#as those were within the Furnace

[reginrokkr]

𝐂𝐈𝐈𝐈. Different energies used in Khaenri'ahn technology.

Last post for tonight, pinky promise (I need to go to sneep so I wake up earlier tomorrow to revise for the partial 😔). But I find interesting that it's suggested that Void began to be used as a source of energy in Khaenri'ah relatively recently, as until that point they were using Ley Lines and stopped using them upon finding out that the abyssal sources are more convenient (I'm sure that there is also a different backdrop to it which is this desire to control the Abyss, thus they would topple the gods as per Chlothar's words). At the same time, it's also nice to see that there were people involved in the abyssal energy usage who seemed to be timid in voicing out their concerns about using it.

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Bumps, Blunders & Baby Kicks

Azriel & Reader Fluff Fic

Summary: As she enters her eighth month of pregnancy with her mate Azriel, the reader struggles with relentless discomfort from perpetual warmth and frequent need to pee. The story is filled with moments of tender comfort and delightful fluff.

Content Warning: Pregnancy, kissing, and accidental punching.

The bedroom sweltered like a furnace, suffocating despite the windows thrown wide open. Outside, the Sidra usually whispered cool breezes that now seemed to have lost their way, leaving only what felt like the heat from a scorching oven, clinging to your skin.

At eight months pregnant, with the weight of your unborn child pressing relentlessly from within, each movement felt like wading through molasses. The thin sheet that once promised some semblance of comfort now lay discarded by your feet. You shifted from your side to sit up, letting out a slight groan. Your hand swept over the curve of your belly. With the other hand, you brushed back the damp tendrils of hair that had glued themselves to your forehead, each strand saturated with sweat. 

You let out a frustrated humph, struggling to take a deep breath, a task that had become increasingly difficult these days. You glanced at the empty space beside you on the bed. In the first few months of your pregnancy, Azriel had been almost inseparably attentive, hardly letting you out of his sight. He doted on you endlessly, always touching you, constantly checking if you were okay. By the third month, his constant vigilance had nearly driven you to smother him with a pillow while he slept. While you cherished the increased presence of your mate, his overprotectiveness had begun to feel suffocating, and you had gently nudged him to resume his duties at the Night Court, though with less risk involved.

You had returned to your work in the library after overcoming your morning sickness, determined not to be treated differently just because you were pregnant. The idea of being seen as weak or fragile irked you deeply. So you resisted, sometimes pushing yourself too hard, often ending your days exhausted and spent.

 Azriel was reluctant to spend nights away, he valued these evenings with you, cherishing the time before your new babe arrived. However, it didn’t seem right for him to skip the meeting in the Summer Court, especially when that relationship was still in its infancy. Azriel had given you a long, passionate kiss, promising to return home as soon as he could. He then gently cupped your belly, whispered something too soft even for your fae ears to catch, and kissed your stomach. With that tender gesture, he winnowed away to the River House to meet with Rhys.

You gently ran your hand up and down the curve of your stomach. “Is it as hot in there for you as it is out here?” you murmured to your babe. As you fluttered your fingers across the top of your belly, the babe responded with a lively kick. Azriel had thoroughly enjoyed discovering all the ways to engage with the babe, from talking to them to gently pressing your belly to feel them push back. Each time you felt a kick, you’d call out to him, and no matter where he was, he’d appear in moments, eager to place his hands over yours and feel the movement too. He had been so disappointed when he missed the first of those tiny, internal kicks. 

At the tiny kick, a smile spread across your face. Then, abruptly, you felt an overwhelming urge to pee—a sensation that seemed to dominate your days lately. Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood up, arching your back in an attempt to ease some of the persistent ache. You stretched your arms high above your head, trying to loosen the tightness that gripped your body. 

You ambled into the adjoining bathroom, the soles of your feet gently padding on the hardwood floor—a gracious gift from Feyre and Rhys when they learned of your pregnancy. The townhouse was your sanctuary. While Cassian had insisted that you and Azriel stay with him and Nesta at the House of Wind, you had joked that two pregnant females under one roof might leave only one male mate standing. Besides, you cherished the privacy of your own space with Azriel, and he seemed delightfully committed to "christening" every surface of your new home.

You paused by the large bathroom mirror, taking a moment to admire your side profile. Gently, you ran your hands over the curve of your stomach, tugging at the oversized t-shirt you'd claimed from Azriel after your own clothes had become too snug.

That’s a nice image, Azriel's voice echoed softly in your mind, his words a warm mental caress that brought an instinctive smile to your lips.

What are you doing up? you sent back to him, your mental voice tinged with a mix of surprise and warmth. Normally, you kept your side of the bond open when he was away, though his was often shielded due to his duties. Every now and then, you'd send him mental snapshots of you and the babe whenever he could receive them.

We just got back to our rooms, Azriel replied, his mental presence flickering like a comforting candle in the dark.

You glanced out into the deep, dark night. It has to be close to like 2 in the morning. What kept you out?

Azriel’s chuckle, rich and warm, flowed through the bond. Cassian got into a drinking contest with some of the Summer Court guards. Given his history, neither Rhys nor I thought it was a good idea to leave him unattended.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Fair response. Did he win?

Does anyone win in that situation? Azriel mused. He’s going to have a killer headache tomorrow morning, and I’m going to have to hear him complain about it. Also, I learned he can belch his ABC’s. Which he did. Four. Different. Times.

Oh good, you replied, already picturing the next gathering, I’ll have to ask him to demonstrate next time I can get a few beers in him.

I don’t think you would need to coax him, Azriel responded, amused. He seems pretty proud of himself. A beat passed. Are you doing okay? babe okay?

You stood up, having finished what felt like the longest pee ever. We’re both fine. Your babe just finds it hilarious to sit on mom’s bladder at night. That, and I’m just constantly hot.

Well, we knew that, came Azriel’s cheeky retort, and you could almost see his teasing grin.

I mean because of the pregnancy, you heathen.

I’m sorry my babe keeps making you have to pee. I’ll be sure to address it with them at our next meeting, Azriel joked, his voice soothing even across the distance.

I would appreciate that, you responded with a light laugh, exiting the bathroom and returning to the bedroom. Needing a break from the oppressive indoor heat, you stepped out onto the patio to catch what little coolness the night air could offer. When are you coming home?

Does my beautiful mate miss me that much? Azriel's voice was soft and playful.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it. Your mate misses the foot massages and back rubs, that’s for sure. And your babe misses your voice. They’re quieter tonight.

His warmth enveloped you through the bond, a comforting embrace from afar. I’ll be home soon, he promised. Just a few more things to wrap up here.

Get some sleep, my love, you urged, feeling the heaviness of your own eyelids as a testament to the late hour.

I’m not the one carrying an unborn child, Azriel teased back.

The babe and I are both heading back to sleep, you responded, settling the conversation toward a close.

Goodnight, my love, and goodnight, my sweet babe. Dada misses you so much. His words were tender, filled with longing. Though no one knew for certain if unborn fae babes could sense their parents through the bond, you felt a heightened awareness from your babe whenever Azriel spoke like this. Perhaps there was something to the old tales after all.

You ran a hand over your stomach once more, a gesture both comforting and connective, then closed your eyes, letting the cool breeze from Velaris ease the persistent warmth enveloping you. After a moment savored in the night's gentle caress, you made your way back to bed, your heart and mind a little lighter, carrying the goodnight wishes of your mate with you into dreams.

Later that same night, you felt the warm caress of a hand pushing your hair from your face. In a flash your eyes open and you punched one hand out into the stomach of whomever was touching you. You jolted up, kicking your way to the other side of the bed, arms drawn in a fighting stance. Azriel doubled over, the air knocked from him. 

Azriel sucked in a pained breath, managing to straighten up slightly as he held a hand to his stomach. His shadows fluttered around him, mirroring his surprise and discomfort. "I was just trying to be sweet," he wheezed, a forced grin not quite hiding the sting of your reflexive punch.

Your heart sank a little, guilt mixing with the remnants of your adrenaline rush. "Oh, Az, I'm so sorry. I thought—I didn't realize it was you," you stammered, the initial fear dissipating as quickly as it had surged.

He took a few more deep breaths, regaining his composure, his smile becoming more genuine. "It's alright. I should have known better than to sneak up on a warrior—even one who's eight months pregnant."

You lowered your arms, your stance relaxing, your expression apologetic. "I didn’t mean to hit you. It just... it happened so fast. But also, by the Cauldron Az!”

Azriel finally chuckled, the sound a bit strained but filled with affection. "Trust me, love, I've learned my lesson. Next time I'll make sure I'm not within striking distance when I come to give you a midnight kiss."

"Maybe just stick to verbal greetings from now on—at least during the night," you suggested, half-joking but also serious, not wanting to risk another misfire.

"Protective mom instincts, huh?" he chuckled, his shadows settling back as his breathing eased. “Can I touch you now without getting maimed?" he joked, his tone light but his gaze searching for reassurance.

You nodded, opening your arms in a peace offering. "Come here, you. Just maybe announce yourself next time, especially in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” he responded. “Alright, I am going to hug my mate now, and maybe kiss her, depending on how the hug goes,” Az announced. 

“I am accepting the hug and aware of what is to come,” you joked back.

Azriel's embrace was a sanctuary of warmth and familiarity, his presence alone soothing the ambient heat that had been your constant companion these past months. The subtle change in his scent—a richer, earthier tone—seemed to ground you further, drawing a deep, content sigh from your lips as you nestled into his hold.

“I thought you wouldn’t be home till tomorrow?” you queried, tilting your head back to look up at him, curiosity lighting your features.

He responded not with words, but with a tender kiss, sealing his lips to yours in a brief, loving gesture. When he drew back, the smile on your face lingered, eyes fluttering open slowly. “I couldn’t sleep, kept thinking about you,” Azriel confessed softly, the hum of his voice vibrating against your skin. “So I left a note for Rhys, letting him know I’d come back early. If he needs me, I can always go back tomorrow.”

“You know, next time you have to go to the ocean side, maybe consider bringing your heavily pregnant wife who currently runs at about ten thousand degrees so I can get some of that ocean air,” you suggested playfully, your lips puckering slightly in anticipation of another kiss.

Azriel's laughter melded into the kiss, his breath mingling with yours in a dance as intimate as the touch. The kiss deepened, and his hand found its way to your belly, thumb caressing the life within with a reverence that had grown over the months. His connection to both you and the babe deepened in these moments, a bond visible in his every gentle touch and loving glance.

The babe responded to his touch with a small kick, a tiny but sure presence making itself known. You placed your hands over his.

Azriel broke the kiss to lower his head toward your belly. “Hi little one,” he murmured affectionately, his lips pressing a soft kiss there. Another kick met his greeting, a silent echo of recognition. “Were you good to your mama while dada was gone?” he asked, voice playful yet filled with genuine curiosity.

“They were fine, a little restless earlier today when we were out on a walk, but other than that, they’ve been quiet,” you answered, running your fingers through Azriel's hair, anchoring him close, his head cradled against your stomach.

Azriel wrapped his arms around your hips as you stayed there together for a moment. He pressed another kiss to your stomach before resting his chin atop your swollen belly looking up at you. You leaned forward and gave him a soft peck on the forehead. “Az,” you started.

“What, my love?” He asked back, smiling. 

“I have to pee.” You said, pushing him back from you. 

You hauled your body from the bed and scooted into the bathing room, hearing from over your shoulder, “You always have to pee.” 

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Simon Ghost Riley who sneezes oddly quietly. As if he's trying to hold it back. A good sign that he's actually sick instead of a random sneeze.

"Simon."

"Yes?"

"Back to bed, now."

"???, what? darl'-"

"Now."

Said man barely makes it up the stairs and into the bed before he partially collapses. Practically faceplanting onto the bed. Breathing feeling heavily with an already painful headache forming. Trying to cope with the pain as he grabs your arm, keeping you with him, acting as if the man is five minutes from turning up dead.

"It's not the worst."

"Rest or I'm dragging you back."

"Yes ma'am."

Sure he doesn't show it outwardly or vocally with with the way he stares at you, soft and desperate you could tell he wanted you to stay. But who's going to cook dinner for a man who refuses to eat without you?

"You should've fucking ate lunch, at least breakfast."

"Didn't taste as good without you."

Taking care of this man has got to be the most tedious job one could ever get. In the brief moment you had walked into the kitchen and started preparing something for him to eat, a shadow far too big to be yours looms behind you. Lying his head and bending down to press against the side of your neck.

Making sure that everything's flush as he extends his neck to curve around your shoulder. Hands coming to rest against your sides, pointer and thumb only, mildly pinching your waist. And yet his hands bend down, tired and exhausted even as he came looking for you. He was so fucking warm, almost as hot as the fire you were cooking with. Unnaturally warm, definitely sick.

"Simon, Go back to bed."

"In a minute...I need you."

"It's been 5 minutes, sweetheart, you'll live."

"Nooo, I'm going to dry up and swivel up like an old man the moment I can't see you darlin, returning to my old instincts."

"Oh, and what do those instincts say hm?"

"That I need you."

"Simon."

So clingy when he's sick. Sure he can eat himself but also he needs to make sure you don't leave. Feigning weakness as he obediently opens his mouth for you to feed him.

"What do you call something as light as a feather?"

"Go on."

"A feather."

"..."

Rests far easier once he's eaten his medicine. Not making much of a fuss at the bitter flavor, eating far worse on the field. Finding some energy as he pulls you to his chest, far too warm to be natural, a furnace melting itself, how ironic.

"I'm going to catch your sickness y'know?"

"No."

"...No?"

"No."

Yeah by some miracle you don't get sick after him. Recovering quickly within the matters of days, trying to brush it off as if it never happened. And yet he can't exactly lie to you. Not when you took care of him so sweetly the whole time.

[callisto-corner]

Keep up | Shouta Aizawa

Contents: Smut

Synopsis: Emotionally constipated Aizawa opens the boundary of needing you

The room was quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of your intertwined breaths. Sinking to the base of his cock, you bobbed your head, taking him in as deeply as you could. Underestimating the sheer size of him, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the stretch intense but not unwelcome.

Shouta’s hand cupped the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair to create a makeshift ponytail. His skin surfaces like a furnace, almost as if the heat would burn through it. He re-adjusts his grip, tugging lightly at your scalp, a gesture both firm and gentle. His usually steady breathing turned into shaky breaths, betraying the calm facade he often wore. His eyes, usually guarded, softened as he looked at you, a mix of intensity and vulnerability.

You winced at a new pressure, on your arm, noticing his fingers digging into your skin. Easing up from his base to catch a few breaths, you applied pressure to the base of his cock, stroking upwards with a firm yet tender touch. You remained attentive to his changing expressions, noting the way his eyes closed in pleasure before reopening. You retracted your arm from his loosened grasp, interlocking your hands with his before placing to the back of his scared hand.

Lifting your connected hands, you straddled his hips. From this angle, he seemed heavenly, his sharp eyes half-lidded and fogged with need, a faint shade of pink dusting his cheeks. You rest a hand on his face and pressed your lips against his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Tracing his face, your fingers traveled down to his neck to his flushed chest feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

Shouta's breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered closed momentarily as he savored the intimate contact. His hand came up to rest on your waist, fingers gently pressing into your skin, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

Ghosting the tip of your nails down his body, you took hold of his leaking cock, feeling the heat and the pulse beneath your fingers as you sat on his thighs.

You wanted more out of him tonight. Such a strong man, you never expected him to crumble like this. Those fearless eyes—you wanted to see them break, to watch his molded hostility fall before you.

Shouta's eyes opened slowly, meeting yours with raw desire and unspoken innuendo. The vulnerability in his gaze, usually so well-guarded, began to surface, a stark contrast to his typical impassive demeanor.

You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between maintaining control and surrendering to the moment. With deliberate slowness, you began to move your hand, your strokes firm and measured, coaxing a deeper reaction from him. His breath became ragged, and his grip on your waist tightened, as if he needed to hold onto something solid in the face of the overwhelming sensations before it pulled him under.

"Look at me," you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the walls he had built around himself starting to crumble. The fearless exterior he presented to the world was giving way to a crude, unguarded intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your touch was electric, each movement sparking a deeper pulling a different sound from him. His eyes, normally so composed, were dark and clouded. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was fighting to maintain control, but with each stroke, you drew him closer to the edge.

"Let go, Shouta," you whispered again, your breath hot against his ear. This time, his response was immediate. His body shuddered beneath you, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. His eyes, wide and desperate, searched yours.

"Fuck," he cursed, his body wracking with shivers. You pressed closer, your bodies melding together, the heat between you almost unbearable. Your lips found his, the kiss intense and consuming, each of you giving and taking in equal measure. His hand moved from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, as if afraid to lose the contact.

His groans became breathy moans that he tried to subdue, but the intensity of the air made it impossible. You pulled back slightly, hovering over him, your gaze locked with his. With deliberate slowness, you guided him to your entrance, feeling him slowly fill you.

"Shouta," you breathed, your voice laced with both desire and tenderness. His eyes, filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, never left yours. As you began to sink down on him, his grip on your hips tightened, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, the connection between you almost palpable. You moved slowly, savoring the feeling of him filling you, each inch drawing a deeper reaction from both of you. His eyes fluttered closed again, a look of pure bliss crossing his features.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His hands roamed your back, exploring every inch of your skin, the praises go straight to your stomach the way looks at you sending your stomach into flutters

As you began to move together, the rhythm between you became natural, each movement perfectly synchronized. You braced on his shoulders mavering yourself on his dick and he knows he's losing it, each impact your ass makes on him sending him to the stars.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gushing pussy suffocating him, each gasp and moan a new side you've never seen before.

"Don't hold back," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your intertwined breaths. His response was immediate, his body tensing beneath you at each contact made to his thighs. You slowed down, steadying your movements as you continued to grind against him.

His breath was hot against your hand as you brushed the dark hair strands from his face. He surrendered completely to the moment, his eyes rolling closed as he held you down by your hips. The intensity of his desire was palpable, his grip firm yet gentle as he allowed himself to be carried away by the sensations washing over him.

You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. Every movement was deliberate, every touch an expression of his unspoken need. As you continued to move against him, the rhythm between you became sluggish sloppy kisses pressed against your chest and jawline showering like untold praises.

[callme-holly]

HEY HI HELLO!! I was wondering if you havent already, do johnny or darry headcannons? BTW I LUV UR WRITING SM 🫶🏻

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - okay, I freaking love Darry so much but I struggled so hard writing this. omg I also want to apologise bc I didn't realise how many mistakes were on my last post like I audibly gasped when I looked. anyway, hope ya'll enjoy this lmao!! asks are still open for requests - I'm done with exams for a few weeks so I can finally start working on things more!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 644 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none

He is such a gentleman, omg, I can't even

If you need something done, this man will do it for you with no hesitation. You’re important to him, and he wants to make sure you know that.

He’s probably not overly affectionate unless you two are completely alone. Once the gang had caught you both cuddling on the couch, and they had teased him for weeks afterwards.

In public, he’ll hold your hand and give you the occasional kiss, but nothing too extreme. He likes to keep your moments together private; they mean a lot to him, and he’s not just going to give the people around you the pleasure of seeing him so vulnerable.

At night, he’ll definitely hold you close while you two sleep.

He’s like a furnace, so who needs blankets when you’ve got Darry to keep you warm?

Arguments don’t happen often between the two of you, but when they do, they’re usually pretty bad. Give him a few hours to cool off, and then he’ll be holding you from behind and mumbling muffled apologies into your ear as he peppers your neck with small kisses.

Lots of massages and baths together. He works a lot, and his muscles are almost always tense, so having that time to relax and wind down with you is just what he needs.

He’s not the overly jealous type. Sure, if he thinks someone is getting a little too friendly with you, he’ll come up and try to take you away from them, but he isn’t going to stop you from interacting with someone completely just because he can’t control himself.

Date nights aren’t very common. In between work and taking care of his brothers, Darry doesn’t get much free time, but when he does, you best believe he is spending it with you, showing you how much he loves and appreciates you.

He’ll take you to dinner or for a drive in his truck just to get away from the house for a little while.

Sitting in his lap while he reads the paper!!

The gang, mainly Dallas and Two-Bit, refers to you as “mom and dad,” and it honestly drives you both insane.

“Look, I’m just sayin’, you’ve got that whole ‘nurturing, responsible, and slightly annoyed at my antics’ vibe going on.” “Well, if you keep up with those antics, you might find yourself sleeping outside for the night.” “Oh, come on, mom, you wouldn’t do that to your favourite child, would you?” “For the last time, Dallas, you are not my child. And if you were, you certainly wouldn’t be my favourite.”

Sodapop and Ponyboy love you. Like they love you. They will cling to you the second they meet you, and you’ll never be able to get rid of them.

I’m not even going to pretend he doesn’t have a picture of you in his wallet. He does, and he’s proud of it.

WEARING HIS SHIRTS!!!!

Constantly complimenting each other. Not a day will go by where he hasn’t complimented you at least ten times. He just needs you to know how perfect you are.

You stopped him from yelling at Ponyboy so much.

When you first brought it up, you definitely argued for a little while about the subject. He just wants what's best for his brother, and you telling him that he needs to lay off is probably going to spark something defensive within him.

He doesn't say ‘I love you’ very often, usually whispering it late into the night or early in the morning when you two are laying in bed and tangled with each other, but he always ensures that you know how much he cares and appreciates you.

Needless to say, Darry will not let you go away feeling unloved.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[akutasoda]

"i found my heart, i found your heart, and it's still beating"

--you two were denser than rocks, is what dan feng thought. and now looking back on all those years you realise just what could've been, but it's too late now...

--warnings - gn!longlife species reader, fluff, pining, angst no comfort, mention of death??, two people that can't see the signs, maybe ooc, wc - 2.4k

--a/n: wowee yingixing fic! tbh i spent alot of time on r/blacksmiths when writing HAHA shouts to @milksnake-tea for the idea behind this which then inspired the whole thing... and here you go pookies @lowkeyren + @https-sourlimes i hope i did the wife proud!!

the natural heat of the day was nearly unbearable.

nearly as it paled in comparison to the blazing warmth that crept out the furnace and filled the air of the small workshop - although by now the lone figure was well used to the conditions forced upon him when forging.

he had a quota to reach. many weapons began their life being forged within these walls by his hands and died upon battlefields. most of his creations never lasted, all the time and toil spent making them just for them to be destroyed in the hands of those either lucky enough to make it back, or unlucky enough to not.

but a quota was a quota - more casualties would only be caused if he failed. a sigh escaped him as he picked up the last sword before moving towards the stifling heat of the forge and holding the sword in, patiently waiting for it to turn a glowing yellow and then removing it.

sitting down and setting down the stock flat on the anvil, he began carefully shaping the top of the soon to be sword. he stopped for a moment, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention and a part of him could guess just who was visiting him now.

wiping away the sweat from his forehead with the back of his leather gloves, he watched as you walked through the open door - it was never closed when the forge was going, the room would've turned itself into the forge otherwise. and with that he knew his time was up.

“done with the weapons yet?” your voice called out but he simply turned to flatten the blade, a smirk made it's way across your face “the marshall needs them by the deadline set you know?”

yingxing grumbled “as usual” speaking up to add “if they want them done quicker perhaps they could forge them themselves then?”

he stood up and held the sword into the forge again, holding it for less time than previously. clearly he wasn't in a rush so you prompted “how long then?”

“depends, if the marshall wants a decent weapon i still need to sand, sharpen, reheat and create the hilt” pausing before pulling the sword away from the forge and pointing it at you “or you could take it now”

his arrogance would be the death of you, but for now a smile graced your face before urging him to continue on - the marshall could wait a while longer.

unlike yingxing, you weren't accustomed to the conditions of the forgery and so the suffocating environment forced you to find respite outside until he was finished. if anything this was a usual routine between the two of you nowadays, the marshall would send you to collect weapons from yingxing but everytime he wouldn't be completely finished and so you'd wait outside.

occasionally you sat with him but the sweltering heat made it feel like the whole room would suffocate you and he often preferred to work in silence. he never took that long anyway, or if he did it was purposeful and you both knew so - at least the scenery was nice.

“it’s finished now, don't keep the marshall waiting longer or else we’ll both hear about it” his voice snapped you out of a daze, you turned to watch him sit beside you “fresh air feels nice”

“it's your choice to hold yourself up in that forgery for hours” pausing, you looked at him before turning back and scrunching your nose “least you could do is leave that smell in there”

he held back a small laugh “not my problem, now are you going to deliver the weapons or not, i've done my part”

sighing, you stood up and yingxing followed suit before leading you back into the forgery and handing over the weapons.

---✩

“your late”

yingxing fought the urge to roll his eyes “it's nice to see you too dan feng”

the high elder shot him a glance that landed somewhere between annoyed and somewhat relieved.

despite being the only short life species among the high cloud quintet, the furnace master was just as a part of the group as the rest - if anything, one of the most important as he was responsible for hand crafting each and every one of their weapons.

“im earlier than the rest, your too punctual for your own good” he sighed

dan feng scoffed “it’s more likely that the rest of you aren't”

yingxing wanted to comment on how it wasn't an important meetup, if anything it was a friendly hangout but unfortunately arguing with dan feng was a futile task that only got more depressing for him as he went on.

fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it, they were still a group yingxing held dear. some of his closest companions to which he even looked up to. so even now, the silence was comfortable. the high elder was a comforting presence as despite his initial arrogance, he carried a deep seated care reserved to those he deemed important.

yingxing caught the way dan feng looked over to him occasionally, like he had something to say. eventually the silence was broken by the furnace master asking what was on dan fengs mind.

“have they realised yet?” was his response, it sounded rather uncharacteristic for the high elder.

but yingxing knew he was referring to you. ages ago he had consulted baiheng about the warm fuzzy feelings he felt around you and the foxian was practically beaming as she told him that he had a crush. although she didn't exactly know how to keep a secret and very quickly the entire quintet knew of his apparent “crush”.

baiheng was normally the one to bring it up so he never really expected dan feng to - the foxian was always very eager to be updated on the situation between the two of you. although a very prominent issue soon became apparent. you were quite dense toward the furnace master's advances.

“same as last time i'm afraid” he sighed, every single one of his advances had gone straight over your head. and every single time he reported back to baiheng who became even more puzzled about how to help him finally get round to you.

the high elder hummed “try being more direct then” out of all people, yingxing never expected to get relationship advice from dan feng. it was practically shocking. be more direct. was it really that simple?

---✩

unfortunately, being direct was more of an issue than either of them thought.

no matter how much yingxing tried to subtly hint to you, it always became lost in translation. even his more direct approaches were interpreted as friendly gestures or simple acts of kindness - he couldn't even get frustrated because a part of him thought it was cute.

every day baiheng would find yingxing sitting defeated in the forgery, his head in his hands as he tried to decipher exactly what he could've done better to finally get through to you. she'd always have to console him and convince the deflated furnace master that he could always try again.

no amount of gifts, kind words or actions that couldn't be mistaken as simple friendly gestures, could convince you. every time you found some way to see it as friendly and not a romantic advance on yingxing's part. not even the handmade trinket he made you that suspiciously matched his hairpin could convince you.

baiheng, and occasionally dan heng or jing yuan, would always tell him that he still had time - jingliu never really liked to get involved. they'd always tell him that there would be some way to get you to acknowledge his feelings. he believed them.

one day, perhaps he could build up the confidence to confess directly. to stop beating around the subject and come clean. clearly subtle advances weren't going to do the trick, but yingxing had the time to build up that confidence.

---✩

but yingxing had less time than he thought.

it was jing yuan that broke the news to you.

the grief was almost instant. a deep rooted part of yourself was convinced it was some cruel joke, an insensitive prank that he was put up to - but you knew better. the realistic, logical part of yourself was well aware of the truth but it was suppressed by the emotional side. the part of yourself that wanted to scream and curse the aeons, the arbiter, yourself, anyone that could've prevented it.

jing yuan hated to be the one to tell you. but no-one else would. he was hurting as well, having watched all his friends fall into despair, ruin and death. admittedly, he probably wasn't supposed to tell you but since he knew how close you and yingxing were, he reckoned you could be an exception.

it hurt jing yuan even more to leave you almost immediately after breaking the news to you. he could see how distraught you were but he was in no position to offer you comfort. although honestly, you preferred to be left alone.

you needed to process the passing of yingxing. well he wasn't dead, but jing yuan had told you how he was banished from the luofu - he was a short life species unlike yourself so you had to come to terms with the fact that you probably were never seeing him again. yingxing would die and you wouldn't ever see him again.

it hurt. it was as if the aeons themselves had plucked your heart from your chest and pierced it in front of you. that night, you cried. harder than you ever had in your life, clutching the handmade trinket that he made you.

---✩

it was hard to miss the news, the previous high elder returning to the luofu, stellaron hunters aboard - one or the other would lead to both being mentioned anyway. a scoff was all that left your mouth when you first heard, the previous high elder was dead. forced to reincarnate, the chances of his reincarnation willingly coming back was low.

the stellaron hunters didn't alarm you either, sure they were wanted criminals but confidence could be placed in the cloud knights and even the general himself. although it became apparent that it was the stellaron hunter you had to worry about.

yet again, it was jing yuan that told you. he was hesitant for many reasons. one reason was the fact that even though you both resided on the luofu, you barely spoke with him ever since the incident - he didn't exactly hope that your first time talking with him in ages was to tell you that yingxing’s new self was aboard the luofu, and a wanted criminal at that - and admittedly he hadn't told you the whole truth all those years ago.

another reason was that he wanted to protect you. jing yuan knew you would've heard about imbibitor lunaes return and the steallron hunters but he didn't trust blade.

he wasn't yingxing. the yingxing that constantly tried to hit on your dense self, that gifted you handmade trinkets often, that made you laugh. no. it was a stellaron hunter known as blade occupying yingxing's mara stricken body.

but you deserved to know. to at least be aware of the situation and so, begrudgingly, jing yuan informed you. what he hadn't anticipated was for you to immediately rush off in search of your supposed yingxing.

it didn't surprise you to find "him".

that wasn't yingxing, the “furnace master” that made you laugh, made you feel warm and safe. no, this was an abomination. someone who had taken the man known as yingxing and ruined him, taken him to the brink of death over and over just to come back with more scars that never healed, piling on again and again until he wasn't the same.

all that was left was bitter malice seeping into the parts that slowly ebbed away, slowly removing any semblance that could link “blade” to yingxing. would it be fair to even call him a human?

the only thing that could even link that monster to your friend was his attire. it was tattered and worn, nothing like how yingixing would've worn it - although rather admittedly his outfit was never “clean”, constantly dirtied by the consequences of forging weapons but he tried his best.

he finally noticed you, and as you locked eyes, it felt like staring into the eyes of a stranger. it was as if the mara had risen from the hands of abundance itself and ate away at the one memory left alive until nothing could be linked back. it forced it's way into his brain, stripping him of what little semblance of sanity remained upon seeing you.

the mara forced his hand, the one he desperately tried to hold back but it was as if his body was no longer his. you weren't from his memories but some part of him could recognise you.

blade knew you weren't his, you weren't even yingixing's but he longed to hold you in his arms. to be selfish and have what his previous identity couldn't.

it was a futile effort. his mara forced him to attack, in his eyes you were no longer an innocent bystander - you were a threat. to anyone else, they would say that blade held nothing but hatred behind his gaze. pure rage and despise. but to you, you could pick up on relief.

some deep rooted part of yingxing that hadn't been lost to the mara that encompassed blade recognised you. affection and longing could be found in his gaze, fighting to break through to the last conscious part of blade's brain. it was an impossible chance. so instead he hurts.

damaging the parts of you that a previous identity would've died to caress and kiss. no longer could you sit and wonder about what could've been. yingxing was gone. this man was simply a monster accumulated from the parts of him.

rest of the "series"

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (3/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: without ona, you find other ways to fill the hole in your heart, as the consequences of your own actions come back to haunt you.

word count: 7.0k

a/n: holy shit is this one long. some more cameos for the plot who are all good bros to our dumbasses in love 👍

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V

2018, 5 years ago.

You always hated it when your hands shake after adrenaline rushes. It felt debilitating, like you weren’t able to make rational decisions because all you could think about was trying to hide your trembling hands.

When your coach called you into his office, you were still cradling your right hand, the other pressing an ice pack to the bruise starting to form on your right knuckles. The way he pointed with his head for you to follow him—doing so without a word—reaffirmed that you were definitely in trouble.

It was a warm day in May, and yet you had two training sessions to complete. You were drenched in sweat afterwards, your body warm and buzzing like a furnace. Definitely not a good day to be pissed off.

Coach Dennis sat in his chair behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. His lips were curling and jutting out like they always did whenever he was concentrating or trying to look angry. It made him look like a fish.

A silence followed, and then he spoke. “Are you aware of what you did?”

You clenched your jaw to stop yourself from blurting out something sarcastic. “I punched a teammate, Coach.”

“You’re aware that that could get you released, don’t you, Y/N?” He asked. “NYCFC has zero tolerance for violence within the first team, much less the youth academy.”

You lowered your head. Your hands were shaking much less now.

“May I ask why you did it?” Coach pressed further when he didn’t receive an answer.

So you told him. There was a group of girls that had been picking on you for years now. You were never the biggest or strongest, so you used your techniques to weave the ball through defenders, to make you stand out, and it pissed them off.

“So you punched one of them.”

“They were cornering me.” You said simply, looking up at him for the first time since the meeting started.

The man sighed and covered his nose and mouth with his palms. You might have reduced his lifespan by a decade right then.

“Y/N, I know you. I know you will stand up for yourself, and I expect nothing less from you, but this kind of behavior will not and cannot fly here. That’s why I’m telling you this, because I know you’ll be special one day.”

“Those girls are bullies, Coach. They don’t deserve to be here. You should be punishing them!”

“They will get their punishment in due time, but you still punched a teammate,” he said firmly. “You did what you thought was right, but violence is never the answer. You can’t punch your way out of everything.”

“Are you kicking me out?” You asked, trying to remain stoic, yet you were fiddling with your fingers.

“No. I’m blocking your Dallas offer.”

FC Dallas had been one of the top scouts that have had their eyes on you, and you had been working extra hard to impress them. This was your chance to break into their first team, and it was gone.

“You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can.” He pressed.

“Coach, please—”

“Thank you, Y/N.” He cut you off. “You may leave.”

Leaving Dennis’ office, and walking down the hallway, your eyes caught Sara—the girl you punched—sitting in the infirmary, her face tear-stained, red, and blotchy. She had always looked at you with disdain, but now there was a fear in her gaze as she caught yours from far away. When she did, you got a better look at the damage you’d done to her face. You suddenly felt that shame you should have felt back in the office.

“Yo, Y/N,” you heard someone call when you were outside. “I heard about what happened.”

“You’re gonna lecture me, Gio? ‘Cause Dennis already did.”

“No, man. I was gonna say how badass that was,” he grinned.

A slow grin spread on your face. You shook your head, as Gio put his arm around your shoulder and you walked to the cafeteria.

You met Giovanni Reyna a few years ago when you first joined the academy. In a training session where both the boys and girls participated, you were paired with him for finishing drills. With a hard tackle, he’d almost put you in the hospital. Ever since then, you had been stuck to the hip. He was the first friend you made and the longest friend you’d ever had.

You’d stay another year at NYCFC, honing your skills, and avoiding another run-in with your bullies until the transfer window was near. You were still waiting for FC Dallas to call back, as you had for a year now. It was the only place you wanted, and while you knew it was risky to do so, it was your gateway to Europe through their partnership with Bayern Munich.

“Sara is going to the Red Stars, did you hear?”

“Dylan’s going to Orlando Pride.”

“I heard Hope and Mary-Anne are going to Roma and Lyon!”

You had tried to block out the gossip in the cafeteria, but it made you doubt yourself. What did they have that you didn’t? Yes, you weren’t the tallest or strongest, but neither were Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro. But maybe that was just it; you were not Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro, and you would never be.

Gio was leaving too, there had never been any doubt about that; his dad was a U.S. legend, and it was only natural that he’d give the best to his son. Besides, Gio might have been the next best thing after Christian Pulisic skyrocketed to fame within the past few years. The boy’s move to Borussia Dortmund was almost imminent, and people had been whispering about it for weeks, but you were the one he told first.

“When do you leave?” You asked, picking at the food on your tray. Gio and you were sitting outside having lunch.

“Beginning of June,” he said.

“I’m happy for you,” you muttered, voice cracking quietly, but a small smile remained on your face.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is a good thing,” you smiled, nodding as you grabbed his hand over the table. “I’ll just miss you a ton.”

“Hey,” Gio searched for your eyes. “I have no doubt that you’ll be scouted soon. I know it. I know you have what it takes to be at the top, whether it’s in Europe, or here.”

Your best friend left less than a month later. You had wrapped your arms around him so tightly and hid your face in his neck, afraid you might bawl like a baby the last time you saw him on the training ground. But you didn’t cry then.

You did cry, though, when Coach Dennis called you into his office again a week later. This time, instead of expressing his disappointment in you, he hugged you tight, congratulated you, and let you read the email that Portland Thorns FC sent to request a transfer for you to their first team.

2023, present.

“You ever thought about what you’d be doing if you weren’t playing football?”

You had just drifted off a bit when the voice next to you spoke. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wondered how she wasn’t absolutely battered.

“Don’t know. Never had a plan B. Didn’t want to.”

“Right. But I feel like, I go to training, I kick the ball, people come and watch me, and then when I go home after, I don’t know who I am. It’s like . . . I’m nothing without the footballer.”

You didn’t expect your hookup to be opening up to you like this. You’d only just met her a few hours ago at a club. You had played against her a few times in the league but had never spoken to her face-to-face. Though not the best on the dance floor, she made an excellent dance partner in bed.

“Well, having a personality is overrated nowadays anyway.” You replied, closing your eyes again. “Nobody cares who you are until you fuck up on the pitch, so just don’t fuck up on the pitch.”

“Easy for you to say,” she huffed. “You have your starter place at City guaranteed.”

You ignored her and turned to the other side. A few minutes later, you heard the sheets shuffling, then the sound of a zipper. “This was fun,” she whispered before you heard your bedroom door opening and closing.

No barks, it meant Bratwurst was asleep, luckily for your ears. Most people you had been bringing home he had been barking at. You wanted to think it was him being protective over you, but he would bark at your teammates too when they would come over, except for one person.

Ever since you came back from the World Cup much earlier than you had anticipated, you liked to find company at clubs and parties. In your time of need, you’d found that you preferred sporadic ones, fewer complications, and headaches.

You were also invited to events; award shows, the British Grand Prix, and a few fashion shows. Those you never really bothered with, but they were chances for your stylist to go crazy with the outfits (which you never complained).

The only good thing to come out of those, however, was seeing Gio again at Paris Fashion Week. The moment you saw him, you gladly accepted it when he brought you into a tight hug, feeling like that 13-year-old again when you first met. You kept in touch over the years, but your schedules were always too different to ever meet up. But it was as if no time had passed, and the only thing that kept you both from talking till morning was that Gio needed rest for his rehabilitation training the next day.

“I’m going on a trip to Ibiza soon with a few friends. You should come,” he said.

“I don’t know, G. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t. I want you to come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean you’re allowed to set me up,” you smirked and shoved him.

“I’ve seen the stuff that came out about you, Y/N,” he sighed. “Is it true?”

“I’m not doing anything illegal if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I meant. About you being seen at clubs day in and day out. What is this really about, Y/N?”

You know Gio wanted the best for you, even though sometimes he was too stubborn to admit it. You were too, but you loved him to bits. Maybe that’s why you two fit together so well.

“I let someone close to my heart, and it fucked me over.”

Gio nodded softly. “Well then. Just consider it a vacation. She’ll still be there though.”

“And you won’t make me go out with her?”

“As if I can make you do anything.”

Unless you were legally prohibited or physically unable to, you would never turn down a proper party. So there you were, on a yacht in Ibiza with your best friend and several other people in his entourage. Gio, that little shit, though having promised not to set you up, was elbowing you at a woman the moment she set foot on the yacht. Anyone with eyes would say that she was beautiful; curly hair, plump lips, and soulful eyes you could get lost in.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t hurt to try.

You went over to the bar where she stood and ordered a drink. Glancing behind your shoulder, you noticed Gio sending you a big thumbs-up.

“So, you are the one Gio keeps raving on about,” said the woman next to you. Her eyes were really pretty.

“I guess so. That’s me,” you let out a laugh, albeit shakily. “Am I everything you dreamed of and more?”

It was her turn to laugh. “He definitely mentioned your confidence, yes.”

“Well, then I’ll definitely keep you around for sure. But just so you know, I do other things besides kick a football around and look pretty doing it.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” you smirked. “I’m Y/N,” you extended a hand.

“Leena,” she took your hand in a firm handshake and raised her drink to you.

You took a sip, and watched her behind the glass, only to notice that she was looking back at you as well. “So, how did you know Gio?”

“I worked with him on a couple of photoshoots. I’m a photographer,” leaning against the bar with her drink, she smiled and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “He was really nervous, said he didn’t like getting his picture taken. Luckily, I used to work with kids and animals back home in Finland, so making a full-grown man laugh for his headshots wasn’t too hard.”

“You’re from Finland?”

“Mmhm. I go back and forth between London and Manchester now, though.”

“Interesting,” you nodded inconspicuously. “I play in Manchester. Nice city.”

Before you knew it, the sun had started to go down, and it was time to drive the yacht back to port. As you all made your way to the exit to disembark, you waited for Leena before offering your hand to help her down the ramp.

Your group was to head into town, and have some dinner before going to a local music festival to finish the night off. It was dark by the time you arrived at the venue, and you wasted no time in immersing yourself in the music. Gio and the others were long forgotten, and you found yourself enjoying your time with Leena much more than you had anticipated.

You told her about your job, and she asked about the World Cup. As much as you hated to talk about it, having declined several interviews and podcast appearances in which mentions of the tournament were inevitable, you told her everything she wanted to know.

She was so attentive and listened, even though you knew she didn’t follow the sport, and for that you were thankful. It has been a while since you talked to someone about how you felt and have them listen so wholeheartedly.

“Do you ever miss home?” You asked once the both of you had taken a break from dancing.

“Sometimes, but right now my wanderlust is bigger than my homesickness. I want to see everything the world has to offer.”

You swirled your martini on the standing table. “I’ve been away from home for so long, I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

“Well, I think home is where you make it.” She lay a hand on your bare arm, caressing it slowly. “If you’ve already made a home at this age, what else is there to do?”

Your eyes trailed along her arm up to her face. Your heart slowed, and the music seemed to have faded in the background. Despite the chaos of the festival, several drunk people dancing next to you, and your friends have already disappeared somewhere, you suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss Leena.

But it wasn’t her that you wanted to kiss, not really. You wanted to kiss her because it reminded you of familiar feelings, to have someone in your corner that you didn’t have to pretend to. But of course that was all based on a lie.

As she reached into your martini to pick up the olive pick and held it out for you, you bit down gently on the fruit and let her pull the pick away. You smiled bashfully.

“I’ll go get us some more drinks,” you cleared your throat. “Do you want some fries too?”

You needed to get out of there before you did something you regret and ruin a good thing, again.

The bartender was off once you’d given him your order. Whilst waiting for the drinks, you looked around for familiar faces and spotted Gio and a couple of his friends “dancing” to the music in one corner, clearly quite inebriated.

“Y/N.”

You turned around and wished that you didn’t. It was Ona, looking at you like you were some sort of alien.

“Ona,” you breathed.

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with friends.” Now would be a good time for those drinks, bartender.

She nodded. “How are you?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly. “Congratulations by the way, on winning.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You guys deserved it. No matter who’s trying to take it away from you, you did, and you should celebrate it,” you meant it and tried to force a smile that adequately expressed your sentiments. Needless to say, it would be easier to be saying this to one of her teammates, anyone but her.

You remembered the night she broke your heart, the night when you left your heart by the sidewalk as you trekked all the way home on foot.

That was three months ago, and with all the distractions you’ve indulged yourself in, somehow it still ached.

The bartender handed you your drinks just then, and you were off.

“Y/N, wait.” You closed your eyes. “I’m sorry . . . for what I said, how I said it.”

“No, I think you made your point very clear, Ona. Have a good rest of your trip.”

“Y/N, I did feel something too! I did!”

Ona felt like biting her tongue at the look you gave her when you turned around, the two glasses of Negronis dangling in your fingers by your side. She had almost regretted it when your lips trembled, and your chest rose and fell as if an implosion was imminent.

You took a large step towards her and exhaled. “You don’t get to do that. Not after I’ve tried to do everything to forget you. You can’t do that.”

Ona opened her mouth to say something, but she knew anything she said would only add to your fury.

“I hope you’re happy by the way.” You said mockingly. “Seeing that you got what you wanted. Winning the World Cup, moving back to Barcelona. Hope you’re happy. Bye, Ona.”

She watched unmovingly as you walked away from her, back to a table where a woman was waiting, and pulled her towards the crowd to dance. She found herself returning to her group, not being able to get the image of you swaying behind the woman with your arm around her neck out of her mind.

What kind of sick joke was the universe playing to make her see you right when she was supposed to be enjoying her days off? Maybe it was her punishment, having broken your heart then practically fleeing the country immediately after.

“Where’s the drink, Ona? You were supposed to get us some,” Lucy questioned her when she came back.

“Oh, sorry. I thought I saw someone.”

“Oi, is that Y/N? Y/N!”

“No, please don’t.” Ona grabbed Lucy’s arm, and quickly pulled it down.

Realizing Lucy didn’t know about it, she knew she was going to have to tell her one way or another. Surprisingly, Lucy didn’t laugh or tease her about it after hearing the entire story. They were back at their hotel, with another bottle of wine passed between them, and Ona told her new teammate everything.

“You were under our noses the whole time, and we didn’t even realize,” Lucy snickered with a shake of her head.

“Yeah,” the night had taken a toll on her, and Ona started to feel the effect of the alcohol as she lay staring at the ceiling. “Have I made a huge mistake? Letting myself be involved in all this.”

“Obviously, but the heart wants what it wants. Trust me,” the brunette took another sip from the bottle. “It is a hard situation, but she needs space, as much as you can give her so she can heal.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through it before,” Ona smirked and poked her with her elbows.

The older woman only laughed. “Something like that.”

As hard as it was to accept the truth, Ona had to move on. She didn’t have a lot of time to mope around, however, before she knew it, the season had already begun. Barcelona had always been a place to return to, and the team needed someone who had Barcelona in her DNA to complete the defense.

It was all going swimmingly, too much so even. The season started out slow, but they grabbed the wins when they needed them. Then it was time for the Champions League draw. Barcelona had been drawn into a group with RSC Anderlecht, AS Roma, and Manchester City.

Just her luck. She’d have to see you twice before the year ended. Barcelona would be going to Manchester first.

With her chance encounter with you in Ibiza still fresh on her mind, she joined the queue for warm-up, looking up every once in a while in case she spotted you. When she did, you were standing by the sideline talking animatedly to your other former teammate Keira. She tore her eyes away before you could notice her, and swallowed that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Longing for your American girl?” Mapi said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Ona mumbled, jogging away to do stretches. “I knew Lucy would blab.”

“So Lucy knows? I was just making an educated guess from the way you keep making those sad puppy eyes at her.”

“At who?” Ingrid appeared from behind.

“Y/L/N,” Mapi raised her eyebrows at her girlfriend with a smirk, and Ingrid gasped excitedly.

“Oh my god, Y/N Y/L/N?! You guys would be so cute together!”

“Guys, come on. We have a match to play,” Ona groaned and begrudgingly jogged away. Just before she started her sprints though, she snuck one last glance at you, when you briefly looked back. As if having been burnt just by a look, you quickly said goodbye to Keira and went back to your half to continue warming up.

“Do you think they were already together?” Ingrid whispered at Mapi.

Mapi sighed, “Definitely.”

Ona started that match on the left, as Lucy also started and occupied her usual right side. You were playing on the right this time to allow Lauren Hemp to be on the left wing. It meant there would be none of her usual duels with you.

Ever since Lucy’s slip-up in the World Cup final, Ona knew she had been more cautious in defense and stayed back most of the time. It gave her the opportunity to set up passes deeper whilst also keeping you at bay, the tactic Ona herself used at United and one she knew you absolutely despised.

Sure enough, you stupidly went up against only one of the best fullbacks in the world. Your dribbling and speed were to your advantage, and Lucy—with all her experience and knowledge of your play—easily controlled you at the flanks. So you tried inverting inside, and Lucy followed you too, if not Irene did.

Man City was pressing high, giving the offense plenty of opportunities in the box, but Barcelona was better in defense. It was only when a precise lofted ball was sent past the back line, that Lucy was trailing after you. You went down just outside of the box. As everyone was getting ready for the free kick, you were still on the ground. Your ankle had been stomped on by Irene during the struggle.

Ona quickly jogged over and put her hand over your shoulder, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Don’t put your hands on me,” you seethed, swatting her hand away, just as the physios came over and sprayed your ankle. Just moments later, you were able to stand up, but you never spared her another glance.

As much as it stung, she clenched her jaw to stop the tears and got ready for the free kick.

Barcelona ended up winning 2-0, a stellar start to their UWCL campaign. While Ona went to shake hands with several players from the opposition, she looked for you, seeing you walk towards the stands. You took pictures and signed for some people, even gave a little kid your shirt, but she saw the way you lit up when talking to someone in the crowd. Upon closer look, it was the woman you were with in Ibiza.

Your smile was blinding as Leena was led down the pitch towards you. “Hi,” you breathed. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I did. You gave me tickets, remember?” She brought you in for a hug. “I’m sorry you lost, but it was very entertaining. I took lots of pictures.”

“Of me, I hope?” You smirked.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Keep dreaming, Y/L/N.”

Smiling slightly, you brought her in for a side hug. “Thank you for coming,” you kissed Leena’s cheek. “Means a lot.”

Ona was watching the entire interaction, fuming on the inside. Lucy and Mapi knew to steer clear of her path once they returned to the dressing room by the glower on her usually affable face.

SportsPro Media: Y/N Y/L/N Seen ‘Smiling’ After Man City Lost to Barcelona in Women’s Champions League Group Stage “Fans have taken to social media to criticize the winger, 21, after she was seen smiling and conversing with fans at the stands after a 2-0 loss to reigning champions Barcelona. The criticism came after several of Y/L/N’s teammates on the USWNT were also condemned for their overt optimism after barely making it out of their group in the Women’s World Cup this summer. Among the critics was former USWNT international Carli Lloyd. Y/L/N was also seen getting more than friendly with her rumored girlfriend, whom the winger was spotted on holiday with in Ibiza alongside U.S. men’s team’s Gio Reyna after a shockingly early World Cup exit. […]”

When the second round of the group stage came around, you were much better prepared. Though you were playing away in Barcelona, Man City were preparing to win. You were definitely training to do so, so when the starting XI lineup was posted on the door in the dressing room, you were stunned when your name wasn’t on the list. You had been benched before—it was all part of the game—but only during less important games or for your own recovery, but never during an important game like this.

“Gareth, can I speak to you, please?” You said, gritting your teeth when the gaffer opened the door in his office.

“Of course,” he gestured for you to follow inside. “Take a seat.”

You remained standing. “Why am I not starting for the Barcelona game?”

“I’m doing what I think will be best for the team, Y/N.”

“By benching me? You need me!”

“Easy, Y/L/N. No one is above the club, and I don’t appreciate your tone,” Gareth’s tone was despicably calm, yet no less menacing.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself. “I want to know why, in an important game such as this one.”

“It seems . . . that you might have a personal reason as to why you want to start this game, but I have to rotate the squad and—”

“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean? What personal reason?”

Gareth sighed. “I’ve been informed that you’ve had a personal relationship with one of Barcelona’s players that didn’t end too well.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?” You all but yelled.

“I’m making a decision that I deem best for the club, and you and every other player will listen because I am in charge!” Gareth had never yelled, not like this. It made you flinch. “I will not have my players’ private life bleed into the performance of the team. Now, you can either support my decision or I will have you removed from the squad traveling to Barcelona, and replace you with someone else who will put the team above their own interest.”

Your mouth is sewn shut, just by the sheer shock at what the manager had just said. You stormed out of his office without another word, slamming the door open to mask what you were truly feeling inside. It wasn’t fury—you were beyond that—it has turned into fear of being replaced; fear of being left behind.

Man City drew that match, and it was just enough to send the team to the quarterfinals, having done it entirely without you. Gareth had made up a bullshit excuse to the press to make you stay home.

Your agent, Toni, was much more furious for you, saying what he did breach the contract you signed and that you should be taking action. In the five years they have been your agent, you have never had to endure that much legal talk over a club issue before. You’d be amused at their passionate rambling if you weren’t already nursing a headache.

“I think you should leave, Y/N,” they finally said after getting off the phone.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But where would I even go? I don’t have any offers yet.”

“You will, once the news comes out that you’re looking to leave the club. You only have one year left on your contract anyway, plenty would seek to employ you.”

You had been through this before. The waiting after letting it be known that you wanted to leave was the worst, but you weren’t just a nobody anymore. You were Y/N Y/L/N, and you would have it your way one way or another.

“Alright, then.” You nodded firmly. “Let’s have a talk with Gareth. I’m not gonna scurry out of this club like a rat.”

Goal.com: Y/N Y/L/N Looking for Man City Exit After Tension With Boss Gareth Taylor “Sources within Man City are saying the American winger could be on her way out of Manchester this summer. The player has reportedly ‘fallen out of favor’ with City gaffer Gareth Taylor after ‘expressing her vexation over lack of playing time’. The 22-year-old was left out of the squad traveling to Barcelona for the 4th group stage match of the Women’s Champions League altogether and has since featured in significantly fewer matches for the Citizens. Several European clubs are reportedly keen to sign Y/L/N, but she could also be making a return to the NWSL for what could be a record signing in the women’s game yet. […]

Though you were scared, it was much easier to let go of a burden that you have been carrying around for so long.

Which was why you had agreed to come to a concert with Leena when she had asked you. You would let yourself have fun and connect with someone without being scared anymore because what Ona did to you had nothing with who you were, and you sure as hell weren’t going to pay the price for it.

Needless to say, you and Leena had a great time. You were been walking back to your car in the parking lot when you saw a flash. You sighed and walked Leena towards the passenger side.

“Get in the car. Don’t come out, okay?” You told her with a smile, which was quickly wiped off once you saw the photographers approaching.

“Y/N, are you leaving City? Where do you think you’re going next?”

“Did you have a fight with Gareth?”

“Y/N, are you going to Barcelona?”

You entered the car with an exasperated sigh. Your breathing became heavy as you attempted to start the car, and your hand started to tremble.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leena spoke softly. “Don’t let them get to you.”

She placed a hand over yours and squeezed it softly. Finding her eyes, you nodded gratefully, and drove away, trying your very best not to run those imbeciles over.

You went back to her apartment where you both ordered some takeout. Over a movie, you talked about anything and everything.

It was like that with Leena. Somehow, she has made you feel okay with pouring your entire heart out in front of her, her caring eyes and encouraging silence taking away your doubts about looking like an emotional fool in front of her.

But the moment you saw her eyes dart back and forth between yours, then down to your lips and leaned in, you froze. You wanted this, only because it would be good for you, but you couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Leena. I-I—” Jumping out of the couch, you stuttered like a broken record. Of course, she would have read it like that, you couldn’t blame her. You didn’t quite know what you wanted, but all you could think about was how different it was to kiss Leena than it was to kiss Ona.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t try to stop you. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. She might as well have been just as shell-shocked as you were by your reaction. You bolted out of there as quickly as you can, like a coward.

Unsurprisingly, Leena hasn’t tried to contact you. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be pissed at yourself too. It seemed everyone was pissed at you these days.

Chloe approached you once in the weight room to ask if you were leaving. You could only offer her an apology, but she brought you in for a hug. You would miss her the most.

Meanwhile, Toni was working tirelessly on your next move, and all you could do was train and be the best footballer you could be while you waited. Even if Gareth didn’t deserve your effort, your teammates did, and you owed it to them to give it your all until the day you left the training ground for the last time.

There was only one destination you had in mind, but going there would mean having to confront your serial one-night stand that you were possibly in love with, who also didn’t share your feelings.

You couldn’t let that deter you from ascending the football hierarchy, though. You couldn’t, and you won’t. You would do it one way or another because it was where you deserved to be. You would show Gareth that he was wrong about you.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Lyon! That’s crazy, Y/N!” Gio said over the phone. He was the first person you told and was ecstatic when you did.

“They still haven’t sent anything official yet, but it’s looking like it, yeah.”

“Well, what happened to the Barcelona deal?”

“My agent was flipping out when I said no, but then this deal came two days later and now they’re flipping out again but for a good reason.”

“That’s awesome, dude! I’m happy for you!”

“I don’t know, I just—I feel like I’m not there yet or something. Lyon wants me, but they’re freakin’ Lyon!”

“Hey, I know all about imposter syndrome, alright? But you can’t let that keep you from playing at one of the best clubs in the world.”

“Don’t let Dortmund hear you say that,” you smirked.

“Eh, we know where we are. That’s why we sold Erling and Jude,” Gio spoke. “Point is, they want you. They clearly see how good of a player you are. So get your ass over to France and show them that!”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You’re right.”

“Alright, gotta go. But hey, let’s go for a drink next time you’re in town. Hopefully, by then, you’re a Lyon player.”

You ended the call and got up to go take a shower. Just before you went to the bathroom, though, your phone rang again.

Grinning, you picked up again, “Look, if you’re telling me you’re gonna set me up again, I swear to god, Gio.”

But you didn’t hear Gio’s voice or teasing laugh. Instead, there was a shaky sniffle on the other side.

You checked the caller ID, and it was an unknown number. From Barcelona.

“Hello?” You said, unsure.

“Hey, Y/N. I just . . . just needed to hear your voice.”

You sighed because you knew exactly who it was. You had etched the cadence and tone of her voice into your memories during the many nights you’ve spent together.

“It’s Ona, by the way.”

“I know,” you nodded. You didn’t quite know how else to carry on this conversation. “I heard Barcelona’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said, sniffling again. “You should see the beach at sunset. It’s great. I go and sit there almost every night.”

“Are you drunk, Ona?”

“No, no. Maybe a little bit. Just a little bit though. I had two glasses of wine. Or else I wouldn’t have the courage to be doing this. Just like I didn’t have the courage to tell you that I had feelings for you too. Have, I still do.”

You closed your eyes and shut off the water. Then she said it again, “I have feelings for you, Y/N. I think about you all the time. And I know you might be with someone now, but I just can’t . . .”

She started crying again. “I can’t go on without telling you anymore.”

“This is incredibly selfish, what you’re doing, Ona.” You were close to tears too, hearing how much this hurt her.

“I know. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. I’m sorry for hurting you. If I could take back everything I said, I would. I’m so, so sorry.”

You took a deep breath and sat back down on your bed. “I forgive you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was selfish too,” you said quietly. “You should go to sleep. You have a Champions League final to play tomorrow.”

You ended the call before you or she could say anything else.

“Shit,” you mumbled and threw yourself back onto the bed. This was exactly why you had to say no to Barcelona, even though it was your dream to play for them. Alas, it started to feel like a mistake.

You dialed Toni. “Hey, um, please don’t kill me for asking this, but could you reach back out to Barcelona and tell them I’m very interested?”

“I knew you’d pull some shit like this so I’ve stalled them. They don’t know we’re negotiating with Lyon, and would probably be fine with setting up a call soon. It’d be a headache to handle Lyon, though.”

“That’s why you’re the best agent in the world, right?” You smiled sheepishly.

“We’ll see, Y/N. We’ve got some leverage for now, but it’s not guaranteed that Barça won’t say no.”

“Thank you, Toni!” You hung up the phone.

ESPN: Barcelona Completes Signing of Y/N Y/L/N from Manchester City on World Record Transfer Fee “Manchester City W.F.C. has agreed to sell USWNT winger Y/N Y/L/N to Barcelona on a £485,000 record fee. This transfer surpasses Keira Walsh’s own move to Barcelona from the Sky Blues in 2022 with a fee of around £400,000. The signing of the summer was finally completed after several clubs have been reported to enter the race. Olympique Lyon was also close to acquiring the 22-year-old’s signature, but the deal broke down in late June when the player repeatedly expressed her interest in joining the Catalan giants. A technically gifted forward, Y/L/N can play on either side as a winger, and occasionally as an attacking midfielder for the national team. Her impending arrival at La Blaugrana would provide a boost in attacking power to an already impressive Barcelona side. […]”

“Jesus, you look like someone murdered your mother or something. Liven up, please.” Mapi smacked her Ona on the shoulder.

“I’m just a little nervous to see her again,” the younger girl muttered, fiddling with her fingers.

She could hear voices outside the dressing room getting closer. At the sound of your voice, her ears trained. She remained facing her locker, trying to occupy herself until you came in. She really felt like throwing up.

You greeted Aitana first with a quick hug, Marta too, then Lucy brought you in for a spin and released you for Keira to go in for the hug.

You said hello to Mapi and Ingrid, both of whom hugged you tightly.

Then you were in front of her. She had expected you to not even look at her, after what she had said over the phone. But you smiled a genuine smile, the one you used to give her whenever the world was a little too hard to bear.

Ona remembered everything. From the sheer hatred and resentment to the lust and sleepless nights under the sheets, to the longing and heartache she endured away from you.

“Welcome,” she whispered quietly, afraid you might not reciprocate her greeting.

Instead, you pulled her into you and held her tightly.

a/n: i’ve decided to add some lore for our y/n, lmk if you like it, if you don’t like it, if you think it’s too long and you just wanna get straight to the smooching :)) there’s more to come but now the stakes 😌☝️ are higher now that we have some info on what makes y/n ticks. i’m going back to college this week so updates might come later but yeah pls let me know what you think!!

[cosmopoliturtle]

Red Dragon's Roost

"There was a time when Gloriosa was a forest of iron spires, overlooking a kingdom of sprawling steel. There was a time even older when it was humble woodland pastures, dotted by shrines tended to by kindly sages. 

The sages were a bridge between folk and fae, but once the fairies left these lands, it fell to the High Sage to carry those left behind. So vast was her wisdom and so gentle her hand that the people of Gloriosa couldn’t bear to lose their last link to a golden era so burned into their memories. They brought to her offerings of nectar, and she carried their love beyond natural years. 

As with all kingdoms, Springtide inevitably strolled in with fangs bared. Weald once shared peacefully became tar-laden wilds to be burned away. The warmth of the High Sage erupted into pitch, and she would see Gloriosa preserved in metal. Each time the fiends would come, the trees were felled and the towers grew skyward. Each time the soldiers fought, the furnaces roared and the streets grew quieter. 

A scholar, a hero; a myth come to an end. The High Sage let generations of nectar within her spoil and her body became bloated and malformed by tar. Now, from molten perches, she watches her fire dance, carrying the memories of a golden era forever passed."

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

Vernorexia

[pomefioredove]

mea culpa

I'm stressed and overstimulated and can't focus on matchups tonight. need roro to decompress

summary: "it's not my fault" type of post: short fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty as hell (pun intended), some suggestive visuals

Rollo is an eloquent man. He understands the art of words, how to weave them together in all the right ways to create a shimmering tapestry of illusions- it's lying without dishonesty, and it's his specialty.

He knows many words, in many languages, in many forms, on paper and on tongue. He knows their definitions, their synonyms and antonyms, and their origins. He knows how to hide behind them as if they were a suit of armor, shielding him from the depravity of the common folk's unwashed tongues.

There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of words in which to express this feeling now, both saccharine and bloody, addictive and revolting, and yet, despite all of his knowledge, Rollo can only think of one.

Bad.

Very, very bad.

Those three simple letters, one syllable which so easily rolls off the tongue, have festered in his mind and spread throughout his body like an infection, making him feverish and mad with obsession over this disease of the soul.

This... is not him. This is not who he is.

This virus is not a natural part of his body. It does not belong there. And yet, it is dragging him by the back of his neck, forcing him to kick and scream and claw against the dirt in a vain attempt to escape its gnarled grasp.

It's a sickening reminder that his heart is still beating warm blood throughout his body. How he detests being reminded of his corporeal existence. As if he is more of a body than a person.

Rollo already had enough trouble sleeping.

What one might liken to butterflies or fireworks, he would to needles and flames. It's an uncomfortable, itchy feeling, one that makes him wish he could simply pull his aching heart out of his chest and run it under cold water until the burning washes away.

This isn't him.

He's not one to be distracted by restless thoughts, or the uncomfortable feeling of having hands. He hardly thinks of himself at all.

This is not his fault.

It's as if he is being interrogated and tortured for a crime he did not commit. Certainly, this is some sort of cruel and unusual punishment? A test of wills?

Or is it truly just a sickening, aching obsession which consumes his mind until all that is left is an empty room, in the center, your image draped in red?

A fire which swallows all it can reach, crawling up every inch of his body, touching him in places he had long forgotten about. A furnace burning within the center of his chest.

He cannot help but stick his hands directly into the flames.

Every time it's windy, he thinks of you.

[poisonouspastels]

MINECRAFT AU MASTERPOST

Since approximately the date of 08/23/2022, me and @sherbertclown have been working on a story involving our own takes on the Minecraft universe and those who reside within it. This Masterpost will be updated as time goes on and there is more to add.

Tag Navigation

#Minecraft AU Mastertag - A collection of every in-date writing or art piece made for the AU.

Characters

Mega ref sheet, featuring all 14 prominent characters

Toyhouse page, HEAVILY unfinished as of writing

Character specific art tags:

Steve

Alex

Rana

Herobrine

Groda

White Eyes

Stephen

Sunny

Efe

Kai

Ari

Noor

Makena

Zuri

Mobs

The Creeper

Endermen

The Wither

Ender Dragon

Zombies

Slime

Magma Slime

Glow Squid

Iron Sentry, Guardian, Ghast, Blaze, and Phantom

Lore + Worldbuilding

(Image courtesy of Beegswaz)

So what's the deal with Herobrine?

Gender identity and how its treated

Pre-transition Steve and Rana

Are humans commonplace here?

The Wither Cult

What the hell did Groda do anyway?

The final encounter

Groda being forced to be a better person: the timeline

Halloween (10th Moon) in the universe

A meal you can no longer make

Put yourself in the shoes of someone during the end of the world

Commonspeak and Galactic

The soul sand

"And the universe said I love you"

The early days

The magic properties of ores

About Jean

After the Wither fight

The dead seldom stay buried

Romantic relationship chart

Beach Episode

Kai and Alex's history

Animatics

Look Who's Inside Again

Alex and Rana have a conversation

The Broken Furnace

The Polycube

for all your favorite 4-player romances

Matching icons

In bed for the night

A quick nap

Emojis

Cat people

Happy 10th Moon!

Date night

Stargazing

Meta/Non-canon

The best advertising

Groda (AU) vs Groda (Creepypasta)

A website with Steve

Rana Adventure 2 (feat. Creepypasta Groda)

But what if they were Warrior Cats

Kill her

Papers, Please

Alternative responses to "I love you"

Arrested for Smash Bros. crimes

But what if they were ponies

Crossover episode

Inscryption Cards

[mister-a-z-fell]

After some questions about my ‘true’ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.

I’m assured that if you click ‘keep reading’, the full transcript will appear.

To assist you, I’ve added a glossary at the end.

And no, Crowley, this still doesn’t count as having wheels.

“This is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Beth’lem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this se’nnight past I saw an Angel.

I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. T’was no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harry’s day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dress’d in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.

I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.

It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labour’d span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.

This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face — no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.

Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigil’d but for one place high ‘pon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.

What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a low’ring thunder.

I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with doves’ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are God’s own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.

I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailor’s comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluck’d from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.

Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be ‘shamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, ‘tis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, I’ll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.

Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for God’s mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemish’d parchment, in th’ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravel’d out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, ‘tired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.”

Glossary:

Beth’lem Monastery — Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious ‘Bedlam’.

se’nnight — seven nights — a week

warrant — assure/promise

bestraught — mad

Harry — another name for Henry — in this case Henry VIII

ere — until

ensorceled — enchanted

commingled — mixed with

compassed — surrounded by

armillary — resembling concentric rings set at angles

pearlie lustre — a pearl-like glow

enwheeled — encircled (shush, Crowley)

Tuscalonian — pale straw-yellow

girded — armoured

twixt — between

corslet — armour covering the upper body

grand guard — armour protecting the heart and left shoulder

cushes — armour for the thighs

nacreous stuff — resembling mother-of-pearl

lapis-ensigil’d — decorated in blue

intricate device — complicated symbol

ague-shooke — shivering, as with a sickness

low’ring — threatening/ominous

golden angels — gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer

holy glass — church windows

iron gaulle — ink

Foh — an exclamation of disgust

cosset — fuss over

an if — if

goose-pen — a quill

Wheretofore — while until now

instantly — at the same time

Od's-me — an exclamation: ‘God save me’

Phoebean — relating to Phoebus/the sun

blessed igenieur — The creator

visage — face

Troth — an exclamation: ‘indeed’

lanthorne — lantern

painted visor — an immobile mask

ravel’d out — unwound

unfolded — exposed

sanctuarized — protected/sheltered

clement — forgiving

swounded — fainted

‘tired, but not tyred — a pun: ‘tired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary

recover — remember

Addendum:

I’ve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern terms…

Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta décima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. Dirán que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ángel.

Hacía poco que había salido de la ciudad, y aún quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando miré hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ¡te juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno había reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesí y desdichada por el hollín. Pero aquí no había rojo.

Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo veré cuando exhale mi último aliento. Ojalá sea pronto.

Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo miré, hasta que me vio y perdí la razón. Pero también era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos había varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso había llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pálido como éste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo haré. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda después de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.

Esta temible aparición se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. Aún no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.

Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pálido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecían de nácar cubiertas de símbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.

¿Qué puede herir a un ángel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.

He tenido ángeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movían vi un mundo más allá de mi entendimiento, presenciado a través de un resplandor como de horno.

Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecía adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habría desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guía de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podía ocultar ningún secreto. Luces tan terribles harían que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.

Las palabras son carne y bebida para mí, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que debería avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun así, no importa porque ¿quién lo leerá? Cuando termine, guardaré este escrito y no pensaré en él. Contando esto me ganaré un poco de paz.

Había estado en silencio, pero ahora lloré, y reí, y supliqué la misericordia de Dios, y el ángel me miró. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador había colocado una máscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecía un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasión tan ilimitada que caí de rodillas e intenté arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdón. Entonces sonrió (como nunca podría hacerlo una máscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentí simultáneamente un bebé, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atención suave e indulgente me desmayé, sólo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cómo había llegado hasta allí.

[undercoveravenger]

Hearts Aflame

Pairing: Peeta x Fire spirit!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Peeta bakes and meets a fire spirit who falls for him”

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here’s part 1 of your Halloween surprise, though there’s more to come. Hope you enjoy!

-----

Peeta had always been afraid of the basement in his parents’ house- dark and dingy and always a bit cold despite the fire raging away in the bulky furnace in the corner. Mostly though, he was afraid of whatever lurked within the flames in the furnace. He’d seen it once when he was a kid, glowing golden eyes watching him through the swirls of fire, only just able to make out the edges of the figure as it stepped forward, holding out a hand like it was going to get him. He’d turned and ran then, running away up the stairs and bolting the door behind him. Ever since then, he had done everything he could to avoid going back into the basement- offering to do his brothers’ chores in exchange to get one of them to go down there instead of him, hiding and enduring his parents’ punishments when he was found to get out of it. 

Now though, with District 12 in ruins and little but the foundations left of many of the homes of the village, he’s left waist deep in rubble and debris trying to take stock of what was salvageable and what would need to be completely rebuilt. He’s faced worse in the last year and a half of his life than what he thought he saw when he was little, so as much as unease is beginning to build in his stomach, he presses on, hefting charred beams out of the way as he tries to unearth what’s left of his family’s home.

His heart lurches in his chest as he moves a couple of splintered beams out of the way and reveals that same old furnace, the big glass window in the door spiderwebbed with cracks but otherwise unchanged. The fire inside had long gone out, but even still Peeta could see a faint glow from a couple of lightly burning embers. 

Almost without conscious thought, his fingers drift to the handle of the furnace. The cold metal bites into his hand just enough to get him to hesitate, but the promise of confronting his old fear has him pressing on, twisting the heavy metal handle and wrenching the door open. The gust of fresh air rushes over the coals, sending sparks skittering throughout the furnace and the few coals that had a bit of heat left flare up, shooting from the dim red they’d been glowing to a brighter gold and he can feel a bit of heat coming off of them now. 

As Peeta watches, something shifts within the waves of heat emanating off of the coals, shifting and rising from the pile of ashes to coalesce into something more tangible. It starts to take shape as it’s exposed to the air, smoke and sparks and flame cooling and hardening over into skin and hair and admittedly handsome features, completed by those glowing golden eyes that Peeta had remembered from all those years ago. 

The spirit steps forward, emerging from the furnace for the first time that Peeta knows about, standing tall before him with squared shoulders and a bright grin, and looking very nearly human for all that Peeta knows that he isn’t.

“Thank you,” the spirit says, voice low and warm like a fire crackling lowly in the hearth on a cold day. Comforting in a way you wouldn’t really think about but can’t help recognizing. “For freeing me.”

Peeta blinks then, startled by the calmness of the creature he’d feared all these years. “You were… trapped in there?”

He nods slowly, the glow in his eyes dimming to a soft (e/c) and Peeta really can’t find it in himself to be intimidated any longer, despite the creature’s power. “I was. I made a deal decades ago to help your father’s father succeed and he double-crossed me. I’d been there ever since, until you let me out.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says because he can’t really think of anything else that he can say. “I’m sorry that I didn’t help you sooner.”

The spirit shrugs, bright grin sparking back to life and the spark in his eyes reigniting, “You didn’t know, I can’t hold it against you.” He takes a look around then, seemingly fascinated by all the changes from the last time he’d seen the outside world. He turns back to look at Peeta then, grinning softly as he takes Peeta’s hand in his, “There’s things that need taken care of now that I’m free, but I can assure you, this won’t be the last you see of me Peeta,” he presses a soft kiss to the back of Peeta’s knuckles and seems to spark along the edges of his figure, the firm outline of him breaking apart into little wisps and sparks of fire before Peeta’s eyes as he starts to dissipate, flaking away until all that’s left of the spirit are those glowing eyes, and then even those extinguish.

Feeling a little foolish for being afraid of the fire spirit all this time, Peeta finds himself hoping that he’ll keep his promise as he returns to his work.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Due to the cold weather, Reader snuggled up with Jason (bonus: if His mask was so cold that reader had to move away in the end.)

Buy something that is the same color as his beautiful blue eyes. I think he himself would be happy about this. In the end, he might secretly get something in return and leave a gift above the head of the bed.

Might be a little hot But I'd love to see Jason fidget as Reader sucks on his food-coated fingers. Because reader were tripped over her own feet and spilled food on Jason. (you like that don't you? something bad happend to reader's toes or feet)

reader wears a dog collar- (*cuagh* NO)

When reader said trick or treat, Jason placed his pistol in her basket. (He doesn't have any snacks.)

Gotham’s cold weather is just as bad as rainy seasons.

How Jason managed to stay warm in just a leather jacket over a padded suit was beyond your belief. Sometimes, even your blankets weren’t enough warmth once your walking furnace slipped out from under the covers.

After some puppy eyed begging, you hear a loud, exaggerated grunt erupt through his modulator before crawling back into bed, now a few pounds heavier with all his gear. Helmet included.

Said helmet was left on the desk, unconventionally close to your sealed, frosted window.

Piercingly cold, red metal pressed along your lower cheek when he attempted to return towards his cuddly position prior. Every bump on your skin rose as you hissed, tilting your head off towards the side.

“Cold, Jason,” your sleepy voice whined out in irritation.

“Mm, how’d you suddenly get so warm?” His teasing tone reveals his audible smile, clutching you closer like a doll to your irritating dismay. Pressing his helmet closer into the crook of your neck, you could only writhe uncontrollably until it warmed.

“Jasooon!” You squeal, his other arm slipping under your body, keeping you trapped in his temporary prison.

“You wanted this, Princess! I’m just doin’ what you asked for!”

- -

You’d be a fool if you said Jason didn’t enjoy books. You’d also be a fool if you didn’t think red wasn’t his favorite color.

He’d say it is, but you knew it was blue. Sometimes green.

Understandably, you knew if you had borrowed one of his favorite, well worn copies of Shakespeare, he’d definitely notice within the same day after you hid them in your closet.

So, for his birthday, you get him brand new books with an added twist.

After receiving his gifts from the rest of the family, putting on smiles and words of thanks, he opens his new copies of Hamlet, Pride and Prejudice, and Kings of war.

Freshly printed words on silver lined paper, on intricately designed, teal hardback covers. Each one personalized with his name in slick, silver lettering on the bottom.

His silence had never been met with a smile so big at the sight of them, the art of speech lost on the vigilante for a good few minutes as he traced the designs, brushing his thumb over his engraved name.

He’d keep an eye out for weeks for a thank you gift. Who gives presents as a thanks after getting a birthday gift?

Try arguing with him when you see an expensive jewelry store box sitting on top of your pillow two days later.

- -

Strawberry jelly on toast. It was as simple at that for you on some lazy Sunday mornings. That, and you needed to do shopping.

Last you recall was turning your body around, blunt spreading knife in hand to toss into the sink, only to be met with a wall of muscles that constructed your boyfriend.

You gasp, not only from the startle, but from pure panic when Jason’s hand clasps yours, preventing the dangerously dull butter knife from doing any damage.

“Open those eyes, sweetheart,” Jason jokes after shortly letting you go, putting the knife in the sink for you.

“Sorry,” you immediately say, feeling a bit bad regardless. It was a butter knife, something so flimsy and useless, besides smearing condiments.

“S’alright.” Jason’s head glanced off towards the various counters in the kitchen, his slightly raised hand displaying the smear of strawberry jam on his thumb.

He was moments away from shrugging off his search and simply licking it off, until he feels your hands grasp his wrist and palm, gaining his attention.

Without a single word said, your tongue brushes along the edge of his calloused thumb, collecting the sticky, overly sweet jam juice off his skin.

Jason nearly froze on the spot, his mind spiraling to imagine a response to say as the pink, little tip of your tongue peeled through your lips, repeating the action once more until you were satisfied.

“Were we.. outta napkins, babe?” He questions, shortly swallowing after forgetting all about his morning coffee.

“Ran out last night,” you reply, proceeding to lick a thin dot of jam on your own pointer finger, all while maintaining eye contact.

“I see.”

- -

Everyone agrees that Jason’s hand alone is more than substantial than any collar.

He proved his point shortly after forgetting about your strawberry toast.

- -

(Sorta dark humor joke)

“Did you just-“ you glance down at the gun inside the empty candy bowl.

It was a joke. You had an empty bowl, walked up to him with a teasing chime in your voice when you asked, and this is how Jason responds.

The weight of the weapon alone told you it obviously wasn’t fake.

Your deadpanned expression flicking in between the gun and him. He had an apple in his other hand, why pick the gun?

“How do I—… do I just shove it in my mouth—?”

“Huh? What—no!”

[oliversrarebooks]

roger, whats it like being fitz's thrall? (aka how does it feel to be living my dream... im not jealous... totally not living vicariously through you...)

Masterlist

January 1922

TW: mind control, conditioning, blood drinking mentions of past abuse, fear of death

"You have to get up, sir." 

Roger gently shook the lump of tangled blankets and sheets that most likely contained a vampire at its core. The only real indication that his master was within was the soft groan from inside, a mumble that sounded a lot like "leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone, sir. You have a show at 7, remember? If you don't rise and shine soon, you won't have enough time to do your hair and makeup and make it to the theater."

"Uggggggh. Why'd I schedule a show so goddamned early? What is wrong with me?" The pile of blankets huddled in on itself more tightly.

"...I suspect there may be several things, sir," said Roger, unable to resist the obvious opening and knowing that a bit of banter might put his master in a better mood. "Regardless, you did schedule the show, and you do need to leave the house for it."

"Horrible. Torturous. Excruciating." The bedclothes rustled, and Fitz poked his head out just enough to take a look. "It's so early that the sun is leaking around the curtains! The sun could kill me, Roger, you can't expect me to get up in those conditions. I could die."

"I believe that's what the curtains are for, sir. To prevent you from dying when you're unjustly forced to wake up during the day." Roger sat down on the side of the bed. He'd done this often enough to know when he was in for the long haul, and he was quite capable of patience -- a good quality to have when serving Fitz. "You were looking forward to this show, weren't you? It's a large venue, and you have your new rotating box trick."

"Mmm."

"I'm sure it will go over splendidly, sir, and you'll be afforded all the praise and applause you deserve," he said. Cheap flattery rarely failed to soften his master's mood. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing the looks of delight on your audience's faces when you perform your new trick? And besides that, aren't you looking forward to being paid?"

Fitz seemed to be lowering both his blankets and his guard. "I suppose so..."

"Excellent. Then forgive me for this, sir." Roger grabbed the covers and pulled them away, as his master produced a sound not unlike a dying cat.

With lightning fast reflexes, the blankets were wrenched from Roger's grasp, and Fitz was clutching them to himself and huddling in the middle of the bed. "How could you? How could my own thrall do such a thing? Heartless, you're simply heartless." He curled up under the blankets and stubbornly closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

"Of the two of us, sir, it's technically you who is heartless." Roger sighed. It was always most difficult to wake Fitz in the dead of winter. The long nights enticed his master to stay out too late sampling the city's nightlife, and the cold made him especially reluctant to leave his chambers, which, thanks to the radiators, were as hot as a furnace.

He reached down to the blankets, intending to tug on them again. This time, despite Fitz pretending to sleep, he was faster than Roger, and grasped his wrist.

Roger felt a delicious, drowsy warmth coming from his master's touch, filling his mind with cotton candy haze. It was blissfully dreamy and intoxicating, and, most dangerously, it was sleep-inducing, enticing him to shut his weary eyes and rest.

"Go back to sleep, Roger," Fitz lulled. "Curl up here. Keep me warm..."

Roger was swaying on the spot, eyelids drooping, rapidly losing himself to enchanted slumber -- but he'd been caught by this trap on plenty of occasions, and each time it ended with Fitz regretful that he'd overslept and missed his obligations. It was that memory that kept Roger just awake enough to wrench his arm away and mostly free himself from his master's dangerous temptation. Fitz was making sad little grabbing motions as Roger moved out of range of his hands.

"I'm afraid that if you wish to use your powers on me, you'll have to leave your bed to do so, sir," said Roger, standing several feet away. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get to the pleasant business of washing up." They both knew that it was a bluff. Roger had been under Fitz's thrall for many years now, and his master didn't need hypnotic touch to compel him, body and soul. But it was a bluff that usually worked.

"Fine, fine, you win." With one final dramatic groan, Fitz threw off the covers and sat up. "I'll take my shower, then. But I expect you to attend to me when I'm finished."

"Of course, sir." Roger watched as his master stumbled into the bathroom, and in a moment he could hear the sound of running water and upbeat humming. Fitz loved long, warm showers as much as he loved rolling around lazily in bed. He'd spend at least a half-hour relaxing in the steamy waters and performing his elaborate and ever-changing skin care routine, one which involved enough distinct products as to cover most of the vanity table.

This gave Roger plenty of time to make the perpetually disheveled bed, the foot-high pile of blankets, and the mountain of pillows in every shape and size. He made quick work of it, picked up the dirty clothes that had been tossed on the floor yesterday morning. 

Housekeeping was Roger's primary responsibility apart from providing blood and humoring Fitz's varied whims. With only the two of them in a reasonably sized flat, it wasn't especially difficult or time-consuming compared to when he'd lived on his own, before he'd been snatched off the street by a vampire. He'd even come to enjoy the simple chores. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to his own feelings or to Fitz's coercion -- his master grasping his shoulders and softening Roger's mind, whispering to him how much he loved to serve.

Really, it hardly mattered any more.

When he'd finished tidying up, Roger got down to the business of setting out his master's clothes. Serving Fitz was really about anticipating his moods more than anything else. With a large venue, he'd want something particularly flashy -- something on the warmer side for a chill day -- deep blue, perhaps?

The door to the bathroom cracked open, Roger's signal to enter.

The steam was blinding, mixed with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers, as Roger entered. Fitz was fussing with his hair, as usual, despite not being able to see it in the mirror. "You simply must help me out with this," he said.

"Of course, sir," said Roger, taking the comb from him. This was a ritual they performed nearly every night Fitz went out. Even as the years went by and Fitz grew from a young vampire to a seasoned one, he still seemed so irritated at not being able to see himself in the mirror, sometimes requiring excessive reassurance from Roger that he was still handsome.

Tonight, though, his master seemed deep in his own head as Roger ran the comb through his hair, taking some pomade in hand to smooth it back. He pulled the longer hair into a neat tail, the sort of style usually reserved for unsavory sorts, but then, Fitz didn't mind presenting himself as a bit unsavory. Roger's tense shoulders relaxed as faint hypnotic power flowed from his master's proximity, fogging his mind at the same time it increased his desire to help fix Fitz's brooding.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Fitz seemed startled back into the waking world by the question. "Of course," he said with his fake smile plastered firmly to his face. "Just running through the show in my head. If I'm going to be dragged out of my bed and into the cold this early, it had better be worth it."

"I'm sure it will be, sir. You're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Obviously," he said, lacking the usual cheer that punctuated their banter.

With Fitz's hair squared away, the two then left the bathroom for Roger to assist dressing him. "While the rest of this outfit is acceptable, this bowtie is just not..." Fitz seemed to be fishing around, thinking of what could be wrong with the bowtie, clearly eager to find some minor fault to distract himself from his own worries. "It's blue, isn't it? You can't have blue on a night that's already cold and gloomy, that won't do. It must be red. The color of excitement and passion!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, sir," Roger deadpanned, picking up the blue bowtie that Fitz had tossed aside and fetching one of his half-a-dozen red ones.

Fitz allowed Roger to fit him with the new selection. "That's why you should leave the thinking to me."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir."

That got a genuine smile from his master. "Come now, when has that ever not worked out?" he said. "With this outfit and your expert attention to my hair, I'm sure tonight's show will be an absolute triumph."

"There's not a single doubt in my mind, sir."

As Roger adjusted his master's cummerbund, Fitz leaned in a bit more, in an unsubtle fashion. The undercurrent of tension Roger had felt all night bloomed into something more recognizable: hunger. His master desired his blood, and, as always, Roger felt himself falling into a pleasurable daze, one where all thoughts fled from his mind apart from offering himself to his master.

"I think I'll need to feed from you when I return. You don't mind, do you?" Fitz whispered in his ear.

"No, master," said Roger, shivering involuntarily. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And it's my pleasure to feed," he said, grinning with his fangs bared. "Yes, I think that'll be just the thing to lift my spirits. Something to look forward to after the show."

"Yes, sir. I'll also look forward it." He meant that -- he had long since given up being troubled by his desire for vampiric feedings. He'd felt that desire even for his previous master's painful, harsh feedings, and it was far easier to accept Fitz's gentle trance of bliss.

A few minutes later and Roger had wrangled a semi-unwilling vampire into two layers of winter coat and sent him on his way. Sometimes Roger went along with Fitz to the theater, to help with makeup or hair or just for support purposes, but just as often he was left behind to his own devices. 

He didn't mind either way. It was nice to have a few hours to himself. He often spent the bulk of the time painting, something he'd never gotten to do much of even before he was taken by vampires. He wanted to eat breakfast first, though, especially given that his master might be feeding later.

Roger did hope he was. Sometimes he instead chose to feed on his volunteer from the audience, and that was always a bit of a disappointment, denying Roger the opportunity to fulfill his primary purpose in life. But Fitz seemed interested in feeding at home, and if he was going to do that, it would behoove Roger to be well-fed.

Soon enough, a generous portion of ham and eggs was sizzling on the stove. Fitz had made a promise early on that he'd always keep Roger fed, and although he forgot and broke promises all the time, he hadn't broken that one. Unlike his previous master, he never punished Roger with starvation -- a particularly spiteful punishment, since it also seemed to lower the quality of Roger's blood. His previous master did seem to enjoy punishment more than feedings.

When Roger's former master had been destroyed in a duel, Roger had assumed he was going from bad to worse. That feeling had grown stronger when he'd been dragged to a secondhand thrall appraiser and his worth was assessed at far lower than it had been when he'd first been bought. At the time, Roger had been little better than a beaten dog, cringing at every sound, barely daring to speak or think. He'd lost hope for anything better.

And, well, Fitz was far from the savior he'd often imagined during those days. He was still a vampiric master, a dramatic one whose moods changed like the wind. He could still effortlessly control Roger's mind, and he made Roger do all the chores in the house. Roger still wasn't free.

But rather than beatings and torture, Fitz's "punishments" generally amounted to snippy words and extra chores. There was always food, and he was allowed to paint and read and relax. His master might have a terrible habit of tossing out every piece of clothing in his closet when choosing what to wear and then telling Roger to clean it all up, but compared to what life had been like...

He hoped that Fitz came home safe. He'd strongly prefer to not change hands again, even if it meant dragging a protesting vampire out of bed each night for the rest of his life.

Roger had busied himself painting a bird from an illustration in a nature book when he heard the front door creak. "It's goddamn cold out there! Windy, too."

"Welcome home, sir," said Roger, helping his master out of his frigid coats. He was pleased to see Fitz in a better mood than when he'd left. "I take it your show went well?"

"Of course! Didn't you say there wasn't a single doubt in your mind?" he said with a grin as he kicked off his shoes, leaving Roger to line them up neatly in the shoe rack. "The crowd loved it! The spinning box trick is a real winner -- I just need to think of some ways to jazz it up further -- perhaps doing up the box in spangles to really dazzle them..." 

He shook himself out of his train of thought, seeming to remember Roger was there. "All of that applause did have me work up an appetite, though," he said, stepping close and brushing his hand against Roger's. Roger could feel the influence flowing through him, stoking his need for the feeding. "Why don't you go start the fire? That and your blood will provide me with some warmth tonight, I think."

So he was going to feed. Roger tried to keep his face neutral to preserve a scrap of dignity. "Very good, sir."

Roger allowed himself to hum a bit of a jaunty tune as he stacked wood in the fireplace and lit the kindling, using the bellows to raise the fire higher. He could hear his master making a commotion in the bathroom, likely getting out of his fine clothes and washing off the stage makeup. By the time Fitz arrived in the parlor, the fire was crackling merrily.

"Ahhhhh," said Fitz, sprawling out onto the old leather couch and beckoning Roger close. "This is the life, isn't it, Roger?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'm not technically alive. The point still stands."

His master put his hand to Roger's cheek, and Roger sank into the mind-numbing bliss that came from his power, the familiar sense of captivation and contentment. As always, he could feel his master's desire to feed, and as he dropped deeper into a trance, his hands came up to unbutton his shirt and pull his collar away.

"You really are an excellent thrall," said Fitz, and Roger soaked in both the praise and the sense of security that came from pleasing his master. "Now just relax and let me have what I need."

Sharp fangs punctured the old scars that would never heal, and Roger's pliable mind slipped further as his master began to drink. There was nothing but bliss and contentment and hunger and need --

-- and, as always when his master was anxious, the sound of ticking clocks and the undercurrent of a lonely void.

Perhaps the good reception to his show hadn't brightened his mood as much as Roger had thought.

Fitz drank hungrily as if to fill that void with his thrall's blood, and Roger could feel his senses buckling, his vision tunneling and his eyelids growing heavy. His master was overdrinking again. "Sir," Roger managed to say as he fought to stay awake. "Sir -- sir, you're --"

"Oh!" His master mercifully stopped. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Roger. I don't mean to do that, you know I don't."

"I know you don't," Roger parroted in a dazed voice, slumping against his master's shoulder, allowing his eyes to close now that the danger had passed.

Someday, his master was probably going to kill him. He'd drink too much blood, and Roger would fail to stop him in time, collapsing into his master's arms and closing his eyes for the last time.

But tonight was not that night, and Roger was glad of it.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

[madarasgirl]

A Night for Hunting Ch. 14 -Interlude II

T/W: 18+, NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, explicit sexual content, masturbation, size kink, corruption kink, mild blood drinking, throat/thigh fuck, dastardly vampire bullying his Reader in a good way, angst. Hi the ovaries woke up for this Ch. On AO3 Words: 4480

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays to those who celebrate something else! I hope this December finds everyone in the company of those you love most. Another year is just around the corner!

Wow! 500 kudos and many, many notes for this fic. Thank you to all my readers for your ongoing support! And if vampire smut isn't for you, I hope you will enjoy the next chapter in the New Year!

The lights were dim in your bedroom, the quiet hum of the furnace coming on and your muted, laboured breaths the only sounds breaking the tranquility. It felt like you were on fire. The skin on your back was slick with sweat as you held your breath in concentration.

Pleasure shot up your spine. You sighed blissfully, sinking further into the bountiful pillows by the headboard so the fluffy surface eased some of the muscle ache from your neck as you plunged a small toy into your core repeatedly. In and out at a snail’s pace, to savour the sensation of the rounded ridges catching on your gummy walls.

A droplet of sweat beaded at your temple. Your clit tingled from your treatment as you pushed in the smooth dildo again slowly, relishing in the mild stretch from the thickest segment as it passed through your entrance. It was all you could handle.

So stiff! This felt too good. After being with Alucard's mouth a handful of times, occasionally the need gripped you. Damn that vampire for introducing you to his decadence. You bucked your hips up to meet the imitation shaft, lost in the fullness of your self-gratification.

You rotated the silicone clockwise, squirming from the newfound friction the motion introduced as you juiced around it. Your new toy was quite simple by modern standards, but it was wonderful. The pink device was silky smooth and retained your body heat, not unlike when you were with Alucard, whose frigid body warmed the longer he was within you. 

Your eyes opened to slits, fixating blindly on the ceiling as your thoughts wandered back to what you knew of a man’s touch. His fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin until you went mindless as the girth of his talented tongue entered– 

Oh, ALUCARD'S TONGUE. You picked up the thrusting and writhed as you sank your toy deep with a silent moan and turned on the vibrating feature, mind clouded with desire for your absent lover. It had been over a month. Where was he? Gasping, you clumsily flipped onto all fours as you continued to fuck yourself silly on plastic.

Close. The climax you seeked was right there. You pushed the buzzing dildo back in place with shaky fingertips and smushed your clit desperately with the other hand, your face buried in the pillows with your ass in the air like a common whore for your unbidden fantasies.

Something was amiss. Your own efforts could only be described as bland. Maybe what your worked up bundle required for release was a more delicate touch. Your hips swayed when you brushed your pearl again with a frustrated whine. 

“It appears I was dearly missed.”

“AHHH!” You screamed with the horror of a teenager caught masturbating by your mother as you crashed sideways into the mattress, fumbling over your loose limbs to dive into the sheets and hide yourself. 

The smuggest vampire stood by the window.

“Wha- what are you doing here?” You stared bug-eyed at him as you clutched the blanket, thoroughly conscious about your nakedness when you were not in absolute darkness. Not that the lack of light influenced a vampire’s vision. And not like he had never seen you bare.

“Oh? Clearly I came to visit my human. Don’t let me interrupt your activities, Sweet ♪,” he tilted his chin up and cackled. The beast stalked closer, an amorous gleam to his gaze as twin fangs flashed with amusement.

“Y-you should at least knock! I was busy!” You hollered. Still he approached and you scrambled back incrementally until your back hit the board. 

“You were occupied, yes, but you could be heard and scented from outside. Should I deprive myself of the show?” He lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “It was rather ravishing.”

“Cretin! Idiot!” Heat lanced through your body from embarrassment as you hurled insults. Freaking vampiric super senses!

The shit-eating grin stretched wider as crimson glittered with mischief. The hat disappeared, followed by the jacket. He stood and the cravat melted away in an instant. At full height, he towered over your bed, his overbearing presence swamping the modest room. It was impossible to look away. In this lean and handsome form, Alucard was still a giant. Another layer –the suit vest– vanished from broad shoulders as the said vampire dismissed it. 

“Stop stripping!” You squeaked.

Gah! A lithe porcelain torso with enticing rippling muscles appeared on display for your visual pleasure. The exhibitionist would coerce you into looking at him while he did unspeakable things to you. You flung the dildo at his face.

It landed in the centre of his palm with a wet slap. “A gift for me? Very well, I accept.” He dangled the fake dick from two fingers. It was tiny in comparison to the proportions of Alucard’s hand. You gulped as your gaze went to his mouth.

Time froze. His tongue rolled out from between glistening teeth, as long and flexible as you dreamed. You held your breath and watched in a trance as Alucard lapped at the pink rubber with languid swipes, curling his muscle around its circumference to collect your creamy nectar coating. His eyes never left yours.

He purred.

“You remain as delicious as ever.”

You ignored him. Your dilated pupils tracked your cream at the tip of his tongue as it retracted back into his mouth before it flicked around in a semi-circle to wet his lips. His tongue was thicker than your toy. Your pussy tingled –it appears she missed him. You cursed your traitorous body.

The toy dropped beside you with a plunk.

"What is it you desire from me?” You could hear the smile behind the words. It was an apt reminder that he was an evil entity. You didn’t care what the history books said about him being Christian, he must have worshipped Satan.

Alucard chuckled. You stiffened when even that sound shot to your loins. Did he know what his voice did to you? That sonorous baritone woke something primal. It was too unfair. Everything about your unholy lover turned you into a harlot. Was it really so long since you last coupled with him?

You’d rather have been caught by your mom. Nothing could compare to the level of mortification elicited by being discovered by Alucard. You fidgeted and looked at your feet bundled within the sheets.

You recalled his lips on yours, claiming you as his. His fingers were inside you… scissoring… Pressing your legs together, your lips quivered knowing your mind projected your longings. Your starving cunt dribbled with lust.

“Use your words, Sweet. There is no use for pride when it comes to our indulgent hedonism.” 

Your head snapped up, face scrunched with the need to protest his accusation.

“Neither is there shame in pleasure.”

You recoiled.

Descend with me.

The mocking was absent when you examined your vampire while taking shallow breaths. Why were you so hesitant? What were you holding back for? You’ve experienced the pleasures of the flesh together numerous times. Why did you keep resisting him for anything other than misplaced pride or the engrained idea that the carnal is shameful?

He was right. 

The mental blocks yielded, moved by his gentle lulling. The feeling of emptiness grew too great. With a quiet mewl, you grasped your forgotten toy and returned it to your hungry hole, again plundering yourself before your lover’s eyes. Alucard sighed with contentment at the sight. He was, as always, ever the attentive audience as he studiously observed your performance.

!!! Right there. Leaning back and propping yourself up on an elbow, you adjusted your angle to strike that sweet spot with each impalement. You wondered if he heard the slimy slurps of your greedy cunt. Probably. It was a sloppy mess down there.

“There is a rage swelling between my legs,” your undead lover murmured.

Faster. You raced to the finish line with haste. Quicker and quicker you charged ahead, your thighs tense and hands a blur of movement as your pleasure peaked. In the distance, you heard a faint, rumbling growl whilst consumed by your bodily appetites. It shook your core and you tumbled over the summit with stuttering hips and the sharp cry of orgasm.

Alucard was on top of you. His lips were on yours, his enormous hands covering every inch of you, the cooling touch providing some welcome relief from the heat of passion. Your skin remained inflamed with arousal, each caress sent sparks flying through your nerves. The body now only moved by instinct through the fog. You returned his kisses with equal fervour and grabbed him by his hips and across his back, desperately clutching your anchor to reality wherever you could find purchase.

He drew soft gasps from your lips as he nibbled your shoulder playfully and you flexed around the toy, groaning at the presence of the solid invader holding your pliant walls apart. Tentatively, you leaned in and kissed down his jaw, stopping at his throat. You peppered him with pecks and nuzzled the alabaster column before swiping up his throat. Sheltered under his larger body, you were lost to the throes of orgasm, his skin and scent now so familiar that your heart hurt. You forgot yourself. With no warning, you nipped him.

The undulating shadow limbs paused, the darkness they casted a monstrosity upon your bedroom walls. Finally, your vampire hissed dangerously and you briefly wondered if you offended him. Fortunately, your worries were short-lived.

The last of his clothing disintegrated and his cock sprang forth to catch your full attention. You stopped to inspect him, every inch of his ivory glory. With lidded eyes and gently rocking hips, you crawled up to that proud shaft and palmed it, rolling its heft between your hands and sniffing him.

He was an aphrodisiac. You moaned with want and peered up at him with your lips parted. The vampire’s midnight locks came alive midair, hellfire blazing as he watched you carefully. That gaze stirred at your softest, most repressed emotions regarding this breathtaking fiend and you keened with the desire to please him. You flicked your tongue across his glans and then took him in to nurse, just the tip.

He was salty. You weren’t sure what you expected a vampire’s penis to taste like, but Alucard was decidedly pleasing. Licking at his opening again for another sample, you realized you were in trouble –he might be addictive. You whimpered and tried to sink deeper into the fair shaft until he touched the back, the forced gargle barely clearing your mental haze as you drowned in the musk of male arousal.

You went down once more and gagged. You pulled back and tried again, spit filling your mouth and overflowing as tears came to your eyes after only a mere inch of progress was made. Again, but you were unable to stop the reflexive need to wretch despite how much you wanted to do this for Alucard.

Wrapping your lips around his side, you suckled downwards and gave him lollipop licks, alternating the force of suction as you went before periodically heading back to the top to take his head. You thought back to what Alucard did for you whenever he drank your pussy chalice and mimicked massaging the vampire’s thighs as you enthusiastically performed clumsy fellatio, but remained unable to swallow him whole.

His member was both too thick and too long, making you whine with dejection. How you wanted to return the favour so badly, to do something right and give him release. An ancient vampire who lived for centuries must have had amazing lovers in the past. Your chest clenched. The feeling of inadequacy permeated your thoughts and you were ashamed of your inexperience. Hanging your head, you stared at his crotch and pondered what to do next through pursed lips.

"Darling, there is ample time for you to learn."

Alucard was often an insistent lover who demanded his chamber partners to reveal all: every insecurity and imperfection. He wanted them to give him everything. Everything that was you also belonged to him, including your insecurities regarding your appearance and lack of experience. You were flawless. And he was looking forward to showing you this.

Bare hands wrapped your fingers around his shaft, placing your thumb to his frenulum and guiding you to stroke. Your hand was so tiny in his. The No-Life King groaned at the size difference. Yes, he will teach you the ways to satisfy these rapacious hungers. 

Like this.

That silken flesh glided beneath your fingertips, revealing the shiny head with each pass. The pressure increased fractionally around your hand, an unspoken instruction to squeeze harder at the base. The purring gave you encouragement and his actions touched you. Even now, Alucard took your comfort into consideration. How many others could say the same?

You caught his lips and plunged hard into his maw, pushing his tongue aside with your own and wrestling with it. Unwarranted courage made you dumb and you thrilled from the excitement of dominating the kiss. Tugging his cock with amateur zeal, you continued to swirl and shove at that delightful oral muscle before brushing boldly around pointed canines. 

Alucard ripped himself away, his mouth lined with rows of razor sharp dentition, eyes burning with untold rapture as you separated. Your female perfume saturated his sinuses. The loss of your sensibilities fed his need to corrupt you with his depravity. His gums ached with the need to drink, unknowingly biting himself while he witnessed you fall apart. He was leaking like a schoolboy, his balls tight with the urge to unload.

You succumbed to the devil's seduction. You were his, even if it took you until now to admit it. And he wanted you. Your legs trembled at the first revelation as you parted them to display your openings for his inspection. For his use. The dildo –wholly inferior compared to the vampire’s elegance– fell out coated thickly in cum, your gaping hole winking in anticipation. 

Yes, yes, yes. It was finally happening.

Ruby irises settled upon your lascivious presentation with a feral leer. The craving within them made you shudder in suspense. He promised many things back then, including taking you to Nirvana.

His shaft smacked your vulva and he slid between the lips of your drooling slit, dragging it down lengthwise. Once again he marvelled at your wondrous heat as you whimpered when he passed over your clit. The vampire sighed and stayed flush against your slit as he pushed your legs together to hump your thighs with zest. Wandering fingers found their way inside.

The teasing stimulation was both too much yet not enough. You wanted his cock, though on reflection, he was actually way too large and you'd rip. You didn't care as you locked your ankles over his shoulders to pull him in further and rocked against him. Your basest urges screamed for more and you moaned for him like a wanton whore while drizzling honey around the intruding fingers.

He grinned with utmost satisfaction. "That's it, Dear. How flattering to have a lovely little human offer herself to me so earnestly."

"Do you want this?" He asked.

"Please!" You spread as wide as you could to show yourself off again, but he pulled you onto your front. His heavy white pillar bobbed at your face, dripping with fluid. A hand threaded through your locks and held your head to his crotch, lightly pushing you onto him. 

You took him immediately without hesitation, fervidly filling your mouth with the heady flavours of sex. Delectable. Eagerness did not equate to skill, and you sputtered with a string of spit and coughing. Your eyes flickered to his with uncertainty and the unspoken plea for him to help guide you, hoping he felt your sincerity about pleasing him. You truly wanted to become adept at this.

Fingers rubbed your scalp for several moments before he drew back and drove his hips forward, precisely up to the point where you began to gag. He began to copulate with your throat, until you gagged repeatedly and slobbered over yourself. You heaved with discomfort, but though your eyes watered and your jaws locked, you did not attempt to escape his grasp beyond tightening with tension. You gave your trust in his touch and his experience even as you choked on him.

If you were finally honest with yourself, you’ve wanted Alucard to fuck you for years, perhaps even soon after you first met, only you were too overcome with fear of him then. 

He hit the back again, but didn't force himself further than the few inches that were already embedded. You tried to relax your throat and go loose. It became apparent you didn’t actually want control, but to let go and have Alucard lead. Let him have his way with you. Hopefully, he will sate himself as he did for you. 

The melody of gurgling and choking filled the room. All you could see was him. All you knew were his taste and his behemoth presence stretching your mouth.

Alucard withdrew and offered a chance to breathe, leaving you bowed over in a hacking fit as you greedily drank in the air. You inwardly thanked him for the lenience and sniffed, wiping away the spit before steeling yourself to try again. Sucking him wasn’t as distressing when you weren’t involuntarily fighting the intrusion.

He was enjoying himself as he maintained the smooth, steady thrusting. Blinded by tears, you worried about your unflattering gargles, but stayed put despite the cramping. Who knew keeping your mouth open was so tiring? You supposed that was why blowing was called a “job.” You swiped the bottom of his dick with the flat of your tongue.

Through bleary eyes, you saw impassioned red observing you intently. You returned the stare with docility as he continued to tickle your throat, putting your hand around the part of him that didn't fit into your mouth. You caressed his flesh as he demonstrated as he pleasured himself with your body.

His grip was steel, until he yanked himself out with a soupy slurp and leered at the sight of his fluids and drool sliding down your chin as you coughed and tried to catch your breath with a dazed expression. 

“Beautiful.” He exhaled. 

The hand tangled in your hair tugged to let you look the King in his eyes. "Do you want this?" He repeated.

Was that still a question? Spittle oozed down your jaws and pooled in your lap. Through lidded eyes, you whispered, "Yes, I can take it Alu. Put it in. Need you." The simple word couldn't describe how you NEEDED to be one with your vampire. If he wasn't holding your head, you would have turned over to present yourself again, to persuade your lover to finish what he started.

He growled upon brushing minds with yours, fully aware of your repressed libido come undone and he nearly went rabid with the urge to bury himself and seed you well. How you tempt him into the irreversible. "How improper for a lady such as yourself to beg for a monster's cock," he commented through jagged teeth. "Naughty girl."

You moaned at his words and wiggled free to spread yourself further and prove his assessment correct, if it would facilitate him in providing what you desired.

…

Alucard’s covetous gaze roamed your splayed body as agitated shadows whipped about. Strangely, the thought of making love to you remained tantalizing, but he didn't want to anymore. No, that wasn't it. More than anything, he wanted to have you. He wished to defile you in every way possible for a week straight, but he knew with increasing clarity that he wouldn't if it meant you might die for real. 

He was a selfish, Godless monster. He needed the option to turn you should anything happen to you, or if you decided to fall with him. All he wanted…was to be with you for as long as possible. He rumbled from the internal conflict as he brushed a palm down your calves and licked them.

He looked at you again and noted your complete ease and openness with him, a stark contrast from the paralyzing fear of when you first met. He preferred your bliss. You were lovely, warm, and willing. It would be so easy to take you. You were his. His to fuck, his to devour, and you were an absolutely scrumptious morsel. But at the thought of an existence without you, the void in his chest that did not beat ached.

Nothing was happening. Your eyes fluttered open before alarm seized you. There was blood trailing down his eyes! Gasping, your hands shot out to hold him, your heart throbbing at your vampire's expression – he was a broken man. 

Before you could ask if he was okay, he fell over your body to cage you with his arms, his bangs tickling your forehead. "You are a mere human. What have you done to me?" The powerful vampire whimpered, his face furrowed with emotion.

No, the instant gratification was not worth losing you. He got off of you.

”Wait! Don't go!” You scrambled up and reached for his wrist.

–Only to be spun around and sat in his lap with his overly long, gangly arms twined around your waist and neck unnaturally like rope to press the back of your head to his shoulder. He wouldn’t let you see him. 

His steely length wedged between your butt cheeks. You sat facing away from Alucard, disoriented from the sudden shift in mood, quietly panting as you waited for him to do something. He hooked his arms around your knees to cradle you while fingers meandered their way to your open pussy. Vaguely, you were aware of ferrous fluid flowing down the side of your head and neck. 

“Is this about my virginity?” You ventured, parting your legs further to grant him better access. “To turn me?” You had an inkling of an idea of why Alucard refused to take you.

Dexterous digits explored every ridge and valley inside your sheath and you melted into him. The pleasure was such that you regretted holding back for so long because you thought sleeping with the vampire was wrong. Being with him like this was meant to be, and it felt so right. 

His prodding and caresses were expert, yet though you suspected you knew why Alucard dallied with your inevitable penetration, you kept begging to be plumbed. You moaned and wriggled in his lap to try mounting him properly, earning a low, warning growl. 

“Behave.” 

Shadow hands materialized to grab your wrists and ankles, holding you down snugly on top of him with your back to his chest. He dominated the interaction from below. 

“I alone shall have you in this manner. No one else,” he declared. 

As if anyone else would ever compare. It wasn't like Alucard forever ruined your standards of what to expect from men. “I don't want anyone else, Alucard. Only you,” you clarified. “Alucard…” 

Your hips rocked in an uncoordinated ride of his fingers while he held you captive. No matter how you squirmed, you were unable to impale yourself on your vampire's rod. You whined piteously with need. This wasn’t exactly what you desired, but it was as close as he’d allow without fucking for real. 

The fingers scissored to stretch the ring of muscle before plummeting to the knuckles and continuing to dance. You wailed from the welcome assault. As you twitched, a consideration came to mind and you pouted. "Can't you simply make yourself smaller? When I lick you, I mean."

The wicked vampire cackled and drew you closer to himself. "Fragile little human, you have no understanding of how I must already restrain myself to be with you in this capacity."

“Then let go,” you told him, the phantom limbs thwarting your attempt to turn and look at him. You wanted to reason with him. It was his inhuman size that was an issue. If he was smaller, giving him head should be at least manageable, even if he became more animated.

He chuckled, "Tempting." A sharp talon traced down your throat as you held still with your head tilted up at the lights. "But you would not survive my passion." His tongue replaced the claw and lapped slowly down the same path before nibbling on your throat, causing your skin to pimple into gooseflesh. You tensed, your pussy pulsing with climax nearing as you felt the tingling of every individual hair on your arms with heightened clarity.

“Oh, you do not wish to be bitten, yet you want me to drink from you? Bad girl." You were a sack of boneless limbs, nearly incapacitated by your lover’s devilish ministrations as he read your deepest desires and voiced them. 

Your nails dug into his legs, you stopped breathing as your vision went white, blinded by the dazzling luminescence of the light fixtures above. The tip of a claw pressed against your throat and you winced at the briefest of sharp pains when he opened a tiny wound in the side of your neck. You hissed and tightened around his digits.

The vampire king was on your throat in an instant, lapping up the few droplets that oozed to the surface, moaning as he fed. Pain morphed into pleasure and you arched against him, nearly delirious from the staggering cocktail.

He snickered between licks. "If only I knew you were this partial to pleasure from the beginning.”

Alucard simulated intercourse. He pistoned against your rump with his fingers buried to the hilt inside your snatch. You spasmed from the relentless, ravenous assault as you moved as one.

At last you strained, shuddering around his digits as he sprayed your back and crack. His semen was indeed cool.

Sure enough, his face was now clean of his tears. Neither was there evidence of any blood on your back. It was as if Alucard never broke down. You reached back to stroke his hair, twisting around as much as possible to gently kiss his temple as he rocked up and down to fuck his essence back between your mounds.

You crumbled into his chest to rest. “How am I still a virgin after everything we do?" You questioned with a mouth full of cotton.

"You are a virgin according to vampire laws." He pecked your cheek.

You muttered, "I told you your vampire rules are stupid." He threw his head back, laughing raucously at your willful comment and pulled you tighter to himself. His teeth had retracted back behind his lip and he pressed his face to yours with a tender smile. "I adore you, sweet human."

~To be Continued~

Next Chapter: A New Home

[kaitokitty19]

Pandora AU: Home pt.1

Snippet written for my Pandora AU where Kaito became immortal and he travels around with Hakuba. In the following part, Hakuba’s around his 40s.

———

"Don't you ever want to settle down somewhere?"

Right now, Kaito was curled up next to Saguru's body, which always generates heat like a furnace. It's chilling despite the heater. Kaito instinctively moved closer to the heat source.

In response, Hakuba only petted his hair absent-mindedly and gave a distracted hum. He was busy perusing the file marked "URGENT" Interpol had forwarded earlier that evening, interrupting their dinner. The file had been printed out into a thick stack of paper – getting along in his 40s, long screen time had started to tire Saguru's eyes out quicker; they’re always red and watery after staring at his monitor for a long case, hence the printing.

Always bringing murders and terrorists and whatnot horror into their bed, that bastard. But Kaito could hardly find it in him to complain; not when Saguru is this dastardly handsome with all his fine lines and glasses and laser focus. His juvenile cockiness might have dulled somewhat in age, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever. Kaito imagined he could be cut through with a look. God, he wish he could age with him.

"I already am."

"Huh?" Kaito startled, forgetting that it was him who asked.

"I said ‘I already am’," Saguru reiterated, eyes still glued to inked black and white and free hand waving vaguely around as if that alone should make sense, "settled, that is."

Kaito followed the directions of his wild gestures. Yes, their apartment is nice and all: a tasteful cream-colored motif, delicate plaster ceiling rose, high windows and ceilings, spacious, with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. The Hakuba Corp spared no expense in making sure its young master was happy, and this was no exception. From the most cutting-edge technology to the most beautiful antique furniture, everything seamlessly pieced together in a coherent harmony of livable space. Everything was at his fingertips. Kaito could spend all day mopping around the place without feeling an ounce of claustrophobia. And he did, occasionally - on which days Kaito felt more like a spoiled cat than an actual person. That Hakuba would come home from whatever businesses he tended to, shrug off his trench coat and shoes before bending over the sofa and spoil him with indulgent kisses certainly didn't help the case.

Even if he were to nitpick, there was nothing to bemoan about. But they had scantly been there 5 months. Kaito was sure there were suitcases at the bottom of their closet that had yet been unpacked. 'Settling down' wouldn't be how he would describe it. Nor would it apply to any of their previous many relocations.

"That's not... I mean, don’t you get tired, of moving around like this? Hardly get to see your friends and family? Never allow yourself to take root somewhere? Isn't it suffocating building your life around me?"

This had Saguru's attention. He lowered the case file and turned those keen eyes onto Kaito. The way Kaito's breath hitched was completely involuntary.

"Does it bother you?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I don't have a choice." There was no use talking around it. With Pandora, Kaito could hardly stay anywhere longer than a handful of years before his unchanging appearance raised a few eyebrows. "But you do. Wouldn't you rather have a home to come back to instead of hotel rooms and new fancy penthouses every other year?"

They were already getting looks as they were, from the way master Hakuba always had a young twenty-something draping over his arm. There had been hushes and whispers that Kaito knew that Saguru feigned oblivion to, only to quietly have them moved within the week.

He hadn't noticed he had been fidgeting until Saguru took hold of his restless fingers, the warmth of his hand effectively stopped his anxious tingle from spreading from his fingertips.

"Kaito," Hakuba sighed, exasperated but firm, like he had said what he was going to say next a thousand times before and had absolute faith in it. And maybe he had. Kaito just couldn't quite bring himself to believe him, "as long as I am with you, I'm already home."