter 3 : Back to bed

So many new questions, but where to start? The gem, Tiger, lay peacefully before Steven and Connie. It's head firmly fixed on observing as Lion rolled his belly up to the bright sky. A warmth had settled overhead as midday marched comfortably onward, a softly blowing breeze filtering through the two large beasts’ manes.

The grass swayed in an inconsistent rhythm. Overhanging branches and rustling leaves greedily catching the sunlight above the resting trio, Shielding Connie’s eyes as she raised her hand up. Then lowered it back down. Over and over, watching Tiger's attention snap from lion to herself. Its tracking was impeccable. Even when she sharply changed the direction of her wandering wrist the gem not once was caught lingering in the wrong place.

Stevens' mouth creased into a thoughtful pout, holding out his hands at arms length before clapping daintily. The same way he remembers the homeworld gems ordering around their pearls. 

"Up!" he barked, jokingly, laughing as Connie all but facepalms at the silly notion. His mocking air of superiority breaking into a shocked stare as his command is actually obeyed, Tiger sitting up with some effort. 

"I didn't actually expect that to work." He admitted, sheepishly, suddenly feeling awkward as Tiger waited on the next order. 

He clapped again, "down?" And sure enough, it lied back down, nestled into the grass with a hearty sigh. 

Connie, whose knees were starting to leave imprints in the dirt, clapped twice with firm hands. "Up." But Tiger only watched, the corners of its mouth turned up in the same patient smile as before. Her cheeks burned, not having enough time to feel caught out as Steven almost doubled over from trying to hold in his giggles.

Just behind Connie's back stood Lion, staring at her like an obedient puppy. His eyes lit up excitedly as she turned to see what Steven was wheezing about, laughing and pushing his nose out of her face playfully. 

"Not you!"

The cool breeze carried a clean, slightly grassy scent under the bustling trees, ruffling idly at everyone's hair while Lion returned to his pleasant sprawl under the sun. Steven unintentionally mimicked his companion by flopping onto the grass in a starfish pose. A groan breaking the very brief pause as he buried his face in his palms. 

"What are we going to do with you, Tiger? Do we leave you here? Do we try to take you home? I wish we could just ask the gems from here.” “Steven… Don’t you have your phone?” Oh my stars.

His eyes jumped back open beneath his hands, looking up through the gaps at Connie who was leaning over him with an indiscreet look of amusement. 

“Connie. I have a phone!” He blurted out, sitting upright so fast he almost headbutted his poor girlfriend in the nose. 

"I can’t believe I missed that, it’s so obvious, I'll just call Amethyst! She's the most likely to pick up-"

My my. The little man really does talk, doesn’t he, so expressive too. And his friend… what a personality. Very fiesty, there’s a fire in there Tiger could appreciate. Though she had zoned out of their little squabble a while ago, too preoccupied with watching their movements to pay attention to their words. That gem in the boy’s stomach. It felt familiar, to an uncomfortable degree, yet she remembered nothing of the chunky lad it was embedded in.

As Steven stands, the cellular device ringing obnoxiously, Connie again began to glare in Tiger's direction. The beast smiled, already sensing the tension in the human's shoulders under the heavy jacket she wore. She huffed a polite chuff of air through Connie's bangs before stiffly getting up and stretching out each limb in turn, watching closely as the human followed suit, curious as to what the strange little people had planned.

Steven's bright smile and waving arms dragged her gaze back to him, cupping the air in front of him while slowly walking backwards.

 "Come on, this way, follow us." Follow him. Or them, rather. Hmm. It was technically an order, one she was very tempted to obey, but worry had clouded her judgement. She didn't move at first, glancing from Steven to Connie and finally the opposing treeline as Lion padded over from his resting spot. 

Would it be worth it? Putting them in danger to obey a simple command? The thought swam in her head, behind thick locks of fur, until it felt hazy and distorted. She felt the compulsion to move in her gem but her body wanted to flee instead. Such conflicting signals came out as high pitched, drawn out whines as she continued to stare at the forest and lightly shiver. 

Connie spoke but the words were mostly lost to her foggy mind. Only zoning back in on the here and now as one of her hands came up to Tigers muzzle and gently waved in front of it. Such a simple gesture was so grounding. Like having a small rope lasso her consciousness back to the present while in reality all she had done was wiggle her wrist at the creature's face. Her whimpering died down to soft occasional grumbles. She sighed deeply and eventually took a few steps forward and the group disappeared into the bushes.

The tree they had been sitting under shuddered violently moments after they leave. Leaves drifted silently back and fourth all the way to the ground, settling at the patches of swaying grass that had been squashed flat. It continued to groan and creak under pressure until finally the weight lifts away, leaving behind deep scratches in the twisted bark.

Lion took the lead, pushing bushes and branches alike aside while Steven followed close behind, Connie and Tiger taking up the back of the little train. Their shoes and paws, leaving a long winding track in the dirt. Overlapping one another like layers of paint on a canvas. The muddled talk over the phone is hushed behind Tiger’s thoughts still buzzing and churning around in her head. Every few minutes turning to look at where they had just come from, and every time feeling a sense of relief as the trees stood silent and undisturbed.

The woods soon passed. From today’s rocky expanse, to yesterday’s battleground, and finally the monolith. Still exactly as they had left it, reaching tall towards the summer sky.

Steven sighed as he hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his bright pink jacket. 

“Amethyst is busy, but Garnet said to wait at the bed and breakfast, she’s going to get Pearl and they’ll be bringing Dad’s van once Bis is finished fixing it. So like tomorrow? Until then I guess we should… Bring them to the B and B?” He gestured vaguely at Tiger as she approached the monolith and sat at its base, staring up at the top in silence. He casually approached the monstrous gem with his hands stuffed firmly into his pockets.

The beast droned quietly and gently placed one of its massive paws onto the stone, dragging it softly downwards, passing over the deep grooves in the pillar with a remorseful air. They angled their claws to line up with the scratches… they scrape, scrape, scraped away. Like a nervous itch, dragging tiny grainy pebbles out of the pillar, repeating the action while Connie stored her sword away in Lion's mane.

It felt like watching someone nervously tap their fingers on a desk. Or scribble nonsense into the borders of a scrapbook. The mindless nature of it reminding him of yesterday. Pacing back and forth, whining, being quick to flee. Thoughts of his own frustrations fluttering to mind. Uninvited and bitter. Pacing around his room, obsessively watering his plants, ignoring the building signs of stress. This monolith hadn't been struck by a vicious blow but by hours of slow scratching. Thoughtless action to vent out unwanted feelings.

His heart ached. He found something so wordlessly expressive almost hard to watch, having to redirect his eyes up to Tiger's creased muzzle where its smile had one been. Without thinking his hand drifted up from its safe snuggly spot in his pocket, softly touching the beast's shoulder. Smoothing over the prickling fur in slow soothing strokes. It was coarse but, as expected, pleasantly warm. Like a bowl of soup on a rainy day. Despite not having a real body, Steven could feel the gem's forearm ripple beneath his touch like a tensing muscle. The scratching came to a delayed halt as it turned to face him.

A slowly building hum from his gem took over the dense song of the trees. He found himself unable to take his hand away from Tiger’s fur. Time dragged along in a barely noticeable crawl. His breathing hitched at the dissociative sight of his hand clad in a long richly pink glove. Panicked, he pulled away from the beastly gem with a shaken expression.

Clearly Tiger noticed the oddity of the situation, as she rose from her haunches and took a single forceful step in his direction, stopped only by Connie who put a hand cautiously on the startled Steven's back. 

"Steven, is everything ok?"

He shook away the off expression and glared back at the beast's face with a knowing frown.

"Y-yeah- yeah, I- Everything's good." A low rumble rolled from Tiger's mouth. Not threatening, but curious, as it tried to reach a claw to his stomach. Her paw was swatted away by Connie's firm knuckles.

"That's enough, whatever you did I don't appreciate it." She barked, taking Tiger by surprise, the gem’s tail swiftly tucking under its legs. 

"We're going back to the B and B, as a group, and you're not going to cause trouble. Understood?" She got thorough nods from the beast, a lot more receptive to the little lady's firm attitude. 

His hand retreated back into the confines of his jacket, easing Connie with a wide smile. It was disingenuous, but it was what she wanted to see. Steven just hoped it would be enough to offset her distrust of the looming beast. 

The remainder of the walk back to civilisation was tense and unforgiving. Connie, still unsure of how to feel towards the gem, had Lion walk in between Tiger and Steven despite the monster's very clear interest in him. The drawl of cars on hot asphalt became louder as the woods began to thin and pull away.

"Do you think it'll follow?" Connie asked, cautiously, stepping out of the bushes to the side of the road. Tiger was still obscured behind a few branches, trotting to catch up.

"I hope so." Steven sighed back, not entirely sure of his own plan either. This wasn’t beach city. Even if it wasn’t too far away, giant gem monsters weren't something people just saw on a regular basis. "We should try to keep Tiger out of the open. If we can get them around the back of the B an' B I think this could work out. The manager was alright with Lion, so Tiger shouldn't be too different." He nodded, already planning out their crossing in his head as a gap in traffic approaches.

Connie hauled herself up onto Lions back, lightly nestling her hands in his mane like makeshift reins. "Hop on!" She patted the pink cat's back before holding her arm out to Steven. Pulling with a great deal of effort as he took it and was hoisted up behind her.

Tiger was still shadowed by the rustling blanket of leaves overhead, the gem swaying back and forth to get a better look at where she was. Some kind of human place, obviously, and as much as she wanted to avoid it the boy was clearly asking her to accompany him. After little thought she hustled up behind Lion, blowing air playfully across Steven and Connie's hair before all four of them made the short jaunt across the highway.

The road stilled. Quiet and unused, while several sets of paws padded across the heated surface. Tiger's muzzle lowered briefly to get a better look but jolted back upright the moment she fell a step behind. The building, now much closer, was nestled at the end of a long road. Further up was town, and further down was an open highway back to beach city. Claws made little pitter letters on pale concrete as they reached the other side. Lion thwapped tiger over the face with his tail, several times, until she gave up being behind the trio and pulled up at their side.

The space behind the building was scattered with the occasional car and a single flame-decal jeep. Trash bins lined the back wall, leading up to a big emergency exit style double door. The handle was a single long bar on either side. Lion's paws were near-silent on the pebbly tarmac, but Tiger's clawed back feet laced the air with clattering sounds every time they hit the floor.

"So… our options." Steven started, twisting to look around as he held onto Connie's shoulders for support. "By the car could work, but she might wander off, or get in someone's way-"

Connie swung her legs over Lion's broad shoulders, hopping down with a smack of her shoes against the floor. Not long after joined by Steven, who was still pondering their next step. Lion grumbled quietly, lifting his chin to lessen the pressure of his thick mane on his sore throat, catching sight of Tiger with her head buried deep in a dark green container. His ears turned towards her in curiosity.

She growled quietly with intrigue, smacking the back of her head against the lid as Connie clapped her hands loudly. 

"Hey!" Tiger's head flew out of the dumpster, and with it so did a full garbage bag, which she dragged out and dropped at Connie’s feet. A large, comically goofy smile broadened across the beast's face, clearly very pleased with herself.

Despite everything Connie had to hold back a tiny snort. She watched as the beast's tail thumped against the floor like an excited dog. 

"Tiger. Put it back." She got a low whine as a reply, having to roll her eyes and put it away herself before the heavy thumping sound returned.

"So in our room it is." Steven announced, dusting off his palms as Connie's shoulders bunched up.

"Whoah, wait, with us? We already have me and Lion in your room, don't you think it would be a bit crowded?" 

Steven squints, both hands clasped together with the pointer fingers at his lips. He took a long pause while watching Lion incessantly bat at Tigers tail.

"Steven, quit stepping on my heels."

"It wasn't me, it was Lion!"

"Growwrrrr?"

"Shh, both of you, quiet." Connie hisses, her outstretched arm stopping Lion in his tracks while Steven delicately shuts the back doors behind the bundled up mess of a group. Everyone jumped in place as it clapped shut a little louder than intended.

Hallway? Clear. Reception desk? Clear. Front room… behind a corner up ahead. She could feel Lion and Tiger leaning out to peer around the corner with her and quickly batted them both away. "Why don't you just ask the manager if she can stay?"

"Because! What if she says no, or gets weirded out, she doesn't even know Lion slept in our room she thinks you two came from outside." He hastily whispered back, leading the convoy as everyone tiptoed up to the next corner. Tiger's broad and fluffy shoulders skewed paintings as she pushed past them, leaving a line of tilted landscape shots in their wake.

The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath their weight as they approached the stairs. The lounge was thankfully empty. Lion bounded up the stairs with relative ease thanks to his small paws and light weight. Tiger however stopped at the first step, looking down at her paw awkwardly, trying to find enough room to step.

"Steven, it can't walk on the stairs, the steps are too small" Connie whispered in hushed urgency, keeping watch behind them with Tiger's tail under her arm.

"Right, right, uh, let me think…" small steps. Big paws. If she tried to walk up now she could leave claw marks everywhere, or worse become unstable and fall down again. They needed something big and stable… "My shield!" He barked, almost a little too loud, before summoning the iconic floral-patterned disc. He hovered it, flat, just above the first step. His arms wobbled under sudden pressure as Tiger stepped up onto the shield, their back legs shifting weight from one to the other with clear excitement.

The walk up was gruelling , but not long, as Connie and Steven both flanked the sides of the shield to push it. Tiger's hooked claws on her two toes made tapping sounds on the wood below the entire way up. 

By the time they reached the top Lion had already gone into Steven's room and Connie could feel a sweat building up across her forehead. 

"You said Garnet and Amethyst should be here by tomorrow, right?" She panted tiredly, the pink thorn-decorated disc vanishing with a few sparkles of light while Steven ran his sleeve across his face. 

It was a cozy room. Nothing flashy or deluxe, just  a bed and a bedside table, with a big window who's blinds were pulled shut. Lion had his head stuck between them, nose pressed against the glass to stare outside, while Tiger peered inside with insatiable curiosity. 

Her muzzle creased and bobbed, mimicking the heavy sniffing of a dog, as she took a cautious step inside. Connie pulled the door shut behind them with a little 'click'. Once everyone was inside, both herself and Steven collapsed on the bed with relieved groans.

"Steven, this isn't how I planned to be spending my weekend." To his delight, she was laughing. Quietly, behind a very drained smile, with her face sunk into the duvet. He grinned a big goofy grin, facing the ceiling with his arms spread in a starfish pose once more. “Yeah. Me neither.”

[ill-skillsgard]

Ascent - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Ascent

Warning: 18+ voyeurism/masturbation/language

Description:  A collection of scents and scenes strung together by strange sequences of secrecy and surveyance.

A/N: DAMNIT YOU GUYS. This is my 3rd time posting this fic. It will no longer include the image of the sexy Bill look-alike wanking because wE cAn’T hAvE NiCe tHiNgS. Also, please don’t ask me to send the image because I can’t be sure of ages and I won’t be dinged for providing pr0nz to potentially underage people. I’m so sorry. I tried!

ISO: Quiet roommate; preferably female. Males acceptable too if you're cleanly. Split rent loft in quaint & upscale Rosewell neighbourhood with everything included. 1200 upfront first and last and then rent can be negotiated. E-mail. Do not call/text.

I only had 900 dollars on me but I figured if I e-mailed the person that had put out the ad and set up a time to meet the following week then I could earn enough in tips to cover the rest. Easy as that. Breathing became a little less laboured once I sat back on my futon and realized that I wasn't quite as fucked as I initially thought. Then I wondered how in the hell somebody could use the words quaint and upscale to describe the same neighbourhood. Which one was it? Quaint or upscale? How could it be both? All I was sure of was that I had to find a roommate quickly. The new landlord of my apartment building had decided that I had something to do with the junkies shooting up in the storage unit behind the building, as though I had knowledge of it the whole time and failed to make a report of it, therefore, making me part of the problem. But it wasn't just that; this guy was a jackass of ultimate proportions- a seedy little rich momma's boy that had inherited his parents' sense of self-entitlement and strings of real estate offices spanning across the city and surrounding counties. We did not click at all upon first meeting when he made his rounds to see exactly what kind of tenants he would be dealing with. In fact, the moment I opened the door to my apartment and he peered in to see the apparent cluster-bomb that had gone off in my bachelorette pad, he set his sights on destroying me, or at the very least, evicting me. If only I hadn't answered the door in my stained sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt from a decade ago when my taste in music remained under-developed. If only I hadn't had the day's worth of crusted mascara stuck in the inner corners of my eyes like black boogers. If I had thrown my hair up in a semi-cute messy bun, rolled down the waistband of my stretchy pants and tossed on my only reputable sweater maybe things could have gone differently. But I didn't. Instead, I let him catch a glimpse into the trash-covered world of crooked posters, laundry and pizza boxes. His prissy, Gucci-wearing ass got one whiff of my body odour and my fate was sealed. Whatever though, shit happens. Even if Millennial pretty-boy newbie landlord hated me, I didn't quite hate myself. Sure, I had had better times in my life but there had also been much worse. I was just going through my annual depression when the Summer was long gone and the scent of leaves rotting in the gutters rang in the impending frost. Who wanted to do anything but sit around and play video games or watch TV for six straight hours after work? Certainly not I. I e-mailed the guy living in Rosewell because I had been through that area once or twice and remembered that it was one of the nicer neighbourhoods; its remnants of old city charm and decadent architecture still intact. That's when I gave it a second thought. 1200 for first and last month's rent was not that much, considering the location. My brain caught up with me and I recognized that there would probably be dozens of people replying to the listing and that my chances were diminished to almost nothing. Oh well, I read on and circled more potential ads with the tip of a fresh permanent marker that was starting to give me a headrush. By some grace of luck, I received an e-mail back the next day from the person that had put out the Rosewell advertisement. It dawned on me that I also didn't know whether he or she was a he or a she or a they. It seemed mundane to ask but the person didn't include their name in the reply and their email address was an obscure reference that I wasn't sure I understood. My imagination decided to take a jog and came upon the silly little notion that perhaps this was one of those things when serial killers lure in unsuspecting victims with promises of rent so cheap in a gentle neighbourhood where nobody would think to look for a body. It was classic of me but I couldn't pretend like I wasn't thinking about it. At least death would help put a stopper in my rut. I didn't know what to expect, walking up to the building with a face sectioned off into quadrants- each with their own tiny glass door and artful wrought iron laced balcony. What kind of a person lived inside? Was it a peppy university student with a small dog and a knack for pulling off an active-wear-is-all-I-wear look? Could it be another snotty, uptight rich boy like my fuck-bag of a landlord? Or perhaps it was a nice older lady that fancied her wine and lived in an effortlessly baroque den, lined with books and trinkets from her travels abroad. Either way, I just hoped they approved of me since I had taken the time to shower, put on a bit of makeup and dress like the clothes I owned weren't questionably clean or variably dirty all the time. The door was painted black and nobody could see through the glimmering panels of stained glass that made up an intricate checkerboard of red and blue with two cantaloupe roses coiling up and away from each other, petals agape and ready to fall. I gave the door a good look over with a smug grimace that was just a feint for my awe. The place was definitely too nice for me but I soldiered on and smiled when I heard the door being unlocked. A man opened the door and the scent of wood and something else immediately wafted out like a ghost casually passing by. Not only was he a man, but a looming sculpture dressed in a sagging brown wool sweater that threw me off from my rehearsed speech. He was tall, pale and had such striking eyes behind his glasses that I couldn't quite meet them without feeling some hint of discomfort. It was like somebody had tossed a limp rug on the statue of David the way his knitted sleeves hung loosely around thick veiny wrists. "Hi. Bill," he motioned to himself. "Won't you come in?" "Um, yeah. Sure." The mud room was painted in tarnished blood orange and was home to a wooden rack full of men's shoes. There were trainers with hints of dirt on the toes and soles, leather dress shoes with the fancy gold buckles on the front, more dress shoes, stylish suede ankle boots, and beaver fur lined moccasins. I could taste the transition from the cool Autumn air to the musky inside of the home. The floors were all wood, the banister leading upstairs was carved from another expensive type of tree and the shelving units were solid oak stretching from floor to high ceiling. Every wall was home to some kind of meticulously placed decorative object. But there were also family photos to lend the place a warm and happy glow. Or it could have just been how the sun shone through the clear bay windows. I was led through the house, past a large cupboard tucked beneath the staircase and a small writing desk that was home to a  vintage typewriter cased in filigrees of polished silver. It was then I noticed all the framed book pages lining the walls. We entered a kitchen and I was blown away by how roomy it was compared to the tight, warm front that made up the mudroom and what I had determined was a living room that had been converted into a reading room. There was no TV but there was a chaise lounge with a stack of old books reaching up to a cascading hand-carved armrest. "This is the kitchen. The fridge will be mostly yours. I just use the bottom shelf and the crisper on the left. I just ask that you keep your section clean." "Right," I nodded. "The stove is gas, the fireplace is gas... Everything is gas in here. Um... It gets kind of cold in the winter because the electric baseboards don't really work. If you turn them on it makes the whole place smell like burning sawdust. So... You can use a plug-in heater in your room but... Just wear slippers on the floors." "Oh, okay. Good to know." "Uh... Yeah. The laundry room is through there. I also keep my bike back there. There's another rack mount for a bike if you have one." "No, just my car." "Hmm," Bill pondered with a grimace. I bit my lip and hoped that he wasn't biting his lip from derision. He took in a breath through one of the daintiest noses I had ever seen on a man and adjusted his glasses for a moment before pulling them off completely to wipe the lenses on the hem of his brown knit sweater. "Parking can be kind of a bitch around here," he warned. "Yeah, " I chuckled. "I probably pulled around the block six times before something opened up." "You'll have to get used to that... Or just get a bike like everyone else." With a forced laugh, I attempted to hide the odd sense of shame that he had instilled by suggesting that nobody around these parts bothered with silly things like motor vehicles. Fuck, that could mean he was some sort of health nut that would turn his nose up if he saw the types of meals I made for myself and how lazy I could get. Aside from his alarming curtness, Bill seemed to be calm and easygoing. The house was a wooden ladder of a place; stacked with his worldly possessions and Scandinavian accouterments. It was easy to conclude that he was a single man that kept to himself and I did my best to show him that I fit into the same category. Although, it seemed as though he had already decided that I was moving in. He referred to everything as his, mine or ours and led me through the rest of the house like both our minds were already made up. "Here's the room. It's right next to mine. You have an en-suite bathroom. Toilet kind of acts up once in a while and the shower drain is prone to clogging but it's all easy fixes. Oh... And the walls are kind of thin. I ask that if you have guests over in the evening to keep the socializing downstairs. I suppose I can't really stop you from having people in your room but... I do enjoy my quiet." "That's okay. I don't really hang out with too many people," I said. Bill strolled into the center of the empty room, the soles of his shoes hitting the floor echoed off the bright white walls. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he spun on a heel to face me. His shoulders drew up to his ears and for the first time, he cracked a smile. It didn't last long and was accompanied by a shrug of closure. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's nice. I like it. A lot. It's very... Homey." Bill nodded, "yes. So will you take it?" "Uh... You don't have any questions for me? Or anyone else to show the place to?" His full lips set into another grimace as though my question scratched the scab off of a wound that had yet to close. Swallowing hard, I immediately began to regret my inquiry. I should have just been grateful that he saw fit to trust me without so much as delving into my history. "To be frank, I'm not really interested in knowing a lot about you. The less we know about each other, the better. I just need a quiet tenant that won't bother me much and you seem like a sensible woman with your own distractions." "Oh." "I don't mean to sound insensitive." "It's okay. I get it." "You have a job, of course?" "Yes." "Well, that's all I need to know. Just make your rent payments on time and we'll get along." "Not a problem. Sounds good." The entire moving process took a little over a month to complete. I gave my notices where they were due, rented a small truck to pack my things into and drove it across town after handing the keys to the fuck-bag landlord who seemed more than thrilled to watch me departing. Bill had already given me keys to the house and when I arrived the first of the month he was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my possessions didn't extend further than my bed, wardrobe, futon and a couple of side tables that had collected more dust than I thought. After hauling up the ripping black trash bags I had stuffed full of clothes, I tried to decipher a way to get my bed up the winding stairs without scratching the wood or getting myself stuck in a corner. It would have been easier if I had another set of hands and I wanted to clear the halls of all my things before Bill came home and saw the clutter in the front hall. Something told me he was not a fan of mess and I had left a heaving trail all over the mudroom, halls and stairs. With my bed frame already stuck on the first few steps, I decided to sit down and reevaluate my strategy. It was definitely a two-person job that I would not be able to complete on my own. "Fuck, " I cursed as I pulled out my cell phone to make a call to the only person I knew that would be willing to give me a hand; my cousin. On the third ring, I heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming through. I was sat on the stairs pouting, my cell clutched to my ear and my breath hitched in my throat.  Bill looked up at me from the first-floor landing through the rails of the staircase and smirked at me. "Need some help?" He asked. I immediately terminated the call to my cousin before he could pick up. Shooting up from the fifth step up, I smoothed out the front of my shirt and tried to make it seem like I wasn't about to burst into tears of frustration. "Um, yes. Sorry. I thought I could do it by myself." "No worries," Bill said as he lifted the edge of the bed frame that was hanging off the first step. We dislodged the frame and slowly carried it upstairs but not without a few grunts of effort and sighs when we finally made it to the top floor. Bill's arms were bulging with the strain and when he helped me gently lay the frame down on the floor I couldn't help but stare at the muscles I never knew he had. We had only had a handful of encounters and each time he had been wearing baggy clothes that veiled the true form of his body. Bill helped me bring everything else I had upstairs and once the last of my belongings arrived he evaluated the mess that I would have to organize myself. Half my clothes were spilling out of bags and my furniture was yet to find a proper place. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Unless you have anything else?" "No. This is it. Thanks for your help." "No problem," he nodded with a small pointed smile that brought out a sweetness in his face before exiting the room. I heard the sounds of his footsteps drumming down the stairs but before I had the chance to get to work unpacking, Bill came back. When I looked up at him he had a peculiar look on his face that I couldn't read. It may have been a cross between uncertainty and embarrassment. "You um... These were on the stairs," he showed me what he had clutched in his hand and the moment I realized that the black material in his hand was a pair of my underwear, I paled. "Oh my god," I laughed uneasily. "I'm so sorry. They must have fallen out when I was dragging the bags up the steps. My panties looked crumpled and insignificant in his large hand as he dangled them between two fingers for me to grab. When I caught them I stuffed them in my pocket immediately and blushed even harder than I had when he had come home to see me flustered on the stairs. "It's all right. Could be worse things to find," he pointed out. "I guess so," I chuckled. Bill smirked at me, eyes darting to the pocket that contained the stray panties and gave me one last glance before leaving me to stew in my mortification. Once I was certain Bill was gone, I took the panties out to evaluate just how embarrassed I should have been. The last thing I needed was for my new roommate to have already discovered a pair of my dirty underwear on the floor. They were generic and made of stretchy faux lace that covered next to no ass cheek but I would have considered them to be a good go-to pair nonetheless. Based on visual inspection and a quick sniff, I was assured that everything checked out and Bill hadn't had the displeasure of picking up a pair of my period panties with the permanent stains in the crotch. If anyone had to have found a pair of my underwear I was glad it was a sexy pair and not ones that I had been hanging onto since high school. But because it was a man that had found them, I felt a strange yearning for approval. I thought about what he could have been thinking about for a long time as I set up my bed and unpacked my necessities. It was going to be weird having a roommate.

~*~

Bill was a strange man. Bill had an office in his room and a writing desk stacked with papers and manuscripts. Bill was a writer. When I asked him if I could read something he had written he said nothing. He only peered at me warily over his wire-framed glasses. We were in the kitchen at the same time and I figured it friendly to strike up a conversation. I had seen all of his papers and looked at all of the stuff he had in the house by then and deduced that he had to have been a writer. All I got from him was a gentle shrug of his stately shoulders and a mumble that I couldn't hear. "You're a writer, aren't you?" I continued. "Yes. I suppose, in a way I am." "Ever had anything published?" Bill rapidly shook his head and muttered, "not here, no. Back home... In university. But not here." The subject of him being a writer seemed touchy so I left my line of questioning at that while I boiled water to make tea. I couldn't help but watch him on the other side of the kitchen preparing his lunch because he was comically lanky yet carried himself with graciousness and poise. His side profile was vexing to me as well. It was then that I realized that Bill was not just commonly handsome, but sculpted in a way that I wasn't used to seeing. With a cute boyish nose and arrestive eyes that shone light green through the lenses of his glasses, I felt that old familiar pang of a crush plunging its way from my chest to my gut and all the way down to my groin. He didn't speak much and I hardly ever saw him because he was always in his room with the door shut. I had a feeling that me bringing up his writing had alarmed him into keeping the door closed at all times. It must have been an adjustment for him to go from living alone to having somebody sleeping in the room right next to him. I tried not to make much of the crush but the times that I did see Bill I always tried to stare for as long as possible. He was a mystery to me; a person living in the very same quarters but with a totally separate life that I had no windows into. Bill had pictures of him and a lot of other people that looked kind of like him so I tried to piece together what his family was like without asking him personally. The family photos were all in chunky brass frames and placed in a strategically sporadic way on the wall shelf. There were many books and three different runs of encyclopedic information stacked side by side with their brightly dyed leather spines displaying a prestigious title and the volume number, but it was the pictures that intrigued me most. By the looks of it, Bill had a lot of brothers and a sister. The longer I analyzed each shelf the more I managed to paint a picture of him for myself based on his belongings. There was a photo of Bill next to some other men of similar heights and facial structures, all dressed warmly and huddled together, each with his own version of a charming smile on. It was amusing to see pictures of him smiling since he had hardly tossed more than a crooked smirk my way. I wasn't sure if Bill was standoffish or if he thought me a slob because of the first day I arrived. The house was cleaner than any place I had ever had by myself and I gathered that he liked to keep it that way. I remembered what it had said in his ad about cleanliness. Maybe I had disgusted him. He had been so sold on having me as his roommate but that was weeks ago and he hadn't tried to engage me much since. It didn't weigh heavily on my mind for long. After all, even though I was the crusty definition of a bachelorette, I could put it together that trying to fuck my roommate that I didn't know was probably a surefire way to complicate things beyond repair. And the place was nice. I wanted to stay and I wanted Bill to like me.

~*~

I walked into his room when I knew for certain that he was gone. I don't know why the sudden urge overtook me and steered me to his bedroom door. I opened it and a waft of his scent came over me. It was like fresh cotton and chopped wood or an old book that had been kept in pristine condition. His writing desk beckoned me so I went without hesitation to cast my eyes over the papers on its surface. There were some printed pages full of words with hand-written notes scribbled in the margins. One of the most eye-catching pieces was a mostly blank white page that had been the last of the bunch to be placed upon the altar of his creative expositions.

I can't get enough of the scent that she left behind.

After reading that one line, I snapped out of my mindless intrusion and left his bedroom at once. Why I had gone in there in the first place was a mystery and I was overcome with guilt that pushed me in the direction of avoidance. I felt somehow he would know that I had gone into his room without permission.

~*~

A man from work had asked me out on a date and I stood in the shower vigorously washing the shampoo out of my hair. I was already late and had to scramble to put together an outfit out of what little clean clothing I had. There had been no time for me to do any laundry so I made do with an old sundress that I had worn the shit out of the Summer before, a pair of black nylon leggings with a hole in the crotch and the only pair of underwear that I could find that wasn't stretched out from me wearing them. I had laid out everything on my bed and bustled around trying to find my good face moisturizer and the only high-end lipstick that I had been coveting for the better part of two years. When I got dressed, I had somehow lost pieces of my attire along the way and rushed around looking for the underwear that I had dubbed acceptable to wear out on a date. My phone went off with a notification from my date saying that he was circling around the block again because he couldn't find a place to park. I quickly messaged him back and told him I would be down in five short minutes. Forgoing the panties, I hiked on my nylons and hoped that the skirt of my dress would manage to cover me enough all night that I didn't accidentally flash my pussy while getting in and out of his car. The date was boring and I didn't find myself connecting with him as we had at work. Maybe it was because we were co-workers or maybe it was because he was smiling too much at me the whole time, but I decided to put an end to the night after a dessert and the last of a bottle of cheap wine. When I got home, I shut the door and pulled my vibrator out of my empty underwear drawer.

~*~

In the morning on one of my days off, I stood in the kitchen making myself a pathetic breakfast of two pieces of toast with a slice of tomato and chunks of a too-ripe avocado splattered between them. First I was focused and calm and then suddenly I felt like something had materialized behind me. When I turned around, I let out a gasp as I noticed Bill standing next to me with no shirt on, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he breathed through his nose. "Need a glass, please." I got out of his way and watched as he opened the cupboard that I had been standing in front of and took out a clean glass to pour water into. My eyes were drawn to the burgeoning of hair from his armpits when he reached to the top shelf. Without saying a word, he filled his glass from the tap and then walked back upstairs casually sipping his water. I don't know how he had managed to sneak up on me without me hearing the floorboards protesting beneath his feet but it had happened and my heart continued to race until I heard him enter his bedroom right above the kitchen.

~*~

I had tossed my laundry into the dryer and let it run while I left for work. When I got home my laundry was all folded and put back in my basket. My jeans and work pants were on the bottom, my shirts the second tier and then several pairs of my panties had been folded neatly in halves and placed on top. "Um... Okay," I whispered to myself, lifting the basket off the dryer that was still rumbling full of Bill's laundry.

~*~

A nap was on the immediate horizon for me when I got home from work. I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the door and made right for my bedroom. Bill must not have heard me climbing the stairs as I hadn't heard him come up behind me the week before because his door was open and what I saw halted me in my place and robbed me of the abilities to breath or think. There he was, laying on his bed naked with his right hand wrapped around his dick. But it wasn't that he was stroking himself that caught me completely off-guard, it was what he clutched to his nose and mouth with his other hand; the pair of my panties that he had discovered on the floor all those weeks ago when I first moved in. Rooted with panic and intrigue, I covered my mouth and watched on from the third-to-last step at the man taking deep breaths of my underwear while he pulled on his cock and massaged his balls. When I heard a faint groan leave his mouth I felt my floodgates crashing open. The tingle I felt budding from my clit grew so strong that my hands went numb and my face turned red-hot. There was no way that Bill hadn't heard me coming in the door and ascending the steps. But if he knew that I was there watching him play with himself, he didn't acknowledge it. He was in his own world of pleasure, getting high off the fumes that I had infused into the fabric of the underwear he was meddling with his fingers. I wanted to watch him shoot his cum from the tip of his cock but I was so scared that he would see me that I cowered back so that if his gaze did travel beyond the walls of his bedroom, perhaps he wouldn't catch me staring. Another long, deep moan left him and the sound of it somehow filled every sense I had. It was as though I could smell what he was smelling, feel how he was feeling and the taste left behind in my mouth was wetted with saliva being over-produced by my own sexual appetite. I pictured him kissing my clit, pushing my legs back and using his tongue to bore into me, letting it run down, down, down so he could taste every inch of me. A gasp nearly escaped me when I saw him push the crotch of my stolen panties into his mouth. His head dropped back into his pillows and his slow, languid strokes of his cock turned erratic. "Fuck!" He emitted after spitting the panties out and dragging them down his body to wrap around the base of his shaft. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Mmm, my god." After a minute of every muscle in his body flexing, it looked like he was inches away from coming and I leaned forward with my hand out on the last step to balance myself so I could watch the end result. It took a bit longer than I expected but I watched on unblinkingly until he finally managed to pump out an orgasm that ripped through his body and exited him in a glorious spurt of cum. Then there was another spurt and another, all landing in a perfect sticky mess over his stomach and chest. The sun coming in through his window glittered over his spackled body while a dryness hardened my tongue. I gawked as he moved to mop up his own mess with my black lace panties. What he was going to do next was as much a mystery to me as the last ten minutes I had spent as a voyeur. His cock laid over the top of his thigh and shrunk with each passing second while he rolled my panties up into a ball with his fist. All of his muscles relaxed and he sank further into the bed, closed his eyes all the while my stolen cum-soaked panties remained clutched to his chest like a cross. I could almost smell the musk permeating from the open door. Slowly, I descended the stairs one by painstaking one.