#could be any continuity it's just the Lost Light setting has so much potential here

[earthstellar]

Ratchet unable to get up from his desk after lifting a patient onto a medberth

Back strut too sore, cables got over-tensioned somewhere, he's too old for this

Sometimes you just gotta sit there and look into space for a minute while knowing your body will not get its shit together, maybe start strategizing, how the fuck do I get out of this chair, I have to supervise a training round soon

And Ratchet is doing this, sitting still, staring at the wall, facing away from his door in an effort to slightly hide that he can't really move too well at the moment

And some bot walks in trying to see if he's available for a quick patch job, and they think Ratchet fucking finally died on the job in his chair, someone finally made him so mad his spark spun out or something

So immediately there's chaos, the bot who found Ratchet slams a silent wall alarm in the medbay or something because what do you do when the medic dies???

This could work in almost any continuity LMAO

But if this is on the Lost Light, First Aid runs back in there with Ratchet, immediately realises what happened, and sets about trying to help Ratchet out

But in the meantime, it's a ship, and gossip spreads fast, and due to this fucking misunderstanding Drift suddenly starts getting tons of pings and it scares the living shit out of him because what the fuck is Magnus doing telling him he's on the way to the medbay and Drift can have as much time off as he needs

So a panicking Drift runs into the medbay, only to find Ratchet being laid out on a medberth with First Aid administering some mild cable relaxants to help de-tension some overstrained cabling and hopefully manage to convince Ratchet to take a fucking painkiller for once and maybe take a few shifts off

And Drift just starts hysterically laughing out of relief because he thought his fucking conjunx died but not today, not right now, it's just that Ratchet's old and stiff and Primus help him, he will not be letting Ratchet out of his sight for the next week

Ratchet gets mad because at first he thinks Drift is laughing at him, then he hears about the ship rumour that he's dead and decides to take First Aid's offer of covering his shifts for the next few days

I added an edit here about how this might play out in TFP but Tumblr didn't save it lol so maybe when I'm off work I'll rewrite it

[eksvaized]

Part Fourteen [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride if you want to be added - let me know!

As the day continues, an undeniable tension permeates every interaction between the two of you. The weight of it hangs heavily in the air. As though it’s a physical presence that you can almost reach out and touch, and after a while, it becomes almost unbearable to endure.

Simon, who usually fills the space around him with constant chatter and dialogue, even on the occasions when you refuse to engage in conversation, is uncharacteristically silent. His change in his demeanor is not lost on you, and you find yourself unwittingly mirroring his silence. Your own words dying in your throat before they can be given voice, too.

 Your mind is a tumultuous whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, a storm of confusion and uncertainty that refuses to settle. Despite this, you remain close to him, never straying far from his side. It’s as if you are both tethered together by an unseen string that refuses to be broken.

You shadow him silently around the house, tracking his every move as he systematically transports all of your belongings to his bedroom. The only break in the palpable silence comes when he presents you with a pile of freshly washed, pristine white sheets. He asks, in a voice barely above a whisper that’s almost drowned by the tension, if you could help him in changing the bedding. Without uttering a single word, you take the sheets from him and get to work, immersing yourself in this simple task, finding a sense of solace and normalcy amidst the chaotic storm brewing within your thoughts.

After dinner, you settle into the comfortable couch in the living room. The warm, ambient light casts a soft glow around the room. Simon guides you through the detailed expectations he has set for your behavior during the impending visit from his friend. His approach is exhaustive, leaving no stone unturned as he anticipates every conceivable situation that might arise during the visit, no matter how unlikely it may seem. His thoroughness extends to the tiniest of details, ensuring that there is no room for any unexpected surprises that could potentially disrupt the smooth flow of events.

“Johnny will come tonight,” Simon states, his fingers tightly intertwined in a visible effort to hold back any involuntary twitching that might betray the anxiety lurking beneath his composed exterior. “By the time he arrives, you’ll have already retired to your room for the night. So, the introduction can wait until the morning; you can meet him then.”

You nod in understanding. Your gaze drifts to the clock mounted on the wall. A part of you, a small hopeful one, had wished to meet Simon’s friend today. However, Simon’s words and actions seem to suggest otherwise. From his demeanor, it appears he intends for you to remain isolated, safely tucked away within the confines of his bedroom.

There are to be no unnecessary conversations. If possible, let Simon answer all the questions. As long as Johnny stays here, refrain from going upstairs or into your bedroom. These are just a few of the new rules that Simon has imposed.

“Remember, if he asks how we met, tell him it was two months ago, at a club. We spent an entire month getting to know each other, dating, before you decided to move in with me,” Simon instructs, his intense gaze capturing your attention entirely as he lays out the story. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to digest the information. He doesn’t continue until he sees you nod your head, signifying that you’re following along. “If the topic of my family ever comes up, let him know that I don’t talk much about them or my past. As for your own family, if he’s curious, just tell him that you’re not quite ready to introduce us yet.”

“If he asks about why you’re staying at home all day and don’t go to work, say that you’re working from home,” he continues, giving you a moment to absorb this flood of new information. “For the duration of his stay, each and every day, right after we finish lunch, you need to make an excuse that you have work commitments and then you must excuse yourself to the bedroom. Johnny won’t pester either you or me with incessant questions about why you’re not spending more time with us if he thinks you’re busy with work.”

He presents you with a vast array of different scenarios, each one meticulously crafted to prepare you for any situation, and explains how to navigate them. Each scenario is followed by a series of questions, reflecting the potential queries his friend might ask you. You think that you’re expected to respond to them on the spot, but before you even have the chance to open your mouth to articulate your thoughts, he steps in and provides the answers for you. By doing so, he ensures that you’re fully prepared and equipped with the right responses, regardless of what might be thrown your way.

After an exceedingly prolonged and intense conversation, which Simon punctuates with a stern warning, “And don’t dare to ask him for help to escape. He’ll tell me if you do,” he guides you towards his bedroom. It’s a quiet and solitary space, filled with an air of mystery and intrigue, a stark contrast to the heated discussion that just took place. Without uttering another word, he leaves you there, alone, amidst the silence. He then closes the door behind him, ensuring it’s locked, to prevent any potential attempt from your end to sneak out.

Upon finding yourself alone, you take a moment to compose yourself and gather your racing thoughts. The surrounding silence seems almost tangible, and you take a deep breath before you embark on a cautious exploration. Your heart is racing, but the unknown only fuels your curiosity.

With a sense of wonder gripping your senses, you extend your hand out, allowing your fingertips to gently trace the contours and textures of various surfaces around you. The rough grain of the wooden furniture, the softness of the fabric draping the windows — everything feels new, different, and strangely exciting. Your eyes, wide with intrigue, absorb every detail of the unfamiliar surroundings. You take in the antique dresser, the faded grey wallpaper, and the soft glow of the lamp, casting long shadows in the dimly lit room.

The room’s centerpiece is a grand bed, significantly larger than the modest one you are accustomed to sleeping in upstairs. It’s a sight that causes your breath to hitch in your throat for a brief moment, not out of fear, but a profound sense of relief. The sheer magnitude of the mattress provokes an involuntary sigh of relief from your lips. With such a generous expanse of space, it becomes clear that you will be able to comfortably settle at one edge. You could curl up in a manner that ensures Simon maintains an appropriate distance—measured, safely, at arm’s length.

Against the wall, there stands an enormous wardrobe that now houses all of your clothes, meticulously arranged in two neat stacks. As your eyes continue wandering, they catch sight of a nightstand, a simple yet elegant piece of furniture that contrasts with the grandeur of the wardrobe. On top of it, you spot a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, casually discarded as if they were mere trinkets. They pique your curiosity.

Intrigued by this unexpected discovery, you saunter over and pick up the pack. You slide out a single cigarette. You bring it up to your nose and take a deep breath, allowing the scent of the tobacco to fill your senses. Contrary to your initial assumptions, you find that the aroma of tobacco is not as unpleasant as you had imagined.

In the past, you’ve found yourself occasionally indulging in a cigarette or two, often in the company of a glass of your favorite drink. Now, you find yourself teetering on the edge of that familiar habit, ensnared in the contemplation of sparking up yet another cigarette. This idea, as strangely alluring as it may be, offers a short-lived sanctuary, a momentary diversion from the ceaseless tedium that has become a constant in your life. The scent, the smoke, all of it calls to you in a way that is both comforting and unsettling. You remember the relief each puff brought, how it seemed to momentarily pause the world around you, allowing you a brief moment of peace.

Yet, despite this enticing vision, you make the deliberate decision to resist. You choose to distance yourself from the pack of cigarettes that beckons you, deciding to abstain from succumbing to this old habit. For now, at least.

Retrieving your pyjamas, you make your way towards the bathroom, ready to indulge in a different kind of solace. The privacy offered by this bathroom is a comfort you yet have come to appreciate. But the lock on the door, a simple mechanism that guarantees your solitude, is put to use as soon as you start undressing.

The shower, typically a hurried routine, takes on a languid and indulgent pace tonight. You linger under the cascading hot water considerably longer than usual. The comforting steam and enveloping warmth penetrate your pores, methodically dissolving the day’s accumulated fatigue. You indulge in this moment of solitude, meticulously scrubbing your skin until it radiates a flushed shade of red, a testament to the relentless onslaught of hot water that dances upon your flesh.

 The air in the room becomes thick with the intoxicating scent of sweet shower gel—a sensory delight that heightens your relaxation. Every detail of this extended routine seems amplified, from the rhythmic droplets splashing onto the tile floor to the ambient hum of water coursing through the pipes.

The passage of time loses its significance, the usual rush replaced with a slower tempo that privileges self-care over efficiency. You dedicate a full hour to lavish attention on each strand of your hair - washing, conditioning, rinsing, repeating - until it gleams under the artificial light. Only then, with your skin glowing and muscles relaxed, do you finally step away from the comforting drumming of the hot water.

As you gently push open the bathroom door, a thick cloud of steam, warmed by the hot shower you just took, escapes into the bedroom, creating a humid atmosphere. The room, previously cool, now takes on a comforting warmth, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. You contemplate making your way over to the bed, hoping to fall asleep before Simon comes back. However, your attention is abruptly seized by an unexpected sound.

The faint murmur of two voices, barely more than whispers, reaches your ears. You find yourself drawn to the source of the sound, curiosity piquing your interest. So, your feet carry you silently across the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You press your ear against the wooden door, straining to catch the words that are being shared on the other side. Although the voices remain muffled and the words indistinct, you are able to pick up bits and pieces of the hushed conversation.

You listen to the faint sound of Simon’s voice as it carries through the walls, “—asleep, but she promised to introduce herself properly in the morning—” he says. Then, he says something else, but his words are muffled and you can’t quite catch them.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone ‘bout her? I know things have been tense between us since... well, you know, but—” the other voice is filled with confusion and a touch of regret.

Simon, without missing a beat, responds quickly and with a hint of sarcasm, “I didn’t introduce her to you lot ‘cus I didn’t want to scare her away. Not a single one of you has the slightest idea how to conduct yourselves around attractive women.”

Both men chuckle, their laughter a low rumble that seems to echo through the living room. Their conversation continues, the sound of their voices a steady murmur. You remain standing, your ear pressed against the door, listening intently to their exchange. But eventually, your legs begin to ache and you reluctantly retreat to the bed.

For what feels like hours, you toss and turn on the enormous bed. Your legs get tangled in the soft sheets, and pillows are thrown haphazardly across the mattress in your restless attempts to find a comfortable sleeping position. Sleep eludes you, your mind too active with thoughts and questions, your body too restless to settle. Your frustration grows with every passing minute, which only serves to make you even more awake, pushing sleep even further away.

Every once in a while, you get out of the bed to see if you can hear anything else, curiosity and a sense of restlessness driving your actions. But once Simon and his friend move to the kitchen, their voices become even more muffled and you finally give up on eavesdropping.

After what feels like an eternity, Simon finally trudges into the bedroom. The moment the door creaks open, you close your eyes and roll onto your side. You pull the blanket closer to your body, trying to put up a convincing facade of sleep.

A soft patter of his footsteps slowly makes their way across the floor, towards the adjoining bathroom. The sound of water running from the tap fills the silence. The rustle of fabric follows soon after, the unmistakable sound of clothes being shed and tossed carelessly onto the floor. You can almost visualize him standing in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth with methodical strokes.

As he makes his way back into the room, you can sense the subtle shift in the air. The mattress beneath you gives a gentle creak—a quiet surrender to his weight as he lays down. Your anxiety starts mounting. The bed dips in more, and the blanket rustles as he slides under it, the noise seeming loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Every fiber of your being is hyper-aware of his movements. You find yourself silently pleading with the universe, desperately hoping that he would just roll to the other side of the bed and sleep. You wish for the night to end, for the tension to dissipate, for the calm to return. Unfortunately, your silent prayers seem to go unanswered, swallowed by the darkness that surrounds you.

 You feel his hand slyly sneak around your waist. His touch sends a shiver down your spine. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the fragrance of your own anticipation and anxiety. As his palm encircles your waist, the warmth spreads through your body.

He pulls you closer, and you can feel the heat emanating from his skin, like a comforting fire on a chilly night. His touch ventures lower, tracing the delicate curve of your waist, igniting a trail of electric sensations. His fingertips, cool against your warm skin, graze the bare expanse of your lower back, causing a tingling sensation to rise within you. In this moment, a sudden realization washes over you, mingling with a surge of regret. The choice to wear just a shirt and panties to bed now leaves you exposed, vulnerable to his touch. But alongside the regret, there is an intoxicating thrill, a surge of adrenaline that quickens your heartbeat.

As he inches closer, the warmth of his breath brushes against the sensitive skin on the nape of your neck, causing a tickling sensation to spread like wildfire. It feels as though your skin is being kissed by the sun itself, the heat almost searing, leaving an indelible mark. With deliberate intent, he takes a deep breath, drawing in the fragrance of your freshly washed hair. The intimacy of the moment catches you off guard, sending an electrifying shiver down your spine, reverberating through every nerve ending.

Each beat of your heart echoes in the silence, pounding in your chest like a wild drum, its rhythm so loud and clear that it drowns out the stillness of the room. As you lie there, pretending to sleep, you can’t help but question, wonder, and even obsess over whether Simon has any inkling that you are not truly lost in slumber. Holding your breath, you wait for the slightest hint of suspicion to escape his lips. But if he harbors any doubts, he keeps them locked away, unvoiced and hidden.

Simon falls asleep much faster than you, his steady breathing and muffled snores fill the silence. Only when you’re sure that he’s deep in slumber do you finally allow yourself to close your eyes too.

[the-music-maniac]

It's 2023 and I'm angry once again about the shitty writing in the last few seasons of Voltron.

Today's topic - Shiro. More specifically his romantic relationships - and the wasted potential.

I think I'm mostly annoyed at how the writing choices just don't make any sense to me. Specifically the part where they literally didn't give us any information about Shiro's love interests. Nothing. Like who does that? Who writes a romance where one half of the couple is entirely an unknown? They didn't do that for any other main ship in the show, only the lgbtq+ one and maybe it wasn't intentional but it kinda rubs me the wrong way.

Correct me if I'm remembering wrong but I think the one scene they show us of Shiro and Adam is in the midst of a fight - they don't really show their relationship in exactly a good light and it's the ONLY thing they give us of them. Why is that the only thing you show us. How did they meet? What was their relationship vibe? Milestones in their relationship, important moments, uh what kind of person Adam was? Anything? ANYTHING??

Don't get me wrong, all the Adam x Shiro fanart and speculations are absolutely amazing, and y'all are an absolute wonder, I hope everyone who does ship Adam x Shiro keep finding all the joy and happiness in that ship - but just, I find it personally hard to ship two people when I know vastly more about one of the people and nothing about the other. And there's some part of me that almost feels like Voltron did this on purpose. They put no effort into Adam and Shiro and it pisses me off. And then! They continue to put in zero effort, and kill Adam off! Okay fine! I guess he was just meant to be a side character, cannon fodder for Shiro's tragic backstory, WHATEVER I HATE IT BUT OKAY?!

BUT T H E N, they have the opportunity to start over again with another romance and they STILL DON'T SHOW US SHIT. Who does Shiro even marry wtf was his name? Curtis??????? DO WE KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS MAN. AN Y T H I N G. HOW MUCH SCREENTIME OF HIM DO WE GET, PRAY TELL. WHO IS CURTIS HUH. TELL ME ABOUT HIM, I AM ON MY KNEES. I AM ASKING FOR THE BARE MINIMUM HERE. CURTIS AND SHIRO AS A RELATIONSHIP DESERVES BETTER. PUT IN SOME DAMN EFFORT. WTF.

And I would perhaps be able to make my peace with it, if I didn't feel that they ignored literally the perfect candidate for a relationship with Shiro after Adam, with all of the foundations already fucking BUILT. It would have taken so little effort at that point to write a compelling relationship where BOTH characters are well known and loved. I am talking about MATT. Hear me out.

We actually KNOW Matt. We are fond of Matt. He is our meme lord. He is our bespectacled (or not so bespectacled anymore) badass. A rebel, a staff wielding king. And not only that, he has known Shiro for a damn long time. He was literally in the first scene of the show WITH Shiro. They worked together at the Academy and in the field, not knowing each other that well of course, but got thrown into that entire Galra kidnapping situation, protected each other in the field, lost contact, got reunited, became friends - meanwhile Matt became like, a ten bajillion times more confident in himself, more reassured, taken on a leadership role, a scenario where it could potentially lead to some people (AHEM perhaps a certain person with one arm) sitting up and taking notice after years of knowing the other person -

Like do not try and tell me that's not the perfect set up for a developing relationship. Someone you've known for a long time, circumstances push you to work together, get to know each other, save each other, and you get closer and eventually realize hey. I think I might like this person. That shifting dynamic, that developing relationship - what could be better? AND IT WAS BASICALLY ALREADY IN THERE. IT WAS SITTING RIGHT THERE, IT WAS XISNJSNJSBDJDNDNDBDND

Also they would be an absolute power couple, don't even lie to me.

Their personalities are so fucking compatible as well. Like Shiro's seriousness and competence and dry humour in contrast with Matt's endearingly nerdy brand of goofiness along with his own competence/skills? Can you imagine how adorable that would've been?

Not only that, Shiro is already basically Pidge's pseudo older brother. They have such strong sibling vibes, can you imagine how awesome it would've been if Shiro had actually become Pidge's brother in law???

Not to mention having Matt start up a relationship with Shiro - bisexual/pansexual representation.

All I wanted was SOME effort. Like, I would have been perfectly happy with Adam X Shiro or Curtis x Shiro if the writers had simply put in an ounce of effort into making it convincing. It's such lazy writing and it makes me so upset, thinking back on it. And it makes me even more upset realizing they could've made it amazing by picking a character that already has the perfect setup. the lack of effort almost feels intentional, because it wouldn't have even taken that much to make a convincing, well written relationship. ThIS is the representation you hinted at for so long? This is what we waited for? Are you fucking joking. I'm gonna riot, Shiro and Adam and Curtis deserved better.

I have a feeling thinking about this stuff is gonna make me spiral and sooner or later I'm gonna start ranting about the lack of effort they put into Allura and Lance as well And the lost potential of Klance of course

God, Voltron was such a shit show.

[shewolfofvilnius]

Family (Re)Union

Summary: With Wyll's father rescued from the Iron Throne, tension lingers as Ulder Ravengard has been remarkably quiet about the woman who rescued him, the woman he saw over and over again in Wyll's mind these past months.

(Word Count: 3500) Devil Wyll (Tiefling Form) x Cambion-turned-tiefling Tav Read on AO3

“Wyll, he hasn’t said a dozen words to me since we got back.  He just chills out in the corner, doing paperwork, taking visits from Florrick and like four trusted Fist, and occasionally petting the owlbear.” Standing in the now-emptied chambers of the former Bhaalist tribunal, stone-silent except for the occasional crackle of the torches not yet extinguished, stood the self-styled Blade of Avernus, Wyll Ravengard, and the newly-minted Song of Avernus, Furiella.

It had been a whirlwind four months. From a life of luxury hiding out in the city, a cambion with not a care in the world, to captured and tadpoled aboard an Illithid ship, crashing to earth. Mindflayers, gods and goddesses. Avatars of the Dead Three.  The loss of her powers and wings. Mortality.

And Wyll.

-----------

The son of the Duke. He’d disappeared without so much a word from the city nearing a decade ago, and any attempts to find out where he had gone had led to stonewalling. No comment. An embarrassing secret that she or her big sisters could use?

The truth itself had been far more straightforward. He’d been pacted to a Mizora, whose reputation preceded her in Infernal circles. She’d felt it the moment Wyll had confronted Karlach in camp that night. Worse still…she’d interfered.  She had been the one to talk Wyll out of fulfilling his contract with Mizora that night. She was the one who had kept Zariel’s lost warrior alive; no, befriended her. She was the one helping every single lost soul encountered on the Sword Coast with no expectation of gain.  The nerve.

That night, Wyll had paid a price. Gone was the human-looking Blade of Frontiers. Pointed ears. A tail. Horns and claws, sharpened teeth and his good eye turned black. Infernal and tiefling features abounded, and as Mizora made sure to make quickly known, very permanent. With it had come a warning from Mizora for her.  Interfere again, little one, and she’d share a similar fate. 

As the two had grown closer, and their travels continued onwards, eventually Mizora's warning would come to pass. They had just discovered the sanctuary in the shadow-cursed lands near the one-time Reithwin Town. Harpers and Flaming Fist and the tieflings from the grove!  Joy and relief had quickly turned to horror, however, when she noticed the tiefling girl Mol seated across a lanceboard table from..him.  Raphael, the son of the archdevil Mephistopheles.

He had been tempting them since the day after they had escaped the Illithid ship. Teasing a solution to their “tadpole” issue only to pull out the carpet for a later day.  Mol had made some questionable choices, left largely to her own and with the unquestioned adoration of the other tiefling children, and now here was Raphael. She knew his intent. He’d sensed her potential to, and had planned to entrap her.  Absolutely not. Her own protectiveness of the tieflings and especially the children and desire to shield them from the horrors of the Hells overrode her judgement. What had started with a cordial conversation led to a bumped lanceboard set, and a fury that illuminated the outpost even more than the Selunite cleric’s light.  Promising his revenge, a hellish laugh filled the room as Raphael glibly noted “Third strike, little one.”

Flames engulfed her body as she seared with agony. Her wings dissolved in a blaze of heat. Her magic was dissolving by the second with a ferocity not even a sussur flower could manage. The creeping shuffle of mortality made its’ way into her form. “Since you’re so interested in the tieflings, this seems particularly fitting. Be grateful, the way you were going you would have probably become celestial were it not for our guiding hand. At least this way you’ll hold on to some semblance of yourself. Who knows, perhaps you’ll even rediscover yourself one day. I’ll be watching. That’s a promise.”

Perhaps it was the cutting of the final tether that reminded Wyll of Mizora and his own loss, perhaps it was the similarity of their predicaments.  Maybe it was just her. But Wyll had grown used to the new reflection, and was there for her in the way she’d been there for him. The spurs on her back where wings had once grown. The very subtle lines on her face that hadn’t been there the day they met. The first time she awoke from her bedroll with the slight pop of a bone joint and a small groan of soreness. This had been new for her, just as the horns had been new for him.

In wanting to be there for her in the same way that she had helped him slowly grow to not hate his new features, Wyll had wanted to be there for her too. In that moment, it hit him with a wave of perfect crystal clarity.

Earlier in their travels, she had teased him about dancing. It took some work to get used to his altered center of gravity.  Wyll practiced for days, when everyone was asleep. He wanted to get this right. To let go of his own self-doubt and self-loathing and to show the woman who had so recently been there for him that he was starting to find peace, and that he wanted to share that peace and that...love..with her.

There was that word. He loved her. And you know what, if Wyll had to wager a pouch of gold on it, he suspected she felt the same. Resolute, the practice continued on under the cloak of darkness and shadow, until one night she’d awoken, unable to rest, her shoulders once again sore enough to keep her restless. Furiella needed some balm for the irritation, and a GOOD stretch. Wyll, nearby, couldn't help but hear her muttering about the damnable spurs on her shoulder blades, the last remnants of the wings that she had sported proudly until recently. The same vestigal holdover that most other tieflings also carried. 

Their absence was clearly the biggest adjustment for her. He had seen her playing the Lyre – first a wooden one she’d gotten from the druids. Later an exquisite and ornate spider-themed one that they had recovered from the body of the dead Drow, Minthara, in the raid of the goblin camp. He had to figure the shoulder movements were causing irritation. Thoughts of mechanics quickly turned into wondering how did she managed to use these damnable claws to so effortlessly work the strings without breaking them?  So tenderly. With such beautiful music.

He had planned to ask her to play a song while showing off his steps. Instead, that night he found himself stood before her, mid-rehearsal, her with a cheesy grin with only the slightest glance of soreness."Don't stop on my account." .

"I figured it was time to brush up on my skills," he grinned back. "I wouldn't want to disappoint my new partner."

Taking the opportunity, he asked to see her own dance movements. The bard had already seen his, after all.  She’d managed a fairly graceful leap but it was clear she was still getting used to the balance changes that must come with the lack of wings and the way mortality creeps into your muscles and joints. Working with her, the dance had grown closer and closer – and then a kiss. Which begat another. And over the course of their journeys, notes had become songs, and steps into more dance, and shared affection and kisses into love most deep.

As they'd grown to love each other they'd also grown to re-love themselves. Ironically, having become a tiefling had given her a level of humanity that she had never known. Lives were so fleeting, so brief. Love and joy. Duty and courage. Grief and sorrw. Every feeling mattered that much more, every moment of time all the more valuable. Helping people, that mattered too. Furiella came to know why Wyll had dedicated himself to traveling the Sword Coast as a hero.

Heroes would be needed to liberate their home.

While they were away, Bane's Chosen, Enver Gortash, had used Wyll’s father as a pawn in his ascent to power and had, upon the adventurers' arrival in the city, had himself declared Grand Duke by Ulder Ravengard, then discarded him in his underwater prison. Mizora herself had re-emerged and offered Wyll a way to rescue him, but refusing to be her pawn one moment later, had told her no. They managed to determine the location of the prison almost by accident (thanks to some devotees of Umberlee and a submersible) but had mounted a rescue, which Mizora herself tried to stop (and had failed).

Ulder had been deeply unhappy at the rescue. His son had become a devil. The woman who had ensnared him those seven years ago stood just meters away in their room at the Elfsong Tavern. And the woman he had notice his son’s attentions continuously drift towards had an aura similar to that of the blue cambion, Mizora, that had ensnared a young Wyll. Her appearance said tiefling, but no, there was more there, Ulder knew it.

The confrontation had come a short time later. Ulder was disgusted with his son and his continued infernal dealings. Was this some sort of sexual thing? A plan to oust him and take over the Gate? Personal riches? What could drive HIS son to forget the pillars and to seek out the influence of the Nine Hells themselves.

The Illithid tadpole that Enver Gortash had used to control Ulder Ravengard would provide the answer. Wyll and Furiella, having decided that if Ulder were going to hate Wyll (never even mind her), he should at least know the whole truth. Then, if he still hated his son, still loathed the woman who, she was beginning to suspect might become his daughter-in-law in the years to come, then at least they would know that he had hated them with all information revealed. Once nothing was hidden, if he still hated them, that was beyond their regard, and they could live with that.

In the matter of minutes, the tadpole had given Ulder Ravengard access to years of memories. The childhood bonds. His work saving the tieflings and saving the sword coast. Mizora’s many, many lies. And that fateful day seven years ago when Wyll had accepted her first offer in order to protect the city from the cultists of Tiamat who had amassed in secret to lay siege to the city. That Wyll had tried to tell him about but couldn’t – because of her.

THAT apology came simply. In a moment, he had understood his son. How he had kept to the four pillars. Learned and internalised every lesson Ulder had ever tried to pass on. The way he cherished the things about his mother that Ulder had passed on. That Wyll had never regretted his choice for a moment, not because of its’ consequences, but simply because it had meant that everyone else was cared for. Everyone else was safe.  The reunion had been swift, had been sincere.

But Ulder Ravengard had also seen her memories. The years of training by her sisters and extended family to one day step into the family business. Adventures in the hells. The way she herself had once seen Wyll, seen him, seen the city, seen the people of the Gate. Felt what she was.  But also what she had lost. Had given up. Immortality. Flight. Almost all of her powers save for her abilities as a bard and a small amount of wizarding talent that had come largely at the tutoring of the wizard Gale, of Waterdeep, that had been in their company.  The pain and the agony.  She was a cambion, a daughter of the hells.  He’d heard stories of their kind having the potential to change, to be less evil – but usually that meant ascension, an inversion into becoming celestial.  Not a tiefling. Not truly. He had also seen the moment that Mizora tried to tempt her again to spite Wyll, and she had only just held resolve. Whatever had been done to her, Ulder's training with the Flaming Fist and access to her unfiltered memories through that damnable parasite allowed him to still detect a trace of something...more.  In the same way that whatever had transformed Wyll had left a residual trace of his former humanity, the tiniest ember of who and what she had been before still smoldered.

He was petrified at the idea that this was somehow a game. A plot. A ruse.  What WAS her true intention here?, had thought Duke Ravengard, distrustfully mulling over the nature and plans of the woman who had saved him, of who her son so clearly loved deeply. He just got his son back, he will NOT let him get hurt by another devil.

-----

In the halls of the Bhaal Tribunal, Wyll and Furiella wondered what Ulder was going to do, what he would say. Because Ulder had seen his mind, knew he was going to propose to her. Seen her mind and already knew the answer.  Knew who she had been. Knew who he had become. They, meanwhile, had seen him. Seen his mind and heart through the tadpole, and the reactions on his face. He clearly felt reconcillatory towards his son, but what about her? Wyll had already had an idea for a proposal that his father must now know about, and she had basically turned him into a walking jewelry story, having recently put him in charge of carrying the assorted rings and gems that the adventurers had found. It was not a subtle hint, but the response of Wyll’s father loomed over things like a sword held overhead.

Arriving back at the Elfsong a short time later, the pair were intercepted by Lakrissa.  “Hey, you two.” Changing to a whisper the tiefling remarked, “Duke Ravengard wants to meet you both in the cellar.  That large study you told Alfira about with the great acoustics.”

Thanking her, the two trekked through the kitchen – with a quick nod to the chef – and down into the cellar. Moving through the passage, they arrived at the Emperor’s old haunt. Only a few knew about this place.  Including, apparently Ulder Ravengard, seated facing away from them at a table.

The room was still coated with a fine layer of ash following the disposal of several Githyanki bodies a tenday earlier. The pair made their way across the room, the flickering candles and lanterns creating a mosaic of shadows.

As the two sat, an unearthly silence filled the large stone room.  The faint sound of a rat could be heard chittering away a short distance nearby.  No doubt Chef Roveer would need their services again soon.

Staring daggers at the cambion-turned-tiefling, breaking his gaze only to look at his son with nearly the same steely intensity, Ulder clearly pondered which set of words would leave his mouth.

Finally, the silence broke with an exhale. His gaze softened.

“I am not a man that is good with these sorts of things…”

The tension was broken by the echoing sound of footsteps. A small child’s footsteps.

“Mr. Wyll! Ms. Red!  Miss Alfira says you came down here?”

The slightly concerned voice was unmistakable. Yenna, the small child that the pair and their friends had found on the outskirts of Rivington; whose mother was clearly gone and in the interim had become their ward.

“I was trying to get the chef man to let me help in the kitchen but he chased me away!” the child said, somewhat dejectedly.

Cutting off the stare down with Wyll’s father for a moment, the bard rose from her chair and went to intercept the young girl.  “Yenna, there you are!” Furiella knelt to the girl’s level.  “I know you want to help so bad – and the food you made for us was SO good! But I know we’ve been living here while we help everyone, but right now the Chef is having to run a restaurant to help out and feed all those people in the Elfsong. Remember?”

The girl looked at the bard, absorbing the lesson. “Tell you what?  You know Jaheira?”

Interrupting Furiella, Yenna piped up cheerfully with her best, most childish impression. “Nature’s servant awaits.”

Cracking up both Wyll and Furiella – and with even a small grin crossing Ulder’s face – the girl looked towards the couple once more.

“Well, Jaheira’s family has a house in the city. I tell you what. If you promise to be good tonight, and if Gale says you completed the spelling and math lessons I asked him to make for you, tomorrow we’ll go to her kids house – her kids are adults already, she’s SO grown up – and you and Wyll and I will cook for everyone!”

With delight, the child erupted with glee! Jaheira’s garden was ready to provide some absolutely delicious fruit and vegetables, and it would be a good chance to learn outside of a tavern and in a real home and real kitchen.

Looking across the table, Ulder saw Furiella with new eyes. The way she looked at the small human girl with an almost maternal look. He saw the gears turning in Wyll’s eyes as well. A thought process he himself knew well. He had been holding her not just to the standards of a demon but holding her responsible for the actions of others. That wasn’t justice.

Choosing this moment to step in, Duke Ravengard piped up. “I believe I’ve seen enough.”

The mood in the room once more grew tense, with even Yenna noticing the change. Noticing her apprehension, Furiella pulled the child in closer; if Wyll’s father picked this moment, with Yenna present, to hurt Wyll or Yenna or even herself – her tolerance for Ulder’s adjustment period would end.  For the first time, the thought of family crossed the bard’s mind. This had become her’s, and no one, not even Wyll’s father, was going to hurt them or show this poor child that’s already lost so much more pain.

“Furiella…When I was in your mind. Saw my son through your eyes. And I saw the way you are with her..”, gesturing towards Yenna, “…just now.  You really ARE unlike her, aren’t you?” referencing Mizora.

The bard was unusually quiet, glancing at Wyll and Yenna before returning the duke’s question with a small nod.

Turning towards Wyll, the elder Ravengard continued. “When I was a younger man, during the time I knew your mother, I was privy to seeing the way she looked at me.  When this woman looks at you, son, she looks at you with those same eyes. And when we talked about our future together; when she was expecting you. I saw her again in Furiella’s eyes when she was talking with the girl…Yenna, I believe it is.”.

The younger Ravengard’s jaw loosened and his eyes widened.

“I do not agree with your having signed a deal with Mizora to save our city, although had I been in your shoes in the time I believe I might have done the same thing. Another day, another time, and without this worm in my head, we still need to discuss that. But I’ve seen you through her eyes, and I’ve seen her through yours.”

“If the day should come when the two of you decide you wish to make a life together; make a family together” Ulder noted with an almost knowing twist on the ‘if’, “please know that you have my blessing.”

Now her jaw and mouth had gone slightly agape. Blessing?

“I have always talked about wanting to build a Baldur’s Gate for all.  I’ve seen the way that Enver Gortash attempts to weaponize hatred and prejudice to control, and I cannot allow my own fears and my own history to cause me to make the same mistakes. I’ve seen the things you’ve given up, the things you’ve embraced, and the courage you’ve shown. If I’m to rebuild it, then that MUST start with my son and his love and all that they call into their lives.” Standing up and walking over towards the others, he placed a hand on Yenna’s shoulder while looking down towards his son and the woman he suspected he would one day soon know as his daughter-in-law. “Remember the four pillars, and remember your love for each other, and nothing on this plane or any other can stand against you – and know that as long as there is breath in my lungs that you are both welcome home in Baldur’s Gate. Yenna, you are always welcome as well. ”

Starting to turn away from the stunned couple and the child in their care, the Duke paused. “Son…I kept a couple of your mother’s recipe books. If you would like, I could have someone back at home who I know to be loyal retrieve them and have them brought here. For the three of you.  Perhaps bring a couple of your things as well.”

“I would love that, Father.” Wyll was nearly overcome. 

Glancing at the young lovers and their charge one more time, the duke left for upstairs, leaving both adults on the verge of tears and even the young child aware of the emotion of the moment.

Rising to begin to leave the former home base of Balduran himself, the young lovers took hold of one another. Not wanting to make a particularly grown-up display in front of Yenna, the two embraced with him giving her a peck on the cheek. 

Pulling away, Furiella stared at Wyll.

“Blessing? Wyll, blessing for what?”

“Don’t worry about it, my love.” Responded back the Blade of Avernus.

As they made to leave, Wyll from the front turned back towards the love of his life.

“Have you ever seen the Wilden Oak?  Perhaps we could go there after dinner tomorrow night?”

[daybreakrising]

@iniziare: Was he asleep, or was it all pretense? Would either answer even matter? No, never, not once, for all that mattered, truly, was simply that he was here. That every morning, if she so craved it, held the truth in which she could do this: for her fingers, one of them and then all of them, to trace every line of him. The line of his jaw, the curve of his neck and throat -- was that a drowsy groan that she heard? -- mm, the contours of his collarbone. And with each continued stroke, those silken sheets were ushered down and further down still, revealing more of his form as it bathed in that sunlit path left by the morning rays that creeped through in between the drapes. His skin was so very warm, more so than ever before; though it was uncertain whether it could outdo the radiance that momentarily tugged at her lips. He was her Bladie, more than he once was, and less still than he would be tomorrow.

How could one long for another as she did; how was she wholly incapable of drawing her fingers away from him, how was she entirely unfit to restrain her lips from joining in this journey of discovery? As if the nights on their own were never enough, she craved to touch him, to have him, as if she were making up for time that felt as if it had been lost. Bladie, how are you so warm? It tickled her lips as they'd claimed a kiss of his skin, just under the peck of his chest, just beneath a rib, and below that still, a brush of lips following each inch as the sheets were drawn further down. First it were her fingers that trailed in caress over the sculpted ridges of his abdomen, and then her lips too; her breath to him so very warm before they closed into a kiss, and another, and one more— a game of comparison between a cast of shadows, highlights, and her utmost greed. He was equally warm, everywhere.

But it was here, when a pause had been claimed in the aftermath of the briefest tease of fingers, a light tip-toeing a little further down a trail intensely more intimate, a little test to see if any potential pretense of slumber could be upheld; before her head came to rest atop the muscles of his stomach that she had been tracing, positioned just at a perfect spot and angle to survey him. And if she craved to tease again, well, then it might just be practical that she was almost out of reach of him.

There is nowhere her touch cannot reach him - even in the hazy drift of his mind in its version of slumber, he feels her. He feels the skim of her fingertips upon him, the brush of her lips. He feels the warmth of her skin, the whisper of her breath, the steady pulse of her heart. He feels her soul as it twines ever tighter with his own with every passing day.

It is never difficult to wake him. Her fingers upon his throat stirred him from the last dredges of sleep - but he clings to the pretense as he feels her glide lower, feels her lips follow the path carved by her hands before them. He is curious to know what she plans, how far she will take her explorations before she senses his deception. It is, perhaps, a good thing he has always been a man of remarkable restraint - as each touch sets his nerves ablaze, stokes a fire that never truly dies in her presence.

The subtle tightening of abdominal muscles must surely have given him away, the tensing of a body that now aches to respond in kind. Hands itch to reach for her, to pull her firmly to him, to encourage every touch she bestows upon him. There is even the softest hitch of breath as fingertips dance a more intimate path down, and he knows he cannot retain this pretense for much longer.

Lids part, allowing a sliver of crimson to alight upon her - a hungry gaze that burns hot. A hand lifts, fingers threading into deep wine locks, smoothing back the strands that dare to fall across her face. There is a low hum, a sound caught somewhere between a purr and a growl, that resonates from deep in his chest - the sound of a man both content and eager.

"Don't stop on my account." Words are murmured with a lazy humour that only she is privy to, lips curving into an equally lazy smile. His gaze flits, briefly, to the hand that lingers in place, whose touch had finally broken through his deception with its promise. "It is risky, you know..." There is a spark, even, of mischief in those crimson hues. "...to start something and not finish it."

[lonely-lost-soul]

Blood for the Blood God

(Technoblade x Reader)

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

~~~

A young hybrid stood at the edge of the world, his pink hair tied up in a bun, face free of scars he’d acquired in his later years, and he looked decades younger. A diamond-encrusted dagger rested against his hip in its holder, his feet nervously tapped on the dirt. Silence surrounded him, maybe he should’ve told Phil where he was going, what he was going to do, the deal he was about to make. There were no trees on the cliffside, no signs of life anywhere for miles, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he stepped into another realm altogether. It was just him, the cliff, and of course the ancient scrolls in his bag. Technoblade frowned slightly thinking back on his old friend once more, would Phil’s family and his old friend be disappointed in his choices. Did he even care? He swallowed thickly holding out his hand, he pulled out a dagger from its holder, and drug it across his palm. Blood spilled from the wound, Technoblade let out a hiss of pain watching the blood pool in his palm. He held his hand out over the void and let a few drops of blood seep into space. He had long since memorized the words on the scrolls in his bag, Technoblade chanted the words written in Greek and he felt the wind begin to pick up around him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, He was grateful his hair was wrapped up in a bun or else it would be tangled and blowing all over the place. At this time in his life, his hair was down to his ankles, getting it calm in any sense of the word was a struggle.

Dust picked up and he covered his eyes, by the time Technoblade opened them a beautiful figure stood in the void, the goddess was giant, towering far above the treelines below the cliff. A crown rested on top of the Goddess’s head, it was golden and formed a halo above her head, stars littered across her face as her eyes opened. Her gaze bore straight into Techno’s soul, her gown was a deep black with red lacing across the neckline, and it flared out at her feet. A corset tight around her waist, intricate gold was embedded into the fabric, her (h/c) hair floating around her head.

“Technoblade,” Her voice sounded like silk in his ears, and he loved the way her voice said his name. Pink blossomed in his cheeks as his eyes widened, he didn’t even comprehend that she knew his name without even asking. “Why have you summoned me here today?” The Goddess hummed softly leaning downwards her giant face in front of Technoblades, he was in awe at her majesty. He gaped like a fish for a few moments and she lightly giggles pulling away from his body, Technoblade swallowed thickly recovering from his shock.

“You’re the Blood God?” He questioned not expecting you to be so womanly, you hummed softly tapping your nails on the ground causing it to rumble under his feet.

“I go by many names young one, but yes that is one of them.” She hummed the clouds began to swirl around her head, “I’m known as the Blood God, Blood Goddess, but if we strike a deal you may refer to me as (Y/n).”

“The scrolls said you’d be a man.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, not at all.” Technoblade hurriedly corrected himself, “Just startled.”

“Men always like to change history,” She clicked her tongue in distaste brow furrowing in frustration. “Changing the great things women do, the fear of powerful women is only felt by weaker and pitiful men.” He watched the Goddess’s eyes turn blood red a smile came across her lips, “They deserve to bleed. Pitiful men don’t deserve to walk the same earth of those worthy.” Technoblade felt himself nodding alongside the Goddess’s words, she had a point. Any man who disrespects or underestimates women deserves the fate she mentioned. “Now Technoblade tell me what you need from me?”

“I wish to never die.” The words hung in the air, he watched the goddess lean back in contemplation.

“I cannot make you immortal, I’m afraid you’ve contacted the wrong God.”

Technoblade shook his head, he knew he contacted the proper God, if he tried to contact the God of Death, Phil would know immediately.

“It’s not necessarily immortality I am after,” You titled your head curiously urging the young man to continue his point. “I just want something to make me never die, whether it’s power or unaging, I need something.”

“Why? Are you aware of the consequences of becoming immoral or like an immortal,” The Goddess gently reached her hand out nudging her giant finger against his cheek, “To see those who love you die around you while you never age? Anyone, you fall in love with won’t grow old with you.”

“I don’t plan on falling in love.” He interrupted the goddess, standing up straighter. He watched her purse her lips, in a blinding flash of light a woman was standing in front of him. Technoblade felt his face heat up, in her mortal form she was much smaller, but her outfit remained the same, the crown still on her head, showing off her power.

“You cannot comprehend the ideas of the goddess of love Technoblade. She has many interesting ideas on who should fall in love.” Technoblade straightened as she leaned in closer to his face,

“I’ll fight them.”

The Goddess blinked a few times as Technoblade looked away awkwardly at what he blurted out, and you burst into hysterical laughter. You covered your hand with your mouth trying to stifle said laughter, he made a small ‘heh?’ like sound as you clutched your abdomen.

“Sorry- Sorry! I just never heard someone so willingly eager to fight the God of Love so they don’t fall in love.” Your eyes lit up with delight as Technoblade visibly relaxed, for the self-proclaimed Blood God you sure were child-like, much like Wilbur, “You’re so cute yet so naive.” He tensed again his teeth grinding together,

“I’m not naive.” He huffed narrowing his eyes not even processing that she had called him cute. You hummed a few more giggles spilling past your lips, before collecting yourself and straightening your dress.

“Technoblade, before we continue forward with our potential deal there are some stipulations.” You hummed softly holding out your hand, “If you wish for my power to never die this is what I can grant you.” You pressed your glowing red finger to his forehead, his pupils shrunk in and he saw himself in the future. Scars littered his face, arms, and back, his hair was tied into a tight braid, gold jewelry coated his ears and fingers. He had a scruff of a beard on his chin, and he overall radiated power. By his side in some form of a Tundra, was Phil, looking a little older, his right-wing shredded beyond repair. On Technoblade’s back were three Wither Skull tattoo’s one in the middle of his back and the other two on his opposite shoulder blades. A netherite sword hung on his hip and it seemed to be coated in dried blood, his arms were crossed in distaste, he caught a glimpse of three lines on his arm.

He never lost a single life. Suddenly he heard thousands of voices echoing in his head, he clutched his ears falling to his knees, all of them were screaming, pleading for blood.

Technoblade breathed heavily snapping back to the current reality, “what was that?” He panted eyes a bit frantic, “the future?”

“One version of it,” You hummed pulling your hand down to your side. “The future can change on such a whim there never may be a true future I can show you, but it was one.” His brow furrowed watching you reach out and trace over the lifelines on his wrist, a pleasant tingle was sent up his spine. “I can assure you the power I can give will not make you immortal, but it will give you the power to slaughter all your enemies on a whim. Reach your goals and make it nearly impossible to die, that is the power I can grant you.” He watched his lives glow a soft gold and he choked on his spit, another tingle shot up his body, “but there are consequences as there is with every deal one makes.”

Technoblade nodded in understanding willing to risk anything to be that powerful, keeping his life and living with Phil. So the older man won’t have to lose anyone else in his life due to his immortality.

“While you’ll be powerful and practically impossible to kill you will still be mortal. You will be able to die and will still be bound to the three life systems my brother has set up. However, you will live forever so long as that does not happen.” He felt your hand move up his arm and he involuntary flexed his muscles. “But, you’ll have to bear the curse of the Blood God,” You whispered eyes flashing in regret, “The voices.”

“Voices?” He questioned with an eyebrow raise watching you nod almost sadly.

“They will be hard to ignore and occur almost instantly once the deal is in place. There will be thousands of them, always talking or screaming begging you to kill and slaughter. Begging you to kill and supply me with the blood I so desperately crave be spilled on the land. They will say other things too, commenting on your thoughts and your life, you’ll eventually learn to live with them. Especially with my help, but they’re hard to deal with, hard to ignore their yearn for the slaughter of anything with a pulse. You’ll have to learn to get along with them, that is your only hope to not lose yourself to them.” He felt your hand up to his cheek, thumb brushing against the apples of them, “It will be painful and you’ll still need to train to gain more muscle and strength, but it will be easier for you to reach that goal. So with that in mind Technoblade, do we have a deal?”

Technoblade locked eyes with the Goddess in front of him, he could deal with a few voices screaming in his ear, after all, you’d be by his side, helping him learn and grow.

“Deal,” Technoblade spoke gruffly, “how do we go about this?” He tensed swallowing thickly watching you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re touching my face, that’s fine this is fine, not intimate at all.” He watched you raise an eyebrow,

“It’s about to get a lot more intimate I’m afraid,” You purred as Technoblade flushed red, he felt your one hand remove itself from his cheek. She trailed her hand down his neck and his body, he was a shivering, red mess, she found the dagger at his side. He watched in awe as it floated in front of her, slicing open her palm, blood bubbled from the wound it was laced with golden flecks of ambrosia. Technoblade looked at her nervously, “Drink.”

“Eh?” He made a disgusted face eyeing the blood smearing on your palm, he watched it drip intimately down your wrist. Technoblade swallowed thickly, “why?”

“You have to take a piece of me to grant my power, you’ll grow fond of the taste of blood eventually.” You smiled pityingly, another hand gently squeezing his neck and Technoblade let out a shaky breath. He placed a hand on your wrist looking up into your eyes, you hummed sweetly urging him to continue, “I don’t bite. Hard.” You mused, eyes sparkling, dangerously, the look was verging on flirty, the young man flushed. He leaned forward, hesitantly licking the dripping blood that spilled down your arm up to the cut you made with his dagger. The ambrosia in your blood tingled his tongue tasting sweeter than honey, his pupils blew wide dragging his tongue across your palm. He barely registered your hand in his hair, curling around the loose stands tenderly, and much like a kitten, he began to lap at your palm. Technoblade felt like his entire body was on fire, but the blood you possessed tasted so sweet, he felt as though he’s never tasted anything better. He drank until your body healed and he couldn’t taste any more blood, he felt a whine bubble in his throat desperately trying to get more blood from your healed cut. You shushed him softly poking his nose, which seemingly snapped him back to reality, ears turning red as a small amount of blood stained the corner of his mouth. You leaned forward standing on your tiptoes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue lapping at the left-over blood. He let out another whine as you pulled away licking your teeth, humming fondly at the taste. “Such a good boy, listening to your god,” he felt himself pant his vision blurring the praise from you swimming in his head, doing things to him he didn’t quite understand.

Technoblade’s eyes snapped open as the world around him filled with screaming voices, he yelled out in agony as a fire shot through his skull, burning his brain and licking at the top of his spine. Voice pleading and screaming for more blood, to paint the entirety of the cliffside with sweet blood, to grab the nearest thing with a pulse and tear it to pieces. His pupils shrank and his mouth began to water helplessly,

‘Blood for the Blood God! Serve her! We live to serve her, get her blood. Feed us, Feed her. Blood. Blood. Blood. Kill anything that tries to stop us. Blood. Blood. Blood.’

These millions of voices pounded heavily in his ears, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Suddenly the voices quieted and he was vaguely aware of your hand on his forehead,

‘Goddess, our goddess.’

“Shhhh,” You whispered fondly and Technoblade leaned into your cool touch. “Be kind to this one, he’s special.” He didn’t understand what you meant but heard the voices calm down as you spoke to them. “Play nice,” Techno realized that you weren’t talking to him but the voices in his head.

‘Yes ma’am. We’ll be good. But I want to break this one. Don’t be rude to our goddess! Bark, bark, bark. Don’t bark at her! She’s gorgeous though! Truly a work of art. We just want to provide you with blood! Let us play with him a little!’

“I know my darlings and I appreciate it.” You cooed fondly and Technoblade felt warmth flow through his entire being. “But try to get along with this one, he’s special,” Technoblade watched the goddess wink at him. He found himself asking her if he would see her again and she snickered softly,

“Of course you will. We’re interconnected now,” you took his hand, allowing his bigger one to encompass your own. “I’ll see you again soon, try not to die.” In another flash of light, the goddess was gone, he was left alone with the roaring voices and deep-seated loneliness that he was not accustomed to feeling.

It only took a few weeks for Phil to find out about his meeting with the Blood God herself he was immediately worried for his friend. Scolding him for doing something so stupid and reckless, even if what he was preaching was largely hypocritical. The newly acquired voices seemed to have a different interpretation of his nagging, instead, they urged Technoblade to call the man Dadza. Behind Phil his crows cawed and flocked around the both of them, Phil’s brow furrowed and squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate. Dealing with gods is a dangerous game,” Phil sighed “I know that better than anybody. You need anything, contact me immediately.”

“I will,” The young man nodded in response to his old friend, “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Phil responded his wings fluttering anxiously, “Just know how dangerous the Blood God can be, the voices granted to you will be hard to resist.”

“She gave me the spiel Phil, I can handle a few voices.” Technoblade scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, “Have a little faith.” Phil only grew more concerned watching Techno’s hand twitch, he could only hope he knew what he got himself into.

~~~

“Oh, Technoblade what have you done?” Your voice echoed in his head as he snarled loudly, red eyes blazing fire. Corpses littered his feet, blood staining the floor and walls, he was older than the last time she had visited. Hair was tied in a braid, scars littered his face and arms that seemed to only accentuate the blood staining his face. His ax was in the corner of the room blood stained the weapon as well, “You poor man.” He turned towards you and snarled the voices in his head roared needily, his head and heart were pounding, “Use your words.” You commanded hardly red mist swirling around your fingers, it hit him square in the chest sending him flying backward into a wall. Behind you stood a taller figure, in his state Technoblade could only make out a mask with a large ‘X’ carved into it.

“Your little plaything seems to be struggling with your curse dear sister,” XD mused from behind you, “Your supposed prodigy seems to have lost control.” You clicked your tongue in distaste sending your brother a look.

“Technoblade come back to your God.” You commanded your voice harshly seeping into his ears, he only roared in response, steam coming out of his nostrils. “I’m disappointed in you all,” the voices all at once stopped their screaming and Technoblade fell to his knees the sudden shift to silence throwing him off. You walked over to his crumpled body, bare feet stepping on the wooden planks marking the floorboards with your bloodied footprints. You knelt in front of him, the hybrid breathing heavily, his tusks tried to cut your skin and succeeded in pricking your fingers. You grabbed onto his tusks, those were also bigger than the last time you saw them, you tugged them harshly. He grunted in pain, “No.” You snarled looking deep into his eyes, “You slaughtered an entire village of innocent lives! That is not in my plan or my wishes you stupid mortal!” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his clarity was slowly coming back to him. “There were children here! Children you tore apart, I trusted you to have some semblance of control, and you!” She pressed a manicured nail to the top of his head speaking directly to the voices, “I asked for one thing from you and you make him do this!”

“Get ‘em, girl. You tell them.” XD mused from behind you, snapping his fingers almost sassily. His robes flowing around his arms, you turned over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Oh, go fuck George Lore.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting cackled from behind the God of the SMP his long nails digging into the flesh on his arms. You huffed glaring at your older brother, from behind you Technoblade tried to lunge at God for disrespecting his Goddess. “Watch your dog,” He scoffed another growl bubbling in Technoblade’s throat.

“Techno.” Your voice filled his ears again and he fell against your shoulder, “I haven’t been a good Goddess to you have I?” You spoke softly, his entire body relaxing into you as he listened to you. “You cannot handle the voices on your own that was my mistake, I will train you so this doesn’t happen again that I can promise you.” Your fingers gently played with the hair on the back of his neck,

“(Y/n)?” He mumbled groggily,

“There he is, welcome back to the real world.” The goddess pulled away from his beaten body, he looked around seeing the blood and the bodies. His ears twitched something akin to guilt curled in his stomach.

Had he done this? To a village of innocent traders?

“Did I..?”

“You lost control I’m afraid.”

“I- that’s impossible, I was doing so well I had control-”

“Technoblade!” A voice called out pushing past XD, an older gentleman with messy blonde hair a bucket hat. “You’re alright!- Who the hell are all of you?” The man seemed to realize they weren’t alone and his eyes locked onto yours. “(Y/n)?”

“Philza Minecraft. Long time no see,” You hummed a smile spreading across your lips, “Kristin says hello.”

Phil’s entire face flushed to the tips of his ears and he coughed nervously, “Er...tell her the same and that I miss her.”

“I will,” You gave a little bow of your head, “Is Technoblade your son?”

“More like an old friend, but I see him as such.”

“Shut up old man,” Technoblade grumbled sitting up on his knees without you to support him.

“I didn’t realize you were the Blood God,” Phil continued dropping by Technoblade’s side the old man was missing a few of his flight feathers. A large cut was gouged into his shoulder, that was it that was the trigger, something must’ve hurt Phil and caused the halfling to snap.

“That seems to be a common theme,” You frowned a little with a gentle sigh, you tried to glance at your brother, but XD had long since disappeared from the doorway. Most likely because he was bored and wanting to go bother Foolish, “Philza.” You declared as Technoblade glanced over at you through hooded eyes, “Will you allow me to train and help your son."

“He’s not my dad-”

“Of course Goddess, whatever will help him stay in control.” You nodded your head at the consent, in a flash of light your entire appearance changed. You looked much more human, with a simple yet sophisticated outfit that fit the period

“Then let’s begin.”

~~~

The sun began to rise above the cliff where Technoblade had first summoned his Goddess. He took in a deep breath inward and then let the breath outwards after a few minutes of holding it. He sat criss-cross on the cliffside letting air into his lungs as he remembered the meditation techniques you had taught him many years ago. The voices were particularly antsy today but he had learned from the best how to control them, to quiet them down, talk, and reason with them.

‘The sun is rising. It’s very pretty, can we please just spill a little bit of blood?’

“No.” He murmured under his breath, “We get to see (Y/n) today. Don’t ruin this for me. We need her help.”

“They bothering you?” Your voice flowed through his head like butter, and warmth engulfed his entire being,

‘We are not! Come on, we love you! E!!!! Don’t be mean to us!’

“They said you’re being mean.”

“Am not,” You snorted wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and fell across his broad shoulders. Surprisingly the goddess’s touch comforted him, while others’ touches felt like fire, yours was pleasant. “Just want to make sure my prodigy is safe and in control,”

“I am thanks to your lessons.”

“Good, now. You said you wanted to talk to me about something important. Do tell, I’m very curious. It’s not like you to keep secrets from me.” A feather-light kiss was placed on his cheek as you moved from behind him to the front, he adored you. The sunlit up your cheeks and framed your head like a halo, it was like everything on earth was made to make you look perfect.

“I have a predicament,” He tapped his nails on his knees as you hummed thoughtfully, “There’s a war brewing between the government of ‘New L’manburg’ and myself. The government killed Wilbur, drove him so mad that Phil had to kill him to stop his nonsense.”

“I remember that,” You said with a stern nod, “there was a lot of blood spilled that day.” The people who fought in the war lost a lot of lives and you remembered it vividly, XD watched the battle with you from above, you wanted to keep an eye on Technoblade. When the battle was over and his allies betrayed him it took all of your willpower to not go down there and kill them all where they stood.

No one touches your prodigy.

XD had to physically hold your powers away from you, it was the closest you’ve come to losing control of since you were a young Goddess.

When Technoblade escaped to the Tundra that’s when you appeared in front of him, giving him a bone-crushing hug. He grunted at the unfamiliar body but there was only one person that he knew of who could appear out of nowhere and that was his Goddess. You remembered him apologizing to you, fearing you’d be mad at him for failing to kill all those who opposed you and him. You shut him up with a searing kiss, he was dizzy as you pulled away,

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he murmured still recovering from the shock of the kiss, recovering from how much he enjoyed feeling your lips press against his own. “I won’t disappoint you again,”

“You better not.” You cupped his cold cheek with your hand, he nuzzled into it, “You have so much more to give.” Technoblade gave a stern nod as the voices urge him to kiss your forehead, and he listened. “My strong prodigy,” you recalled how he shivered at your words “Are you mine?”

“Only if you’re mine in return.”

“I can live with that.”

His big hand cupped your cheek and you snapped your attention back to the mortal in front of you, you smiled and kissed one of the scars on his palm. Techno brushed his thumb across your cheek, the stars on your face left his fingers tingling. “I need your help, they tried to execute me and hurt Phil they need to be taught a permanent lesson. Please fight by my side,”

“Love, you know I’m not allowed to interfere with wars of mortals. My brother will demote me.”

“I know that,” Technoblade assured reaching out to squeeze your hand, “that’s not what I mean or what I want for you Goddess.” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head,

“Explain,” consider your curiosity peaked.

“Grant me more of your power, fight through me, my dear.” Your eyes widened as his eyes flashed red,

“That’ll tear you apart, you will not be able to handle that.”

“I will.”

“Techno-”

“I trust you.”

Your lips dipped into a tight frown, “I don’t trust myself.” You admitted closing your eyes, “I’m called the Blood God for a reason Technoblade.”

“You’ve taught me how to keep control, I know you can as well darling. Please.”

“Fine,” You agreed after a while looking at the ground, “I’ll let my power flow through you on one condition. You only use it once when it’s life or death.”

“I promise you,” he leaned forward and kissed your lips causing you to purr happily. “I’ll only use it once just keep an ear out for when I call for you.”

“I will.”

The battle came much faster than Technoblade would’ve liked, he had Dream, Phil, and the dogs by his side. They would blow the government to smithereens and won’t stop until they hit bedrock. Above the clouds, he knew his Goddess was watching over them, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. He felt the voices yearn for blood, yearn to serve and please their god, to wreck the entire governmental system. Dream told Technoblade and Phil their duties, which consisted of distracting the government with as many Withers as possible, so Dream could set up the canons. Technoblade could feel the buzzing in his skull knowing the voices were itching to set off the Withers and conquer. They gathered the wolves from underneath L’manburg and Technoblade ruffled their fur and gave them each some last-minute treats, he hated to think of that as a last meal for some of them, but that’s essentially what they were. As he made his way into the country Phil had squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be affectionate in nature.

“Try not to die.”

“You too old man. You still have the totem I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Now let’s kick their asses,” Technoblade grinned viciously. He looked up into the swirling clouds in the sky, crows screaming overhead, “Watch over me, my goddess.” His head filled with warmth and he knew you were by his side like you promised you would be, Phil smiled over at Technoblade and looked to the sky as well.

‘Watch over him (y/n), Kristin,’ He thought getting into a position to release his Withers onto the world.

Technoblade followed suit, the citizens caught onto his presence almost immediately, ready to battle him with weapons drawn. Luckily the dogs took care of anyone who dared try to get a hit in, ripping apart any exposed flesh and spilling their blood on the ground. The dogs allowed him to set up two Withers and send them into the battle, exploding and targeting individuals in their line of sight. Technoblade escaped into a small area by a river and was suddenly attacked by Sapnap. The fire demon spawn’s eyes were alight with bloodlust, seemingly from slaughtering half of his pet wolves singlehandedly.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Sapnap grinned swinging the sword in his hand, fire sparking from the horns on his head. Technoblade had no time for the cocky man’s small talk as he charged at him, he blocked the blow with ease, golden ring glinting in the fleeting light. “Not much of a talker huh? No matter,” Sapnap snickered, “I’ll be the one to take your first life.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snorted pulling away to kick Sapnap in the chest, he stumbled back but he was known for his quick recovery time. He grunted a little and sent a trail of fire-spitting towards Technoblade’s feet. Technoblade was distracted by the fire and it allowed the demon to slice a deep cut into Technoblade’s chest, the man didn’t have time to block. He grits his teeth and felt blood seep across his chest, pain ricocheting through his body. The voices roared to kill the idiot, to get up and give him a severe wound back, but before he could he was kicked in the chest by Sapnap and fell to his back. The sword was pointed at his neck and it dug in just deep enough for a droplet of blood to bubble under the sword.

He was fucked.

‘Call her. Call (Y/n). Call the Blood God. Call our Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.’

“Any last words?”

“(Y/n) I need you.”

“Who the fuck-” A blaring light blinded Sapnap as he stumbled back, squinting his eyes he could barely make out Technoblade in front of him. Technoblade’s eyes blazed a scarlet red, the wound on his chest healing over rapidly like he just ate two god apples. That wasn’t the worst of it though, Sapnap stumbled back some more, above Technoblade’s head was a stunningly gorgeous woman. Her hands were cupping his head, red seeping from her fingers and licking at Techno’s head like flames. The Goddess’s eyes were closed as her hair floated around her head, framing her face beautiful, she was terrifying calm,

“What the fuck. Who the fuck?” His voice cracked watching the being open her sharp eyes, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Technoblade. Kill the idiot man, who dared to try and kill you. That is my command. Give Blood to your Blood God.”

Technoblade’s lips curled over his tusks, he was salivating, the voices were roaring. “Blood for the Blood God,”

He spoke and the last thing Sapnap saw was the shine off Technoblade’s blade, and the glowing eyes of the Goddess herself before the world around him went dark.

Technoblade was breathing heavily, the voices wanted more blood, he felt the pull from you as well, you wanted more blood spilled. Steam curled around his nose and he shook his head, ‘no. no more. Thank you.’ He licked the blood off his sword and the voices quieted, satisfied with the taste on his tongue.

“Stay safe,” Your voice echoed around the battlefield, some chose to ignore the booming voice of the female but others turned to look. Staring in awe at the sight of the goddess, many not knowing her origin or what she was but felt her power over the battlefield. “Don’t disappoint me,”

“You know I won’t.” He grinned blood staining his teeth, behind him an explosion rang out, Dream was ready with the TNT cannons. He heard a familiar cry from who he assumed Tommy and when he turned back to face you, you were gone.

They will forever know that Technoblade serves and is dating the Blood God.

~~~

Tag list: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

[rocorambles]

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.  

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult. 

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for! 

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step. 

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line. 

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity. 

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor. 

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder. 

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing. 

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes. 

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think. 

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate. 

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place. 

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission. 

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm? 

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have? 

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes. 

Or so you believe. 

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds. 

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods. 

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path. 

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.” 

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.  

 You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers. 

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.” 

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd. 

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants. 

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place. 

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable. 

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

 “So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

 “Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face. 

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you. 

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right? 

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.  

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home. 

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of. 

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you. 

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru. 

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.  

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries. 

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.    

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”. 

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips. 

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame. 

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.  

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing. 

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch. 

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”. 

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four. 

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting. 

And history repeats itself. Over and over again. 

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you. 

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock? 

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth. 

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint. 

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of. 

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy. 

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases. 

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.” 

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with. 

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it. 

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him. 

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you? 

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use. 

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose. 

Anything, huh? 

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him. 

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly. 

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary. 

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast. 

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.” 

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face. 

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim. 

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy. 

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.” 

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll. 

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.” 

[saphirered]

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

[modx-reborn]

A Public Display

Ngl this was saved as ‘a cold fever’ in my WIP folder but my dumb ass forgets to change the name of documents so often, I don’t think that it was the intended name.

ANYWAY here have some Ghostbur invis fun, now with the public play twist and maybe some darker ghostbur as a treat.

A public display pt.2: Here

SMUT UNDERCUT! MINORS PLEASE DNI

The new L'Manburg markets are always busy, with so much new stock and even new sellers that have come into the rebuilt city from the outlands. One could really not afford to miss it, you learnt that the hard way, weeks back you overslept and brushed off going to the market only to run out of a certain cooking ingredient, not a day later.

Needless to say, it was another week before you could make a majority of your standard dishes.

But as of late your visits into the city have been joined by a peculiar addition, Ghostbur. The greyscaled ghost had taken a liking to following you about, whether that being around your home or on outings like today, while most of the time he was cute and affection seeking. Disappearing and reappearing from sight with things like books and snacks, and one time a whole blue sheep, and even turning invisible to sit alongside you when people came to visit.

He claimed it was ‘So you had someone even if they got mean.’ He was almost like a lost puppy, his nature endearing and building a sort of affection for him, but today something was different.

To say Ghostbur was playing on the mischievous side of things would be an understatement, on more than three occasions you had needed to pull clothes back into place, as invisible hands pushed and shoved material aside to grasp at your hips. Giggles pressed to the skin of your neck, whenever you hissed out his name, vain attempts to get the ghost to stop and let you shop in peace.

Minor things like that continued for most of the day, some of the older residents of L'Manburg did comment here and there that I was maybe being pranked by one of the younger kids around. As not long ago people were getting boxed in with signs, covered in flowers, and even pushed into one of the ponds by a prankster with 'Too many potions’.

Only after the mortifying experience of having your pants begin to be pulled down, exposing the very tops of your underwear, to Eret as you spoke with them did the seeming pranks take a more interesting turn. Clothes being pulled and pushed aside became cold fingers touching skin through the material, almost as if it wasn’t there at all, and what was once giggles in your ears became the feeling of soft sighs bringing a shudder down your spine.

Despite the public setting of the acts, what started out as curious fingers slowly became more sure, gentle touches morphed into firm hands pulling your hips back into unseen ones, every stop to look over items is stumbled into as the ghost now exploring you takes them as chances to grind into you, and feather-light patterns drawn with nails quickly become wide palms cradling your chest.

Yet when you finally had a moment to potentially call out Ghostbur on his sudden shift from pranking to… this, any words that were forming on your lips are lost when one of his hands dips lower than your waist. It’s the shock of cold hands, unseen, felt against your thighs, nails dragging up and inwards, fingers splaying against your skin.

“G-ghostbu-”

“So pretty, so warm.”

The first words you had heard from the ghost since he had disappeared earlier in the day, unlike the earlier giggles this is whispered into your ear as his hands continue to roam, tracing a path that is all too familiar to you. The same path you regularly take when enjoying a moment to yourself, movements that he would only know if he had watched you one night in the dark of your room.

“I wonder many people would die to touch you like this”

Like this, he says, like this means standing on shaking legs, hoping that no one can see the way your body shakes when Ghostbur decides to press against your core, fingers just barely pressing into you. Like this, means trying to move out of sight, out of where familiar faces can see the flush that has painted your cheeks deepen as the words whispered to you turn darker.

Praise for not getting flustered from the pranks, half lost mutters about how pretty you look now, and even a surprisingly harsh request from the regularly gentle ghost as the phantom hands leave your skin, causing a broken whine to fall from your lips.

“Out of sight and your mine.”

A warning or a promise? With how he had shifted from joking and messing around to so brazenly, despite his invisibility, playing with you and causing this trip to the markets to be dragged out beyond the normal timeframe of your shopping visits, there was not a doubt that he was telling the truth. The moment you were away from the market crowd, he would be back and whatever he had planned on would be interesting, to say the least.

With the flush from Ghostbur’s activities lingering on your face and the shaking of your legs slowly easing, it was easier for you to finish up your trip. Most of the larger items set to be delivered over you attempting to take them with you, and even just missing the chance to apologise to Eret about the earlier almost pantsing before they disappeared back into the markets.

Under one of the few archways along the prime path, once unseen hands are quick to wrap around your hips pulling you back into a darkened corner. Grey hands once again pressing against your skin, no longer pressing through the material, but physically pushing your shirt so it bunches up by your neck and popping the button to your pants before returning to pressing and teasing against your entrance.

“All mine, out of sight and all mine"

"Ghostbur, w-what has gotten into you?"

”Everyone is always watching. Watching you, watching and wanting. So they can watch you want for me,“

An explanation but not one you were expecting, not as chilled fingers burry themselves in you crooking just so in search of the spot that would arch you into his touch. The hand that was not buried in you held your head straight, making you watch the entrance to the archway, while you were cast in shadow all it would take is one person to crest the stairs and all would be seen by them.

They would see, the furrowed white eyes of Ghostbur as he focused on dragging any possible noise from your lips, they would be able to see how your eyes rolled back, legs shaking when long cold fingers press just right almost dragging you and the ghost behind you to the ground. They would see how ragged your breathing had become as the grey lips that whispered in your ear turned to teeth buried in whatever skin was within reach.

But none of that mattered to you, your world had narrowed down to the echoing voice of Ghostbur, the feeling of him working you closer and closer to the edge, and the pressing grind of the hips behind you. The motion causing you to rock further into the fingers buried in you, not caring for how loud the noises you’re making had gotten, or how broken the begs for more had become.

Only when the hand holding your neck grips tighter, and the ghost behind you snaps out a sharp ”MINE.“ Do you open your eyes and feel the flush that had spread down your skin burn for another reason beyond your own arousal.

White eye’s glow faintly from the glasses that sat slightly lowered on the king of the servers nose, flicking across every inch that Ghostbur had exposed, lingering on where grey meets flushed skin, and wherewith the slightest pull backwards, even more, is exposed to their gaze.

"For now, sure."

The King’s words loud enough to be clear in their challenge.

[abbynx]

0 to 100 real quick

La Squadra reacting to a usually silent, patient teammate snapping and going off

Genre: Platonic, just the bois being bros, definitely a self-projection, comfort

Warning: Cursing, mentions of breakup and manipulation 

Your phone rang for the umpteenth time, the stubborn caller failing to realise how many times you've wordlessly made it clear you want nothing to do with him. All you ask of him was to finally leave you alone and yet he continues to persistently pest you. Your will power proved itself mighty to be tolerating his nineteenth call in five minutes.

It was your ex being a stubborn son of a bitch who has a lot of time in his hands, constantly asking you to pick up the phone and let him 'smooth out and explain' his recent relationship with his 'friends' behind your back. You were nowhere near stupid, nor gullible after joining the mob. despite your outward appearance as an innocent, average civilian you've hardened over time with the help of your career and turning your feelings off was no longer a challenge. Over time it simply became a light switch.

After his recent actions came to light, you bear to hesitation to break it off. For a moment you felt guilty when he gave his explanation to why he started seeing other people without you knowing; of course you knew what you were getting into when you signed your soul away to the devil to work in this line of career, you were constantly faced with death and lacked the time to spend time with him. He had no knowledge about what you do for a living, but you knew how to make it clear you were never going to be a simple one-call-away. But over time you've finally gained some self-worth and self-preservation to see through his guilt tripping, before you dropped his ass.

Now you were here, rejecting his calls before pocketing it back in your pants before resuming the movie night. Even putting the phone on silent it continued to bother everyone around you as you continued to nonchalantly press the reject call button.

How can you be this patient, the rest of the team questions but the answer lay before them. Risotto hired the timid assassin with potential for their unwavering patience and swift wits to wiggle them selves out of severe situations, something the time could use to be honest especially when you have a ticking time bomb with no timer and goes off at random. Perhaps the question would be simply answered with a short and simple one: "It's just Y/N being Y/N."

With the pestering phone calls bothering you for the past few days, your team can't help to be annoyed on your behalf and would like to chuck your phone into the deepest trench of the ocean and buy you a new one.

Much to everyone's chagrin, they watch you pick your phone up, however, what you did next was new and unexpected. Instead of rejecting the call, you finally picked up. Most of the time you'd politely greet, but today was certainly different. As soon as you picked up the phone, you wasted no breathe to speak and cut to the chase. All eyes turned to you, some were concerned, curious, shocked, or proud.

"Can you quit blowing up my phone, dude? Twenty FUCKING calls every second is getting tiresome. If you're calling me to 'explain' to me how you're not meeting your hookups then fuck off and get lost! what? Do you miss your personal ego booster? Well then fuck you, go try and choke on your own dick! Do you fucking think I'll believe your half-assed bullshit lies and pathetic fucking cries and bitching will win me over? You must be so fucking DELUSIONAL to be thinking you're worth the effort! What? Are you sad that I’m not a passable doll you can manipulate and mold to your liking? Is that it, you crazy son of a bitch? Can't you fucking get a clue that I'm over it? Huh? I couldn't care less about the new lies you've come up with to try and win me over, I'm done! Finished! Tapos! Ho finito! He terminado! Я задолбался! WHAT OTHER LANGUAGES DO I NEED TO SPEAK TO GET IT THROUGH THAT THICK FUCKING NOGGIN OF YOUR’S? CALL ME AGAIN AND I SWEAR TO ALL THINGS CONSIDERED MIGHTY THAT YOU WON’T HAVE ANY TEETH LEFT, DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND YOU FUCKING CHEATER? DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? Good."

As soon as you finished the call, you calmly set it down with a sigh of relief. Peace at last. You adjusted yourself comfortably on your seat, wanting to watch the movie on display, when you felt you've made yourself quite the spectacle.

“What?”

Formaggio

- “Woooh, they went off!” His initial response was to high-five you for some reason but you accepted, nevertheless. 

- Very shocked and yet enthusiastic at how you handles yourself at the face of a situation like this. Not to mention, the build up! From you trying to tolerate the caller for the past few minutes, before picking up the call and gave them an ass whipping to remember for the rest of his life! 

- He would feel sorry for the person of the other side of the line if it weren’t for the fact he cheated on you, so good for him to be told off.

Illuso 

- “Heh, about time you told him off.”

- Silently supportive at how you handled yourself at the face of a situation like this and admires you for it. It was very entertaining while it lasted, now he just wants to go back to watching the movie. 

- Along that, he was shock that this hidden side of yours came put of nowhere and came out strong, which he thinks is pretty fucking rad. He now thinks back at the times where he gave you backhanded comments and how you managed to keep yourself cool under it... He now reminds himself not to get on your bad side, ever. 

Proscuitto 

- “.... Thank fuck you’re done, I was starting to think about throwing your phone out.”

- Extremely flabbergasted, as he has never heard you speak fluent in profanities, nor raise your voice at the duration of your stay in La Squadra. and addition to that, the fact you leaned on your seat and calmed yourself immediately as if nothing happened. 

- Nevertheless, he feels proud at you for standing up to yourself and standing your ground. You have always been the timid one entering the world of crime and he overlooked your development within this new and risky life style. Looks like his mentoring worked wonders on you and he feels proud of himself. 

Pesci 

- “......” 

- He was too shaken up to speak, he has never heard you be this angry and frustrated before as you’ve always kept calm in every situation and he admires you for that. 

- He is shaken up, sure but it doesn’t really change how he views you. You were still the patient person he has ever met-- he just happen to witness you lose your cool once but he’s sure that this won’t define you. 

Melone 

- “Good for you for getting rid of that guy.” 

- He’s just relieved that you’re finally done with the guy who has been giving Melone weird vibes the moment you told him about your then boyfriend. A few alarm bells rang in his head as you detailed how he acts around you and despite being happy for you back then, Melone was extremely vocal about his concerns. Looking back at it, he feels that his ‘paranoia’ wasn’t far off.

- He isn’t really shock, he’s just happy that you’re standing your ground and establishing yourself as a person who don’t need no one to use as a co-dependent crutch. After being around Ghiaccio, he really isn’t that phased anymore.

Ghiaccio

- “Fucking finally!”

- Similar to Melone, he’s just relieved your done with the phone calls and clingy boyfriend who is a walking-talking red flag. He hated how you didn’t have time back then to hang out with your other teammates just to spend time with your boyfriend to make up lost times, that often lasts until midnight and Ghiaccio can still hear you talking to your phone. 

- Ghiaccio cares about you despite his distant veneer, and wants the best for the people he cares about. So he was happy that you finally broke your relationship of with a guy who doesn’t deserve you. Also, he’s starting to think that your choice of vocabulary all came from him and is unsure whether he should feel proud or not. 

Risotto

- “Oh... Okay, good for you.”

- He blurted the first thing in mind, because he was just so shock at how you responded. He hired you for being so patient and calm at all times and now looking back, he doesn’t really see himself thinking that one day you’ll be going off without stopping to breathe and stutter. 

- Don’t get him wrong, he actually thinks it’s awesome that you stood up for yourself like that, but just give him time to reel back to reality. He just never thought you’d explode that hard. 

Gelato and Sorbet

- “See Sorbet? I told you they’d snap eventually!” 

- The couple was immensely entertained at your empowering speech being quite the ego breaker and worse-fate-than-death threat. They adore it whenever they see a usually timid newcomer becoming unafraid to stand their ground and tell their oppressors off, it honestly feels like a proud parent thing for them to see their baby kid all grown up and kicking people in the guts with their words. 

- If you would want a rebound, they won’t hesitate to set someone up with you who is far better than your dog-faced ex because they know that people are barely worthy for you 

[luminari-mc]

My Human, My Sunshine - Part 1

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort.

Pairing: GN!MC x Mammon

Word count: 5194

Summary: Mammon finds himself lost in the human world. Meanwhile, MC can't get ahold of Solomon, their phone dead silent.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: My first writing piece for Obey Me! It's kind of a long one so I recommend you grab a snack or two during it. While this part is occupied by a good amount of text messages between Mammon and someone else, I'm already thinking of writing a part 2 which will have way more dialogue. In the meantime, please enjoy this little scenario I came up with after listening to a song that set me in an angsty mood. :)

______________________________________________________

Wet. Cold. Exhausted. And completely lost.

Mammon felt all of those, and yet, his legs kept on marching into the dead of night, his jacket covering his head despite being too drenched to protect him from the rain anymore. Each time a droplet of water came rolling on his cheek, his wrist would come to brush it off, and Mammon would let out an annoyed groan. If only there were any shops open, but the city was definitely asleep. He was thankful for the crashing sound of the rain on the ground around him, along with the smell of the wet asphalt keeping himself awake, otherwise, he surely would have gone crazy by now. The demon had even lost count of how many hours he had been wandering through the streets, how many mailboxes he had checked, how few passersby he had come across, only to receive negative answers to his questions.

And so Mammon kept on walking, not sure where to go next. But he felt sure of one thing: he wouldn't stop moving until he had found what he was looking for. Be there rain, or no rain. Lost or not.

"Tch, the human world's weather really sucks..."

As he walked on the pavement, his brow furrowed from the lack of new clues as to where his destination was supposed to be. His eyes caught sight of a bakery he had already walked by earlier during the day, its gentle light piercing the darkness that had been accompanying him for far too long now. Mammon's brow furrowed slightly at the sight- he knew he had gone in circles time and time again, but seeing it confirmed once more rubbed him the wrong way. Despite that, he decided to walk towards it, and took shelter under the entrance's porch. Surely the owners wouldn't mind him checking his phone for a few minutes, right? Right.

Pinching between his fingers the precious D.D.D. he had tucked under his shirt to protect it from the rain, Mammon looked at the map again. His stomach dropped for the upteenth time upon seeing the address still showing in his search bar, the letters and numbers taunting him. A knot formed in his throat as he tried his best not to scream at his screen.

"It wasn't there, you idiot..."

His mouth formed into an angry pout. Mammon looked into the list of potential addresses he had made throughout the day, and all had been crossed out. He felt his jaw clench- not only was he left with no addresses, no other clues, no humans to help him, but also that stupid rain surely would keep on falling for the rest of the night.

He was truly cursed.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!" Mammon groaned, his free hand reaching upward to grab at his hair in frustration.

Yes... that was a good question. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could ask help from any of his brothers, or from the angels. It had already been a miracle a witch he knew accepted to snuck him into the human world without anyone knowing, but there was no way he'd get any more help from her without offering his own life in exchange. And contacting Solomon was absolutely out of the question, for his own obvious reasons that he still was suspicious of the guy.

For the longest time in a while, Mammon felt alone. More alone than he had ever been before. He had promised himself to go on this search on his own, stupidly thinking that it'd be over by the end of the day, and look where that got him. Lost in the human world, on the verge of catching some nasty human virus from all this rain that had poured on him, and without anyone by his side.

The grip on his phone tightened, the hand holding it shaking slightly as the anger was starting to consume the demon. Even Mammon's patience had its limits, and he was starting to reach it.

"Dammit, where the hell are ya-"

A pathetic yelp escaped his mouth as he looked in fear at his phone, which had buzzed for a very short second in his palm. Wait, was it a notification? But from who? He had taken all the necessary precautions before leaving, so who was still able to reach his number?

His mind ran through all possibilities as he quickly checked his screen, the name of the sender making him open his eyes wide.

Leviathan: Mammon!!

Leviathan: Where are you???

Leviathan: You promised me you'd play this new game with me after coming home from RAD, don't tell me you forgot?? It's been HOURS.

Leviathan: Also the others say they can't reach your DDD and Lucifer is seriously pissed!

Leviathan: And I know you didn't break your DDD, that wouldn't explain why I can send texts now and the others still can't. Even though mine didn't work before.

Leviathan: But do you know how much time and effort it took me to find a way to bypass a blocked number?? Well guess what, the same amount of hours since you broke your promise!

Leviathan: You're reading this, right? Then send something! Anything!

Mammon backed even more into the porch of the shop, his eyes stuck to the screen of his phone. All of the blood rushing to his head suddenly made him forget he was cold in the first place. Of course Levi would be the first to find a way to contact him.

The demon's chest rose as he breathed in heavily, his hands slowly wrapping around the phone. It took him a hot minute to get ahold of his trembling fingers so as to not make any typos, his mind debating whether responding was a good idea or not, even as he hit the send button.

Mammon: Sorry Levi, gonna have to postpone the gaming session.

Mammon: I got business elsewhere and I'm not sure when I'll come back home, if ever.

Leviathan: Ew stop sounding so gloomy, you're almost starting to sound like me and tbh it would be kinda creepy.

Leviathan: That still doesn't tell me where you are! I know it's like a common thing for you to get into shady stuff on a regular basis but even Lucifer seems concerned, and weirdly enough he's not even trying to hide it???

Leviathan: He's been pacing back and forth in the common room for 20 minutes and won't let go of his phone it's starting to creep me out.

Leviathan: Hey huh, if you really were in big trouble you'd let us know, right? Like, even by typing a secret message to let us know that you got kidnapped or whatever?

Leviathan: Nevermind, I really don't see why you'd even get kidnapped, so it HAS to be that you chose to disappear by yourself.

Leviathan: But anyway! It's been 2 months now since everyone's been acting weird and I've seen and heard you enough to CLEARLY see that you're getting worse but finding trouble with witches or whatever won't help you feel better. And yes I know you've been faking being fine the entire time!! Don't think you can fool me!!

Leviathan: Believe me and the hundreds of figurines I bought!! I thought they'd help and it's somehow doing nothing, I feel like the worst fraud of an otaku EVER!!! How can I call myself an otaku when I can't even find joy anymore in the things that make an otaku what he is??

Leviathan: It's like I'm losing my identity! Wait no screw that, it's not just me, we've all been losing it!!

The three dots of a message being typed disappeared and reappeared, and Mammon couldn't do anything but watch the messages of his brother pop up one after another on his screen. A sense of guilt surfaced inside of him, and it only made him frown. It's not as if he hadn't thought about asking Levi for help, before getting himself into this mess... but for both of their sakes, he had decided that it had to be him coming here, and only him.

But suddenly, just as he expected his brother to send another message, the three dots disappeared, and didn't come back right away. Mammon's focus on his phone increased at the unexplained absence of new texts from Levi, and he waited, expecting him to continue the chain of messages he had started. But nothing followed.

It wasn't in Levi's habits to suddenly stop texting in the middle of a flood of texts. The demon gripped his phone tighter, worry beginning to grow within his mind. Was it because they were in different worlds that their phones couldn't reach properly? Or worse- had Lucifer found him out?

His heart almost skipped a beat as the three dots reappeared under his eyes, before letting another message pop up.

Leviathan: wait

Leviathan: waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait

Leviathan: OMG NO WAY

Leviathan: MAMMON TELL ME YOU'RE KIDDING

Mammon: I literally haven't said anything?

Leviathan: YOU PERFECTLY KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

Leviathan: DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE IN THE HUMAN WORLD RN??

Shit.

How did he even find out?! Well... he could only assume that it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where Mammon could have gone if not anywhere in the Devildom, but still, why did Levi have to type it out? His plan was supposed to be flawless after all.

Mammon: Sorry bro, I can't say where I am.

Mammon: I know Lucifer's bound to check all of your DDDs sooner or later and that's only gonna help him find me.

Mammon: And like I said, I have something to do, so I can't come back.

Leviathan: Wait! I'll delete all of our messages, and I'll even destroy my DDD if it means you tell me why you're there

Leviathan: Actually no don't even answer, there can only be one reason you took that kind of risk

Leviathan: Is it... because of MC?

Upon reading their name again, Mammon felt his stomach sink. The eyes of the Avatar of Greed closed almost instantly as if to avoid reading it, the damp air whistling through his teeth as he breathed in deeply. Of course Levi would figure that out too. Any of his brothers could have.

The demon leaned his head against the wall behind him, his eyes opening and staring into nothing as he contemplated telling Levi about his plan. It wasn't as if he had any backup plans considering the situation he was in, after all. And Levi had the advantage of being at home, and having access to technology and magic that could improve his search further. But the thought of Lucifer figuring everything out still haunted him, making the hair on his skin stand straight.

And yet... At this point, he had nothing else to lose.

Mammon: Ya gotta promise not to tell anyone about this.

Leviathan: Who do you take me for? I'm not a snitch!

Leviathan: Especially if it's about MC.

Leviathan: But huh... what about Lucifer? You know that if when he finds out you went to the human world, he's going to kill you.

Mammon: Fuck Lucifer.

Mammon: I'm tired of hearin' him say he's "taking care of it". He clearly knows something but won't tell any of us and I'm tired of not getting any news from MC since they left the Devildom 2 months ago.

Mammon: And what's with his excuse about them not havin' their DDD anymore to contact us? I call that a load of bullshit.

Mammon: Something weird happened and Lucifer's too stuck-up to let us know what it is.

Mammon: So I'm done waiting around to see when they'll come back, or IF they'll even come back. So I'm going to get them myself.

Mammon: Problem is, I went to MC's place, and they weren't there. Their neighbor told me that they moved out a while ago with, get this, "a guy with white hair".

Leviathan: ??????? Solomon?????

Mammon: I'd bet my Demonio and all the things I possess that it's him.

Mammon: Not only Lucifer's in on this secret thing about MC, but Solomon too. I've already booked him an appointment with my fists if he did anythin' to them.

Mammon: Hell, even Diavolo and Barbatos seem to be in it too, which sucks even bigger time.

Mammon: So that means it's just us 6 who don't know shit. I wasn't about to play nice and dumb for Lucifer any longer.

Leviathan: Mammon

Leviathan: I never thought I'd ever write something like that to YOU

Leviathan: but

Leviathan: you sound super cool rn!! That just makes me wish I could have gone too!!

Leviathan: Pleasepleaseplease let me help!!! I'm also worried about MC and I miss having them here. The atmosphere at the house has sucked ever since we realized we couldn't text or call them anymore and I huh... kinda miss seeing them around the others too.

For a split second, Mammon considered taking a screenshot of Levi's last message to sell it as "the proof that the Avatar of Envy can control his jealousy!", but now wasn't the time for that. He had Levi's approval for helping him find the whereabouts of MC, and that's all he needed at the moment. He hadn't even noticed his lips turning into a small grin upon reading his brother offering his support.

Mammon: Alright Levi listen.

Mammon: All I'm tryin' right now is to find where MC might be.

Mammon: I don't think they left the place I'm at, but I ain't about to search at every damn house there is here. Would take too much time anyway.

Mammon: So can ya use your shut-in powers and figure somethin' out? Like I don't know, catch their human phone's signal or whatever through hacking?

Leviathan: Lol? I'll let you know it's not because I spend my entire days in my room that I know how to find a human phone!

Leviathan: I know how to hack yeah, but I don't know how to hack human technology! Not that I maybe tried once or twice and it resulted in failure each time.

Leviathan: But huh... I could try?

Leviathan: Let me ask Satan if we could use magic too.

Mammon: Satan? Levi, are you stupid? Last thing we want is to get more people to know about what I'm doing.

Leviathan: Oh huh yeaaaah, about that.

Leviathan: I should have told you sooner, but when I stopped answering earlier it's because Satan caught me texting you.

Leviathan: But he actually knew you had left to the human world! So we don't have to worry! He's on our side... obviously.

Mammon: Then the two of you get on it.

Mammon: And don't catch Lucifer's attention.

Leviathan: Yeah!

Leviathan: I'll let you know when we've found something.

Leviathan: BRB!

And then just like earlier, Levi's texts stopped appearing on his screen. A sigh left Mammon's lips as he closed his eyes, and the demon allowed his body to slide against the wall behind him until he was sitting on the ground. As he stretched out his sore body, the second-born finally realized that after two whole months of not getting to hear MC's voice, seeing their smile, getting to touch them... he had gotten closer to finding them, all thanks to his brothers. He had let Lucifer's intimidation get the best of him throughout all this time, but not anymore. No matter whether his older brother would catch wind of where he was, and what he was doing, Mammon would never stop trying to bring back MC where they belonged. With him, in the Devildom, back with the family they had found and grown to love.

Closing the messaging app with his thumb, the picture of MC he had set as his D.D.D. background seemed to radiate like the sun. How dared them all try to separate his human from their first man? From the one who'd they come to whenever they had a nightmare and couldn't fall asleep? The demon who'd hug them as tight as possible in their bed after a long day at RAD? The one who'd had the chance to fall asleep with them, getting the absolute honor of seeing their face so close to his, and who'd protect their dreams from any bad thoughts and scary nightmares?

The anxiety that Mammon had worn on his face all day slowly disappeared, and a small smile was placed upon it instead as his eyes met MC's in the picture.

"I'm almost there. Ya just gotta be patient a little more."

I'll find ya.

Time went on as Mammon waited for any news of Levi and Satan's research. The rain showed no sign of clearing soon, and the demon was starting to doze off after spending his entire day without taking a single break. He could have almost fallen asleep if it hadn't been for the owner of the bakery opening the door to close his shop and asking him to sit somewhere else. So Mammon moved from one spot to another, and took shelter near another store instead.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting on the stone steps he had sat on, his phone's screen flashed a bright light as a new notification from Levi appeared from the top. Quickly passing his wrist on his tired eyes, Mammon tapped on the new message at the speed of light. The contents made him gasp, and for a second, he had almost forgotten how to breathe, as his now wide-open eyes were glued on the content of the message.

A full-on address, along with a picture of the place.

Mammon instantly stood up at the sight of the picture, the memories of his day resurfacing in a flash. He remembered very clearly seeing this particular building sometime during his search- its height had been making it stand out very easily amongst the other buildings in the city. Nobody couldn't mistake it with anything else.

Mammon: This is it?

Leviathan: Yeah, we placed down a map and confirmed it was there.

Leviathan: Satan actually found a book in his room with a spell that can help find a person's specific item with just some of their DNA.

Leviathan: So we went to MC's room and found some hair that Satan used for the spell, along with his phone so it could narrow down the list of MC's items.

Leviathan: I didn't think Satan's room could look even more of a mess, but he spent 10 minutes shoveling through his collection and now you can't even see the floor or his bed anymore lol

Leviathan: Anyway now that you got what you wanted, go and check if MC is there!

Mammon felt his legs move on their own as he flipped his jacket above his head and stepped under the rain again, a confident grin now brightly adorning his face as he typed on his phone to reply.

Mammon: Thanks Levi. I'll owe ya one.

Leviathan: Find MC and bring them back. Then you can consider us even.

Mammon nodded, a newfound hope filling his entire body and mind. After confirming that Levi had ceased texting him, the demon turned the phone off. He opened his hand to drop it on the wet floor, and let his right foot crash down upon it, the object almost breaking in half. Mammon promptly gathered in his hand the shattered item, now completely unusable, and threw it down a nearby sewer before letting his excitement take the best of him and sprint further in the direction of the building from the picture. At least, now Lucifer wouldn't be able to track him down with it if Levi and Satan got caught.

The more distance he covered, the more Mammon could swear he was about to take on his demon form at any moment. The thoughts of MC began to fill his head even more, as if they were the one pushing him to find them, to get to them as soon as possible. For the first time in 2 months, Mammon felt truly alive.

"Almost there. The Great Mammon's coming for ya, MC!!" he let out in the form of an encouragement to himself, his legs having found their energy again as his form was engulfed further into the city.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Anxiously pacing around the room, their head low and their phone in their hands, MC was growing more and more impatient. They were supposed to receive an update from Solomon about three hours earlier in the form of a phone call, but no matter the amount of messages they'd spent in the hopes of the wizard finally answering them, all they received was a dreadful silence. Grabbing a nearby chair, they let their body fall onto the seat as their fingers typed yet another message. They couldn't really understand how they had come to grow so persistent when it came to getting Solomon to reply to them, but having no other person to talk to ever since they left the Devildom 2 months prior would do that to anyone, they assumed.

'Solomon, sorry, I know I'm sending a lot of texts, but you said you'd visit today and I'm starting to be worried and... honestly a bit lonely. I thought going out today would help, but I just sat in the park for an hour before going back home and not doing much of the day.'

'You were supposed to meet with other wizards today, right? I hope nothing bad happened. But in case you're alright, all I'm asking is just one reply to at least get some sort of human connection. Not that I had a lot of it in the past few months.'

They felt their throat tighten upon writing their last sentence, feeling the frustration spilling out of their own words right back into their face. But who could blame them?

2 months without seeing, hearing, or even texting their friends back in the Devildom. 2 months without receiving a single visit from Luke or Simeon. 2 months spent exclusively with the company of Solomon, who had been acting strange ever since and had made them move out of their home under the excuse that it was to "train them at magic in a more private setting". But more importantly... those had been 2 months without having Mammon around, and MC would lie if they said they hadn't spent several nights crying themself to sleep, wondering how the demon was dealing with their absence.

The memories of their latest departure from the Devildom played in their head like a movie as they placed a hand on their forehead. Everything had seemed alright at the time, with them getting to say their usual goodbyes to the brothers, wishing to see them again once the new year at RAD would start, foolishly thinking that they'd get to spend their time hearing their voices on a daily basis once they were back in the human world. And before they could understand, their DDD had been taken from them, Solomon had been more present in their life than ever before, and for a reason they still couldn't grasp, it was as if the brothers had vanished from their life completely. No news whatsoever. Complete radio silence.

Just thinking back to this period, and how they could have probably caught that something was up as soon as Diavolo asked for their DDD after the brothers had left... it just made them want to puke.

But nothing could make them want to do so as much as the long-awaited reply of Solomon appearing on their screen.

'Hi MC. I'm deeply sorry I couldn't get ahold of you throughout the day. I won't be able to visit you today, since my services are still required here. Besides, it's getting late. I recommend you go have a good night's sleep as soon as possible.'

'If everything goes smoothly, I should be able to come back tomorrow. Then, we'll be able to go walk wherever you want. How does that sound?'

'I need to be going, but I shall wish you a good night. Take care, MC.'

And just as quickly as he had answered, Solomon went silent again. Leaving them in this apartment they had grown to hate, this prison cell he had put them in. A place where no fun could be found for them. MC didn't even bother sending anything else after that.

Their head sunk even lower, until their forehead slowly met with the hard surface of the dinner table. The phone faceplanted onto the wood as MC's hands turned into hard fists, a deep groan shaking the walls of their throat. It was hard not to let the tears escape their eyes, but instead, they opted to punch the table several times as hard as they could, until they felt their anger diminish.

How long was Solomon going to act ignorant towards them? How long was he going to ignore their pleas to get news from the Devildom, anything that would let them know why they couldn't contact the brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos? Even if the lords had been in some sort of trouble... they'd still find time to talk to their human, right? There was no way Mammon, the one they loved, wouldn't try to reach them one way or another... right?

Him who had been so clingy in such an adorable way every time they'd be at the House of Lamentation, he who had revealed to them that there wasn't a single day where his thoughts wouldn't drift to them no matter how hard he tried...

No. No amount of important duties would explain why Mammon of all demons, would ignore them like that.

They missed his antics. His entire being. The warmth he'd bring them each time he'd hold their hand before tucking his face into their neck like a pouting child, desperately trying to sneak one or two kisses in there, in the hopes he'd get to hear that sweet giggle of them. It wasn't for nothing that Lucifer had come to name them the chaotic duo of the House of Lamentation. They were two parts of a whole.

And yet, the world had dared to separate them. And MC was tired, oh so tired of not having their other half near them. The only feeling they had left, was one of pure desperation to see their greedy demon.

"I'm not asking for much... even a single word would do." MC replied to no one as they turned their head to rest their cheek onto the table. They closed their eyes, the anger slowly being replaced by a profound exhaustion. Could they really do nothing but act normal around Solomon, and accept that this was now their new life? No demons, no angels, just... humans around them?

Before they could slap the thought away, a loud banging coming from the entrance door made them straighten in their seat, their head turning towards the hallway in a panic. Their heart pounded inside their chest as the banging seemed to go on forever, until they used the back of their chair to push themself up, their legs shaking.

"S...Solomon?" They asked, way too silently for anyone to hear, and fully knowing that the person behind the door couldn't be the wizard.

As if they were waiting for an answer, MC stood there, their hand grasped onto the chair. The banging was insistent, demanding, angry. At this time of night, there were few reasons they could think why someone would mistreat their door in such a way, and MC wasn't sure they wanted to find the reason for it.

That is, until the person behind the door finally let their voice be heard.

"Oi, MC! Ya can hear me right?! Come on, open the door!"

It didn't take long for MC to let the familiar voice enter their ears, and it took less time for them to nearly stumble over the chair as their legs moved in a hurry to lead them towards the door as quickly as possible. Their hands messily trying to open the locks on the door, they were sure their mind had just played a trick on them, and the person outside was going to leave them completely disappointed, but they didn't care. This voice they could only remember so well despite the time since they had last heard it, was simply inviting them to open the door, to check for themselves whether it was true, or just a nasty joke played by their brain.

But as the last lock was undone, and the door was swung open, MC couldn't do anything but just stand there, their mouth agape.

Mammon kept on drawing breaths, his wet hair stuck to his forehead and drops of rain falling from his clothes onto the floor below, so much so that it had started to create a small puddle underneath him. As if the person who opened the door wasn't the one he expected, the demon took a step back, letting his eyes wander up and down on the human he had in front of him, almost in an attempt to check if it was really them. He too, couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open at the sight.

The two of them just stood there for a few seconds, taken by so many emotions at once that they weren't sure what to do. But right as Mammon took a step forward, his mouth opening some more to let out words that he so desperately had wanted to say for so long now, MC's face contorted into one of pure sadness before they rushed towards him. Mammon greedily welcomed them into his arms as they jumped and wrapped their arms around his shoulders, and their legs around his waist. They buried their face into his neck, the warmth of their tears mixing with the rain on his skin.

His embrace only tightened even more as they mumbled his name amidst broken sobs, the sound ever so close to his ear that even though he had his eyes firmly closed, he might have cried on the spot too. But he had found them. He had them in his arms again. After what had seemed like a million years, finally, they were back where they belonged, and he was back with his human.

Almost as if they were about to be pulled away from him, Mammon placed a hand on the back of their head, wanting to protect their entire being from harm no matter the cost. He still wasn't sure why it had taken so long for him to reunite with them despite the obstacles, but at the present moment, nothing else could matter.

The lord had finally found them, and he wasn't about to let anyone interfer between their happiness once more.

"I ain't letting you go." He whispered through gritted teeth, his head lowering into their shoulder. "Ever again."

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Amore Grande

I'm writing fanfics again. Woot!

Inspired by the song of the same name.

Chapter One: Quando Ti Guardo

June 06, 1969

Luca drummed his fingers restlessly along the soft velvet of his armrest, his eyes switched from peering out at the Italian coastal terrain and once again reading the watch that rested against his wrist.

“You’re doing it again.”

His eyes snapped up to watch as Giulia sighed at him from behind the thick leather-bound novel in her hands. As her amused yet exasperated gaze landed on him, he grinned sheepishly.

“Mi dispiace, Giulia. I honestly don’t remember the ride being this long.” He checked his watch again and grimaced. “Has it really only been ten minutes?”

Admitting defeat, the red-headed girl marked her place and set the book aside. “Luca, it’s been nine months, si? But what is the one thing we’ve learned about time from Segnora Rosa?” She quirked a knowing brow at him as Luca slumped forward.

“Time is always constant, lo so.” He mumbled.

“Esattamente, therefore,” She continued as she picked up her book with renewed gusto, “the train will take exactly an hour every single time we travel to and from Porto Rosso.” With her argument settled, Giulia returned to her page and began reading once more. After a moment of stillness, she peered at him subtly from above her page. Luca was looking outside once more, his eyes filled with a mixture of yearning, and his mouth twisted in anxiety. With a kinder expression, she said, “If it’s any consolation, amico mio, I’m sure he’s just as nervous to see you.”

Luca puffed out his cheeks but didn’t reply, instead preferring to peer down at his clasped hands.

“Maybe you could finish the bracelets you’ve been working on, that will help you pass the time better and maybe keep your mind off things, eh?” She nodded to his school jacket pocket which held a mass of multicolored strings that had yet to be organized. Perking up at the thought, Luca agreed and set to work on detangling the threads from one another.

Outside the bright light of the morning sun blazed peacefully across the pristine indigo coastline and followed the two youths on the journey. Some miles away, a small town was anything but peaceful.

“Massimo!” A young man jumped up the paved stairways of Porto Rosso, disturbing the half-dozen pigeons resting there. At their indignant coos and squawks, Alberto quickly glanced back with a slight shout of “sorry!” before continuing on his rampage towards the Marcovaldo residence. Skidding to a stop once he passed the archway, he leaned heavily against the tree that he and Luca had slept in nearly a year ago prior and gasped.

With a large crash, both Massimo and Machiavelli burst through the front door looking frazzled and ready for a fight. The latter was fully puffed up with his claws digging into the cobblestone walkway and his pupils shrunken to small slits. Massimo swiveled his head around looking for whatever danger could have provoked Alberto’s shout, his shoulders hunched and his good arm gripping his harpoon tightly. However, when no danger presented itself, he glared half-heartedly through his eyebrows at the young sea monster who sheepishly grinned.

“Well, where’s the fuoco, eh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Massimo, everything’s fine. But!” He pointed animatedly at the large man, “you are aware of what day it is, right? We only have a few hours until-”

“Until Giulia and Luca arrive, si piccolo, lo so. You’ve only been talking about it for a month now.” Shouldering his harpoon and popping his neck, the old fisherman turned to enter the house, an unhappy Machiavelli climbing onto his open shoulder, but not before growling irritably at Alberto.

“Come have breakfast, Alberto, we’ll see what we can do to keep busy while we wait.” The large man patted Alberto’s sun-kissed shoulder before entering the house. Slumping in resignation, the teen followed behind Massimo but not before stretching to give one last searching look at the expansive cliffs that breached the horizon, hopeful to see a plume of smoke.

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

When the train finally pulled into the stazione, Luca was already flinging the train door open and running into the waiting arms of his mother who squealed with delight and refused to set him down for several long moments, much to Luca’s embarrassment and secret delight. An equally excited Giulia was soon to follow, and she said a quick hello to the Paguro’s before launching into Massimo’s open arms. While his father patted him on the head and asked the generic questions of wellbeing, Luca tried to glance around his parents. If Massimo was here, then so was-

“I told you I’d be okay.” Luca’s heart thudded painfully in his chest for one moment as Alberto sauntered into view. Prying himself from his mother, the young sea monster swiftly walked to Alberto and embraced him without pause. Luca buried his face into the crook of Alberto’s neck and breathed him in for the first time in nine months.

Whatever nerves and fear Alberto had been holding released him the moment his best friend enveloped him in his arms. Luca had grown slightly taller over the colder months and his skin had lost its sun-kissed pigmentation, but the warmth in his eyes had not faded in the slightest.

“Welcome home, Luca,” Alberto mumbled into his friend's hair, ignoring the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes, he pulled away with a chuckle. “Are we going to do this every time we say ciao?” Luca smiled wetly and scrubbed weakly at his face.

“I think I could get used to it if it’s with you.” Alberto resolutely decided to ignore the heat that gathered in his cheeks as Luca turned to answer Massimo. Brushing it off as too much time in the sun, he tuned into the conversation just as the gentle fisherman began speaking of their new fishing truck.

“Grazie to Alberto’s ‘knowing fish’, we earned enough for me to invest in an auto,” Massimo stated proudly, clasping a large hand onto Alberto’s shoulder. The teen modestly scratched under his hat and shrugged, turning to Giulia and Luca.

“He’s really only saying that. Massimo did all the hard work; I just stuck my head underwater a few times every day to navigate us. But!” Alberto waved towards the station entrance and began pulling Luca by the hand. “you really have to see the truck I’ve been writing to you about.”

The truck itself was what could hardly be described as new. The front bumper was barely hanging on and rusted completely through on the right side. Green chipped paint covered the doors and Luca noted with a swell of warmth the black hand-painted logo of “Massimo and Alberto Fishing co.” Most people would consider the truck like garbage, but Alberto found the faded paint and broken glass charming, and he said as much to the group. Giulia rubbed suspiciously at the truck’s tailgate, her eyes squinting as she studied it.

“The Americans call it a ‘Hudson pickup’,” Massimo announces proudly, his pronunciation heavily accented.

“I’m still not sold on it being actually safe, but I’ll admit it wasn’t too bad the first time Massimo drove it.” Daniela opined, opening the front door with a loud squeal.

“Yeah, not so much when Alberto decided to try it,” Lorenzo muttered good-naturedly. “My tail still won’t swim straight.”

“You drove the truck?!”

“You crashed the truck?!”

Giulia and Luca exclaimed, she glanced curiously at her papa who raised his hands innocently. Luca began looking at Alberto’s arms and skin, scouring for any injuries, completely ignoring the rest of the conversation.

“He’ll be sixteen this year, mia figlia, he’ll need at least a year of practice. Nessun problema, your time will come soon.”

“Oh, come on,” Alberto kindly pulled Luca’s hands away and hopped on the rear end beaming down at his family, “it wasn’t so bad for the first time. Plus, she just needs some love and she’ll be right as rain. You guys just can’t see her potential.” He patted the chipped paint fondly. “Not to mention this makes delivery way faster.” Massimo chuckled as Lorenzo continued to grumble and Daniela merely rolled her eyes.

“Si, and speaking of quick deliveries, let’s go home and eat lunch, hm?” Massimo lifted Luca and Giulia's luggage into the bed of the truck while the rest of the family, the Paguro and Marcovaldo families together again at last.

As the truck rattled through the colorful fishing port threatening to fall apart, Giulia and Luca rattled story after story to Alberto and Luca’s parents. Alberto tried to ignore the feelings of jealousy at the way his friends appeared to be so in tune. He laughed politely at their inside jokes and did his best to understand half the jargon they spouted, but in reality, he felt more lost than ever before. Stuffing the uncomfortable feelings down as far they’d go, Alberto helped the Paguro’s down first so that Daniela could help with preparing the food alongside Massimo. While Lorenzo had shown an interest in learning the human ways of cooking, he hadn’t quite managed to pull it off as well.

“You set the curtains on fire one time, and they never let you set foot in the kitchen again,” Lorenzo complained to the kids as he followed his wife.

“Except it wasn’t just the curtains,” Alberto whispered loudly to his best friends who giggled unapologetically.

“ONE TIME!” Lorenzo called hotly from inside.

Giulia smirked at her friends, “Some things never change, amicos.” Grabbing her bag, she turned to the house, “Oh, and Luca don’t forget about your gift!” She winked knowingly at a flustered Luca and befuddled Alberto.

Alberto glanced down at Luca who was doing his best impression of a frozen fish.

“Uh, was that supposed to me-”

“I made you something!!” Luca blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth. He glanced nervously at Alberto, who merely stared back stunned. Fishing in his uniform jacket pocket, Luca wordlessly pulled out the two multicolored bracelets from his pocket and held one out to Alberto. Alberto stood frozen his eyes glued to the green and purple threads glistening in the warm afternoon sun, his mouth hung loose in a silent ‘oh’. The threads danced innocently between them, and Luca felt his bravado begin to waver. When he still hadn’t said anything or moved to take the bracelet from Luca’s grasp, the younger boy grew more flustered and started to pull away, his voice shaking. “I- I’m sorry, you probably think this is so stupid.” Luca tried to not panic, desperately willing his mortification away.

Alberto’s hand shot out to pull both the bracelet and Luca’s hand back. “I can’t believe you made this for me.” He whispered, cradling the bracelet tenderly as he studied it in his palms. He traced the twining threads and smiled at how the pattern reminded him of scales. He looked at Luca and put his arm around him to pull him close. “I love it, thank you. No one’s ever given me something so beautiful.”

“R-really?” Luca asked, his expression hopeful.

“Really. Did you make this too?” Alberto squinted at the painted pearl hanging from the end of the strings, creating a clasp to hold it in place.

“Giulia's mom actually helped me design those with her paints.” Luca motioned to the pearl. “She said that gifts help make the distances feel smaller.” He pondered the delicately painted waves of his own pearl. “It’s funny when I was learning so much and seeing so many places, I never realized how far from home I would feel.” His gaze landed on Alberto, only now realizing how close they were. Up close he could see the new freckles that peppered his cheeks and how his face was slimming down. Nine months of hard work had broadened his shoulders and caused his wiry arms to harden with lean muscle. Clearing his throat, he pulled away again.

“Anyways, I guess we better go inside before the food gets cold.” Blushing as red as Massimo’s favorite wine, Luca threw one last smile over his shoulder and ran inside. Alberto grinned in response and slid the bracelet over his wrist fastening it so that it hugged him snugly. An emotion that he couldn’t quite name filled every part of him, spreading from his toes to the tip of his ears. Walking inside to the smells of homemade pasta and loud laughter, Alberto felt that the promise of a wonderful summer had just begun.

[gaitwae]

Hello!! Mob!thor au please. You’re a successful and rising businesswoman and it’s your first time going to those rich people galas, there you catch thor’s eye and you spend the whole evening with him. Thank yew, stay safe😽😽

A/N: You have no idea how much I've been wanting to write this!! This is a Thor x F!Reader (anon requested businesswoman uwu)

Warnings: Slight harassment from Thor, implied only. Also a slight kidnapping. Non-threatening

Summary: Above!

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz @itscomplicatedx @sophlubbwriting @darkacademicfrom2021 @lilyofthesword 

You had picked the perfect evening gown. It billowed behind you, and you received many compliments from it. It was your favorite color, and it matched your complexion. You had done up your hair. You carried your clutch tightly to your side. Although you were sure the rumors were only rumors, if there was any place they’d be disproved, it was at the Marvel Gala.

It was hosted every year by Tony Stark. He took business seriously. On top of the Asgardian mob rumors, you had heard he had some deals with the Odinson family. Whether or not the Odinson family ran a mob, they were still dangerous in court. Their lawsuit could mean the loss of your entire company. You shivered to yourself, glad that you had yet to make any sort of dealings with Valaskjalf Enterprises. 

You grabbed a flute of champagne off of a tray. You tried not to down the whole thing at once, but this was a nerve-wracking experience. You could make acquaintances that could — no, would — change your entire career. You smoothed your dress out in hopes of wiping your clammy hands away.

“Miss? Would you like to dance?” a deep voice asked behind you. You froze, slowly turning around.

Before you was a tall, broad, blond hunk of handsome with a thundering presence. He wore a crisp suit, and his face and hair were kept in an almost pretty manner. He was elegant, yet bold. He was massive, but perfect. You tried not to stare, but you found you couldn’t blink. The man smirked, extending his hand.

“Miss?” he laughed.

You shook yourself out of your daze, remembering why you were at the gala in the first place. “I apologize; who are you?” you asked, smiling awkwardly. “I don’t like to dance without knowing someone’s name.”

“My name is Thor,” he said. You set your flute down on an empty tray passing by, taking his hand. He tugged you to the dancefloor. “What is your name?”

“I’m Y/N L/N,” you say. “I’m the CEO of—”

“I know what company,” he cut you off, his eyes lighting up. “I was rather impressed when Father told us how far your little company had been progressing. Had I known the simple surname I’d been hearing was yours, why, I don’t even think we would be standing here.” He chuckled darkly. He began swaying with you as the music swelled. You shook at his tone. What could that mean? Who was Thor? “The other family business would have contacted you. You have a lot of potential at L/N Advancements.”

Oh.

Of course.

“You’re... Forgive me, I should have remembered. Thor Odinson,” you said nervously. You shook your head, unable to meet his eyes. Of course, the mobster would find you. Of course, the mobster would find you! Of course!

“Yes. I’ll assure you, no rumors you’ve heard are quite like the real deal.” He snaked his hand to the small of your back. “My brother often likes to... exaggerate our side company’s deals. I should really get you back to the business talk, but I want to keep you to myself a little longer.” Thor grinned a model’s grin. “Unless you’re scared of me, that is.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of you,” you said. You realized you still had your clutch in your grasp. That alone disproved your point. Thor took it from you, setting it on an empty table.

“You aren’t?”

“Maybe I was scared of getting mugged,” you admitted. “It’s silly.”

“I think the only thing you should be scared of is how you’re getting home tomorrow,” he flirted, pulling you closer. Much, much closer.

You put distance between yourself and the heir of Valaskjalf. “I don’t do that. I won’t. Sorry. I barely know you, and I’ve worked too hard to slip up or give in. I hope you can understand.”

Thor, who was taking the rejection as if it never happened, only smiled brighter. “You’re scared that I’ll take L/N Advancements away from you with just a night together?”

“I’m scared your father might decide I’m not worth trading with once he finds out I’ve done a little more than speak with his son,” you said in your firmest tone. Thor laced your fingers. You didn’t pull away from that.

“But he might decide you’re worth keeping around.” He stroked your cheek, moving to his own beat now. The music didn’t match your rhythm, but it was still as intoxicating. “I could get rid of all your enemies, you know. I could make you untouchable.”

“I’m not interested,” you said. You shook your head. “I need a drink.”

“You just downed a whole flute of champagne!” he tsked. 

“I still need one.” You lingered in Thor’s presence. He smelled of petrichor and fine cologne and a tiny bit of sulfur and something else that you couldn’t pick out. He hummed happily, as if he were drunk. He didn’t smell of alcohol, but his behavior could fool you in a second. 

“You’re quite the prey,” he murmured. “I’ll get you a drink. I’ll get you multiple.”

“I can get my own drink,” you insisted. “Please, Mr. Odinson, I’m happy to be by myself.”

“You should relax,” he, too, insisted. He gripped your upper arms, taking you in once again. “Really. Don’t let your fear stop you from having fun.”

“I’ll do what I like.” You tore away from Thor. “Thank you fror the dance, but I have to go talk to Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.”

“Have fun mingling!” He caught your hand and kissed it. You felt your belly set itself on fire. Did Thor want one night? Clearly. But what did he want from a night? Did he want information about your business? Or did he want to take advantage? Did he want to use you, and let you use him in the same manner? “I’ll see you some other time, darling.”

“Don’t clear your schedule,” you warned. 

Thor chuckled, “I’ll remember that.”

That didn’t stop him from following you around all night. He was by your side as if he was your partner. Whatever he had decided, it wasn’t going to change without a piece of paper signed by a judge...

Given that he was admittedly not only part of the city’s biggest mob, but a higher member, you couldn’t obtain that.

+-+-- 

Months later, and after many calls from Thor Odinson (who you did not offer your personal number), you finally started to cave. You let him have dinner with you. You took walks in the city during the daytime. You found he was a sensitive person, and almost three years of talking and dancing and Marvel Galas came and went before your first kiss.

Thor took a small sip of white wine, staring at you with electric blue eyes that you always got lost in. “Did I ever apologize for our first meeting?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so,” you answered. “I didn’t think you cared enough to remember it...”

“If I wasn’t in love with you,” Thor began, “I wouldn’t have stayed for as long as I intend to.”

“It’s been three years,” you whispered. “How long do you intend to stay?”

Thor wet his lips. “As long as you let me.” He reached over, cupped your face, and brought your mouth to his.

That was when the first kidnapping happened.

The room was dark. Your hair was being pulled back by meaty hands behind you. Your clothes were torn, and your eyes wouldn’t stop shedding tears. 

“Ms. L/N,” a deep voice mused. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m glad my brother has someone to entertain him that doesn’t include a mortal injury... Since that nurse hit him with her car, he hasn’t quite been the same.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked the voice, wheezing and stifling a sob. You sniffled. “I don’t know why I’m here...”

“You’re here so we can talk.” A small light switched on. You saw a raven-haired man sitting in a small chair, one leg crossed over the other like the Joker. “Do you intend on strengthening your company with my family’s conglomerate?”

“No,” you said. You were shaking. You tried to look back at the meaty hands that held your head, but whoever it was made sure you watched the man. “No, I want to make it with my own merit. I don’t want to be absorbed...”

“Do you plan on staying away from legal trouble by making my brother dearest your... intended?” he continued, pulling a gun from behind him. He cocked it, keeping his cool eyes on you. He aimed. “If I think you’re lying, I’ll shoot. And trust me... I know a liar when I see one.”

“No!” you said again. “No, I don’t!” 

His expression never changed. He rolled his neck, then studied you some more. “Name your favorite thing about Thor.”

“His laugh.” You gulped. “I love when he laughs... really laughs. When he doubles over, cries, and then giggles about it hours later.”

The man sat back, turning off the safety. “Name his favorite drink.”

“Locally brewed beer.”

“What’s my name?” His forefinger slipped in front of the trigger.

“Loki!” Thor’s voice came from outside the room. You sobbed again. The door swung open, and the man stood from his chair. Thor gripped his brother’s lapel, throwing him on the wall. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

Loki growled, dropping the gun on its side. “It wasn’t loaded! Calm down! Jane only wanted to stay for the secrets, I was simply—”

“I don’t care!” he snapped. “You have no right to kidnap her!” He was nose-to-nose with Loki, shaking him as he spoke. 

“Thor!” you cried. He swerved his head, letting go of his brother to come and rescue you. He shoved the meaty hands off, throwing a solid punch.

“Come with me,” he said, lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around him, shaking and trying not to cry too much. He held you tightly. He took Loki’s gun off the ground. “Don’t touch her. She’s nothing like Jane, and if you’d listen to me when I talk to you, Father wouldn’t have put you on lackey duty!”

“Take me out of here,” you whispered.

“I can’t,” Thor said. He kissed your head. “This is my life... I love you, but if you can’t handle this...”

You held him tightly. “We should talk about this later...”

[waithyuck]

PUPPY

pairing: werewolf!lee jeno x reader (f) *halloweenie special*

genre: smut, supernatural au

word count: 4k

warnings: mature content, excessive explicit language, sexy times (meaning sexual content), I used the word ‘penis’ ONCE and only ONCE, mentions of a knot, knotting (I’m sorry), slight impreg kink, cumming inside, unprotected sex, blood, aggressive behavior, other stupid cliche werewolf things that are most definitely prob in hundreds of fics, jeno does NOT like being called a puppy even tho he’s called it oNCe

a/n: the first release of the dreamie halloweenie series! I hope this one sets the tone for what’s to come 👀 sorry to anyone who hates werewolf cliches and for the extreme lack of any substance or plot lmaoooo anyway I hope y’all enjoy reading

| next >

~10/10/2020~

~~~~

“are you cool with jeno staying the night?” your brother shot out, startling you as he spoke, not even looking at you as he spread too much peanut butter on a slice of bread nestled in his hand.

you looked up from where you were sitting at the kitchen table to face your brother, not saying anything in reply as you got lost in your thoughts.

jeno was an oddball. he was nice and he wasn’t creepy or even that weird, he just had his moments that were just well, odd. he was your brother’s friend of about six years; they met in their second year of high school and have been inseparable ever since. because of that, you have also been surrounded by jeno in all that time as well.

in the first couple years, you didn’t notice anything strange about him. he seemed like a normal and healthy young teenage boy. he was incredibly handsome, so of course your poor soul developed a small crush on him that only grew as the years progressed.

since you paid such close attention to him, you could pick out the oddities in his behavior occasionally pretty well. just from that, you’ve deducted that his sense of smell was almost god-like, like he could smell things that a normal person couldn’t.

now, you supposed that it wasn’t that weird that he had a good sniffer; there were probably tons of other people in the world with the same ability...but it wasn't just his sense of smell that had you curious.

sometimes he would act strangely at night; not often, but enough to have you questioning it. he would either disappear completely without a word or come up with a half-assed excuse to leave and then run away like a frightened animal.

it was just plain odd...and you couldn't get over it, no matter how much you tried to will yourself not to think about it.

snapping out of your stupor, you felt your heart jump at the thought of jeno coming over, even though he’s been here countless times, but you didn’t let it show and you shrugged your shoulders.

“it’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” you stated truthfully, looking down to pick at your nails. “you would have just said he was coming over anyway if I said no.”

your brother smiled at you, beaming as he placed the bread down and patted your head.

“you know me so well, y/n.”

you rolled your eyes, shoving him away. “yeah,” you retorted, slightly annoyed. “It’s not like you’re my brother, or anything.”

he didn't say anything further and you left him alone with his sandwich, getting up and making your way to your room where you could successfully hide for the rest of the night. before your cold make it far, you heard your brother yell something about jeno coming around 8, but you didn't say anything back and just minded your own business all the way upstairs to your room.

you pathetically holed yourself up in your dark room for about four hours, only coming out to quietly sneak to the bathroom and then you would go back into hiding once again.

even when you got word that there was pizza downstairs, you ignored it and continued to watch horror story narrations on youtube.

you just couldn't deal with being in the presence of your long time crush today. it took everything in your power to stop yourself from going downstairs and being potentially spotted, but you managed to pull through successfully and be a pathetic hermit in your room.

it was around 3 a.m. when you were finally finished with watching youtube videos, and you felt gross. you supposed that the two boys would be sound asleep by now, considering your brother never ever sacrificed his beauty sleep for anyone. you grabbed some clean clothes and gathered them in your arms before trudging tiredly to the bathroom, swinging open the door without a second thought, not realizing that the light was already on when you got there.

your heart almost jumped out of your chest as your eyes bulged out of their sockets.

“holy fuck!” you screeched as you took in the sight of jeno, in the middle of the bathroom completely naked, stroking his painfully hard cock right before your eyes. you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the show and you accidentally discovered that there was something not right about the way it looked...

your mouth fell agape and you barely heard him gasp loudly before trying to cover himself with the closest towel.

“jesus christ, y/n!” he yelled back, both of you not even considering your sleeping brother that was just three rooms over.

your eyes stayed glued to where he was covering himself with the towel, still thinking about the oddity of his dick. it seemed to be swelling at the base, which was definitely not normal for a human penis to do.

“what the fuck is wrong with your dick?” you blurted out unapologetically, causing a blush to cover his entire face and neck. you tore your eyes from his covered crotch to look at his eyes, which were now a shocking shade of bright yellow. you jumped back, dropping your clothes on the floor as you watched him breath heavily, most likely trying to calm himself down the same as you.

“oh my god, what the actual fuck is happening?” you murmured out loud, your eyes wide and never leaving his own as he stood silently in front of you. “am i dreaming? am i fucking high?” you tried to reason out as to why you were seeing what you're seeing, but jeno didn't give you much time to think before he spoke.

“you’re not dreaming,” his voice came out low, almost like a growl, and you felt your heart freeze up. “I dunno if you’re high...but what you're seeing is as real as it gets.”

your mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping out of water, trying to formulate the words to say next. your brain literally couldn't think of anything except his abnormally large and weird dick.

“okay…” you trailed off, your hands coming up to rest over your racing heart. “so then I’ll ask again: what the fuck is up with your dick??” and then you quickly added, “and your eyes??? I'm so confused right now, jeno.”

he sighed heavily and turned around, giving you a full view of his ass before he gathered his clothes to get dressed and cover himself. you really should have looked away, but your eyes wouldn’t listen to your internal screaming no matter how hard you physically tried to stop staring.

when he pulled his shorts on he finally turned to face you once more, forgoing a shirt much to your dismay (but really, you were dying on the inside at the sight of his abs). he stared at you for a second, his eyes back to their natural deep brown color.

“...there's a lot we need to talk about.” was all he said before grabbing your wrist in his scorchingly warm hand and dragging you out of the bathroom and down to your room. you didn’t protest and you let him practically drag you all the way there, closing the door behind him and guiding you to plop down on your bed. jeno walked to the opposite side of the room, distancing himself from you as much as possible.

“um..so,” he started hesitantly, trying to form his words correctly. “I’m uh, I'm a werewolf.”

your eyes bulged out of your head in disbelief, but you didn't say anything in reply. you both stared at each other across the space of your bedroom, not uttering a single word.

at first you were ready to call him crazy; there was absolutely no way that it was true. but then you thought about his eyes, his sense of smell...and then thought about his cock...holy shit wait, was that a fucking knot??

“um, yeah, it was…” you heard him say suddenly. you jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, not expecting him to reply. did you say that out loud by accident?

“you did.”

okay fuck, you needed to stop thinking and pull yourself together. what were you supposed to say to that? ‘oh cool, your cock has a knot and you’re a fucking werewolf, that’s super, jeno!’

jeno went on to explain the ins and outs of being a werewolf to you over the next twenty minutes, the small pink blush on his cheeks never truly leaving as he went into detail about everything. he even corrected certain cliches that were not true, a scowl making its way to his features with each inaccuracy you brought up.

“so...my brother doesn’t know?” you questioned quietly, looking down at your lap.

“no one knows besides you and my family.” he confirmed, and you looked up again to see him lean against the wall behind his back, eyes gazing sharply at you.

you panicked slightly, thinking that holy crap, now that you know, he's gonna have to kill you so the secret doesn't get out.

“oh my god,” you whimpered out, “are you going to kill me now?”

you watched his eyes widen before he choked, coughing violently before composing himself. he straightened his posture, but still didn't make any move toward you, still keeping his distance.

“what?!” he practically shouted, startling you. “of course not! why would I do that??”

you felt your face grow hot and you looked away once again, wringing your hands together on your lap. you shrugged, murmuring quietly, “i dunno...I thought you'd kill me to keep the secret, well, you know, a secret…”

you heard him sigh exasperatedly before hearing his soft voice grace your ears from across the room.

“I don't kill people, y/n.” he sounded slightly sad, and you then felt bad about assuming something so terrible of him. “the only time I kill is when my instincts become too much to control, and I snap.” his head hung low, but he quickly added. “but I’ve never actually killed a person, even if my instincts were screaming at me to.”

you tried to wrap your mind around what his wolf instincts were like; he only briefly touched on that topic earlier, seeming like he didn't want to talk about it too much. you being yourself, of course you had to pry.

“so like, what you’re saying is,” you started, your hand cupping your chin in thought as you pondered over your thoughts. “that if you were to like, hypothetically, snap right now and go all feral, you would want to kill me?” the question came out inflected as a statement, but you nonetheless awaited his answer patiently as you took in the sight of his face going through about five different emotions in the short span of a couple seconds.

“I don’t think…” he trailed off, looking down at the floor while clenching his fists. “I don’t think killing you would be my first instinct,” he looked up at you, his eyes blazing a slight yellow again as he seemingly stared into your soul. “...if you catch my drift.”

at first you were completely confused, not sure what other instincts he could express while being feral, but then it all clicked and it had your body heating up at the thought.

“oh.” you simply retorted, your eyes glazing over at the implication of him pinning you down and taking you as he pleased. “oh, fuck. you’re fuckin’ serious?”

his eyes were dark as he drank you in, his nostrils flaring slightly as he subtly sniffed the air between the both of you. dear god, you hoped that he couldn’t smell the sudden arousal that consumed you. you watched his eyes glow into a bright yellow and you felt your instincts screaming at you to run, but you held his gaze as he let a low growl escape his mouth.

“y/n,” he said, low and strained as he tried to fight his animal instincts. “you need to leave if you don’t want this, right now.” his words were final, no room for questioning.

you briefly tried to think it over; what would actually happen if you stayed and let him have you? you could probably die, first and foremost, but you shook that thought away even though it was a very real and serious possibility. you couldn’t deny your arousal at the whole thing, being taken like a bitch in heat by a guy you’ve been thirsting over for a while now. you may not get the chance to fuck a werewolf again, so you quickly made your decision.

“I’m…” you trailed off, dragging your gaze down to his neck and collarbones where you could make out the sweat forming on his perfect skin. “I’m staying, jeno.” you spoke softly to him, watching his brow furrow in confusion before smoothing out again.

you made your way to him and he stiffened up, watching your every move like a predator as you tentatively stopped in front of his panting form. reaching a hand up, you caressed his face, your breathing shaky as you leaned in closer.

“you can have me, puppy.” you threw in the last little jab with that sudden nickname just for fun, your heart soaring at the sound of the deep growl he let out upon hearing it. you fought the smile off your face as he practically pounced on you, pushing you over to the bed and pinning your body underneath his in one swift movement.

“I’m a puppy, huh?” he questioned darkly, his glowing eyes roaming over your face before his head dipped down to nose at your throat. you whimpered softly as his teeth nibbled on your sensitive skin, earning a satisfied growl from him.

you felt your shorts stick to your core from how insanely soaked you had become, and you grew hot at the idea of him pulling them down to find that you were, in fact, pantieless. he had your wrists pinned down against the mattress, not allowing you to touch him much to your annoyance. you tried to struggle against his supernaturally strong hold, but was met with a deep snarl in response. you immediately grew pliant underneath him out of pure instinct.

he pulled back, sharp canines prominent in his mouth as he fixed you with his glowing stare, red swirling with yellow in his bright irises.

“don’t fucking move,” he spat, his voice coming out low and gutteral, causing a flood of your own arousal to escape you down below. his nostrils flared for the second time that night, and he breathed in deeply at the scent of your wet and begging cunt. “be a good girl and take what I give you.”

the statement was final, and you barely had time to nod before he was tearing your t-shirt in two, biting the skin of your shoulder. his sharper teeth did not sink deep into your flesh, but when he drug the canines across your skin, you felt them rip you open. you let out what could be considered a poorly concealed scream, but it came forth as more of a moan as you felt hot blood trickle down your arm.

your shirt was in ribbons, and he looked extremely pleased as he took in the beautiful sight of your naked breasts, no bra in his way. he watched as your chest heaved up and down in anticipation, and he released your wrist to gently trail both of his hand over your body.

“your tits are so pretty,” he murmured, diving down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. he worked your other boob with one of his hands, kneading it and flicking your sensitive nipple.

your back arched into his touch, and you tried your best to stay as quiet as possible in fear of your brother hearing you.

he suckled hard; nibbling your nipple and dragging his teeth along it, causing shivers to run up your spine and your core to clench around nothing. your shorts were without a doubt ruined at this point.

your nails scratched down his back and he continued to ravage your chest, alternating between both of your breasts and teasing your sensitive buds with no remorse. it felt like hours of play, but eventually he pulled back to roughly grip the fabric of your shorts and tear them down your legs, exposing your dripping core to his hungry eyes.

you whined as he stared at you, reaching your arms out towards his own pants, wanting to see his cock again now that you were laying there, desperate and pouting for it.

his eyes shot to your face, smirking as he watched your brow furrow and your lips purse, your hands trying to grab at him from your place on the bed.

he didn’t allow you to pull his shorts down for him; instead he hooked his own thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down slowly, exposing his cock inch by inch before it finally sprung out, slapping against his stomach proudly.

your mouth watered at the sight of him once again and you moved to try to sit up, but didn’t get very far. he grasped your non-bleeding shoulder and roughly shoved you against the mattress once again, not saying anything. the stare he gave you oozed enough dominance for you to clearly get the message that he was trying to send.

jeno didn’t waste any time spreading your thighs open, two of his fingers immediately swiping through your embarrassingly wet slit before easing inside your tight hole. the stretch burned at first, considering he was starting you off with two fingers instead of one, but you welcomed the slight pain that mixed with the pleasure of him reaching up with his thumb to graze over your throbbing clit.

jeno thrusted his fingers into you gently at first, gradually picking up the pace as he went along. before you knew it he was adding a third finger, stretching your more than you’ve been stretched before.

you gasped at the feeling, your back arching off the bed as you cried out while he started finger fucking you with earnest.

“shhh, baby,” he said quietly, his movements never ceasing. “just gotta open you up for me, make sure you can take my knot.”

you held back another moan at that, thinking of how his cock would stretch you open, and how full you would feel with his knot nestled inside you.

he abruptly pulled his fingers from you, causing your back to arch again as you protested the loss of stimulation. his strength amazed you, and with one hand on your belly he pinned you down completely, sucking on the fingers of his other lewdly while stating you in the eyes.

after licking his fingers clean, (which caused heat to crawl it’s way down your belly), he kissed you sloppily on the mouth once again before gripping your waist and roughly flipping you over onto your knees.

your chest was flush against the mattress as well as your face, and your hips were lifted high in the air and you could feel the heat radiating off of him as he positioned himself behind you.

his nails drug down your sides and he gripped one of your hips with his hand, using his other to position himself at your leaking entrance. you wiggled your hips in anticipation, whining as he drug the head through your folds before slowly sinking inside you.

your fingers gripped the pillows as he bottomed out, his knot already slowly forming at the base of his shaft. it stretched you ever so slightly at the entrance of your core, and you whimpered out in pleasure as he started thrusting in and out.

the small form of his knot caught on your entrance with each precise thrust, and you were finding it very difficult to stay quiet. jeno’s breaths were heavy and every so often he would let out a soft growl as he felt his tip pound gently into your cervix.

your small whimpers were short and staggered, escaping your mouth with each thrust, which spurred him on to create a faster and harsher pace. he leaned over your back and didn’t relent as his cock punished you pussy, and when you let out a cry that was just a little bit too loud, he shoved your face right into your pillow to silence you.

“shut up,” he panted, a rumble low in his chest following his words. “just fucking take it.”

you nodded your head in response to the best of your ability, biting your lip to keep quiet as the presence of his hand left the back of your head.

he seemed to be getting close now, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge as well. it was uncommon for you to cum without any clitoral stimulation, and you were amazed at his ability to reach all of the most pleasurable spots inside you.

you felt your stomach tightening up and you gasped sharply when you felt his cock press right against your sweet spot, making you reach your high almost instantly.

you clamped around him, barely registering that he buried himself completely inside you and was now stretching you to the max with his fully developed knot. the pain of the stretch only intensified your orgasm, which had you screaming into your pillow to muffle your cries of ecstasy.

jeno growled loudly as he came shortly after, biting the back of your neck aggressively and painting your walls with his cum, emptying completely inside of you while his knot kept a single drop from escaping.

he withdrew his teeth from you, surprised that it didn’t break your skin, and gently moved the two of you to lay on your sides as you basked in the afterglow of what just occurred.

your chest heaved as you fought to catch you breath, you pussy still stretched to its limit as you laid with him. you reached an arm around to caress his face, a small show of affection as you smiled in bliss.

after catching your breath, you sat in silence for a bit, just bathing in each other’s warmth, before you had to go and open your big mouth again.

“so your knot is supposed to like, plug me up?” you questioned, your voice still sounding slightly out of breath as you panted. “to make sure I get like, hypothetically, pregnant or whatever?”

he groaned in response and gripped your hips tightly, his hips bucking and causing his still painfully hard cock to sharply jab against your sensitive insides, making you yelp.

“dear god, y/n,” he whined, his nails digging into your skin. “don’t say things like that, fuck.”

“oh, so you like that idea?” you teased, turning your head to try to look at him to the best of your ability considering your current position. “fucking me full of babies?”

his eyes stared down at you intensely, the color of his irises brightening up as he growled lowly at you. he suddenly gripped your hips and turned you both over, his body completely laying on your own as you were pressed against the mattress on your stomach.

“keep talking, y/n,” he growled out lowly, his hips pressing tightly against your ass, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. “I’ll fuck you again right now, and give you my fucking babies.”

he couldn’t see you, but you smiled contently, preparing yourself for another intense round with this beast of a man. there was a small chance that you would actually get pregnant, considering the IUD you had…but the thought of it had you ready to go at it again.

in some fucked up way, you were content with this, and you threw your hips up to grind back against him, grinning even wider as he pinned your body down even harder.

jeno fucked you like an animal until the sun came up, and your brother was none the wiser.

[intangibly-here]

i miss you (more than anything)

zhongli x gn!reader

- scenario; 2.4k words - modern!au - fluff - jealousy

————————————————————

zhongli isn’t one for jealousy— usually.

title from mitski - francis forever.

requested by anon.

————————————————————

“an excellent choice, sir.”

again with the nicknames... 

slender fingers pick up a considerably stylized box, the smooth white a stark contrast to dark, glove-adorned palms. zhongli turns the box over in his hands, inspecting the various fine print explanations splayed along the edges of the plastic. now this is...

BANG!

clink. 

zhongli barely stifles a flinch at the sound of the door slamming, hinges squeaking and metal lock clicking into place with a whirlwind of motion. amber eyes flick up to the doorway, then back down to the polished counter.

five minutes late.

he sets the ice cube he’s handling into a wine glass after a brief pause, beginning to fashion up a flute of apple cider vinegar. the pattering of lively footsteps against tiled flooring rapidly grows nearer, clattering to a halt directly across the bar from where he stands. 

“hey there, mister zhongli! looking just about as boring as ever!”

hu tao plops into the cushioned chair, swiveling back and forth on the seat and leaning forward to watch him pour the concoction.

(it’s designated for customers of course— though that’s only usually. she happens to claim, to his exasperation, that she has “owner privileges”; whatever that could possibly mean when the place itself is meant to serve the needs of customers: that would include the spacing and chairs they may potentially desire when they enter the premises. unfortunately, he’s given up on understanding on her whims.)

from his position across the counter, zhongli absentmindedly spies the edge of a bright-red butterfly wing from underneath her outfit’s loose, flowing sleeves, the simple pendant string looped twice around her wrist. 

swallowtail. 

it’s the name (”like the butterfly, zhongli! the butterfly!”) of the establishment he’s currently employed at and is “run” by the granddaughter of a distant relative (though the bar is legally owned by said relative’s family). due to his— well, rather particular (per say) spending habits and a lack of mindfulness regarding the matter of what they liked to call savings (why would there be a need for these “savings”? he’d like to protest he’s traversed life well enough without them), he’d been pushed into putting the multitude of experience from past jobs into this one. 

and well, here he is now. 

chop. chop. 

two evenly-sliced apple slices tip over from against the blade of the knife and onto the wooden cutting board. fetching a sprig of mint from the small potted plant just below the rack of knives (growing lights and shelving did wonders in the spontaneous lighting of the nightclub), zhongli finished decorating the non-alcoholic drink of choice for the pseudo-proprietress. who knew what havoc she’d cheerfully throw herself into, archons forbid, if it were liquor. she’s already enough of a handful as it is. 

he sighs in resignation and slides the beverage over. the ice tinkles in the glass confines. he does have a favor to ask today after all. hu tao gives the drink a sniff, then puffs her cheeks in mock anger. 

“no alcohol? booooo, you’re such a rock.”

she takes a generous sip anyway. 

“so, what did you call me here for? not very zhongli-like for you to ask something of lil’ ol’ me. archons, have you been replaced?” 

she squints at him judgingly, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitates to answer.

“doesn’t look that way, old man.”

zhongli can feel the beginnings of a headache forming between his brows. he waves his hand dismissingly as if flicking away her babbling nonsense. 

“i have a favor to ask of you.”

“oh-ho?”

hu tao smirks playfully and pushes the half-finished drink aside, craning her neck forward. 

“what can i do for our esteemed mister zhongli, hm? hehe.”

zhongli clenches his fist under the edge of the woodwork in an effort to calm his raging annoyance. 

(it doesn’t help.)

he should just ask, shouldn’t he..?

“..i’ve been pondering this for a number of days now, but nothing quite appropriate for the occasion has happened to come to mind... do you happen to have any gift ideas for...”

he looks to the side to avoid eye contact and trails off, but hu tao immediately gets the memo. 

“ohhh..” her smile only grows wider, “this is for your daaaate—”

zhongli’s face flushes the slightest tinge of rosy pink and he hisses a sharp “shush!” through gritted teeth. and here he had thought she couldn’t get on his nerves beyond how she’d already acted thus far... 

the cheshire grin on her face still continues to climb. 

“well, you’ve definitely asked the right person! how about...”

some new polaroid film? is what she had proposed.

“it’s not some fancy-schmancy anniversary gift, no? just a date! a date! don’t worry yourself so much over it— no, don’t look at me like that. if you called me over to ask about it, you’re deeeefinitely losing hair over this— okay, okay, i got it! don’t kick me out! old man... sheesh. why don’t you get some more polaroid film and wrap it up all nice? useful and an excuse to take more pictures together! i know, i know, i’m a genius— mmph!”

he can still hear her voice bouncing around in his head (”can’t believe you’re getting rid of your boss, mister zhongli! didn’t take you for the rebellious type—”). zhongli brings his hand up to his temple and breathes out another sigh. it’s not like her idea was a terrible one; if anything, it were a wonderfully exquisite proposal— not that he would tell her. 

“i’d like to purchase this, if you would.”

he hands the box over to the shopkeep, who scans the package and rings up the bill. indiscreetly, he feels up the pocket of his jacket. thank the archons he remembered his wallet today. it would certainly be embarrassing to put this particular item on your tab. 

“sure thing, mister zhongli. i’m assuming this is a gift,” they eye him knowingly, “so would you like it wrapped up?” 

deja vu, his brain mutters, this is very much deja vu. he shuts it up promptly. 

“not this time, but you have my sincerest thanks for the offer. i’d like to wrap it myself.” he can feel his (generally..) expressionless face flaring up the faintest hint of pink and berates his mind once more. only when it comes to you...

acquiring the purchased item, zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement as he heads out. the plants hanging from baskets strung along the ceiling sway their leaves to and fro, nearly catching a wayward lock of his hair. he smooths the stray strand back.

“thank you once again, aether. let lumine know they can drop by for some tea again whenever they’d like for me, please.”

the bell hanging over the doorway tinkles when he pushes it open, and the bustle of the busy harbor seeps into the tranquility of the shop. aether nods and waves a hand at him in return, resting an arm on the cash register. 

“come again.”

-

while he’d imagined many ways your planned outing could play out, this was certainly not one of them. 

he’s approaching the meeting spot you two had decided on (right in front of the flowering quince tree near the park; its blooms resemble those of simpler, smaller silk flowers, and it happens to be quite the scenic location to wait) when he spies not only your stature, but another figure residing right besides you. 

who...?

as he steps closer, he can hear your laughter, the kind that he knows bubbles out of your chest and escapes your lips unconsciously. your amusement isn’t lost on your companion apparently, because they smirk teasingly, letting out a full-blown laugh of their own. 

“oh, zhongli, over here!”

your voice snaps him out of his meandering thoughts, and he stops fiddling with his earring (when did he start doing that?), continuing forward from where he’d paused in his observations of this newcomer. something starts to bloom in his chest, small and bittersweet. he’s not sure what to make of it. 

following your beckoning, zhongli finally makes his way to your side, mentally taking note of your.. friend? he doesn’t remember you mentioning anyone like this before though. surely he would remember your friends, no? 

his earring sways in the wind, white tassel fluttering cheerfully. 

“zhongli, this is my friend kaeya. i met him when i made that trip to mondstadt awhile back, remember that? oh, and kaeya, this is my boyfriend zhongli.”

(the little dragon curled up in his heart preens at your introduction of him, small and sweet.) 

ice blue meets molten gold when zhongli’s eyes dart up to make eye contact with this stranger. they squint at him, assessing, then dip into the makings of a playful twinkle. a hand reaches out for a handshake, which he returns in equal measure. interesting...

“he got a little lost touring liyue and i happened to see him here in the park. small world, huh? i know it was our day love, but do you mind if we take him around for today?”

zhongli smiles appeasingly, gentle and assuring as always. he can recognize the slightly nervous look on your face, one that’s a stark contrast to how energetic you’d looked just a few minutes ago. if kaeya’s company makes you happy and you’d like to take him around, then who is he to refuse your request? you two will have more time to spend with just the two of you later, he reasons with himself. accompanying your friend, and in turn his acquaintance, is nothing big.

(and no, it’s certainly not you calling him love that makes him cave.)

“of course we can.”

tugging at the string of his eyepatch, kaeya swiftly ties his hair back and adjusts the collar of his shirt. “so, where to first?”

zhongli takes your hand in his, squeezing softly. you squeeze back.

getting along together should come just fine.

-

he takes it back. 

he takes it all back. 

he’d accepted it at first because, well, this was your friend. he shouldn’t be controlling who you interact with nor who befriended you - that’s not up to him. it shouldn’t ever be. however—  with every passing moment that kaeya inched closer to you, taking up the entirety of your attention and bringing that bright, bright grin to your face—

(this was supposed to be your date. just the two of you. he hasn’t seen you in a month; surely he can feel a bit selfish, right?)

the three of you turn the corner to an intricately-themed restaurant and pause, where even zhongli looks appreciatively at the beautifully grown bamboo stalks lining the edges of its front walls. 

“wanmin restaurant,” kaeya reads, craning his neck up to gaze at the signboard. bold red calligraphy is sprawled across the rough-cut wood. “awfully simple name for such a stunning place, isn’t it?”

if he weren’t stewing in a pot of conflicted emotions, zhongli would surely inform him of how carefully selected this title was, how it represented more than just a name, how it hid at least several decades worth of effort and teachings— but as it is, he (really, of all people) has no patience for that at the moment. 

first tugging on the hem of your outfit, zhongli then takes you by the elbow and hastily leads you forward to the glass doors of the establishment. he grasps your hand in his as usual, but something must be off, because you twitch a little and look at him curiously. 

he turns his head away, lips pursed just the slightest.

“let us dine here for the time being. it is an appropriate time and place, after all.”

the sun shines brightly in the clear sky as if illuminating his words.

kaeya raises an eyebrow, singular eye looking on inquisitively and arms crossed, then moves further ahead of you both once more. the corner of his mouth dips in a clear show of mirth. bowing with one arm held at the waist, one not unalike a formality from a server, he looks straight into zhongli’s eyes and holds the door open for entrance. 

“that sounds like an excellent idea. well, if you would.”

-

“thanks for the tour around you two.”

kaeya hums his thanks with a cheerful lilt to his voice as you all stand under the porchlight of zhongli’s house. 

(it’s not the largest abode, but it’s cozy and sweet, and it’s definitely enough for the both of you whenever you decide to stay over. tonight is one of those nights, and they may as well become more frequent after the trip you took abroad.) 

his car keys reflect the glow of the bulb, swinging around his finger in loops. they clink noisily, metal against metal, and he grabs them all at once, halfway through another turn. in his car sits a box of treasure-themed artifacts, likely old and had found its way into your hands somehow. zhongli knows you’d been meaning to give them to someone, but he hadn’t known it were kaeya— either way, the artifacts that’d been laying on his shelves for weeks were now handed off. 

ruffling your hair, kaeya pulls you in for a brief hug; although zhongli can feel the bitter pang in his chest, he stays where he stands, keeps it still and small. he can wait. 

that said, the moment kaeya drives off, he’s hauling you into the house and curling up on the couch, pulling you onto his lap and tugging you into his arms. the long thought over gift sits patiently on the counter. it’s waited the entirety of today; it can wait another. 

right now, he needs you. 

your body sinks against his, relaxing from the lively, though exhausting, day. slumped against his chest, he burrows his head in the crook of your shoulder and cuddles you, nuzzling into your neck. finally, you’re home. home with him. 

it’s warm...

“..it was our day...”

you shift your head at his mumbling, lifting his chin to presumably look at his expression. your attention is his now. not kaeya’s. not anyone else’s. just his. 

(his eyes are soft and droopy, smudged red making them look especially mellow in the dim lighting, and lips pushed into the slightest pout. he knows what you’re seeing when you gaze at him fondly, and you can almost see the puppy eyes he sports. how unusual of him.)  

“someone’s a little jealous here, hmmm?” 

you drag out the syllables teasingly, and from lips that are pressing kisses against your skin, he responds a little muffled—

“perhaps.”

[phantomwarrior12]

Difficult Adjustments (Chapter 2)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, PTSD (if I missed any warnings, let me know and they will be added)

Sweet Beginnings (Chapter 1)

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

"I want him."

Her words still echo through his mind as they make their way from Spider's lair. It's surreal - he's free.

Everything within surges with a sort of exhilarated thrill at the prospect of...anything really. But he must remain composed, if for no other reason than to ground himself in the sea of euphoria he's currently floating in.

He's free.

And she's beside him with every step. Their hands brush every so often with each stride - how he longs to take it.

Not yet. It isn't safe yet.

But as they emerge from the lair, Crow has a moment to take in the Tangled Shore. The soft breeze against his skin, that mangled sort of scent that reminded him that this was home.

"Now what?" Glint asks, hovering just over Crow's shoulder. Even his little light sounds uncertain and it brings him a modicum of comfort.

"I-I don't know. It doesn't feel real...Freedom." His own uncertainty slips into his voice as he pivots to look at her, "Why would you do this for us?"

She takes half a step closer, nodding solemnly as she speaks, "Because...you're a Guardian."

Crow watches her Ghost bob in agreement and he manages a smile. He suspects there's more to it than that but for now, it's answer enough. He casts one last glance over the Shore before nodding, "Then I suppose it's time to go."

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

"You're...sure this is alright?"

The Young Wolf bumps into him playfully as she moves past him toward the wall of the next building to continue her ascent through the Tower. She's grabbing onto poles and ledges and Crow is having some difficulty keeping up with her.

"It'll be fine! Besides, you've been in the HELM for awhile. You need to see the City some. We did promise to show you her sunset spot." Ghost supplies as Crow reaches for a ledge.

"But Osiris said not to leave the HELM." He protests feebly, making no move to act on his objections.

"We'll be back before he even notices." He assures him confidently before darting back to his Guardian.

"They must do this often...disobeying authority, I mean." Glint remarks, watching the Guardian before them.

"You might be right...but I suppose if anyone will get away with a stunt like this, it's her." Crow chuckles softly.

"And what about us?"

"What about us? This was her idea." He smirks, pausing to look at his companion.

"...hopefully Osiris sees it that way." Glint grumbles.

"We'll be fine, Glint. Don't worry so much. Osiris isn't like Spider...any punishment won't come at the cost of our lives." His voice softens. For a moment, the memories flare and his grip on the ledge falters. He snaps to just as he starts to fall backward.

"Crow!"

It's Glint who calls out but it's her hand that locks around his, tugging him back against the wall from above. Sunset darts upward, staring down the vibrant red visor before managing an appreciative nod.

She gives him another tug and he takes the signal to climb the last foot to the top of the building with her firmly holding his hand to keep him from falling. He clambors over the edge and heaves a sigh, "Thanks."

She elbows him lightly, the way she used to when they would spar. Before she helped him refine the speed of his attacks, he'd have the occasional...clumsy counter. It wouldn't look anything like a Hunter should be - lacking any prowess and swiftness. She's taking a jab at him with that elbow to remind him and he shoulders her back lightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh at the New Light."

She does just that, though he notices the subtle shake of her shoulders over the sound of her laugh. The wind is too loud, tossing their cloaks around them and the flags the billow along the otherside of the building.

He turns, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the landscape stretching out before them. Just beyond the Traveler, the sun has begun to set, painting the sky a myriad of crimson, gold and rose.

"...you weren't kidding about the view." He says softly as she steps up beside him.

Her fingers entwine with his and he barely has a moment to register her touch before she's pulling him over to the ledge. She wouldn't push him off - would she?

The thought is fleeting and vanishes as she takes a seat, giving his hand a light tug to encourage him to sit beside her. He does as she directs and his legs hang over the building ledge beside hers. Below them, the City draws their eyes out toward the wall and the valley just beyond.

"It's...beautiful," he whispers as the wind catches his hood and blows it back onto his shoulders. This is nice. This is...he could get used to this.

Perhaps it's a dangerous line of thought. Perhaps all of this will end very badly. But he will still have this moment at her side. Her hand entwined with his on her thigh and - her head is propped against his shoulder. Her hood is still up, her helmet still in place but she's leaning into him. He can't quite quell the smile that slips easily into place as he gazes down at her.

Some part of him wants to see her face, to gaze into her eyes beneath the Traveler and just get lost for a moment. The inclination to kiss her strikes him but he doesn't even know where to begin.

No. Things are fine as they are. He can hold her like this. He can enjoy her touch and her proximity - just for a little while.

"So...this is your favorite view in the City?"

She nods silently, beginning to absently trace the pad of her thumb over his knuckle.

When had she removed her gloves?

It's...a new sensation to him. To hold her hand, to feel the calloused skin of her palm against his. Her grip is firm yet gentle, warm and tangible and there. He never wants to let go. Perhaps that's why he squeezes, why he leans his head down against hers and just...smiles.

This is home now. 

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Uh oh," Glint mumbles.

The chiding voice behind them startles Crow. His head snaps upward, the smile all but vanishing. But the voice doesn't belong to Spider and the Young Wolf radiates more annoyance than anything else beside him. Crow shifts, looking over his shoulder at the source and cringes.

"Guardian, I trust you have a good reason for taking our new friend on an escapade?" Osiris folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance.

The Young Wolf shrugs, laying down on her back and looks up at him. Crow is vaguely aware of the the fact that she hasn't released his hand, but what surprises him the most is how nonchalant she is when she gives Osiris a wave.

"Would you believe us if we told you it was for sparring practice?" Ghost offers weakly, though amusement dances on the edge of his voice.

"No. I don't believe I would." 

"No one can see us up here," the Young Wolf says at last, "He's safe."

"That's not the point--"

"I can head back--" Crow interjects, already beginning to get to his feet. He doesn't want to be the cause of any trouble - trouble leads to consequences and--

She tugs him back down beside her, "I promised him a sunset. I'll bring him back in one piece, Osiris. Promise."

The elder Warlock looks at her skeptically, but her expression is veiled beyond her visor. Does she do that on purpose? Make herself unreadable so people can't argue? Can't see through whatever web she's weaving? Crow wonders how she's so calm all the time and it suddenly all makes sense.

Being the Vanguard's favorite Guardian, Shaxx's champion, Drifter's partner...it all gives her a certain degree of freedom - and she's capitalizing on it for his benefit.

Just as she played Spider.

He looks down at her for a long moment in awe before meeting Osiris's gaze, "Just until sunset?"

"...very well." Osiris relents with a heavy sigh, "Wear the mask if you go through the City."

"I will." Crow promises with a smile.

"On your way back to the HELM, go see Saint." The Young Wolf adds sternly, "He misses you."

Crow watches the Warlock pause, and he wonders if he detects a degree of hesitancy in his eyes before he leaves without a word.

"He and Saint are--?"

"Together," Ghost supplies, "Some say married, others say courting. Personally, our money is on married, I don't know anyone who would break time itself just to rescue a potential boyfriend. We've got a bet going with Drifter about who can find out the fastest what the truth is."

"Huh." Crow nods with a smile. "Didn't think Osiris had those kinds of emotions."

"He plays the stoic mentor, but he's got all sorts of emotions pent up in that head of his." Ghost returns with a bobbing nod.

"Right." He shifts his gaze back to her, but she seems oblivious. Her hold on his hand had loosened ever so slightly and she seems lost in thought. "Everything alright?" He asks tentatively.

Her head tilts toward him for a moment, as if she's looking right through him, as if he isn't even there.

"Guardian?" There's a sliver of concern easing in his voice. When she doesn't answer, he squeezes her hand and she jerks, snatching her hand back.

"Hey, it's alright," he holds his hands up and leans back. "Just me."

She stares at him for a long moment before her eyes drop. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"What happened?" He asks softly, lowering his hands.

"...just thinking," her head turns back toward the Traveler, "about how much has changed."

"Change is...good, right?"

"It is and it isn't," her thumb grazes the holster that houses her hand canon, the ace peeking out from beneath the strap over it.

His eyes drift from the weapon back to her visor. He can't say he's a fan of this line of thought, she sounds...full of regret, full of grief.

Crow slides a little closer, gently wrapping his arms around her and she goes rigid.

"In this case...it was good," he says softly.

He can feel the tension draining away as she returns his embrace, laying her head on his chest. "It is," she whispers.

Her embrace is tight and desperate, but he enjoys it all the same. It's her after all. His Hunter. His Old Light. He is at ease only at her side and he prays that never changes.

"So, how about that sunset?" Glint manages, drawing both Hunters' eyes to the Traveler and the sun descending in the sky.

Crow smiles, giving the Young Wolf a light squeeze, "Better than the Shore."

And she laughs.

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

"You were seen!"

"At that distance, in the dark? No.”

"Enough to put a name to a dead man’s face. The commander told Ikora. Thankfully, he passed you off as a hallucination.” Osiris rages and the Young Wolf looks visibly uncomfortable as a third party observer.

Crow narrows his eyes at Osiris, “An assassin was inside our walls. I had to do something.”

“This isn’t the first time an enemy has infiltrated the City, and it won’t be the last. Your concern is noted, but far from a crisis.”

“An attempted assassination isn’t a crisis?” Crow asks, staring at the elder Warlock incredulously.

“Zavala is quite capable of dispatching a lone Psion.” Osiris returns easily. He’s dismissive and Crow doesn’t appreciate being brushed aside so easily.

“He was distracted. Soon to be Lightless. If I wasn’t—“

“Unmasked?” Osiris interrupts, leaning forward, “Didn’t the Spider teach you that even small mistakes bring large consequences?”

His temper flares. Spider taught him a lot of things - mostly to be afraid. To bow his head and his knee and follow orders. To be submissive. To grovel and be wary. To be an animal and not a man.

But she changed that when she forced Spider to let him go. And he will never go back to the way that he was.

“I suppose you learned that chasing Xivu Arath,“ Crow bites back sharply.

He hadn’t - the glint in his mentor’s eyes when he shifts strikes him to his very core. When Osiris takes half a step forward, his fingers poised toward the Hunter in a point, “Choose your next words wisely.”

To his right, the Young Wolf looks between them. He can sense her uneasiness, the uncertainty all too evident in her stance. She doesn’t know who to side with, who to console and who to reprimand in that moment.

The tension triggers something in the back of Crow's mind. A nagging sense he'd gained from one too many conflicts with Spider. He knows when to relent. When to reign in his...insolence, as Spider often referred to it. 

It's what he knows and it seems a suitable response in that moment.

He was out of line with that remark and he knows that. But the alarm in his mind screams for him to smooth things over - his life is on the line, isn't it? His place in the City?

He shifts, avoiding the Warlock’s gaze but even across the table, the anger is suffocating. There is a shadow of shame in his voice when he manages to find the words - at least when he begins. “I should have kept my mask on, but I don’t regret acting. I still think Zavala’s in danger.”

Osiris seems to relax, stepping back to where he had been when he speaks. “That is why I’m embedding you as his bodyguard.”

“Is that…wise?” Crow asks, his own uncertainty slipping into his voice.

When the Warlock continues, it's as if his intent is to erase any semblance of uncertainty. It is strong and firm and direct. “We need to draw in their assassins, and a full security outfit is too obvious. Keep your mask on. Always. Do not speak. Can I trust you to handle this with discretion?”

He leaves no room for argument but Crow is grateful for the chance to help nonetheless. But this time, this time he’s acting under orders and it is sanctioned. He can follow orders - it’s what he’s good at.

“The utmost.” He says at last, his eyes flickering over to the Guardian standing at the head of the table before turning and disappearing into the Light.

It’s only a matter of minutes before the Young Wolf descends the staircase. From her gait, he can tell she’s more at ease with all of this - no doubt having had a conversation with Osiris that put her mind at ease.

Perhaps he should apologize to the Warlock for what he said, but, maybe that should wait until all of this is well and truly over.

She stops in front of him, her arms settling in a cross over her chest and he gets the sense she’s about to scold him. He jumps in quickly, hoping to avoid yet another lecture.

“My mask was in my hand. Stupid, I know, but I felt…safe. I thought I could just relax for a minute. It was a mistake.” Her head tilts, her shoulders sagging as if pitying him.

He gestures with his hand, trying to ignore her sympathy, “Osiris tells me the commander always talks about making the hard choice. Reveal myself or let him die. Whatever I chose, someone would still say I was wrong.” He throws his hands up in frustration but his voice softens as he continues.

“I’m sure you’ve lost people. Wracked your mind for how it could have been different. Too far away to act, but close enough to wonder. If you could have stopped it, wouldn’t you? No matter the cost.”

She straightens. Her head turns ever so slightly and he frowns. There is something there. Something in the way she shifts her weight from one leg to the other. In the way she uncrosses her arms and her hand settles over the hilt of her handcanon. There's something distant and grieving and he almost regrets mentioning it. But then it’s gone, as if she shoved it from her mind as quickly as it came to the forefront of her thoughts.

He suspects, given her reaction, it has to do with that cloak she wears. The ace matches the gun on her hip she'd instinctively reached for and he lets himself wonder, if only for a moment before continuing. 

“I’ve been at the mercy of something I couldn’t stop, without knowing why. Blind in a nightmare. I didn’t want to be a reason for more pain.” He admits softly, pain slipping into his voice and her hand settles on his shoulder. It’s her way of offering reassurance, her way of letting him know she is there and will back him no matter what.

He appreciates it more than she could ever know.

His hand settles over hers, eyes locking with her visor, “The next time they come for the commander, they’ll have to get through me. Mask or no mask.” A small smile slips into place along his lips beneath his mask, a shadow of amusement in his voice, “Just…don’t tell Osiris I said that.”

He hears a soft snort and she squeezes his shoulder gently.

“We won’t mention it,” her Ghost answers on her behalf and he nods.

“Thanks…you should probably get back out there.” Crow manages, suddenly very sheepish with how close she’s standing. The weight of her hand on his shoulder kicks his heart into a rapid thrum and he lowers his eyes.

But when she moves forward, he's not expecting it, he flinches back. The heel of his boot skids against metal and she retreats a step quickly, giving him space.

She was going to hug him. Nothing more.

Easy, Crow. He's still on edge from his argument with Osiris, still calming the alarms in the back of his mind. She's waiting, hands poised in surrender in front of her as if to try and look less like a threat.

She's never hurt him. Not even while sparring - at least not intentionally. A few bruises from hitting the ground but - she wasn't going to hurt him just now. She was offering comfort and he--

"I'm sorry," he manages after a moment, guilt flaring in his eyes as he catches his breath and tries to calm his racing heart.

"Don't apologize," she says softly, "I should have--"

He takes her hand and squeezes it firmly to silence her. Her shoulders sag in relief, her head tilts as she speaks.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be." He assures her. In truth, his hold on her is for his own benefit rather than hers. He doesn't associate her touch with pain or danger - it's safe. Their evening atop the Tower drowns the memories from the Shore and he can finally feel the tension in his chest begin to subside. "I'm okay."

She squeezes his hand in response, patiently waiting at his side as he collects himself. When he can bring himself to meet her gaze again, she takes a slow step closer. Her other hand lifts, poised in the uncertain beginnings of an embrace and she hesitates. His eyes drift from her arm to her helmet for a long moment before nodding.

Her arms carefully wind around him, he can feel her tension, how aware she is trying to be of every reaction. She's so gentle with him, always so mindful of what he's endured and how she can try to ease that pain. When she's close enough to hug him properly, Crow relaxes. He wraps his arms around her and tugs her a little closer for a tight hug.

This is better. 

His chin settles on her shoulder, his eyes searching the wall behind her as if grappling with the reality he's in right now. She's never hugged him before. Leaned into him, yes. Held his hand, of course. But never fully embraced him. He wonders what's going through her mind but she offers no clues with how tightly she's holding him.

This isn't just her offering comfort. This is thank you...for saving Commander Zavala. The Young Wolf rarely speaks, most of her words come through her actions and he's...getting better at reading them.

He can't help but smile, can't help but give her a squeeze and lean his head against hers. He can feel her fingers wound tight around the fabric of his cloak, clinging to him wordlessly. He doesn't want to decipher anything else right now - not her vice grip, not the racing of his own heart. He just wants to hold her, stay in this moment a little while longer.

But her comms have other plans.

They both hear it and as she starts to pull away, Crow fights the urge to tug her back...it's a short-lived battle because she notices the tension and reluctance in his arms and looks at him.

He stares into that visor for what feels like an eternity before she leans in. She rests her forehead against his, a soft Ghost slips from her lips and the cool metal vanishes.

He is grateful he's wearing his mask because his lips part in a silent gasp. Sunset connects with sharp emerald eyes and his breath catches. He's never seen her face, never looked beyond the veil.

"Guardian," he murmurs, his hand lifting to touch her cheek but he stops. Inches from her skin, his fingers curl and he begins to recoil.

This time there is no visor, no veil concealing the concerned flicker of her eyes from his hand to his features. It feels...unbalanced. She is usually the one safe behind a mask, with the roles reversed--

Her comm goes off again and she tears her eyes away from him to look toward her Ghost.

"Zavala is asking for you." He supplies softly, as if reluctant to interrupt their moment.

She nods, casting a glance toward Crow and offering an apologetic smile. She gives a light wave and pivots to leave but he catches hold of her arm. Her eyes snap up to his mask quizzically just before he drags her into a tight hug.

"Be careful," he whispers.

It isn't a request. It's a plea. He needs her to be alright. He can't lose her.

Not now.

Not ever.

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

"So, Caital's champion, huh?" Crow props himself at the top of the landing ramp of her ship. His arms are crossed, his eyes flitting along the interior of the ship and she tosses him an amused smile.

In the last few weeks alone, she's removed her helmet more and more often when she's around him - when it's just the two of them. He enjoys it a bit too much, finally getting to see just how expressive her features are. It's no wonder her helmet stays on when making deals, she can't keep those eyes in check. If she's not rolling them, they're studying people so intently they squirm. 

"You think you'll beat him with one super?" He continues to tease, trying to see how long it takes for her to laugh.

Instead, she throws a field blanket at him and he laughs. He picks it up, setting it back in its place and lingers not far from her. She's turned to shift some gear around and when she turns back, she nearly collides with his chest.

She narrows her eyes, glaring up at him with a mocking irritation.

"I'm sorry, am I in the way?"

"Yes, my Little Light, you are." She returns with a soft chuckle and his heart soars. 

"Oh, then by all means, I'll get out of your way." He smirks, starting to turn to leave when she pulls him back, proceeding to elbow him lightly as she squeezes past the Hunter to pick up the mask he'd left lying near the opening of the hold. Crow chuckles and rubs at his ribs, sunset drifting along her frame and finally settling settling her playful expression.

"Not without this."

He steps up to her, fingers gripping the mask just above her own and gives a light tug at it. Predictably, she doesn't relinquish her hold and Crow leans in a little closer.

"Anything else, Old Light?"

He is...tempting her. Intentionally. His face is inches from her own and all he can think about is kissing her - just once - to wish her luck, of course.

For a moment, he wonders if she'll take the bait. But then there's a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and her fingers curl around the front of his cloak, pulling him down just enough to press a kiss to his cheek as her other hand simultaneously releases the mask.

He's stunned. He watches her turn nonchalantly and descend the ship's ramp. His hand lifts, touching his cheek with a sort of dumbfounded excitement as he smiles. 

Well played, Old Light.

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

She's propped against the wall beside his quarters when Crow finally returns to the HELM. Their secret is out. Zavala knows his face, they have an alliance with the Cabal and the Young Wolf - well, he watches her jolt to an upright position the instant she sees him, helmet vanishing as she approaches him.

He's tugged into a crushing embrace before he can utter a greeting and he smiles softly. He wraps his arms around her waist, "Hey, Guardian." He manages softly, his worry melting away in her embrace.

When she doesn't answer, he squeezes, "I'm okay." He tries to reassure her even as her fingers curl around his cloak and squeezes him back. Beneath his fingers, he can detect a small tremble, feel a subtle flare of solar energy against his fingertips. She'd been worried - it takes him a moment to process that. He's known she cares about him, known there was something there, but...this feels different.

Her hold is desperate, crushing. In the middle of the hallway, she is clinging to him as if he were life itself. He almost wishes she'd speak, voice whatever it is that has her so shaken but something tells him that won't happen.

"Do you want to come in?" He asks after a moment, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Can't," she manages quietly, "Have to check in with Zavala."

"Go check in," he whispers, pressing a kiss into her hair, "I'll be here when you get back."

She lifts her head, emerald drifting over his features and her hand cradles his cheek. Her eyes seem to beg for him to give his word, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone.

"I'll be here," he assures her, pressing a soft kiss to the palm of her hand,  "Go on."

For a second, he thinks she's going to kiss him. The way she leans a little closer, but her eyes drop and she nods reluctantly. One last brush of her thumb and she pulls away, her helmet transmatting into place and she vanishes into the Light.

He has an inkling, a vague idea what it is that's rattled her. Perhaps it's the same reason Zavala was so shaken when he saw Crow's face. They all know what or who he used to be. That much was confirmed that night Crow prevented Zavala’s assassination.

What he doesn't understand is why they all seem...reluctant. Surely who he was couldn't have been that bad - but then again, maybe he was. For a moment, he wonders if the Young Wolf stays as close as she does to him to act as a spy. It's certainly something the Spider would have done...but this isn't the Shore. The Vanguard doesn't operate like that, do they?

No. No, she's genuine. She always has been. He has no reason to doubt her now. It'll be fine.

Crow shakes his head and steps inside his room, closing the door softly behind him and takes off his cloak. He drapes the fabric over the chair in the room and takes a deep breath.

Glint materializes beside him, hovering as the Hunter trudges over to his bed.

"You should rest." His Ghost advises softly, "We had quite the day."

"Yeah," Crow collapses onto the mattress, draping his arm over his eyes, "I'll go to sleep when she gets back..."

"I don't think I've ever seen her that worried before."

Crow heaves a heavy sigh. "Neither have I. There's more to this, Glint. I can feel it. She wasn't just worried about the assassination attempt."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she knows I can handle myself. She had this...spooked look in her eyes, same one Commander Zavala had when he saw me without the mask. There's a reason Osiris reacted the way he did after that night..."

"Maybe it's best you don't know. The Guardian says you're not supposed to know who you were in your past life."

"Maybe," Crow says softly, allowing his arm to settle beside him as he gazes up at the ceiling.

For all their words, who he used to be seems to be a fairly relevant deal - he's been killed far too many different ways for it not to.

He makes a mental note to ask her about it as he drifts off.

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

"The House of Light is here on Earth?" Crow asks, watching the Guardian clean her handcanon at his desk.

"Yeah. Ikora set a whole section of the City aside for them," her Ghost supplies with an edge of excitement. "Mithrax has offered his help in exchange for a sanctuary for his people."

"Misraaks," Crow says softly, correcting the Ghost as he steps up behind the Young Wolf. His hands settle on her shoulders, sunset absently studying her fingers deftly reassembling the weapon.

How many times has she done it with this gun alone? It's like second nature now. It's almost mesmerizing how her fingers move the mechanisms. But when they still, Crow looks down. 

She's gazing up at him, that curious glint in her eyes as she tries to decipher what he's after. 

"What?" He asks innocently and she quirks an eyebrow. Her head leans back just enough to lean against his torso and he can't quite quell the chuckle that slips out.

"Comfortable, are you?"

She smirks triumphantly - it seems she was after a laugh. He gently combs her hair back away from her face with his fingers, "Finish putting your gun together."

Her eyes close beneath his touch as if in spite of him. His eyes trace over her features, admiring the soft smile that plays at the corner of her lips, the peaceful ease that settles over her features. His movements are slow, soothing and he enjoys being the one she can relax around. It's a side of the Young Wolf he knows very few get to see. 

He adjusts ever so slightly, allowing him to bend down and press an affectionate kiss to her forehead. He lingers, her hand reaches for him and brushes along his cheek blindly. He laughs softly, drawing her eyes open at the sound and sunset locks with emerald.

He has missed being at her side, seeing her as often as he liked. But she heads into the Vex simulation nearly every day to put an end to the Night simulation. Tonight is the first time they've both been back in the HELM in weeks. Crow has been following up leads for Zavala with the Cabal. Now - now he gets her all to himself, if only for tonight.

"Finish building the gun," he says softly but sternly.

He starts to straighten up before her fingers hook around the back of his head and lightly tug him back down so they're face to face. An awkward position to be sure given that she's essentially upside down in her seated state.

Her eyes are all the challenge he needs. There's a cockiness, a smugness as they gaze up at him and he can't hide his smile. 

Or what?

It's what she's saying without actually uttering a word but her fingers are toying with strands of his hair and it's damn distracting.

He could drag this out, make a smart-ass remark about his Old Light's self-imposed bedtime but he doesn't feel like playing that game tonight.

So, he touches her cheek softly as he presses a kiss to her palm before meeting her gaze, "Because it's nearing sunset and we need time to reach your vantage point," he watches the cockiness give way to genuine excitement.

There's that child-like enthusiasm he's grown to adore.

She frowns slightly, almost like a pout when he releases her hand. It's short lived as she turns back to the gun and begins to put the weapon back together. Crow leans on the back of the chair, leaning his head against hers and just...watches.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world - being at her side.

He prays that never changes.

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

Bidding Farewell (Chapter 3)

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