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unsure about an easter special today howeverrrr i did work on these sketches turned not sketches yesterday :)
#my art#fanart#hermitcraft#portraits#goodtimeswithscar#i can never do anything quick with scar it always turns into me sighing dreamily and working on it for hours LMAO
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An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter one
Boba Fett x fem!reader
chapter 2 / masterlist
Summary: Boba tries to shield you from the dark side of his life. In his eyes, you are too innocent and pure for the harsh realities of the work that surrounds him. So when one day you stumble upon a meeting gone wrong when you were supposed to be hidden away, Boba’s afraid you won’t like the pieces of him he’s tried to protect you from, or worse, that now you’ll fear him.
A/N: My first fic in like 6 years, I'm nervous! haha This is kind of an AU I think?? Takes place after the events of season 2. I’ve added in two OC Mandos to the entourage because I love me some of that tribal brotherhood devotion. Also.. considering making this a series?
Warnings: soft!Boba (like, REALLY soft!Boba) protectiveness, maybe over-protectiveness? small character death, nobody important, two new sexy mandalorians (we’ll learn about them later), not much to be honest.
Word Count: 5.7k+
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There’s a lot to Jabba’s palace that most people don’t know about. A lot’s changed since the esteemed Boba Fett took over the throne and claimed ownership over the fortress in Tatooine. Castle might actually be a better word for it. Somewhat modest and ordinary looking on the outside, the true magnitude and vastness of the castle is hidden underground, even past the comfortably sized throne room.
What lingers further down the sandstone hallways are an array of rooms and staircases, mostly leading down in different directions. There’s a library and a kitchen and even a ballroom, which never has and probably never will be put to use. There are guest rooms that are more suitably described as luxurious suites, for the grand total of zero guests that Boba will allow to stay in his sanctuary.
There are permanently standing rooms for only a handful of the staff: the maid, Ada. Fennec, of course. And the two newest members of Boba’s trusted, elite team, Enzo and Raul, who arrived shortly before you did. The two are a pair of dutiful and truly impressive Mandalorians who serve at his beck and call, courtesy of Boba Fett’s ally and only recognized leader (not that he’s ever told what to do), Mand’alor Din Djarin.
Past the staff rooms and further down an open and beautifully lit hall, is the communal area of the palace, the center, if you will. Fully equipped to socialize and entertain guests with comfortable seating, a fireplace, and charming embellishments around the room. A warm and pleasant area of the palace that likewise, does not get as much use out of it as it should.
And finally, behind the common area, which in its own way, serves as a magnificent entryway, is Boba Fett’s private chambers. Home to the respected and feared bounty-hunter turned ruler, and you, his haven.
You. His cyare. His beloved. The ruthless king had fallen in love with you and your delicate heart, seemingly untampered with and somehow not left scarred by the harsh realities of Tatooine. He saw in you light and tenderness, and you gave him joy and true unconditional love. He spent many, far too many, late nights in Mos Eisley, at the cantina you worked in as a waitress. At some point visiting you every night to walk you home at the end of your shift, though you assured him you always made it home perfectly fine on your own. But Boba secretly lived for those extra few minutes he could spend with you walking you to your residence. Not to mention, he couldn’t fathom why it didn’t scare the bantha shit out of you to be walking around Mos Eisley alone at night, unarmed. That fact that you did sure as hell scared him.
On most nights he walked you home, you invited him in, unless you were absolutely too spent to spend another moment standing. But it was on those long nights that poured into the early hours of the lovely Tatooine sunrise that you and Boba grew close and eventually professed your love for one another. Soon after, he hopefully, and quite timidly, asked you to live at his palace with him. Though you’d never been before, you knew exactly where it was, and for that matter, who he was.
The new king of Tatooine had a reputation for being ruthless, unforgiving, and dangerous. And you didn’t miss the way people cowered away from his presence, especially when he wore the armor. Though, by your own calculations, every other patron who marched their way through these lands was just as feral as the Boba Fett they all believed they knew, and not one had ever been as kind or as gentle, or captivated your thoughts, the way he did.
He knew these things. More than most in the galaxy, he knew what a cruel fate such a pure being could meet, and if truth be told, he wanted to escape with your kind soul and shield you from this harsh planet before anything could harm you.
When he asked you again to go with him, you met his hopeful and loving gaze, eyes filled with devotion and admiration, and the corner of his lips pulled up just slightly in the most endearing of grins, you couldn't help but to instantly wrap your arms around him, leave a kiss to his neck, and tell him nothing would make you happier.
“Besides,” you teased, nuzzling into his neck, “I always wanted to be a princess.”
Boba chuckled and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling your face back and tracing his thumb under your chin. “Believe me, mesh’la. You already were one.”
The next day, you found yourself and what little you owned in possessions, situating in your new home. Like everyone else, you had shockingly inaccurate presumptions about the size of the palace, soon learning that what lay hidden behind the throne room and down the sandstone halls was a modest castle to get lost in. No matter, you adjusted to your new environment and routine, though still unused to the respect and coddling you received on a daily basis, you adored every extra moment spent with your king.
Which is how now, five months later, you lay quiet and still as a mouse in bed, gazing dreamily at a sleeping Boba next to you. The early morning light casting a light blue hue over the room, as the suns hadn’t quite risen just yet. You were fortunate enough that your bedroom, the top floor to your two story chambers, was one of the few rooms in the palace with a proper window, the rest of your home and castle being underground.
A low grumble from the man next to you causes you to hold your breath, eyes not daring to leave his form as he breathes in a deep sigh. “You know,” he begins drowsily, “the moment you wake up and opt to stare at me instead of closing those lovely eyes again and getting some more rest, is the exact moment that I wake up too.”
“You don’t have to wake up,” you smile teasingly.
“I can’t help it.” He grumbles, eyes still shut heavily against the apples of his cheeks. “If you’re up, I’m up.”
“For all you know,” You retort, “I’ve been staring at you, awake for hours.”
At this, Boba’s unimpressed gaze turns to you, eyes now latched onto yours. “You haven’t been.” He says.
“And how would you know?” You giggle back, “I haven’t moved a hair. I woke up facing you, and didn’t move anything but my gaze. So unless you can detect the vibrations from my blinking, you couldn’t know.”
“I know.”
It’s your turn to look unimpressed, “How?”
“Because,” He leans in close to you, your noses lightly touching and a devilish look in his eyes, “If you’re up, I’m up.”
“Mm.” You hum unconvinced, eyes fluttering closed as he leaves a kiss to your nose then pulls away to sit at the edge of the bed. You follow his form as he stretches to a stand, joints popping as he twists his back and arms around, the result of a body having gone to war and back countless times. You sit up tiredly and lean against the headboard, watching him pull on his under armor, then latching on the Beskar. Piece by piece his body is decorated with more intimidating and handsome armor, slowly shielding your eyes from the scarred but lovely body of his that you admire possibly a little too much.
“You stare any harder and I might decide to take it back off,” Boba quips, a smirk rising on his cheeks.
You blush, shaking your head and looking away, gaze now pointedly out the window.
“Mesh’la,” He says, grabbing your attention again, his hands now occupied tugging on his gloves as he takes a few strides towards you. He smiles at the pink tint to your cheeks and your guilty smile, the remains of having been caught admiring him still plastered on your face. “I have important business to attend to today. But I’ve arranged for those workers to come and paint the library in a couple hours, would you mind overseeing it?”
He lifts a hand to lightly brush his thumb along your cheek, looking down upon you quizzically.
“Of course.” You nod eagerly. You've slowly been tending to every inch of the palace, erasing all remnants of the Hutt’s and adding in touches of comfort and warmth wherever you can. You wouldn’t say decorating is a passion of yours. But this is your home now, you might as well fill it with things you admire. Plus, Boba said if you didn’t take over the project, he’d just paint everything grey and toss out the old furniture without replacements.
You shiver as you untuck yourself from your velvety comforter. For a fortress built on possibly one of the hottest planets in the Outer Rim, this place can get cold. Probably due to the fact that it’s rooted so deeply underground.
Happy to have something to do, you head to the fresher for a quick wash before Boba leaves to his duties. You exit your chambers together, Enzo and Raul already waiting in the common area for you both. Upon seeing them, you turn and leave a gentle kiss to the cheek of Boba’s helmet for a final moment of private intimacy before you descend the staircase, hearing him chuckle fondly at your action as he follows.
“Good morning Fett, my lady.” Enzo bows lowly, turning to you. You laugh and shove his shoulder upon reaching the pair of them. You can hear the hint of amusement in his voice as Raul shakes his head beside him.
“Good morning gentlemen.” You smile.
Boba huffs coming to stand beside you, “Gentlemen.” He scoffs at your words.
Raul clears his throat, “Crane should be here soon, boss.” He says, visor trained on Boba and arms crossed over his chest, gaze briefly turning towards you before meeting the boss again.
You look towards your partner, “Your meeting today?” You ask.
“Yes.” He says, giving a quick nod.
“Alright,” You say, glancing at the suspiciously still trio of Beskar-clad men, “I’m going to the kitchens to have some breakfast. Then I’ll meet up with those workers in the library.”
Boba nods again, confirming your agenda.
You stare up at him, waiting for him to sputter out whatever it is you know he’s wanting to say.
“...Then,” You go on, “I guess I will, do some reading or...baking or...stare at the wall or something.”
“Sounds like a riveting afternoon,” Raul says after a more than comfortable silence.
“Okay,” you smile, chuckling a little and taking a step back, choosing to dismiss yourself now before the awkwardness has a chance to develop. “Have fun with Mr. Crane.”
Boba clears his throat as you turn towards the kitchens, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “Mesh’la,” He says, glancing pointedly at Raul and Enzo, who move to wait for him a few paces away. “Could you do me a favor?”
You tilt your head suspiciously, urging him to go on. “You’re acting rather strange Boba Fett.” You tease.
He grunts, “I’ve had a lot of trouble with Calendei Crane. He’s not a very loyal man, nor do I consider him a good one. He’s had a lot of chances to make up for the problems he’s caused me, but recently he went too far, and we’re not going to be having a charming reunion just now.” He sighs, “What I’m trying to say is... he didn’t necessarily come here by his own accord. And he won’t be very happy that he is.”
“I understand.” You nod.
Boba frowns inside his helm. I don’t think you do cyare.
“Alright then,” he says, “That said, I would really appreciate it if you would stay away from the throne room today. At least until I send Fennec or Enzo for you or something.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his hand opening and closing nervously by his side. He thinks you don’t know what he means. Oh Boba.
You reach for his hand as you step closer to his form. “Boba,” you whisper, leaning up towards him with a small smile, “You are the most kind and gentle man I’ve ever known. But I know that you are a man of business and principles. You do whatever you have to do. If an employee of yours is out there making a mess under your name, I would expect nothing less than for you to handle it.” You say, hoping to reassure him.
You raise your free hand to rest against the cheek of his helmet, “But I’ll busy myself back here until you’re done.”
He lets out a sigh in relief, hand reaching up to grab yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” He says, before tenderly tapping his forehead against yours and turning to get on with his day.
You shake your head at his retreating form. Despite all of the darkness and dirt and the scum that surround Boba in his everyday life, he really does try everything in his power to not let it touch you. It’s almost as if despite the late night confessions and raw conversations you two have shared about your lives don’t translate to reality for Boba. As if he somehow believes you don’t truly know what it is that he does and who he is.
He seems to forget that you yourself have grown up with the same scum that populate this planet. In the nearest city to here in fact, where all the mudscuppers of the galaxy would stay and wreak havoc when this was once Jabba’s palace. You’ve seen things. You’ve experienced things. Some things that, shamefully, you haven’t yet shared with Boba. But what you can say with the utmost of certainty is that you know exactly the kind of people that like to deal in underworld business. And you know that there are many cruel beings out there. But Boba, he certainly isn’t one of them.
You sigh, turning to pass through the empty dining hall to the kitchens. The light tapping of your shoes echoing in the desolate space. A part of you wishes you had said to him, ‘Oh Boba, when will you learn that you don’t need to protect me from yourself?’
A necessary conversation for another time, you decide.
Shaking away your thoughts, you wander into the kitchen, making yourself a quick breakfast and giggling a while with Ada, as she begins preparing a stew for all staff members taking up a residency in the palace. She often prepares meals in substantial quantities, making enough for herself, you, Boba, Fennec, and the two other Mandalorians to all enjoy in your respective chambers.
“Take some of these to go dear!” She calls out, chasing after your form as you exit the kitchen. “You had better be eating a balanced diet.” She chides, handing you a towel with some berries on it.
“Thank you Ada,” you smile, leaving a peck to her cheek and making your way to the library.
When you arrive, the workers still aren't there, and you hum glancing at the clock. They should have already been here and working at least for an hour by now.
Expecting their arrival soon, you busy yourself with cleaning dusty bookshelves and making piles of the previous inhabitants' furnishings and decorations you’d rather not have.
You plop down on the floor after sorting through your ninth bookshelf, sighing after attempting to categorize everything by genre. Even opting to make a pile of books to get rid of, because really, nobody needs handbooks on slave trading and dealing in the dark business of the underworld. They’re just not something you’d like in your home.
You glance at the time again. “What on Tatooine.” You mutter, stretching to a stand. You’ve officially been bailed on, because you've been sitting in this dingy library for four hours and if nobody’s shown up yet, you doubted they would be.
Looking around at the mess you’ve made, you decide to finish tackling this task tomorrow, and head back down the hall towards your private chambers.
You pause to lean against the wall with your eyes closed, letting out a great yawn. It’s barely past noon and you’re already beat.
A voice calls your name just in front of you, startling you in the dark, candlelit hall.
“Ada!” You jump, with a hand to your chest.
“Mm, I’m sorry sweet one.” She frowns. “You had better go check on your Mandalorian.” She says sternly, wagging a finger up at you. “He sounds angrier than a farmer whose fresh crops have been raided by Tuskans.”
You furrow your eyebrows at her words, frowning. “Does he sound alright?” You ask, concerned.
“Too riled up.” She chides, shaking her head as she continues to pass you in the hall, grabbing a hold of your arm “Go straighten him out, lecture him on that temper of his.”
“Ada,” You sigh, “He’s dealing with a trying issue right now, and I promised that I’d stay away from this meeting.”
“Peh,” She waves her hand in dismissal, “Fine, your decision. But I did see a couple of those workers you were waiting on looking rather frightened up in the throne room. Go on and fetch them and get on with your project. You left quite a mess in there for me to deal with.”
“What?” You look disbelievingly at her, “Well why didn't you just send them my way. I waited all morning for them.”
She shakes her head, looping her arm through yours as you continue walking side-by-side. You roll your eyes at the nerve.
The sound of sudden, unmistakable shouting, coming from much further down the hall and up the stairs ascending to the throne room stops you instantly. Your eyes widen a bit as the voice carries on, rather menacingly. You wouldn’t want to be the one receiving the tail end of that conversation. Boba truly does sound pissed. You wonder how long he’s been with this Crane fellow.
“Ada,” you whisper, the lower tone seeming appropriate, “Don’t you go trying to get me into trouble.” You say, pulling her back as she tries to urge you forward.
“Young lady,” She scolds, looking up at you in a surprisingly threatening way. “I have much work to do. I need my good broom which I left up those stairs, and you need your painters or carpenters or whatever it is those fellas up there are. So, let us ladies get on with our business and fetch our things.”
“If you’re already heading up,” You say through slightly gritted teeth, “Then why don’t you just go up there, grab your broom, and do me the favor of nudging down my workers while you’re at it.”
“Because I have a bad leg. Now either accompany me up stairs so that I don’t fall or go on and get those things for the two of us at last!”
“Maker, Ada fine!” You say, losing your temper. A part of you knowing she was just stirring up trouble. You start up the first step and turn to her with an obvious empty threat. “And I’ll be sure to note to Boba that our maid has a bad leg leaving her incapable of climbing our palace full of stairs.” You mutter disbelievingly.
“Mm, you do that.” She counters.
You sigh, shaking your head as you quickly make your way up, hearing Ada walk away behind you.
That woman knows far too well that we would never replace her, you think.
Your focus shifting back to the surprisingly silent throne room just up and down the hall, you walk wearily, suddenly a little nervous.
You notice as you near the room, your steps silent down the hall, that there is a hushed but heated back and forth taking place.
“-swear Mr. Fett I-I d-didn’t know they were-”
“-What?” You hear Boba’s ominous voice interrupt. “You didn't know what?”
His form comes into view as you peek your head into the room, watching him descend the steps of his throne and approaching the accused slowly. You take a half step back, hoping to further hide your position, seeing as before, you were concealed behind his back. But given his new stance, the flicker of his gaze upwards and Boba would be met with your sinful and curious eyes.
Raul, you note, leans comfortably against the wall across the room behind Boba, observing the scene from afar, but seemingly more interested in fixing a mechanism on his Westar-35.
Fennec, who, based on the fearful gaze he glances up at her with, was obviously the one to retrieve Crane, staring down at him with a daring look in her eyes, as if challenging him to try and escape this situation. Enzo stands on Crane's other side, blocking most of your view from the accused and his state. You also note that there is no such broom or fearful workers around. Ada.
“Mr. Fett-” He whimpers.
“Sod it.” Enzo growls, raising his weapon to shove against Crane’s neck, hushing his pleas instantly.
You observe the creature as best you can from your corner. You don’t want to peer out any further for fear of alerting Boba of your presence. He wasn’t human, but not terribly strange looking, a blue being, probably a humanoid, but with claws for nails that were certainly not cute. He’s on his knees, head bowed forward in obvious shame and fear, and hands tied firmly behind his back. This guy looks like he’s had a pretty bad couple of days, but you still can’t tell if you feel sorry for him or not.
Boba reaches Crane in the center of the room, and in a manner so menacing and calculated, that exerts a level of dominance that frightens even you, he crouches down on his heels, meeting Crane eye-level.
Boba slowly pulls his blaster out of its holster and lifts it to Crane’s ducked chin, using the barrel to tilt Crane’s face up to meet his.
You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel yourself running out of air.
“You didn’t know what Crane?” Boba repeats in a tone so hushed you could barely hear. “That you were selling information to an enemy of mine? That you were betraying the trust that I had put in you? That you stole my property, weapons, and money to give to people who wish to do me harm?”
You can’t help but to feel anxious and on edge. Knowing very well you are not supposed to be in here observing the scene in front of you. Wondering if at this point, you should even try to make your silent leave.
Crane, seemingly breathless, and having accepted his fate, nods in defeat. “I’m sorry Boba.” He whispers.
“You violated the terms of our agreement Crane.” Boba says, rising up and adjusting his belt. “I gave you opportunity after opportunity to make it right. I told you that this was your final chance. I even gave you the kriffing option to leave!” He finally shouts.
You watch his chest heaving in rage as he continues to stare down at a defeated Crane.
Boba scoffs, “What did you expect would happen?”
The crippled man on the floor does what you least expect, his gaze lazily lifting up to meet Boba’s as he chuckles carelessly, his laugh soon transforming into a truly mad howl.
He looks like an absolute maniac.
Your eyes furrow in extreme discomfort as you watch the dramatic change in scene, and despite the obvious upper-hand that Boba has, you feel the urge to stand between him and this disturbed creature.
“I-I guess,” Crane breathes out between spouts of laughter, “I held out hope. Hope that the famous Boba Fett, oh-” he croaks out another laugh, “I’m sorry, that the-the King of Tatooine, would finally meet his demise like he should have all those years ago in the sarlacc. Oh, Boba, we were all so pleased when we thought you’d met the maker that day, but you...you son of a nerf herder, you lived. And WHY should you get to live while the rest of us died off! TELL ME BOBA FETT! Because you know something? You of all beings do NOT get to cheat death. You think you’re better than the rest of us, trying to make amends for your crimes against nature? Against the galaxy?”
Crane leans his head forward nearly slamming it against the ground as he violently spits out, “-No, no, no, no old friend. You are the worst, most foul kind of scum to EVER have walked these lands. You are no worse than Jabba, don’t you kid yourself. And if I have played any part in your demise, I’ll have avenged my brothers who have died at your hand. Your end is coming Boba Fett! You will fall, and so will anyone who tries to prevent your end!” He carries on, doubling over while spitting out the most ludicrous threats between maniacal laughter.
A wave of pure fear plunges your heart, leaving a sickly feeling in your gut at his words. You don’t even realize that your longing to protect Boba has unconsciously pulled your body a few steps in his direction. Your error not evident to you until Raul moves from across the room, capturing your attention. You glance at him only to see the gaze of his visor already locked onto yours and his body making quick strides towards you.
“Boss-” Raul says hurriedly, but not before a shot rings out, causing you to jump and gasp, hands flying up in front of you in instinctual defense.
You open your eyes and turn your head to face Boba just as his gaze snaps in your direction. Even with the visor covering his face you can see he’s taken aback by your presence. His arm lowers quickly with his blaster, holstering it. Everyone’s attention seems to be on you.
Nobody moves for a moment, and still frozen, your gaze flicks down to the dead being, monster, who lays thankfully slain on the floor.
Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you avert your gaze back up to Boba, whose arm shifts nervously at his side.
“Ner- ner cyare.” He whispers, his tone strained and unlike you’ve ever heard before.
You take a step towards him, but don’t go much closer when Enzo shifts to exist as a barricade between you and the bloody mess to Boba’s side.
“What are you doing here?” He says, seeming to struggle with every word.
“I-I can’t remember.” You say after a beat, nervous again suddenly that you’ve poked your nose into business you told him you’d stay away from.
He stands frozen, panicked behind the harsh mask of his visor. His absolute worst fear being realised as you stand in the aftermath of an execution he himself carried out, right in front of your eyes.
Cruel. Unforgiving. Dangerous. Vile. Sadistic. Merciless.
All words he imagines were running though your sweet mind behind those wide eyes.
“Boba.” you utter, taking another step towards him, hesitating at first then succumbing to your hearts needs and taking up a speedier pace.
Your hands, which at some point started shaking, matching your more obviously quickened heart rate, raise up slowly to rest on his chest, and you swear he flinches at the contact.
“Cyare-” He mutters again, heart beating undoubtedly twice as fast as your own, fear and desperation clinging to the word, but he stops when your suddenly tear-filled eyes meet his gaze and you cling to the sides of his helm.
“Boba, are you okay?” You whisper frantically.
At that, he lets out a shaky exhale, body loosening and head tilting slightly at your words.
“What?” He asks, stunned.
“Are you alright?” You say, searching desperately through the dark visor of his helm for his warm, brown eyes.
“Am...am I okay?” He repeats.
“Yes I-I heard everything he said.” You stutter, head turning to meet the deranged creature's corpse covered in his own blood before Boba finally and frantically grabs a hold of your cheek to gently avert your gaze away from the scene. “He-he was absolutely maniacal.” You let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry I came but I-I heard shouting and A-Ada said something I can’t even remember what but I ended up here somehow and please don’t be mad but maker I just didn’t expect this-” you pause, tempted to glance at the corpse again but your cheek stays steadied in Boba’s hand, “-this monster to be here, threatening you and maker I know you’re alright, you’re always alright, but I desperately wanted to be standing between you and him to do anything to shield you from his threats I-”
“-Mesh’la.” Boba says, more of his confidence appearing in his voice and his movements but still weary nonetheless.
“Are you okay?” You repeat desperately, cradling his helmet firmly in your hands again.
“I’m-yes. Yes mesh’la, I’m alright.” He stutters out, “Are-are you not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?” You breathe out, taken aback. “Never, Boba. I-I could never fear you.”
Boba’s completely stilled in your arms. It feels like hours, your wide eyes looking at him with that familiar tenderness and devotion. You almost forget about the other’s, standing completely motionless around you, until Boba suddenly turns you and urges you forward with gentle hands on your waist, his form practically shielding you, quite fruitlessly, from the scene he guides you away from.
When you reach the hallway, he allows you to pull him next to you instead, as he opens the door to the closest chamber in sight and ushers you into it, closing the door behind you both.
The dimly lit room casts a warm glow on you both as you turn to face Boba, whose back is slumped up against the closed door. He heaves in slow, heavy, deep breaths.
You stand, unmoving, only a few inches from him. Gaze locked on his visor, you wear a concerned expression on your face, your own breaths silent but speedy as you wait for him to explain his behavior.
He finally says your name, both his palms rising in a pleading request for you to take them.
You place your hands gently in his, and he cradles them to his chest, looking down at them. So small and clean and innocent in his dark gloves that carry the stains of countless victims.
You hold your breath when you hear a choked sob escape from his modulator. Your mouth falls open a bit, eyes flitting down to where he stares at his hands caressing your own.
“Boba?” You mutter.
As if prompted by your voice, a more obvious sob falls from Boba’s lips, and his hands release your own, finding purchase on your hips as he falls to his knees before you.
You gasp out a breath of disbelief as you watch your partner, your warrior, your Boba, cling to your waist. Silent sobs shake his body as he hesitantly pulls his hand from you and places it under the lip of his helmet, tugging the armor off and letting it topple to the floor beside you.
Tears spill down Boba’s face, following the same trail left behind by the first few that managed to fall. You grasp his face in your hands, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks and erasing the tears that slid down his scarred skin.
Your vision blurs as your own eyes well with tears. “My love,” You whisper, “What’s wrong?”
His forehead tightens and brows furrow, making him look like he’s in pain. “Mesh’la I-” he stops to compose himself, his eyes looking down though you hold his face in your palms. “You- you do not fear me?”
“I could never Boba.” You assure him, you voice cracking as you say the words. “I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in my life. You...being with you, makes me feel safer than I ever thought I could feel.”
Your hand leaves his cheek to smooth out the worried lines on his forehead, and you bring your index finger under his chin, urging him to look up at you. “That creature, monster, whatever he was,” You start, “He was disloyal and foul and cruel. He wanted to hurt you. Which means he wanted to hurt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. You’re my everything Boba.”
He stares up at you, vulnerable, more unsteady than you’ve ever seen him, but you go on, “I know who you are Boba Fett. I know that you were a bounty hunter. I know that now you rule the underworld and that sometimes you do unpleasant things. I know that you have regrets and I know that you have a past. I have one too. But most importantly, I know that you are a good man, worthy of my trust. And I will stand by your side every day for as long as you want me here, because I love you. My mind, my body, my soul,” you whisper, tears flowing down your own cheeks now, “-they’re yours Boba. All of me is yours.”
Tears well in his eyes again as you speak, but he doesn’t hide from you as he frowns against the tears threatening to spill again. “I love you so much.” He confesses almost fearfully.
You reach down to unlatch his hands from your waist, though you’re met with mild resistance, before you kneel to be level with him. You lean forward slowly and kiss him, passionately and desperately and devotedly. He cups your face in his hands, pressing you to him as close as he can before releasing you.
“You,” He whispers, leaning his forehead against yours with closed eyes, “You are too pure for this galaxy. An angel living amongst demons.”
“And I suppose you think you’re a demon?” You shake your head, smiling at the absurdity of it.
“Me?” He grins, “A fallen angel? Most definitely.”
#an angel amongst demons#Boba Fett#boba x reader#boba x you#the mandalorian#book of boba fett#din djarin#mando#jabbas palace#soft!boba#king!boba#boba fett x reader
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Nessun Dorma | 01 - f!ver.
he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x f!reader. | male version here.
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.
⟶ index | prologue.
__
You can’t say no to him.
You don't think you'd ever be able to deny Mira anything, really. Not when he looks at you like a kicked puppy… a tall, imposing kicked puppy with weird horns on his head who could probably cremate you alive without breaking a sweat.
"Of course I would stay with you! Do you even have to ask?" You reach out to touch his face. His skin always feels so cold under your fingers, but the fire in his eyes burns brighter than ever, as if the intensity of his flames depends solely on the intensity of your affection for him.
"I love you, Mira."
Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.
You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.
“I… I love you too.”
He sounds like he’s about to cry. One of his hands rests against your chest. It’s an innocent touch. He’s just feeling your heartbeat under his palm, tiny and steady like that of a little bird, “I will always, always love you. Even if one day you grow to hate me. Even if you forget about me. Even should you fall in love with somebody else…”
You suddenly feel very tired.
His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.
“I love you, (y/n).”
The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.
___
A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.
It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.
You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.
"(y/n)! What the hell...?" Your friend rolls away from you, finally letting go of the octopus hold he had on you all night. He's all disheveled as he gives you a weak glare, falling back into the makeshift bed you two share with a groan.
It's not even a bed, really. Just a pile of cotton blankets messily thrown under the skylight of an unused barn. This is your little hiding place, and despite you two having perfectly comfortable beds in the main house with Grandma and Grandpa, you prefer to spend your summer nights sleeping in this very loft, where it's cool and open and comfortable.
"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”
Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”
"No… not really."
"Nothing at all?
"No, just…"
"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.
Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.
"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.
"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"
Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.
He knows you too well.
"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.
"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.
"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.
"Yeah," Epel walks the length of the loft and starts going down the ladder to the ground level of the barn. Before his head completely disappears under the edge of the loft, he throws you an arrogant smirk, "I wouldn't want the deafenin' roars of your stomach wakin’ up every wolf 'n boar in the area."
You're rushing after him immediately.
He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.
___
You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.
Your journey might not have had the best start—your parents left you on a doorstep in a basket when you were a small baby, but Epel's grandparents took you in and cared for you like you were theirs, and you grew up surrounded by love in a small farming community.
Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything built after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.
Oh, and you have Beau.
The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.
Beau is minuscule. The tiniest lamb you've ever seen, always struggling to follow behind you on unsteady legs like you're his mother. Epel says it's because he feels a kinship with a fellow pipsqueak. You're always quick to point out that Epel is not that much taller than you anyway.
"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"
Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.
"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.
You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.
Sigh. Children.
___
You're always dead tired when you finally reach your bed. Farm life is fun and rewarding, but it’s also incredibly exhausting. That coupled with the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep lately means that you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow, barely having the strength to say goodnight to Epel before you’re spiraling into a deep sleep.
…
…
You know you should be surprised to see him, but you never are. You can always feel him creeping around the outer edges of your dreamscape, but it doesn’t bother you. You invite him in every time, even if you forget all about it when you wake up, almost like you know instinctively that he won’t hurt you. Almost like you know him.
The man in your dreams is gorgeous, the kind of beauty that makes you want to learn sculpting so you can attempt to immortalize it. His skin is paler than marble, free of scars or blemishes. His ebony hair looks silky, a stream of ink that frames his handsome face and falls past his shoulders. He is tall, the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and the evil-looking horns on his head make him look ever more imposing.
But what you find most striking about him are his eyes. Emerald gems with flames inside them. It’s the only detail of his that you remember when you wake up, the rest of him a cloud of black smoke when you attempt to picture him outside of your dreams.
“Good evening, Deerlet.” His voice has the texture of silk and when he speaks, it feels like the ground shakes beneath your feet. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you, I wonder?” He closes in on you with slow, purposeful steps, elegant as a cat even as he leans forward slightly, like he wants to keep you in place by towering over you. His expression is curious and serene. You have a feeling he always looks at you like this.
“Why are you here?” You take a few steps back, not because you’re scared of him, but because you're scared of how badly you suddenly want to reach out and touch him. Your bare feet step on something soft, like flowers, and suddenly the dull landscape around you shifts into a view that feels strangely familiar to you. An open meadow and a purple sky above you. An endless sea of black roses around you.
“Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.” He closes the distance again, as attracted to you as you are to him. You’re like two ends of a magnet, when one pulls back the other follows. “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” The small, arrogant smile on his face sends a flurry of tingles down your spine.
“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”
You feel like you already know where this is going.
“So I’ve brought you your gift today,” He reaches out to touch your elbows, languidly pulling you closer to him in a half-embrace that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s too much empty space between the two of you. His fingers linger over your skin, barely touching you.
“Do you want to know what it is?” He whispers against your ear. One of his hands gently cradles your face. His lips brush against your temple and you shiver, completely paralyzed on the spot, “It’s my love, of course.”
Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing, then gently lowers you over the roses.
"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.
He chuckles above you, but he's not amused. It's a pained, bitter sound, like you just reached inside his ribcage and crushed his heart in your hand. His ebony hair tickles your skin when he leans down to press kisses against your jaw, "Oh, you do know me, beloved. You are the other end of my soul, as I am yours."
His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your thighs wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers reach your inner thigh and he runs a slow circle against the wet, trembling flesh, eager to soak in your juices.
You watch with half-lidded eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth. A forked tongue peaks between his lips, slowly running over one of his lucid fingers. It brings back a memory of that time you dropped jam on your forearm, and that same forked tongue cheekily swept it away. The vision is so clear it leaves the hint of a name in your dry mouth.
"Mi… ra?"
His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of milky fluid behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.
"Is… is that your name?" You manage to gasp the words out, suppressing a shiver when he hums low in his throat. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to just give in already. To stop asking questions and wrap your arms around him instead, letting him use your body until he's satisfied. The urge to make him happy is almost primal in you, cauterizing your synapses. The need for him almost tears you apart.
"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the soft flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."
His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the cloth of your dress makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.
You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of slick down your thighs. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your dress. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.
"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your pussy clenches in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.
"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your dress apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.
Nothing could have prepared you for the thunder that rattles the landscape of your psyche when his forked tongue makes contact with your perky nipple. Your hands find his broad shoulders and you hang on for dear life as he licks, nibbles and sucks like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. His mouth is devastatingly gentle and you weakly beg for more. Mira smirks and ignores you, dragging out his tender torture for as long as he can, even as you desperately grind your drenched core against him.
"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your core hurts from clenching without something to hold your walls apart, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.
Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, slick pooling under you like dew against the roses.
"... You little brat." Mira pulls away, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are full of mischief as he looks down at you, the smirk ever present on his handsome face, "Is this how you treat your King?"
You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."
His expression falls and he suddenly looks flustered. It seems like he enjoys hearing that you belong to him quite a bit. Mira quickly composes himself, the fire in his eyes now dim and subtle like a dangerous warning.
You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.
"This is far from me being mean." He growls at you, allowing his instincts to take over for just a second, "So I advise you don't do that again." The stern look on his face makes his presence feel even more oppressing than usual.
It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your touching powers and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.
The world around you loses focus. There's no more questions, no more doubts, you don't need to know anything about him, you just want him to touch you while you moan and gasp and whimper his name. It feels like you're on the verge of shattering and when Mira caresses you with his magic one more time, your stomach squeezes and releases, the dam in your abdomen breaks and blinding white flashes in front of your vision. You're left boneless and dazed and shivering, the shock from climaxing so hard and so abruptly leaving you speechless as you gasp and try to catch your breath.
...Holy shit. You catch his eyes and notice the subtle way he’s panting, sweat coating his forehead as he stares at every twitch of your body with intense rapture. Mira looks almost famished, desperation written all over his face. He looks like he’s in pain.
"I'm trying to be gentle, daelin." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to keep the pieces of his disintegrating self-control together. Your scent is everywhere. The light spice in the air threatens to render Malleus insane and he has to momentarily block you out to keep himself from turning into his half-draconic form.
No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…
"...I know."
Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.
"I trust you, Mira."
Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.
You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.
"... I'll make you feel good." He sounds oddly resolute as he looks at you, his pupils large on a background of gentle flames. He kind of looks like a happy cat and you can't help but giggle. He's still as awkwardly sweet as the scrawny boy in your memories.
"You already did."
He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."
You let out a surprised gasp when he lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your wet pussy. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.
Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces the line of your entrance. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your slit. Then he runs his tongue up until it finds your clit and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow semi-circles around the sensitive nub.
"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.
"The tip…" his tongue flicks your clitoris and your head falls back, slick dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue under the hard nub and slooowly licks up and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release.
Your core pulses desperately with the need to cum all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…
"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your core against his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"
He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his fingers plunges into you, finally granting your clenching walls some sort of relief.
Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He adds another finger in and rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.
You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.
You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.
"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." his cheeks and chin are all shiny and sticky but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the cum off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.
“(y/n), I can’t take it anymore…” He breathes frantically, finally allowing himself some sort of relief as he takes his erection out of his pants. His dick is so hard it fucking hurts. He really wanted to take things slow for your sake, but he only ended up edging himself to the point of almost going into a rut.
He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.
"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your pussy clenches with traitorous want.
"Not this time, probably not." Mira cradles your little body in his arms, "I'd have to train you for it to fit. Stretch you out until your insides have my imprint." He runs a hand down his face in a quick, agitated movement. Every single cell in his body is fighting against the urge to ravish you. His muscles hurt from tightening so violently and Malleus has to force himself to count to ten to keep from showing his cock inside you at once.
“It’s… fine. I won’t hurt you.” He promises, searching your face for your approval as he lines himself against your entrance. He’s been alive for centuries and yet his heart has never beaten so fast. His hawk-like eyes are focused on you and you alone, burning the image of you laying helpless under him inside his corneas.
Then you nod up at him, looking so cute as you try to put on a brave face that Malleus almost cums right then and there. The head of his dick slowly pushes inside you. Your head lulls back and Mira's hands shake violently.
It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily. Stars, it's stretching you so well. You're soaking wet and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being filled completely wiping out every thought in your head.
He finally touches the deepest place inside you, his large cock still not completely inside, and you both go completely still. The only sounds that break the humid silence are your loud gasps and his feeble ones, mixing together in a cacophony of absolute amazement as you two take in the surreal feeling of finally being connected.
Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.
"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, rouge dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.
"So small." He makes a show of hovering over you completely and suddenly the sky disappears. There's only him. Above you and around you and inside you. You're face to face with his chest, and as you lean your head back, trying to catch his eyes, you see that he has to tuck his chin against his neck to look back at you.
…
...
Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.
"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.
"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"
You can't speak, so you give him another frantic nod, squeezing your eyes shut. You're not prepared for how good it feels when he pulls back. His veins scrape against you, the stretching becomes almost unbearable and you're left moaning long and loud in a way that makes Malleus sweat. If you could see him now, you'd notice he looks almost shy, like the first time you kissed his cheek.
He's almost out of you when he decides to thrust back in, scattering stars across your stomach with a single, gentle motion. Every nerve ending tingles with pleasure. Sweet nonsense falls from your lips and Malleus has to grit his teeth and dig his clawed fingers into the ground in order to cling to the last remains of his thinning patience. His fangs hurt with the primal urge to mark you.
"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet girl—my cute little Deerlet—" His hips snap back against your smaller ones in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.
"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, “Say that you’re mine."
The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.
"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.
"Malleus." He corrects you through gritted teeth, then he stops moving entirely, ignoring your disappointed cries as he desperately tries to resist the pull your body has on him, "Say I'm yours, Malleus."
"I'm yours, Malleus." His real name becomes a moan in your mouth and Malleus finally snaps. There's no more gentle, just a carnal urgency and a need that has waited centuries to be satisfied. He pulls his hips back and then slams into you and fuck, you should be screaming by now but you can't, there's not enough air as you bounce over the flowers and sob, clinging to him like he's your lifeline.
The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word so unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.
Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.
He cums so much. You can feel his hot semen fill you up and then spill out like it's a waterfall. He's not letting go of you, his face hidden in your hair as he recovers from the star-shattering pleasure of finally, finally being one with you.
"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.
...
He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.
Don't cry don't cry don't cry—
You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.
Nonononono— Maker, please—
He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.
He looks lost. His dark lashes are wet with tears, his mouth is curved in a confused frown and that's when you realize that he loves you so much, but he doesn't know how to process the feeling. He's like a panicked child and you are fading. And he’s always going to remember this moment, but you won’t.
You scream out his name, his real name.
…
And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.
Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.
___
Life goes on.
You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.
Epel hates that you have to travel so far when you could just help him out at the farm like you usually do, but you’ll be attending NRC coming September, and you want to save some pocket money for you and Epel to spend on all the cool city stuff you can’t find in your hole of a town.
Beau likes to walk you to the bus stop. Epel would too, but you won’t let him waste his time on you when he has his own work to take care of. Your lamb companion stops following you when the dirt road opens to the fields, getting distracted by the dandelions sprinkled at the edges of the village.
"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.
The bus stop isn't far, a lone plastic port on a background of sunflowers. As per usual you're the only one here, but the occasional horse and buggy passes by, and the farmers who live in the nearby granges all greet you with cheerful smiles on their faces. They all know where you're headed and wish you a good day at work. You really can't keep anything to yourself in such a small community.
The commute to the beach takes almost an hour. The road zig-zags and then straightens towards the coastline. You're almost tempted to doze off, but finding your way to the beach if you miss your stop is going to be a pain in the ass, so you force yourself to stay awake, keeping your eyes on the picturesque horizon and daydreaming about your mysterious man with the emerald eyes.
You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.
…
You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.
___
The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.
There's people everywhere, craving drinks and food before they go lay down on their beach towels for the rest of the day, their flip-flops leaving sand in every corner of the bar that you'll be sweeping for an eternity. Screaming children run this and that way like they're high on vitamin gummies. Their melting popsicles leave a sticky trail on the ground. They step on it and spread liquid sugar everywhere.
…
Why do you work here again?
…
Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.
Said coworker perks up when he sees you. His ears give an excited wiggle (Maker, he's adorable) and he shoots you a smirk that shows his little fangs, "Ah, kitten! Always a sight for sore eyes." He hisses a 'kishishishi' that you've learned to recognize as his laughter, his closed eyes looking like little half-moons.
"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”
Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.
“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.
"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.
You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.
___
“I am dying.” You groan and rest your head on the counter, the coolness of the wood soothing your flushed face, “Why did I take this job anyway? I don't need the money! I can just live off the land with my lamb companion and eat apple jam for the rest of my days."
Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”
You turn your head to look at him, cheek smushed against the counter. Rush hour is finally over, but god, you're in pieces. Waiting tables is not as easy as it sounds, and dealing with entitled moms on vacation is a torture worse than stepping on two Legos at the same time.
The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.
"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.
"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.
"It's not masochism, it's the law of the Savannah." He places the glass right in front of your face. You lift your head off the counter and wrap your hands around the cold beverage as he shoots you a mischievous look. He waits for you to take a sip before adding: "But it's nice ta know you're so interested in my sexual preferences."
You choke.
He laughs that kishishishi sound.
As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.
You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.
This kind of flirting is… not uncommon between the two of you, but it never really leads to anything, if only because you're both stuck manning the bar and you can't really leave the place unattended.
But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...
Regardless of your feelings on the matter, his casual teasing makes you feel like the hottest person on this beach, so you don't discourage it. You take another sip of tea, sighing through your nose at how pleasant the cold beverage feels when it runs down your throat.
...
"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."
...
What?
You look at him like he's grown another head.
"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.
"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"
You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your swimsuit peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.
"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.
"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."
Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"
"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.
___
Left alone in an empty beach bar, Ruggie barely resists the urge to slam his head against the counter. His shoulders are burning like he's been marked like cattle, and all he wants to do is to walk into the ocean until the waves swallow him completely. Maybe the abhorrent heat that singes his skin would fucking disappear then. And if not, at least the cold water would kill his boner.
This happens every fucking time. Every fucking time. He should be smarter than this, and yet he always falls for the same tricks, and the worst part is that he's tricking himself. Ruggie knows that flirting with you is akin to showing burning coals in his abdomen. He gets so fucking excited his entire body starts tingling with electricity, which is not the ideal state to be when you're at work.
And yet he still does it anyway.
Maybe he really is a masochist.
And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.
And oh God, you're going to the same school as him in September. You're going to be prancing around in your little uniform, calling him 'senpai' and shit and he's going to have to go through his heat while being tortured like that.
Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.
Yeah, he's fucked.
___
"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.
Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."
This is not the first time you've done this song and dance. With how little you've been sleeping lately, you're always looking for excuses to be carried around by Epel. Your legs feel like jello, you are not walking all the way to the barn tonight. Just changing into your pajamas has been hard enough.
"Yeah, but you slept like a rock all night!" You hug him from behind and rest your lips against his shoulder, giving him an unimpressed look from over his shoulder, "I woke up to you drooling all over my shirt multiple times."
Epel flushes the color of the fruit he's named after and mumbles something unintelligible. He waves goodnight to his grandparents and so do you, then he struggles towards the front door, pretty much having to drag you across the hallway.
"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"
The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.
"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."
Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.
"Why don't ya go ask yer darlin' Ruggie to carry ya then?" His accent gets more jumbled as his irritation grows. Still, for all his fussing, Epel bends down and waits for you to climb on his shoulders.
You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.
A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.
"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."
"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.
__
You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.
"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.
He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.
"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."
Epel almost chokes on his saliva.
You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.
You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."
It’s true. Epel often rolls on top of you in his sleep, and nothing you do ever seems to shake him off or wake him up. You figure you can just get right to it, since he apparently loves resting his head on your chest while he snores.
Your friend closes the distance between you with three hesitant steps. "... You're such a moron, seriously." He mumbles, kneeling between your legs and then draping himself over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. He smells like apples, as always. His cotton pajamas and his fluffy hair make him the perfect cuddle buddy. You sigh contently into his hair and wrap your arms tighter around his back.
It’s quiet for a bit. Epel’s weight is strangely comforting over you. The sound of his steady breaths is a familiar lullaby, and you quickly find yourself floating in that comfy, tingly space between sleep and wake.
…
“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”
Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.
“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and start scratching his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.
…
…
“Have you ever kissed him?”
Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.
You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”
He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.
“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I haven’t kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.
Right?
“... Do you want to?”
Your breath catches in your throat. Everything seems to still around you. Your heartbeat speeds up as you look into Epel's eyes. You know he's pretty manly despite his soft features, but he's never been so… forward before. You two have always been like siblings, so you really didn't think Epel felt that way about you. Maybe he's just joking?
… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.
Do you want to?
…
"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.
His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…
___
❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?
⟶ Lay back and let Epel take the lead. You deserve this after being teased in your dreams by your mystery man and teased in real life by your hyena coworker. Besides, you kind of want to see what your stubborn Epel is capable of in bed... (sub!deerlet content)
⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)
vote here | what is this?
❥ taglist: @mirrorsandpacts @stormweaver13 @bobaryn @justsomepersons @mokkeguts @maiieus @trashmomarcya @dat-bi-bitch @lem-thebeast @mythrule @hfhgjgji @zzz-sleeplessy-soft-xxx @anicious @kae-draws-sometimes @cogitover @sammy6667 @shrimp-heads @twistedmintcandy @gyghii @akelois @maknae-lenna @chiefcashgianthero @carasketch @mayorkoopbob @linseyz @gardenondreams @andromeda-gay @equus-meretrix @the-king-of-blue @spacebabesupernova @kagicannotsee @doraconia @hello-starlight @yandere-romanticaa @skyboo @uwu-dreams @kay8675 @meltyans @drawbud @msyaoigodkanna @roseinbloom02 @hoodiedevil @ikemenisruiningme @miiluka @hello-selene94 @moondustinhislungs @nosochek-3o @epher-posts @monoshii-wasu @rosavine @bitch-let-me-die @raychel @pumpkiethepie @hypmicluvbot @theallpowerfulrosami @mmquinno @mayunnaise21 @ruvelise
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland scenarios#twst#nessun dorma
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So. This was a.. detailed dream I had a week or more ago? the one I referenced in an ask... and I feel like writing out that scene because hoo... so many thoughts
--------
It was dark.
Night had fallen. It was late, most people have gone back into their humble homes and gone to sleep.
That wasn’t the case with the castle. Guards stood... well, guarded near the front gates, and near all other entrances on the ground. Not to mention, the ones making regular rounds inside the castle itself. All to keep the royals safe from anyone who wanted to get in for one reason or another. Theft, murder, sabotage....
...kidnapping...
Anyone would have a hard time just attempting to get in.
...
A raven watches from the distance, tilting its head this way and that, surveying the castle.
It flies, with its feathers as black as the night sky, no one sees it. And who would take another glance at a bird flying around?
It perches on the railing of a balcony on the second floor of the castle, looking down at the guards that stood vigilant at their stations. Inside, there was nary a soul passing by.
The raven hops down from its rest- suddenly becoming enveloped in shadows and darkness. Its form warps, and where the raven was now stood a tall imposing figure as the shadow’s creep away from him.
A grin would be first to come to attention if anyone was there to witness it. A cloak covered most of his body, apart from his hands and face, where you could see that this man was a skeleton. His hands weren’t made of flesh but instead finger-like phalanges, with “palm” made entirely of bone that resembled a human’s, with tendon-like shapes connecting the fingers to the base of the hand. His head was not a head as you knew it, but instead a skull. It wasn’t shaped in how you’d expect a skull to be either, more rounded with less edges.
But if you thought that’d make him look less scary, think again. His sockets were empty, empty of emotion. The grin he wore was nothing short of uncanny, as he approached the doors to the inside of the castle.
The door shuts with a quiet “clack” and he looks around. When he doesn’t see any guards he runs quietly from one hall to the other.
He’s silent, his footsteps not making so much as a whisper, a thud, against the floor.
Every time a guard or more comes by he slides into the corners and walls, hidden in the shadow, covered by the darkness. He smiles to himself. He could kill these guards if he wanted to, but that’d be such a mess... when others find the body, more would come, and that would make his little trip so much more difficult than it needs to be.
He bounds across the carpeted floors, where he didn’t have to be so careful about the sounds he’s making. Sliding by hallways like the wind, taking detours into various rooms whenever he needed to; a clear map of the castle in his head, heading towards his destination.
were there always so many guards walking the halls? Sans, the skeleton in black, thought to himself as he sweeps to the right, near a support. then again... i never had to worry about being spotted by them before.
Ah yes... old memories of when he still lived in this place. Even after all these years, he still remembers where everything is, just like he remembers all the little scars that litter his phalanges.
And it’s come especially useful now... as he ascends a flight of stairs, passing by unsuspecting men who were supposed to be protecting something... someone very important... he finally spots a familiar wooden door.
He doesn’t waste time, only making quick looks here and there before he darts to it from the landing, opening the door and quickly making his way inside.
He would’ve closed the door immediately if he didn’t also the one he’s been after for so long now.
The light of the torches outside, coming in through the crack of the door falls almost perfectly on your face, highlighting it. You had your hands under your cheek, your eyes shut, a small smile on your face. You seemed to be in such a peaceful sleep... your eyelids fluttered a little and your brows knitted from the sudden light of the outside.
Sans slowly, brought his hand back to find the door and quietly pushed it close, unwilling to glance away from the fair maiden his eyesockets had fallen on.
“oh... (y/n)...” He sighed lovingly, his grin turning just a little bit warmer, making his way towards your bed; his cloak brushing the floor.
He bends his knees so his chest was to your bedside- to take a closer look at you.
it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, love... He reaches out to touch your face, but thought better of it, his phalanges flinching. He might wake you up with contact... he didn’t want to alarm you.
Instead, he brought his hands down to the thick blankets that covered you. Of course, you were still so... fragile. Unlike him. You couldn’t stand the cold... not as much as him.
His turned his head, seeing how the blankets were draped over your body, he could see just a little bit of how you were shaped. His eyesockets trailed up, and settled on your hair. They reflected a bit of the moonlight that was quietly glowing through the windows. It looked somewhat shiny... like silk.
He looked down to your face. The tips of his phalanges sank a little into the bedcovers, seeing just how soft your skin looked. It’s always looked soft to him, but now? Now it looked almost ethereal under the pale light. Your brows had relaxed and with the little, innocent smile on your face... oh, it’s like he was falling in love all over again. His grin widens dreamily, and his sockets go down to your hands. They were under your head, but one had moved to the pillow, giving him a look. They looked so soft too... so soft and delicate compared to his hands of bone. So small too... he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers against the back of your hand, he wanted to kiss your knuckles, he wanted to-
...
His grin falls.
He’s... always wanted to hold your hands.
Back when he was still a proper member of this castle... when he was still one of the king’s mages, often times advising him in anything magic related. Whenever he thought of the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with, it had always been you. He wasn’t really sure what started it. Maybe it was seeing you walk around the mezzanine so often as he was discussing with the other mages around the table below. Maybe it’s because of how sweet your smile looked. Maybe it was the way you were always so friendly to everyone, including the servants. He’s not sure. He’s always found himself staring at you whenever he saw you. Watching how your dress flows around you, the little movements your hands made when you were talking, listening to the sound of your laugh. He’s only talked to you once or twice, and he’s sure you’d forget about him...
There were plans. When the mages were looking to be betrothed, some had already known how taken he was with you (though they didn’t know to what extent). The lord had seemed interested too, as having such a powerful magic-user in the main bloodline would be ideal.
And... and then...
“YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF HER!” A voice booms through his skull, echoing from the past.
He found out how to use dark magic, and found himself to be quite skilled in it. He always thought light magic was fleeting... they had this way of slipping away from him whenever he used it. It never felt... powerful enough. But when he used dark magic... it was exhilarating. He’s never felt so much before. He knew it was taboo... he knew it was feared... but what is fear but something people don’t understand?
He saw potential in something everyone has always had an aversion to. Dark magic is dangerous if it’s let out of hand, if the user doesn’t know what to do with it. But he was learning. It came to him easier than it did with light magic. He was trying to use it to the benefit of everyone. And how did they repay him?
“Sans of Snowdin! Is it true you have been dabbling in the arts of dark magic?”
“y... yes... but! i swear to you brother! i only have the kingdom’s best interest in soul! i-i-”
“SILENCE mage! how can you say such a thing when you have been using such vile magic?””
“i... i’ve learnt how to use it, to control it! dark magic has aspects light magic doesn’t h-have, i could use it for good! i wasn’t trying to do anything treasonous!”
“That would sound honorable if we could believe you, Sans. Dark magic cannot be good. It’s in its nature. Normally we would try to purify the being corrupted by it but... you knew what it is, Sans. It is so sad to see the king’s finest mage turn out like this in the end.”
“n... no! you can’t... you can’t exi-!”
“Sans.” The lord stood. “I hereby exile you. Think of it as mercy, you could have been executed.”
The only thing on his mind was you... you were going to be his, he was so so patient... he waited for his bride, he was going to be happy with you, please...
“And to think I thought you worthy to marry my darling (Y/n)...”
“no... no!!”
They denied him your hand. They denied him you. He wasn’t trying to turn against them... he was loyal to the king..! And they cast him aside for using forbidden magic...
Your gentle hands... your warm embrace... your sweet smile...
Everything he was denied.
Tendrils of shadow danced across the ground as Sans bared his teeth to those who betrayed him. People he once called brothers... all turning against him when they found out he used dark magic in his lonesome.
“they could never keep me away from you, love...” He murmured, as he stood to his full height, and reached towards you. A hand took the blanket from his side and brought it under you while the other cupped you from the other side, picking you up, cradling you. He made sure the blanket was tucked around you properly, so you wouldn’t be cold.
“my sweet beloved (y/n)...” His hands shook, as he finally allowed himself to brush your hair away from your face, shivering as he felt your skin under his fingers. “you’ve always belonged to me. always... and i’ll love you with all of me. you’ll be safe with me, love...”
It’s apparent Sans got lost in the way your body settled in his arms, the sleepy sounds you made as you got comfortable. Turning your face to the warmth, cheek against his cloak, one hand gripping onto the cloth.
Because he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps, jolting when he heard the sound of a knock.
“My lady....” came the voice of your maid. “Is there something the matter? I hear voices in your room.”
Sans didn’t know what to expect- but in hindsight he should’ve guessed the maid would open the door without your answer. You’ve always been much more open with the workers in the castle, openly casual and making friends with all of them; though he didn’t know you saw your maid as more of your caretaker, and told her to come in your room if she thought something was wrong.
The door creaked open and light flooded the room, before settling on Sans. She made a gasp and Sans could see the color drain from her face when she saw the monstrous figure cradling you in its arms.
She saw him grin, not saying a word. Nor did she, as the next thing she did was to turn around and all but scream for the guards.
Many came running- but they were too late. When they came back, with the door still ajar, no one was inside. Not a trace of the monster or the lady was left, except for the way the bedsheets were messier than usual and that it lacked blankets. All was almost too quiet, apart from the almost silent wind blowing in through the now open window, the curtains lightly waving in it.
#dream post#sinister thoughts#...?#is it???#its just me writing a detailed version of a dream though kdsjhf#i dreamt the part where sans got into my room while i was sleeping#and got mad about thinking about being denied 'my hand'#i'll be honest i did minimal research for this... as this mostly came to me in a dream#so please dont be mad if there are some/a lot of inaccuracies when it comes to european/english(??) royalty kingdom stuff dsfkj
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((Happy birthday @dannikathewomanika! I got the impression you liked pirate aus, so have this:))
Sirius had never been more grateful that the Potters had taken him in. Of course, the time he ran away from Grimmauld and they welcomed him on their ship with open arms might be a strong contender, but it was definitely second-place.
Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s son and his wife had long since gotten their own ship and crew, and Sirius had tagged along. James and Lily Potter were the best captains one could ask for, really, Sirius thought to himself as he looked around him.
The entire crew of the ‘Marauders’ was gathered, immediately after Sirius had simply told his captains that he had something to tell them.
“Well,” Marlene, their carpenter, said, “what is it?”. She was a tall, pale woman, with a scar across her left cheek. If one were to ask, she’d tell a different story every time, each one more heroic than the last, but the entire crew knew it was because she had managed to somehow fall face-first into a nail.
Sirius stalked into the middle of the room, and swooped all bottles and glasses off the table. He carefully laid his newly-purchased map down, and unfolded it. “This,” Sirius said, pointing at the left corner, “is where Tom Riddle is located.”
Everyone in the room sat up straighter. They had been chasing Tom Riddle, a truly horrid pirate captain, for four years now, without ever even getting the slightest idea where he could be.
“Do you- Are you sure?” Mary asked. Even the hands of their surgeon, which had been steady while stitching them up countless times, fiddled now with her hijab.
Sirius’ voice was strong, and unwavering. “I am.”
James’ eyes met his. “What’s your source?”
“I got a letter while I was gathering our supplies. It’s from Reggie- Regulus.”
Lily extended a hand. Sirius wordlessly handed it over to her.
She whistled between her teeth. “Sirius, this is big.”
“Believe me, I know.”
Remus Lupin stood up. He was only a navigator, yet he had the most scars out of all of them. “How can we trust him? Hasn’t Regulus been with the Death Eaters all this time?”
“I trust Sirius.” Lily said, her voice cold. At that moment she wasn’t their friend, not the Lily who had had rum coming out of her nose when she laughed too hard at something Marlene had said, but she was their captain.
Lupin sat down, his jaw locked.
As everyone started to file out of the door, to their own quarters, Lily stopped next to Sirius. “James and I are trying to get pregnant.”
“Oh.” Sirius said, completely baffled.
“So you better make sure our trust isn’t misplaced. Our child needs his parents and his godparent.”
“Right.” Sirius said, still busy processing the earlier information. “Wait- Godparent? I would be their godfather?”
But Lily was already gone, with a swish of her red hair and a twinkle of her laugh.
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh a little to himself, too. A godfather, him.
~~~
When he emerged on the deck, there was someone already standing there. “Lupin.” Sirius said.
“Sirius.”
Lupin had been a relatively new addition, but good navigators were hard to come by, and he was good. He’d been getting along well with everyone, until now.
“I suppose I should apologize.” Lupin said, looking out wistfully over the ocean. “It’s just-- I quite dislike Tom Riddle, you see.”
Sirius huffed a laugh, walking forward until he was standing next to Lupin, mirroring his position. “Don’t we all?”
Lupin painted quite the pretty picture, his brown curls waving a little in the wind, his face illuminated by the setting sun. Sirius quickly turned his head back to the sea.
“Ah, my hate for him feels a little more... personal. Fenrir Greyback- I assume you’ve heard of him?”
“I have.”
“He attacked me when I was five.”
Sirius turned to look at Remus so fast it was a surprise he didn’t break anything. Sirius had known of Greyback’s underhanded tactics, who hadn’t? Still, that did not make this any less horrible.”
Remus still looked perfectly calm. At Sirius’ surprised stare, he said: “At Riddle’s command, I mean.”
“Yeah. Yeah I got that.”
A silence fell, for a while.
“I’m sorry.” Sirius said.
Remus shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault. It’s a long time ago, anyway.”
Once again, their conversation halted, no matter how much Sirius would love to keep talking to this intriguing man (he had forgiven Remus the moment he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. Or maybe when the last bit of sun had hit his face just so. Or maybe-- well, suffice to say, Sirius harboured no ill feelings towards him)
Suddenly, Remus stretched. “Well,” he said, and Sirius only looked because that’s the polite thing to do when someone talks to you, and not at all because of the small sliver of skin that showed, “I’ll make sure we get to Riddle’s ship in time, alright?”
This was accompanied by a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, so he could only nod mutely, and look on as Remus walked away.
~~~
“You know what, Black? You might regret it if you don’t make your move now.”
Sirius looked at Dorcas, their master gunner, who was lounging casually against the mast, her hair falling over her shoulders in tight twists. Then he followed her line of sight to where Remus and Marlene were talking. “Are you talking to me, or to yourself?”
With a quick movement of her shoulders, Dorcas pushed herself back on her feet. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Remus smiled at Marlene’s animated face, his body language relaxed.
“I’ll make you a deal, Meadowes. If we come out of this alive, we confess.”
“Deal. If you die, though, I’ll kill you.”
They shook hands.
The Marauders had a lot of allies, but there was an enormous chance they would be noticed if they went with more than one ship. According to Regulus, there was only one ship anyway, safely anchored for the night.
Sirius would be the first to enter, together with Dorcas. They wanted to keep the element of surprise, Sirius could make his steps so silent they called him Padfoot, Dorcas was their best fighter, it only seemed the most logical decision.
Regulus would be taking guard duty tonight so they should, hopefully, be able to stay hidden for a while.
~~~
“You did get us here in time.” Sirius says, because he still hasn’t managed to silence that little voice in him that’s begging him to say something, anything, to the man in front of him.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” There are bags under Remus’ eyes, and Sirius doesn’t exactly know what a navigator’s job entails but he’s pretty sure you don’t need to run yourself ragged.
“You did, you did. But why not go to sleep now? We only attack during nightfall.”
Sirius has spent a long time cataloguing Remus’ every smile. This one seems to be his typical half-grin, only the complete lack of sleep is making it seem... weirdly genuine. “You drive a hard bargain, Black.”
Sirius grins back unabashedly. “Wouldn’t be a good boatswain otherwise.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Remus puts up one hand to wave as he walks away. Sirius waves back, even though Remus’ back is turned to him.
That might be why he doesn’t notice Dorcas until she swings an arm around him. “God, you’re so gone for that guy.”
Sirius pushes her back with a smile. “Like you’re one to talk.”
“True, true.” Dorcas sighs, “I’ve fought countless people, but she just- smiles or whatever and I’m defenseless.”
Sirius snorts, “That reminds me, didn’t you tell her the chair she made was, and I quote, “very sittable”?”
“In my defense, it was!”
“At least you’re not constantly complaining about ‘bumpy’ chairs.”
Dorcas looks up at the sky dreamily. “Yeah... Wait, do you think she did it because of that? Because of me?”
“What other reason is there? She must... like you.”
“I can’t wait until today is over so I can know for sure.”
Silently, Sirius agrees.
~~~
Sirius likes being the boatswain, he does. It’s fun haggling with people and then stealing it from under their noses, he likes teasing Peter about the amount of potatoes they need, and he likes being able to, sometimes, get Remus chocolate (out of his own pocket, of course, although he doesn’t tell Remus that).
It still doesn’t compare to this. Feeling as invisible as a shadow in the night simply stills a hunger in Sirius he doesn’t always realize he has. For a moment all worries are forgotten, his mind as clear as the night sky, except for his goal.
His and Dorcas’ boots barely make a sound as they walk over the deck. Regulus greets them with a limp body in his hands.
“Watch duty is always done in pairs,” he explains.
Sirius cringes a little at the intrusion of the silence, but nods.
“Dorcas,” Regulus says, “it would be better if you went first. I need to talk to Sirius.
“Make it quick.”
“What is it?” Sirius hisses.
“Riddle keeps a part of his seven treasures here.”
Sirius’ eyes widen. Riddle’s treasures were each extremely valuable and highly sought-after. “Which one?”
“The medal. It contains the location of the other ones.”
Bringing Riddle to justice, or whatever, meant nothing if he could immediately bail himself out. Besides, having a bit of extra cash was always good. “Fuck. Okay. Lead the way.”
After they had walked for a bit, Sirius couldn’t help but ask: “Why couldn’t Dorcas come with us?”
Regulus shrugged, illuminated in strange shapes by the torch he was holding. “I don’t know her. And I didn’t- I didn’t want to see what they’d do to our parents.”
They walk the rest of the way in silence, until they arrive at the treasure room. Bellatrix is guarding it, because of course she is, his cousin has always been a bit too crazy to be anything but loyal to Riddle.
There are two other guards, but before Sirius knows it Regulus has already said: “I’ll distract them.” and then Regulus is suddenly gone, attacking one of the guards quickly and then running away, two of the guards hot on his heels.
Sirius doesn’t even have the time to stop him. In a reflex, he’d stepped forward, and this is when Bellatrix saw him. Now there’s a sword at his throat. “Long time no see, Siri.”
Sirius moves his knife to the hilt to the sword, and pushes it back in one big movement, immediately after aiming for her heart. “I had so hoped it would be an even longer time.”
Bellatrix eyes glitter maniacally as she deflects his knife. “Tough luck.”
“You know,” Sirius says while trying to hook his foot behind her ankle, “You could just let me in. It would spare both of us a lot of time.”
Bellatrix sidesteps him, and then her sword is suddenly coming awfully close to his stomach. “But where’s the fun in that?”
The sword brushes his shirt as it moves past him, and Sirius fights on in silence.
Until he hears footsteps. He looks up at the same time as Bellatrix does, covered in sweat and with blood on his clothes, and he sees Remus.
Lovely, beautiful, amazing Remus.
“Duck!” Remus shouts, and Sirius does so without a second thought, and then there are two swords above his head.
Lucky for him, Remus’ is the one that strikes true. Bellatrix seems almost surprised at the sword in her arm, which gives Sirius the chance to knock her out.
As soon as she’s fallen to the ground, Sirius clasps Remus’ arms. “You’re here? How did you find me?”
“I-” Remus says, letting his eyes fall shut and his forehead settle against Sirius. “You weren’t where you said you would be.”
“You missed me?” it was meant to be teasing, really, but it came out awfully sincere.
“Of course,” Remus whispers back hoarsely, opening his eyes again.
Sirius looks back at him, and then he kisses him.
It’s messy, and rushed, and absolutely perfect. Remus lips are soft but chapped, and while Riddle’s medal is right behind him, Sirius thinks he already has the greatest treasure the world has to offer in his arms.
#also dan thanks very much for warning me a few days in advance#i understand why you write them pirate aus are such fun!#wolfstar#remus lupin#sirius black#I hope you buy some good yarn!!#yes this ending is very cheesy but endings are HARD okay#james potter#lily potter#jily#dorlene#sorry for inaccuracies ALL the research i did was: what kind of jobs pirate ship#wolfstar fanfiction#wolfstar fluff#Peter simply always carries a potato in his pants#iykyk#peter pettigrew#mary macdonald#marauders#marauders era#this is the reasons you couldn't ask questions or read over my action scenes aksdlkjha#wouldnt want to spoil the surprise!
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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.
Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr
Chapter 13 full text & content warnings below the cut.
CWs for Chapter 13: all the usual Buried-related warnings apply (claustrophobia, inability to breathe, etc.); panic/anxiety symptoms; just a smidgen of internalized aphobia; brief mention of past passive suicidal ideation; internalized victim blaming; canon-typical trauma (including discussion of victims targeted by the Fears as children).SPOILERS through S5.
Chapter 13: Center
The darkness and overwhelming pressure of the Buried make it nigh impossible to orient oneself. The only conceivable directions are forward, down, into, deeper. Jon’s only choice, when he has one at all, is to keep moving – and so he does, digging and clawing his way through the muck, making a transient pathway for himself as best he can.
“Daisy?” It comes out as a rasp. He tries to swallow, but succeeds only in upsetting his already-sore throat. It feels as though the dirt and debris have taken up permanent residence there, clogging his airway just enough to leave him chronically short of breath without cutting off his oxygen supply entirely. “Daisy, can you reach me?”
“Jon,” comes the weak reply, “I’m – I don’t know where – I c-can’t – can’t see –”
“I hear you,” Jon says. “I’m here, I’m coming to you. Just – keep talking, and –”
As he talks, he inhales a cloud of dust, dissolving into wracking coughs.
“Jon? Jon, are you still there?” For a long moment, Jon cannot speak. Daisy’s next words are steeped in panic. “Where are you? I can’t… p-please be there, please –”
“I’m still here,” Jon forces out hoarsely, stretching his arm forward as far as it will go. “I’m not going anywhere. Follow my voice, I – I think I’m almost –”
Chill fingertips brush against his, and he throws his weight forward as much as possible. He hooks her fingers in his and pulls, and with a burst of energy he manages to clasp her clammy hand in his.
“There you are,” he says, smiling weakly.
“You’re real,” Daisy says in disbelief, crushing his hand in a bruising grip. “You’re real.”
“I am.” He intertwines their fingers, as grateful as she is for a hand to hold. “I’m here, Daisy.”
“Daisy,” she says dreamily. “Yeah. Daisy. That’s me.” A pause. “Just – just me.”
Jon closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. There are no signs that the Hunt still has its claws in her. He had no reason to think that reaching her a couple weeks earlier than before would change anything, but there was still that nagging doubt.
“J-just me,” she says again, but this time there’s a waver in her voice. “Just – alone –”
“No,” Jon says hurriedly, squeezing her hand several times in quick succession, “not – not alone. Not anymore.”
“Yeah.” She grasps his hand even more tightly, as if to reassure herself.
“I’m here.”
“Yeah,” she says again, and this time it sounds like she’s starting to believe it.
“How – how are you?” Jon cringes. It’s as stupid a question now as it was the last time. Moreso, seeing as he’s already heard the answer. “S-sorry. That’s – probably obvious.”
Daisy answers anyway, likely glad of the chance to talk to someone else after so long in isolation.
“I – I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…” She trails off, hesitating. “But it’s… it’s quiet here? I can’t…”
She seems to be struggling to find the words.
“You can’t feel the blood,” he supplies.
“Y-yeah. How did you…”
“I can’t feel the Eye, either. It’s… it’s just me. All me.”
“Where are we?”
“In the Coffin. The Buried. It’s… the powers don’t have much sway within one another’s domains. The Hunt, the Eye – they can’t reach us here.”
“The Hunt,” she echoes.
“Yes. You’re a Hunter.”
“I… I guess I was. But – not here.”
No, not here. But once they leave here…
Stop, he tells himself. One thing at a time. Escape the Buried, then worry about the Hunt.
“Come on.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Can’t – can’t move, and – and even if I could, there’s no way out –”
“No, I – I can get us out. I have a plan.”
“Is this like all your other plans?”
Jon chuckles, but it comes out as a wheeze.
“Yes and no. But – but don’t worry, it’s – I can do this. I just – need to – to find it.”
But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s… nothing there.
“Come on,” he says under his breath, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “Come on, where are you?”
There’s nothing there. Why is there nothing there?
“Just need to… need to focus. Just – focus, think of…”
Think of Martin. Martin is your anchor. Clever, brave, loyal, compassionate Martin.
He was kind to you even when you didn’t deserve it; he cared for you even though you did everything you could to push him away. He reached out to you through the Lonely when you were at your most monstrous to remind you of the humanity you’d thought you lost. He made you want to do better, to be the person that he saw when he looked at you.
You followed him into the Lonely because you love him and because he deserved to know it. You need to return to him now, because this version of him doesn’t yet know that he is loved. If you don’t get back to him, if you don’t reach out to him – he’ll get lost, and he –
Jon’s breath hitches. The fear is starting to move in as inexorably as the earth surrounding them, settling cold and heavy in his gut.
Stop that, he tells himself. Just think about Martin, not the worst case scenario.
Everyone underestimates him, because he spent his entire life striving for the perfect balance between useful and unobtrusive. But he’s not helpless; he’s not a pushover. He took master manipulator Jonah Magnus by surprise; he fooled Peter Lukas for months. Sometimes, you think that Martin Blackwood could outmaneuver the Web if he cared to. If anyone could, it would be him. You don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive yourself for taking so long to notice.
No, Jon tells himself once more, recognizing the warning signs of a guilt spiral. That won’t help. Redirect.
In those early days after the ritual, you briefly defaulted to your old habits, withdrawing and shutting him out. He stood up to your brooding, gave your self-loathing no refuge in which to thrive, because he saw right through your sharp tongue to the vulnerable parts of you that it was meant to hide.
He is intuitive, stubborn, and patient in the best of ways.
You have a tendency to stare. You always have; you typically don’t notice you’re doing it. After you became the Archivist, it went from being an awkward habit to evidence of your inhumanity: all eyes, always watching, always demanding more, more, more until every secret is exposed and any semblance of privacy has been demolished.
But it was never just the Eye urging you to record things. You know from experience that nothing lasts forever, that anyone and anything can disappear without a moment’s notice – sometimes leaving no trace, no memory that they ever existed. It only makes sense that you would develop a compulsion to document everything for posterity. The tape recorders were only the most recent manifestation of that preexisting obsession. Before that, you made lists, you took pictures, you wrote on your hands – and, of course, you stared.
During your first few days together at the safehouse, Martin called attention to the staring. You were mortified, launched into a rambling apology – but he shut it down, reassured you that he was only teasing, that he didn’t mind it, that it was… endearing, in a way. And once you were given permission, you began to consciously catalog every little detail.
He has thirty-six freckles on his face, seventeen on his hands, and constellations of them besides: on his back, on his shoulders, on his arms, on his belly. He blushes easily, and you love it, because you’ve never been good at reading body language, and you can always use a hint. His hair is soft, and the way he leans into it when you run your fingers through it – you think he would purr if he could. You were hesitant, at first, to spend too long looking at his eyes – but unlike most people, he showed no signs that he found eye contact with you unsettling.
You gave him permission to stare, too. And he did. He never shied away from your scars. He liked looking at you – and you knew he was genuine when he said so, even though you didn’t understand it.
Martin is self-conscious about his size, painfully aware of how others see him. He rarely stands to his full height, tending to curl his shoulders in, maintain a curve to his spine, keep his arms pulled tight to his body: anything to avoid towering over others, anything to take up as little space as possible. He saw his stretch marks as flaws to be tolerated; spent most of his life assuming that his weight and soft edges made him unattractive.
There are so many things he hates about himself. It broke your heart a little, to see how difficult it was for him to believe that you like looking at him, that your boundaries regarding physical intimacy weren’t a comment on his desirability. (Though he never voiced that last concern, never wanted his own insecurities to make you feel self-conscious about that part of you. Never made you feel guilty or lacking or… or broken.)
You regularly stole his jumpers; the first time you did it, he went speechless and flustered at the casual domesticity of it all. You took turns ambushing one another with affirmations and small acts of affection like that. It became something of a challenge, a game: springing a pet name on one another here, placing a soft kiss on a hand there, delighting in the reactions it got. It’s strange how easily you settled into that routine, how natural it felt to let down your guard.
At night, he would curl around you like he belonged there, like there was no place he’d rather be – and it made you feel like you belong, too. The first time he held you in his arms, you realized that you’d never truly known what it was to feel safe until that moment – and isn’t that its own special kind of vulnerability, isn’t it such a cliché? You still had nightmares, still jolted awake several times throughout the night frantic and disoriented – as did he – but it felt so much more endurable with someone to coax you back to reality.
When you first led him out of the Lonely, it was still clinging to him. He couldn’t understand what you saw in him, any more than you could understand what he saw in you. You made it your mission to make him understand. And eventually, he did. It wasn’t the first time you told him you loved him, but one morning when you said it, he looked at you and his lips parted ever so slightly, and you could practically see the epiphany dawn in his eyes, and he whispered that he believed you.
You still haven’t found a word that accurately describes what you felt then. You kissed him, and hoped that it would say what words could not.
You never gave up on each other, even when you’d given up on your own selves. He never stopped caring for you, even when you were at your most fearsome and fearful. Despite everything, you communicated, you compromised, you comforted one another. You never stopped loving one another.
You lost him once before. You cannot lose him again. You need to find him. Why – why can’t you find him? Why can’t you feel him?
Jon feels his breath quickening, terror needling at the edges of his mind. He jumps slightly when Daisy speaks.
“Jon?”
“It’s – it’s okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “I’ve – I’ve done this once before. I can do this.”
There’s no rule saying he can only have one anchor, right?
He thinks of Georgie.
She took you in when you had nowhere else to go, even though you hadn’t spoken in years, even though you hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Staying with her felt more like home than you’d experienced in… you don’t know how long. It made you realize how much you missed her – her humor, her ingenuity, her confidence, her tenacity, her generosity, and, yes, even her perceptiveness, daunting though it may be at times. She speaks her mind and you can take her at her word. You can appreciate that, as someone who has always had trouble parsing the implicit and unspoken aspects of social life.
You trust her judgment, and she believes in you, and it makes you want to believe in yourself. You want to be there for her in the same way that she’s chosen to be there for you.
He thinks of Melanie.
You disliked one another at first meeting, even though – or perhaps because – you have so much in common. Over the years, you saw more sides to her. She’s brave and resolute, not just when it comes to fighting back, but when it comes to making the conscious decision to heal. She’s capable of kindness to those who are receptive to it. You’ve seen how she is with Georgie, how her hard edges relax, how her devotion is as fierce as her anger can be – perhaps moreso.
You know that she never deserved to suffer like she has. You know she deserves a happy ending. You want to try to reconcile with her. In your future, she went so far as to suggest that you could be friends. You think you would like that.
He thinks of Basira.
She’s had no one but herself to rely on for months. She feels trapped and alone; she hasn’t had a moment to grieve; she’s forced herself to compartmentalize and detach because if she breaks down, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put herself back together again. She’s told herself that her own comfort and wellbeing don’t matter. She has a job to do and she’s the only one left who is willing and able to do it. The only solid thing left in her life, the only thing giving her purpose is the mission. The mission is her anchor, because she’s lost everything else.
When she found out that Daisy was alive, she was almost angry with you for making her dare to hope. You promised that you would bring Daisy home to her, and you mean to keep that promise.
And Jon has a job to do, too, doesn’t he?
You need to stop Jonah Magnus, you need to –
His stomach clenches as the dread grips him.
Okay, no. Don’t – don’t think of Jonah. Not helpful, not helpful, not –
He reaches further. He tries to think of Naomi, of the Admiral, of –
The faraway rumbling starts up again.
“Jon,” Daisy says again, urgently, perched on the edge of panic right along with him.
This is forever deep below creation, some self-sabotaging part of his brain reminds him. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up –
“I just – I just – I just need to calm down,” he stammers. He can feel his pulse beating in his throat; would be hyperventilating if he could breathe at all. “I – I can’t think straight, and I just need to…”
He thinks back to the physical details of the world just outside the Coffin.
The arrangement of the tapes –
…CASE #0160919 sits 34.2 centimeters west of the Coffin, turned at a 45-degree angle. Approximately 20.6 centimeters south-southwest is CASE #0172904; the casing of its recorder is slightly cracked at the lower left corner. 2.4 centimeters to its right is CASE #0171302; the rewind button on the recorder housing it tends to stick…
– on the floor of his office –
…where fingernail scratches are still visible in the northwest corner of the room, left there by Enrique MacMillan on 4 November, 2003, after he gave his statement regarding his encounter with a Buried-touched Leitner…
– and the tape he left on his desk –
…on top of a softcover Moleskine notebook – black, 12.7 by 21 centimeters, ruled – belonging to Martin Blackwood; the Archivist knows every word written thus far on the 68 used out of 192 total pages within…
– and on that tape are pleas that went unanswered for far too long, laced with desperation and grief and rapidly dwindling hope –
…We really need you, Jon. We – I need you …
– but Jon cannot hear it anymore.
His mind wanders to the single folded sheet of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. A second message for Martin, to be read only in the event that Jon doesn’t return. A transcript, to be precise.
On their way to the Panopticon, they had been separated when they traversed the Lonely’s domain. Jon had searched frantically, resisting the urge to simply Know because he had promised. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel right forcing Martin to See him the way he did before. It was Martin’s domain, and he had the right to decide for himself whether to leave it behind. Even if Jon had wanted to, though, he suspected that he wouldn’t have been able to actually find Martin this time unless he wanted to be found. And in the end, he did.
Just before Jon found him, he managed to catch the tail end of Martin’s statement. Naturally, the Archive memorized every word and dutifully filed it away without any conscious effort or consent on Jon’s part.
…I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not Lonely anymore; I am not Lonely anymore. I want to have friends. I – no, I have friends. I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget…
Before he entered the Coffin, Jon copied it down and left it behind. Just in case. Just in case something goes wrong. If he goes missing in action for too long, he trusts that eventually someone will clear out his desk, find it, and hopefully pass it along to its intended recipient.
It was a last-ditch effort to impart the truth: that a future exists wherein Martin isn’t Lonely; that he can be and is and deserves to be cared for; that it isn’t just an unattainable fantasy. And, most importantly, Jon is not the only one who can provide that, nor is Jon alone enough to fulfill that need. In the end, Martin chose to turn his back on the Lonely. He can do it again.
There’s every chance that it was a meaningless gesture, but Jon doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try – and if he does get lost down here, he’ll be forced to live with himself for as long as the Buried itself exists.
But Jon doesn’t want to leave Martin alone with that inexplicable scrap of statement, hoping that it’s enough to get the point across. Jon has to get home. He has to; there’s no other choice –
“Jon?” Daisy says again. “You sound like you’re… what – what’s wrong?”
“Sorry, I’m – I’m just… I can’t – I can’t feel my anchor.”
“Anchor?”
“Y-yeah. Something to ground me, help me feel the way out. It’s – there’s a void where it should be, and…” His short exhale shudders on the way out. “I think – I think we might be here for awhile longer.”
“N-not alone, though,” Daisy says, almost questioningly.
“No. No, not alone. And – and I can still get us out, I think,” he adds hurriedly. “I just – I need to… I need to come down from the panic, and it’s hard to do that when I can’t – I can’t breathe –“
His breath catches and he closes his eyes. Stop, he tells himself, you’re – you’re spiraling, talking yourself into a panic. Just… listen – listen to the quiet.
“Jon?”
“Still – still here,” he says, squeezing her hand again. “I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise.”
“Do you – if you need a break from – from whatever you’re doing…” She falters for a moment before blurting out: “C-can we… can we talk? I haven’t – I just want someone to hear me.”
“Of course. I’m listening.” When Daisy doesn’t reply, he offers a gentle prompting. “Daisy?”
“I’m – it’s difficult. I can’t find the words.”
“Would it help if I… ask?” The last time, it did help her get her thoughts out.
“Y-yeah,” she says with only a slight delay. “Do your… thing.”
“Right,” he says. For a moment, he worries that he’ll have difficulty concentrating long enough to compel an answer, but his mind clears almost as soon as he opens his mouth. Of course. “How are you feeling?”
The question buzzes like static on his tongue on its way out.
“S-scared. I – I’m – I’m s-scared…”
Daisy’s words do not deviate from the last time he was here, but he does not interrupt her as she speaks. He latches onto her voice, focuses all of his attention on her story, and tries to ground himself in the present.
“Y-you know what I thought, when I woke up here? I thought this was hell. I – I was dead, and I was in hell. And I - I knew I deserved it.” Daisy stifles a sob as she nears the end of her statement. “I don’t want t-to b-be a s-sadistic predator again. I – I don’t want to hobble around like some – pathetic wounded prey here. I don’t know which would be worse. But I’m scared now – that I won’t ever get the choice.”
One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice, he told her last time. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.
Now, though, he’s not so sure. Or, rather, now he thinks it isn’t quite that simple.
“It’s… complicated,” Jon starts slowly. “Choice, I mean. We all have choices, but – but when all the alternatives are unendurable, or impossible to achieve, or – or even conceptualize, then… well, it’s not a fair choice, is it? Sometimes because that’s just – how it is, and sometimes by design. There – there are people, and – and things out there that will abuse their power to deceive you, keep you ignorant about things that would affect your decisions. Or – or convince you that you have no options, no autonomy – or even that you can’t trust your own judgment, your own senses. Some choices can hardly be called choices at all.”
He begins to grind his teeth as he considers his next words, but stops as soon as he feels the grit between his molars when he bites down. There are a lot of things to hate about the Buried, but its refusal to allow him to engage in any of his usual nervous habits definitely adds insult to injury.
“You say you deserve to be here, but – do you think you deserved to be marked by the Hunt in the first place? Because one thing I’ve learned is… most people who become Avatars – we don't necessarily do anything to deserve the attention of the things that take notice of us. To be put in these positions, to be given impossible choices about – about things we have no right to decide in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems that a common thread is… well, um, I think Tim hit the nail on the head, actually? In his testament before the Unknowing, he – he said, ‘The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it.’”
“You remember that verbatim?”
“It’s – it’s an Archivist thing.” Well, technically. Jon can’t access the Archive right now, but some statements have looped so many times in his head that he has every word memorized by now. “But the point is that our transgressions, they… the punishment often doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”
Daisy is quiet, so Jon continues.
“Uh, Jane Prentiss, for instance – stumbled upon a wasps’ nest in her attic, and then the Corruption infested her. In her original statement, she was afraid of what was happening to her, she was asking for help, but it… it was slowly hollowing her out. Appealed to her insecurities, whispered to her that it was the only thing that could love her, that wouldn’t abandon her. Maybe eventually she embraced it on her own, but at that point, how much of her was left to make that choice?
“And – and Michael Crew. He was struck by lightning when he was eight. The Spiral never stopped stalking him after that. He spent his childhood in fear, obsessively sought out information about – lightning, and fractals, because understanding it felt like the only way to resist a thing that feeds on uncertainty.”
Jon can relate to that, can’t he? He was always curious, but his desire to know and understand things became more obsessive after he encountered his first monster – as if he could solve any problem if only he learned enough about it. But it was never enough, and that impulse never actually kept him safe. It only offered him a flimsy illusion of control, which was something he desperately needed after the Web showed him what it was like to have none. Still, an ineffective coping mechanism was better than not coping at all – or so he told himself then.
“When Mike realized that there was no escape from the supernatural once he’d been marked by it,” Jon continues, “he decided that the next best thing was choosing which Fear to submit to – to serve. Obsessively sought out Leitners until he found the Vast, and… it offered him safety. The most basic of human needs, something he hadn’t known since he was a child. The things he did to feed his patron were – indefensible, but I can’t help thinking about the person he might have been, if the Spiral hadn’t come into his life. He… he was only eight. How is a child supposed to process something that even an adult would have trouble coping with? I’m sure many children don’t even physically survive an encounter with one of the Fears, but even those that do… they never actually escape, do they?”
Daisy makes an indistinct little noise in her throat. Jon can’t Know for certain, but he imagines she’s thinking of her own first encounter with the Hunt. When enough time has passed that she doesn’t seem ready to say as much, Jon continues.
“And there’s – there’s Oliver Banks, he’s an Avatar of the End. He just started having dreams one day, became a death prophet. As far as I can tell, nothing provoked it. It just… happened. And early on, he tried to use that ability to help people, but… the powers granted us as Avatars, they aren’t for helping or saving anyone. When you realize that, after a long string of failures, you start to become… despondent – numb, even. Maybe some misstep along the way piqued the End’s interest in him, or maybe it was completely arbitrary. I don’t know. I don’t know that Oliver does, either.”
It’s difficult to speak at length here, and Jon’s speech is punctuated by frequent gasps and stops and starts, but he plows ahead. Granted, he’s always had a tendency toward intense, rapidfire speech whenever he gets invested in a topic of interest, but it’s also that he needs to cover as much ground as he can as quickly as possible. There’s no telling when the Buried will constrict again. Sometimes there are long intervals of relative peace; other times, the bouts of crushing pressure come one after the other in a barrage. The inconsistency makes the dread all the more potent: you can never predict when the walls will close in.
“And Helen,” he says, moving right along, “before she became the Distortion, she opened a door. That’s all. Most people would have probably done the same. A door that wasn’t there before, that can’t be there – of course the human mind wants to test its perceptions, make sense of the discrepancy. Which is exactly what the Distortion preys on. It let her escape its corridors, because it would make the fear that much more potent when it came for her again, when she realized that it had never actually let her go, that there was never any way to escape. It was… it was just playing with its food.”
Like with Benjamin Hatendi, Jon thinks. ‘The blanket never did anything.’
The Fears are never merciful. For an earthly predatory animal, the pain and fear of the prey are only relevant insofar as their utility in capturing it. Granted, the majority of animals may have no qualms about eating their prey alive so long as it’s incapacitated, no concept of putting their food out of its misery – but still, sustenance isn’t derived from the experience of the prey, only from its organic matter.
For the Powers, though… terror is the food source. If anything, the misery is deliberately drawn out. The suffering is primary to the meal.
“I still don’t know how much of Helen Richardson was left by the time she embraced her new existence and began feeding” – by the time she chose to stop feeling guilty, Jon notes privately – “but she never asked to be in that position to begin with. She just… opened a door.
“And you… all you did was trespass on a childhood dare, right? You and Calvin Benchley. I did hear the tape – of your interrogation with Elias. Maybe the Hunt chose the both of you, was deliberately waiting for you there. Or maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you… you did something that most children do at one point or another, exploring out bounds – I did plenty of that myself. And – and you’d done the same thing many times in the past, there was no reason to think that things would go any differently. But that time, that time you stumbled into something that most children – most people never do.”
Jon debates whether or not to share his own initiation into this world. He never told Daisy about it last time, but he knows – and Knows – about her childhood encounter. It seems only fair to include his own.
“Actually, I… I had a similar experience, when I was eight,” he admits, pushing through his habitual reservations. “Unlike Michael Crew, though, I was an active participant in my own fate. There’s no dodging a lightning strike, but me – I… I opened a book I shouldn’t have, knocked on a door I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just… not.”
“That’s a funny double standard,” Daisy says flatly.
“P-pardon?”
“Couldn’t you just as easily say that Crew could have chosen to not stand outside during a lightning storm?”
“He – he actually wanted to go inside, but his friend pressured him to keep playing,” Jon says, almost defensively. “By the time they decided to go in, it was too late.”
“Like I pressured Calvin.”
“That’s –” Jon gives an agitated little exhale. “It’s still different.”
“How?”
“Did you have a bad feeling about the dare, or was it just like any other day? You had no reason to think that things would go wrong. I… I knew that book was wrong, and I opened it anyway.” Daisy scoffs. “What?”
“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you’re capable of some truly infuriating mental gymnastics?”
Jon puffs out another exasperated breath before muttering, “Yes.”
In fact, she said almost the exact same thing to him the last time around. And Georgie – she used to say so all the time, especially when they were dating.
“You always do this,” she’d pointed out once during an argument, hands on her hips and a shrewd look in her eye. “Any time a conversation gets a little too uncomfortable for you, you just – throw your hands up, say it’s your fault and shut down, and nothing ever gets resolved. Why are you so eager to take the blame for things? Is it that it’s better than admitting there are some things you can’t control, or is it just easier than actually talking about your feelings?”
The answer was yes on both counts, and he had been angry with her for putting it into words. He’d already known on some level, but he studiously avoided that sort of introspection. Now that it had been verbalized, the knowledge would always be there, floating around in his mind – yet another thing to overanalyze, to obsess over, to ambush him in moments of doubt.
Since then he’s gotten better at communicating in healthy ways, but the self-blame thing… well, Martin still had to periodically call him out on it, right up until the end. It became a common refrain: “It’s still victim blaming even if you’re the victim, Jon.” The reminder did help – at least some of the time – but it wasn’t enough to undo a worldview that he’d spent his entire life internalizing.
“Y-yes,” he says again, less sullenly now, “I – I see your point.”
“Good. So – evil book?”
“A Leitner, yes. The Web.” Jon has no desire to go into all the gruesome details, not when he’s – when they’re both already being suffocated by fear. “And I only escaped through… I don’t know, some combination of mundane human cruelty and luck – or… or someone else’s misfortune, more like.” He gives a tired sigh. “Or it could have been deliberate interference by the Web, taking someone else in my place because it had other plans for me. I’ll never know the exact reason why. If there even is a reason.”
He pauses, expecting the Beholding’s characteristic objection to the idea that he should accept not knowing anything, before remembering with grim satisfaction that the Eye can’t reach him here. Nor can the Web, for that matter. A small mercy, but he’ll take it.
“But the experience led to an obsession with the supernatural. I suppose I thought that if – if I could just understand it, I could conquer the fear. It didn’t work, but an obsession like that – it persists regardless of whether it’s successful or productive or – or healthy. Eventually it led me to the Institute. Which led me… here, ultimately.” He bites his lower lip as he considers his next words. “I’m sure many of my choices along the way were mine alone, and – and I’m responsible for my actions regardless. But that first domino… it was just a restless child ignoring gut instinct, all because he needed to know.”
“Jon,” Daisy says, the hint of a warning growl underlying her tone.
“I – okay, yes, I know, I know. Double standards.” He takes a shallow breath before continuing. “My point is, most of us are just… unlucky isn’t the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. Sometimes the Fears seem to seek out victims who are already uniquely susceptible to them – people with phobias, or specific traumas. Other times it seems… arbitrary. And sometimes it seems like the difference between an average victim and those who eventually become Avatars is… compatibility, or – or in some cases, a sense of kinship, even.
“I’ve always been too curious for my own good, a natural fit for the Beholding. Jane talked about being seen as toxic, and it was the Corruption that found her. Annabelle Cane said she was well-versed in manipulation as a young child, the sort of gift that the Web favors. Jared Hopworth always had a sadistic streak, but the difference between him and any other bully is that he found The Boneturner's Tale. I… don’t really know what to make of Jude Perry. The way she told it, she always had the disposition for the Desolation. She would likely have been a nightmare with or without supernatural help, but there are plenty of people like that in the world. She just happened to be one of the few who caught the attention of the Lightless Flame.
“But – but I also don’t think preexisting compatibility is a requirement to be an Avatar. Some people really do just – stumble into it, probably. Grow into it, maybe, after enough exposure. Especially if the same Power keeps coming back.”
Jon can’t help thinking of the Distortion and its tendency to dog its victims for years. Helen said once that she couldn’t just force her victims into her corridors, that they had to open the door on their own. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Marcus MacKenzie refused to open the door every single time it appeared throughout his childhood and young adulthood. It started to take increasingly drastic measures: disguising itself as other things, at one point even opening up in the ground in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice until he already stepped over the ledge and gravity did its work. When that didn’t work, it took his father. And then, even after evading it for decades, Helen eventually took Marcus anyway. Choice didn’t come into it. It didn't matter how many times he walked away – it followed him wherever he went.
“Either way,” Jon continues, “whether it’s part of some grand plan or just happenstance, the Avatars… we catch the attention of something predatory, and it sinks its hooks into the vulnerabilities it finds. There are plenty of other people in the world who may have the same… flaws, or inclinations, or experiences, but most are lucky enough not to be drawn into this world. I’m not sure exactly what determines who is, but I don’t think it comes down to fairness, or deservedness, or – or some sort of cosmic punishment. I – I don’t think the universe works that way.
“And – and after we’ve been marked, maybe we can make choices along the way. But as far as I can tell, none of those choices ever lead to complete freedom from the Powers that lay claim to us. We’re still accountable for our actions; we can fight back, we can resist – but we’ll always be struggling against our natures. Sometimes it seems like there’s… there’s really no choice we can make where things actually turn out okay. Doesn’t mean we stop trying, or give up hope, but…” He pauses to gnaw on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. “It can be hard to ignore the fear when it’s become such an intrinsic part of you, is all. When it makes its hunger your own, and hollows you out if you don’t feed it. It can make the concept of choice seem… empty.”
When he trails off, Daisy blows out a forceful exhale.
“That was… a lot.”
“Surprised the Buried let me get it all out,” Jon says, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve… had a lot of time alone to ruminate.”
“I think I can rela-”
Daisy’s words are cut short when all at once the earth crashes down around them with a vengeance, as if exacting payment for the courtesy of staying its hand for so long. An indeterminate amount of time passes, weight pressing down on them from all sides, leaving no room for breath or words or thought. Jon focuses on their hands, still linked tightly together, the only anchor to be found here in the dark.
Eventually, the walls begin to withdraw in tiny increments. The sinister, sibilant shifting of soil is a constant, unknown variable – it sounds the same whether the earth is compacting or moving away, and often there is no way to tell until it’s already too close and pressing down. Jon can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, can hear Daisy’s gasping breaths overlapping his own.
“I was gonna kill you,” she blurts out eventually, breathless and rushed. “You know that?”
“Yes.”
“I – I don’t just mean that day in the woods,” she clarifies. “Af-after the mission, I was planning on killing you.”
“I know. You – you realized I wasn’t human. That I needed to die.”
“H-how did you –”
“I’ve been here once before. And – and I should apologize for the dreams, I –”
“Jon –”
“I know it’s not an excuse, but I never meant to compel you that time – didn’t even realize at the time that that was something I could do, and –”
“Jon –”
“I didn’t realize then that the dreams were real, and – and when I finally did, I still didn’t have any control over them, but I –”
“Jon! Shut up a minute.”
His mouth snaps shut a little too quickly and he winces as he bites down on the tip of his tongue. The metallic taste of blood just barely registers on his tongue in the few seconds it takes for the cut to heal.
“Just – back up,” Daisy says, toning down the intensity this time. “That thing you said about… you’ve ‘been here once before’? What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s… a long story. And difficult to believe.”
“Well, it’s –” Daisy huffs. “It’s not like we don’t have the time?”
“I suppose,” Jon sighs. He’s already told this story to the tape recorder at length, but… the idea of telling it to another person, in his own words this time, feels both terrifying and cathartic at the same time. It’s just – difficult to talk about, no matter how many times he recaps it. “Where to begin… oh, I should probably preface this with ‘time travel is real.’”
Daisy sounds far too nonchalant when she says, “Okay.”
“O-okay? That’s… that’s it?”
“Sorry if it’s not the dramatic response you expected. Encounter enough – vampires, and people made of sawdust, and – and this, here, and… I don’t know that anything would surprise me anymore.”
“R-right,” Jon replies, still a bit incredulous. “Well, I’m – I’m from the future.” He pauses again, but she doesn’t interject. “And… and I came back to stop the apocalypse.”
His inflection pitches up into a near-question on the last word, certain that this will be the point at which Daisy calls bullshit. Instead, she just gives a dry chuckle.
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Well, uh, actually…” Jon’s laugh manages to sound slightly hysterical despite its brevity. “Being stuck here actually does – put it on hold indefinitely?”
“H-how’s that?”
“Because – because it can’t go forward without the Archivist.” He takes a shallow breath. “Just like the Stranger has the Unknowing, the Eye has its own Ritual. I was – I am a part of it. I – I didn’t want to, Elias – he orchestrated the whole thing, f-forced me to –” He nearly bites his tongue again when he cuts himself off. “But that – that doesn’t change anything,” he continues, almost viciously. “I’m the one who opened the door. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me, s-so it’s as good as my fault.”
“Don’t know about that,” Daisy says.
“What?”
“Don’t think I can see you making a choice to end the world, if you had any say. Doesn’t sound like you. You – Jon, you just went on about having choices taken away.” Jon is silent, teeth clenched; Daisy jostles his hand insistently. “So – so how’d it actually happen?”
“I, ah…” Why is this still so hard to talk about? “So you know how I – I… need the statements?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I – it – my appetite only got worse as time went on. Started craving live statements, and – and hunted for them. The others intervened eventually, and I stopped, but I still needed – need – statements, or else I’d… starve, for lack of a better word. So I made do with the old statements like before, but they were – less and less filling as time went on, and – and I needed more of them, and more frequently, even though I tried to – to spread them out, ration myself. And, uh, some things happened, and Martin and I went into hiding – used your safehouse, actually –”
“Which one?”
“Scotland.”
“Ah,” Daisy says softly. “I like that one.”
“So did we,” Jon says, smiling fondly. “I – we only had a couple weeks, before… b-but the time we did have, it was…”
He clears his throat.
“An-anyway, I went – hungry, for a bit, until a box of statements could be sent to us. And the first one I read, it was – a trap, by J- Elias.” He can explain about Jonah Magnus later. If he takes that detour now, he’ll never get through the rest of this. “The heading looked – just like any other statement. Statement giver’s name, date – but as soon as I started reading, it was Elias’ words. It was a, uh, statement about – about me. About what I am. I’m not just the Archivist, Daisy, I’m the Archive.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I – when I take or – or consume a statement, I, ah – experience it like I’m there, and it – it becomes a part of me. I’m like a – like a living record, a library of – of people’s worst fears, nightmares, moments that I have no right to witness, and – doesn’t matter. Elias needed a fully realized Archive for his ritual to work, so he – he created one, and he fed it a statement. And I – I tried to stop reading, but I couldn’t, even though I – I tried, I really did, I –” He laughs nervously. “Even tried to – to blind myself, but it just – healed. Then, at the end, there was an – an incantation. To open a door that could let all the Fears into the world. And when I read it… it did.”
“Wait – all of them?”
“Yes,” Jon says quietly. “Just before she died, Gertrude figured out that a ritual to bring one of the Fears into the world could never succeed on its own. The Powers can’t exist without minds to experience them, and our minds – they’re highly associative. The experience of fear is just… far more convoluted and subjective than any artificial taxonomy can capture. The Fears have overlap, and – and some of them are defined by their opposition to the others.
“A Vast ritual would collapse without the existence of the Buried, for instance. Or – the Stranger and the Spiral, they’re both tied to unreality, to not being able to trust your perceptions – which can feed into paranoia, which the Eye and the Web also thrive on. The Hunt and the Slaughter run together, and the Flesh can tag alongside. Both the Corruption and the Desolation are equally efficient and thorough in ravaging a home or a body or – or even the general concept of safety.
“Even here – we’re too far deep below creation for the Eye or the Hunt to reach us, but there’s still more than the Buried to fear. The Dark, for instance, or being Forsaken. Even the Vast can be found down here, if you start obsessing over your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The Powers are just – too interconnected, and their rituals never accounted for that.”
“So the Unknowing…”
“Would have failed even without our intervention,” Jon says bitterly. “Same goes for all of the rituals that Gertrude stopped, and all the others that have been sabotaged throughout the centuries. All of that sacrifice, and for nothing. Michael Shelley, and Jan Kilbride, and – and Tim, and you ending up here –”
“Tim?”
“He… he died during the mission,” Jon says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Daisy.
“And Basira?”
“Alive. She got out before the explosion.” He can just barely make out Daisy’s sigh of relief. “She… she told me to tell you that she’s waiting for you.”
“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “I’m s-”
Before she can say more, the Buried begins to writhe around them again, this time closing in molasses-slow. They both instinctively tighten their handhold on one another. As horrid as the crushing force is, this time it at least has the decency to press them closer together. Daisy’s free hand tentatively brushes against Jon’s free wrist. Understanding the unspoken request, Jon interlocks their fingers, and they wait.
“S-so,” Daisy wheezes when the earth finally relaxes and settles again, “about – about the rituals?”
“R-right.” Jon coughs lightly, still catching his breath. “Well, ah, Elias found out about Gertrude’s theory. Came up with a – ritual that would bring all the Powers through at once, but with the Eye ruling over the rest. It required an Archivist – Archive – directly marked by all the Powers. Elias – chose me. Made sure I’d encounter each of them, and… when I was ready, he laid one last trap and waited for me to wander in, because he knew from experience that I would.”
And it could happen again, Jon’s brain helpfully supplies.
“Huh.”
“Yeah. S-so it probably goes without saying, but if you thought I wasn’t human before, I, ah…” He gives an exhausted, humorless chuckle. “I’m definitely not now.”
Daisy is silent for a long moment before saying: “I take it you – you didn’t come here the first time.”
That wasn’t the comment that Jon had been expecting.
“No, I did.”
“Then… how –”
“I told you, there’s a way out. I just – I just have to find it. Last time I found you, and we escaped together. We can do it again.” She doesn’t respond to that, and he kneads the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “Daisy?”
“You’ve been here once before, and you escaped, and… and you came back?” She says it in such a small voice, it almost doesn’t even sound like her. “After – after seeing what it’s like, you still came back for me?”
“Yes…?”
“Why?” she whispers. “Why do that for me? I – I had a knife to your throat, I would’ve killed you if Basira hadn’t found us first, I saw the fear in your eyes and I enjoyed it – and you knew that I’d still planned on killing you the moment I got a chance, so – so why?”
“We’re –” Jon stops himself, rephrases. “In my future, we became friends.”
“What?”
“W-well, we – we were both Avatars trying to resist our darker natures. We went through this together. We just – we had a lot in common.”
Daisy offers no comment.
“I… don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jon continues, jiggling one foot nervously as best he can in the confined space. “You were… you were the only one I had, most days. The only one who knew what it was like, having the hunger consume you because you refuse to feed it. And – and you had Basira, but she… there were things she didn’t fully understand, couldn’t relate to. So you would come to me. We, uh… we helped each other. Trusted each other.” He adds, a bit timidly: “I… I’ve missed you.”
Still, Daisy says nothing. Jon is about to start rambling again – about what, he doesn’t know; he just needs to fill the awkward silence somehow – but Daisy speaks first.
“But – but what about before all that? Why did you come down here the first time around?”
“I was… in a bad place,” Jon admits. “Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Melanie hated me, Basira saw me as a monster, Georgie wanted nothing to do with me, and Martin was… gone. I had no one, I wasn’t human anymore, I was afraid and ashamed and guilty and tired, and I… I was starting to doubt my decision to live. Not wanting to die had started to feel selfish, and I – I needed some way to justify living, some way to make myself useful.
“When we found out that you were alive, I – I just didn’t want to lose anyone else. If there was a chance of bringing you home, I had to try. And… there was nothing to lose. If I got stuck down here, it – it would be no great loss. The world would have even been safer for it – moreso than I even imagined at the time. I… honestly didn’t think that anyone would care if I didn’t come back.”
“That’s messed up,” Daisy says, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.
“Yeah,” Jon says with a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s what you said last time. Like I said, I was in a bad place. But – but in the end, we got out. I know I can get us out of here again. I promised Basira I would bring you home, and I – I – I will. I just… I need some time to find the way.”
“No pressure,” she deadpans.
Jon makes a strangled, exasperated noise in his throat.
“Seriously?”
If he could gesture at the tons of dirt pressing down on them, he would – but he can’t, because of the tons of dirt pressing down on them.
“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Daisy says, just the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk in her voice. Jon feels one corner of his mouth quirk in spite of himself.
God, he really had missed her.
The concept of time has no meaning within the Buried. Without any real way to observe or calculate its passing, things tend to feel stagnant. One long note of boredom and desperation and restriction. If not for the unpredictable tides of the soil around them, it might even feel as if time is at a standstill. In a way, it is: there is only one time here, and it is forever – or until the End of everything, at least. To make things worse, true sleep is impossible in the Buried. Sometimes, though, there is a lull in the movements of the earth, and within that liminal space, the mind may be allowed to drift.
Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been drifting when Daisy tugs on his hand.
“Jon.”
“Hm?”
“You’re muttering again.”
“Oh.” Jon clears his throat when he realizes how groggy he sounds. “Was I?”
“Care to share?”
“I’m just – I keep thinking about how Basira escaped the Unknowing,” he says, rousing himself. Out of habit, he tries to stretch, only to remember that he can barely move at all – which, of course, only intensifies the urge to fidget.
“Oh?” Daisy shakes both his hands in hers, prompting him to continue. Judging by the waver in her voice, the silence must be getting to her again. “How – how’s that?”
“She… thought her way out. Like a – an ‘I think therefore I am’ thought experiment.” Jon smiles to himself and shakes his head slightly. “She put Descartes to shame.”
“Not even a fair comparison,” Daisy scoffs.
“Agreed.”
“Were you thinking of trying that here?”
“I… don’t think it would work.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re not that level-headed.”
“That’s –” Jon’s indignation fizzles out just as quickly as it emerged. “That’s… okay, yes, that’s fair.”
Daisy snickers; Jon can’t help a small grin in return.
“But what I was actually trying to say is that it was a strategy uniquely tailored to the Stranger. The Unknowing was all about – unreality, about not being able to trust your senses, even your own identity. Basira figured out that the best way to anchor herself in that situation was to boil her entire reality down to simple logical premises: She existed. She existed in a place and time. The place was dangerous at that time, so she had to not exist in that place at that time. Places have ends, and if she kept moving, she could reach a different place.”
“Huh.”
“Straightforward. Elegant, even.”
“It’s Basira,” Daisy says, unmistakable fondness creeping into her tone. Jon snorts. “Shut up, Sims. You were saying?”
“The Buried doesn’t operate in the same way. Basira reasoned her way out of the Stranger’s domain by denying unreality. If we tried to do the same thing, we’d just be denying… well, reality. The earth, the pressure, the – the ‘too close I cannot breathe,’ it’s all real.”
“Good pep talk.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I –” Jon sighs. “I didn’t mean to sound… morose. I was just thinking about different kinds of anchors. Basira managed to center herself and use her own mind as an anchor, and I – I find that impressive, is all.”
“That’s one way to describe her,” Daisy says. “She’s… always been like that. Practical, reliable… centered.”
Wait, Jon thinks to himself, brow furrowed. What if…
“Daisy, tell me about Basira.”
“What?”
“I – she’s your anchor, right? And – and you’re hers.”
“I don’t know about –”
“She called you solid, a – a – a fixed point,” Jon says excitedly. “When you’re there, things make sense to her. You ground her. And now, without you, she’s… she has trouble knowing where she stands. She has no backup, no one to orient her. What she did during the Unknowing – it was impressive, but it isn’t sustainable over a long period of time. You can only go it alone for so long before you lose your bearings. She – she needs you. And you need her. Right?”
“She’s the fixed point,” Daisy murmurs, as if that explains everything – and maybe it does.
“Exactly, s-so – tell me about Basira. From your perspective.”
“Why?”
“Because this is the Buried, where we’re at the center and everything is weighing down on us,” Jon says, mind racing five steps ahead of him. “The dirt, the pressure, it’s all real, but – but the Fears are also about state of mind.”
Jon can feel his heart rate pick up, the way it does whenever he’s talking his way through a puzzle. If he could, he would be pacing right now, burning off that restless energy. Instead, he finds himself tapping his fingers rapidly against Daisy’s hands. She doesn’t stop him, though.
“I’m not saying that we can solve this with ‘mind over matter’ thinking, but it might – help, if we can both focus on an anchor – a different center point, that is, one outside of this place. Move from this center to that center. There’s a better chance of figuring out which way is up if we’re both feeling for the way out. We can orient each other. If we both feel a tug from the same direction, we know we’re going the right way.”
“I can’t feel anything, though,” Daisy says. “Or – I can, but it’s – it’s everywhere, pushing in one direction – pushing down –”
Jon grips her hands more tightly when he hears her breathing start to grow ragged.
“That’s why you need to tell me about Basira – until you do feel a pull. I could be way off, but it’s worth a try. And – and if nothing else, it might help clear my mind, so I can give finding the way out another shot.”
“A statement, then?” Daisy asks sardonically. “Recharge your battery?”
“I wish,” Jon says with a grim smile. “The Eye only likes horror stories. If any story would sate my appetite, I could just watch biopics any time I was feeling a bit peaky. Hell, imagine if a fictional story was enough. An episode of the Archers would be like an afternoon snack.”
“You like the Archers?” He doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyebrows are raised as high as they’ll go.
“You know, I said the exact same thing to you once. And no, I don’t, but you do, and you used to make me listen with you. We didn’t even make a dent in the back catalogue, but I’m an Avatar of terrible knowledge and the Beholding loves spoilers, so guess who Knows every episode now?” Daisy barks a laugh at that. “There are over nineteen thousand episodes, Daisy!”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“Anyway,” Jon says, squeezing both of her hands in lieu of nudging her shoulder, “a story just… helps take me out of my own head sometimes. Always has. You’re humoring me, not the Eye. Besides, do you have anything better to do?”
“S’pose not.”
“I mean – you don’t have to, of course, if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to pressure you –” Jon cringes. “Bad choice of words. I –”
“Stop babbling, Sims.” He knows that tone of voice, knows that she’s rolling her eyes right now. “We only have so long before the walls close in again –”
Daisy cuts herself off with a strangled noise, which she tries to cover by clearing her throat. She was likely trying to lighten the mood again, but the inevitability of the Buried’s ebb and flow is still too real, too close.
“Do you, uh… do you want to hear a story or not?”
“Please.”
“Back again?”
Martin jolts at the sound of Georgie’s voice. He tosses a brief glare over his shoulder at her where she stands just outside the doorway to the office, a safe distance from the Coffin. Martin discovered quickly that the Coffin’s compulsion has no impact on him, likely muffled by his allegiance to the Lonely. Georgie, though, has no such protection.
Coincidentally, it also means that as long as Martin keeps close to the Coffin, Georgie has to keep her distance from him as well.
“It’s been a week,” Martin says in a quiet monotone, tearing his gaze away from her.
“Yeah.”
“He should have been back by now.”
“Well, he didn’t really give a timeframe –”
“But you said he implied that it wouldn’t take more than a week,” Martin says impatiently. “And knowing Jon, he exaggerated how long it would take, just so no one would worry if he was late.”
“I… yeah, I know,” Georgie sighs. “I was expecting him to be back by now, too.”
Martin nods in a clear ‘I told you so’ gesture – then immediately feels childish. Why is he acting vindicated by her admission?
“Does Peter know you’ve been coming down here?”
“Don’t care.”
“Oh?” Georgie says, her voice suspiciously bland – and only then does Martin register the significance of what he just said.
“I just meant – it’s –” Martin huffs. “It’s none of your business.”
“Of course.” Martin can hear the smirk in her tone.
“Why are you here?” he snaps, swiveling to look at her again.
“Same reason you are, I expect.”
Martin says nothing to that, simply turns his back on her. For a few minutes, the only sound is the low, indistinct chatter of the tape recorders, still spooling out their horror stories on a loop.
“Have you tried calling to him?” Georgie asks. Martin continues to ignore her, teeth clenched until they ache. “It could be worth a shot. He left all those tapes running – don’t know if he can hear them exactly, but they’re meant to call to him.”
Go away, Martin thinks, his hands curling into fists on his knees.
“Your voice might be better than a recording.”
Why is she so persistent?
“Just – think about it, okay?”
When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie sighs, knocks twice on the door frame, and takes her leave. He doesn’t look back around until the sound of her footsteps fade away.
“Sure, just leave the door wide open,” he grumbles irritably, rising to his feet to remedy the issue.
He pulls the office door shut with more force than intended, practically slamming it. The lone tape recorder on Jon’s desk, previously standing on end, topples over with a light clatter. Martin exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the static buzz of nervous energy simmering inside him.
“But we need you, Jon,” the tape recorder grinds out. “Jon, please, just – please.”
“Fuck,” Martin says, voice thick and strained. He takes several deep breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – trying to clear his thoughts. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fine. You win.”
He settles himself on the floor in front of the Coffin again, closer this time.
“Jon,” he says, then falters, unsure of what to say. “I –” He lets out an agitated breath, then follows it up with a bitter chuckle. “This is stupid. You probably can’t even hear this, can you?”
There is an uncomfortable, stinging pressure in his eyes and he reflexively tries to swallow back the tears, only to realize how dry his mouth has become. He rubs his eyes instead, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets and applying pressure.
“I – if you – if you can hear me, I… I already lost you once. I can’t do this all over again, I just – I can’t. I’m – everyone is waiting for you, and I still…” Martin sniffles and clears his throat. “Just – come home, Jon. Please.”
“I think I’d forgotten what it was like to just be… present in the moment? A – a quiet moment, anyway.” Daisy sighs. “On a hunt, you always have to think a few steps ahead, anticipate the prey’s movements so you can get out in front of it. Even when you’re present-thinking, like during a fight, it’s – it’s instinct and reflex, quick movements and jagged edges. You can never just… be.”
“I think I understand,” Jon says. “Not the Hunt aspect, but – but the intolerance of stillness.”
“But in that moment – laying back in the grass, Basira going on about the stars – I was… I was just me. I was focused on her – she gets so excited, so animated whenever she has a chance to talk about something new she’s learned, and I – I let her go on for” – Daisy laughs – “going on forty minutes, probably, about – about the Wow! signal before she looked over and saw me staring. Got all embarrassed that I let her talk so long.”
Jon can feel himself grinning.
“In her defense, the Wow! signal is a fascinating topic.”
“I thought so,” Daisy says warmly. “I mean, I must’ve, right? The whole time she was talking, I never felt the blood calling to me. Afterwards, it felt wrong, somehow – unnatural – that I’d been ignoring it. Not even resisting it, just – tuning it out altogether. I didn’t notice until then how loud it was – like for my whole life there had been teeth at my throat and I just never noticed until that moment.” She pauses. “It’s strange, but I – I think I liked it. The quiet.”
“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Jon says softly. “I think –”
Suddenly, there’s a distinct wrenching sensation within him – like having a hook yank upwards, painless but abrupt enough to make his breath catch in his throat.
“Jon?” Daisy says warily. “What’s wrong?”
There’s something there.
“Do – do you feel that?”
“No? What – what is it?”
“It’s – wait, just let me…”
Jon concentrates, holding his breath as he waits, and –
There. Another pull, like a fish tugging at a line. And another, gentler but just as insistent.
“Daisy, I –” Jon lets out a breathless little laugh. “I think I know the way. C-come on, follow me.”
End Notes:
tbh I was tempted to split this into two chapters but it felt like it wanted to be all one thing, and also I didn't want to end on an angsty cliffhanger because:
I know I was managing a loose every-7-to-10-days-ish update schedule for awhile there, but it miiiight start looking more like an every-two-weeks schedule going forward. I've been on split shifts at work but we're supposedly going back full time soon, so that might effect how much writing time I have each day. Just wanted to give a heads up in case it takes longer than usual before the next chapter is ready.
There are several snippets of dialogue borrowed/reworked from Jon & Daisy's conversation in the Buried in MAG 132 - they're scattered throughout the chapter. (The "This is forever deep below creation..." and "One thing I've learned..." internal dialogue bits are from 132 also.) Probably goes without saying, but Martin's Lonely statement is from MAG 170 and there's also a previously cited usage of his dialogue from the S4 trailer. The Tim quote is from MAG 117. "The blanket never did anything" (still one of the creepiest lines in the podcast i s2g) is from MAG 086.
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*Thorns part 4 Eric x OC*
“And then we had to climb this old Ferris wheel and Four was terrified, I’d never seen him like that.” Tris rambled, her eyes locked on the slightly pink faced man beside her as they both stood in the doorway of the neatly organized apartment.
“Don’t forget to tell them how you nearly slipped right off and fell to your death if it hadn’t been for me.” He raised a brow leaning towards his girlfriend and dropping a kiss to her cheek, she sighed dreamily and beamed before turning her attention to her two guests standing awkwardly in the hallway.
“It was so great having you both over for dinner, I can’t believe you managed to drag Eric here Ella. He’s always blowing us off.” Tris accused lightly.
“I wonder why.” Eric mumbled under his breath just loud enough for Ella to make out. The pretty brunette shook her head and bit back the giggle that was threatening to spill out.
“Thankyou so much for inviting me, I had a great time! Once I get my apartment all set up I’ll have to return the favor.” Ever the respectful amity raised young lady, Eric rolled his eyes wrapping his hand around Ella’s and tugging gently, he chose to ignore the way fours eyes followed the movement curiously.
“I’ll hold you to that.” Tris smiled “I’ll see you tommorow morning? Basic training?”
“I’ll be there! Who else is going to spar Peter?” Ella chuckled squeezing Eric’s fingers when he pulled at her hand impatiently.
“Lord help that poor boy.” Tris giggled waving one last time before closing the door, the lock clicking.
It was less than a second before Eric was pulling her through the halls of Dauntless, they were both practically sprinting, not stopping until they were both panting over the edge of the chasm, laughter spilling from their lips, Ella’s hands wrapped around her stomach as she bent over in laughter, Eric’s thick throaty chuckles echoed in the open space. After their hysterics died down Eric turned to Ella
“Pumpkin?” He snorted
“Cupcake?” Ella countered, her breathing quick as her chest rose and fell with residual laughter, tears making the deep brown of her eyes sparkle.
Tris and Four were a very openly affectionate couple behind closed doors, Eric and Ella had spent the last five hours watching as the two kissed and nuzzled and god.. the nicknames.. the absolutely horrible nicknames.
“I mean they’re lovely. Tris is so sweet and I can tell we’re going to be great friends but..”
“The tickling.. the fucking tickling.” Eric cut her off. shuddering.
“I know right? That was totally weird.” Ella giggled, sighing before resting her weight on the railing of the chasm gazing down at the black abyss she had spent hours staring at years ago thoughtfully. “Ya know when I first got here, to Dauntless I mean, there was a boy. Smaller than you but much bigger than me who asked me to jump with him, he told me I was going to be factionless by the end of training, I was too small, I’d never make it.”
Eric scoffed, how could they have not seen what she was capable of.. one look in her eyes and he had known, he had seen it all laid out for the world to see. Fire, burning and bright.
“He couldn’t keep up, he said If we did it together it would be better, it would make us look less like cowards.. an act of love he called it.” She rolled her eyes, long lashes brushing.
“You didn’t jump.. did he? Did the boy jump?” Eric questioned.
Ella finally turned to him then, gentle sadness brushed across her smile.
“Yes. By himself. Alone. I was his only friend.. I had to tell his parents. It was better that way.”
Eric placed his hand over hers on the metal bar, it practically swallowed hers up, the size difference was almost comical.
“I made a trainee dangle from the chasm, she was weak, she had to prove to herself that she was strong before anyone would believe in her.”
Ella laughed then, her eyes lighting up and her nose crinking adorably
“I remember hearing about that! Max would send me the reports at the end of the month, it was something to keep me grounded while I was undercover. I remember “newest leader Coulter hangs initiate by chasm.. possibly insane?””
Eric scoffed “insane? Please. I was helping her, my entire training class was pathetic. I had peter trying to kill everyone, Tris defying every single thing I said and the rest of them were crying in their bunks every night. It was miserable.”
“I missed Dauntless.” Ella sighed grinning at Eric’s twisted grumpy face.
Eric felt the tension ease from his shoulders now that it was just the two of them. there was that new sense of calm washing over him, he had to be careful.. it was something he could feel himself getting used too. She was so damn pretty and so damn sweet and it was everything he had sworn to never get too close to and yet here he was, desperate to just touch her even just to look at her.
They stood there in comfortable silence for a moment before Ella led him away from chasm
“I can’t get used to my room here.” She sighed “I know I should be grateful and I am but I don’t know.. I almost feel..lonely?” She sounded conflicted, almost confused.
“What do you mean?” Eric questioned.
“I just mean.. I don’t know but with the factionless I was never alone unless I actively seeked it out, like when I had to get information to max or read something he sent me but other than that I was always around people, there was never any quiet. Granted they were all terrible terrible people, they were still noise.. something to keep myself away from my thoughts.”
“You can come see me.”
The words were out of his mouth before he even had the chance to stop them. Eric’s eyes widened and he resisted the urge to punch himself in the face before he continued rambling
“Not that I’m great company or anything.. I just meant that if you ever get.. if you’re ever lost in your head I’m just a couple doors down. You can just.. you can always...”
He never got to finish his sentence, toned arms wrapped around his torso, peach and vanilla rushing his senses as silky curls brushed against his chin, and smooth skin pressed against the plain black T-shirt he had on.
He was being hugged. Eric Coulter was being hugged.
And he liked it.
“I’m not very good at this.” She whispered against his chest, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“At what?” Eric pressed his palm into the small of her back, enjoying the way it seemed to fit perfectly there.
“Whatever it is I feel for you. I don’t know how to act. I’m afraid I’m going to scare you away.. I’ve forgotten how to feel things, I shut that off the moment I entered the factionless and now here with you? I don’t know.. I just.. I feel something.. something good.” She whispered, burying herself deeper into him, vulnerability seeking through her words. Eric was certain she hadn’t been able to be like this for a very long time, he himself had never allowed himself to feel that kind of emotion.
He didn’t know how to tell her he was feeling the exact same way.
So he didn’t.
Cupping her cheek with one hand he ran his thumb along the jagged scar starting at her temple, winter grey eyes searching her warm ones longingly before he pressed his lips to hers. She melted into his body pressing her chest to his and winding her arms around his neck, his fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently at the mess of silk curls as he licked at her lips begging for entrance, the second her teeth wrapped around his bottom lip he knew he was a goner. He gripped at the backs of her thighs, lifting her up and pressing her against the cold metal wall, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head to prevent her from slamming it against the hard surface.
“Eric.” She whispered somewhere caught between a gasp and a whimper.
“Ella.” He kissed her skin, tasting her.
Her fingers dug into the heavy leather of his jacket as his slipped underneath her cotton T-shirt. She was everything good about this world wrapped around his body.
A door slamming broke them out of their moment, Ella slipped from his grasp, her feet finding the ground as Eric’s hands moved to grip at her waist, his forehead lowering to rest against hers, They were both breathless as they stared at each other.
“I should be heading to bed.” She whispered.
“Yeah.” He nodded.
Neither moved for a moment, taking in the moment and planting it firmly in their memory. Finally Eric’s hands slipped from her waist and he stood up straight, wiggling in his now far too tight jeans. Ella’s eyes drifted down before she quickly looked up, a wicked smile on her lips.
“I have weapons training with Elliot tommorow, I might stop by your combat class.. see if I can learn a few things.” She reached down to intertwine their fingers, Noticing the way Eric tensed slightly, his spine stiffening. “Unless.. unless you don’t want me too?”
He noticed the way her voice dropped to a whisper, he shook his head rapidly.. they were at the door to her apartment now and he pulled her back against him
“No! No I want you to come by.. it’s.. just be careful around Elliot okay? He’s not someone you want to get too close too.” He stroked her cheek softly, his eyebrows were scrunched up as he stared deeply at her.
“That’s what they told me about you.” She smiled fondly, reaching up to cover the hand he hand on her cheek with her own “but I thought you two were friends?”
“No. Not when it comes to you.”
Ella nodded, her eyes confused.
“Okay Eric.. I’ll let it slide for now.. I’ll see you tommorow. We can maybe.. pick up where we left off.” Her eyes fell on the still there bulge of his pants and she looked back up innocently, going on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before slipping into her apartment.
“The death of me. The literal death of me.” He moaned.. but still
He couldn’t wipe the damn smile off of his face.
#divergent#divergent eric#eric coulter#eric x oc#insurgent#tris and four#divergent fanfic#divergent fanfiction#eric coulter fanfiction#jai courtney#maia mitchell#the fosters#good trouble#eric imagine#eric coulter imagine#divergent imagine#eric x original character
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DuD Prompts
These boots were not made for walking
Lance was something of a sensate. He liked his body, liked it a lot in fact, hard won though it was, and he liked using it. He liked sensation, be it pleasure or pain, hot or cold, good or bad. It reminded him he was alive, he was here, he was present. And so he indulged.
He eat good food. Dressed in clothes that reminded him they were against his skin. He exercised until sweat dripped down his back and popped pills that made him feel even more. He tracked scars and bruises with a sort of fascination with the way experience can leave physical marks.
He had a list of sensations that were his favourites. He collected them like some people collected rocks or photographs. He liked getting into an ice bath after a particularly vicious flying session. He liked dragging his nails across velvet. He liked the hiss and fizzle in his mind about thirty seconds after injecting stims that seemed to spread all over him a moment later. He liked slipping silver rings onto his fingers. He liked the feel of real paper books under his fingertips. He liked terrible amasec, thick and with a free burning sensation.
And of course, he liked sex.
He liked biting, bruising, moving, breathing, the thrill of not only confirming you existed, but confirming you existed in conjunction with another person. He liked the curl of a fist in his hair, pressure against his mouth, nails in his hips. He wasn’t particularly fussy. But there were the more subtle elements he adored too.
The clink of metal buttons coming undone. Carpet burn between his shoulder blades. The slightly raised skin of a tattoo, only detectable when you ran your fingertips over it. His favourite feeling ever was a crucial step in the seduction process. The moment someone placed a hand on his calf and slid his boot from his leg, preferably slowly, preferably with no speaking so you could hear the slide of fabric on leather. It was an strangely intimate act, one that generally seemed rather at odds with his attitude to the rest of the act. He tended towards the cavalier and casual, disliking anything that implied a certain level of romance. But this he enjoyed. The small, quiet moment before the storm.
Lightning
Technically, there were engineers and lower officer cadets for this. But it was now well known that it was much more likely you’d receive a flogging for touching Devout Persuasion than neglecting your cleaning duties. Lance was... Particular about her care.
Dents were immediately pulled out with extreme prejudice. No evidence of fire was allowed to remain on her. Any rubble or dust was cleaned from her as soon as she docked and not with anything as imprecise as a pressure hose. No, it was buckets and rags and a couple of hours of blessed hard work.
Whenever there was something to be done beyond his care, he was like an anxious parent, hovering behind the tech priests, biting his nails and making suggestions they generally ignored but tolerated. The magos had a slight soft spot for Lance, mostly because of the sheer care he put into every one of his machines, regardless of their importance. A few even forgave him for his Castellum preference.
As much as he liked maintaining her physical side, his favourite activity in the world was checking on the software. He would connect and
He was in a dark forest, the trees so dense you couldn’t see beyond the first line of those circling the clearing. And there she would be, after a few moments, almost unfathomably huge. He often wondered if her designer had been from Nivalis - that was the only place he could imagine wolves growing this big.
Back in the early days, it had been either frightening or frustrating. She would either only allow him to connect long enough to look him up and down and demonstrate her sheer disdain or bare her teeth, the threat so clear she never had to follow through on it.
Now was different. Now she would barrel into him full force, knocking him over, eager to work, to move, to hunt. They were a perfect team, though in some ways he imagined he had ruined her - he did not envy anyone that tried to pilot her after him. When he died, the best thing to do would be to bury them somewhere together, in pieces or ash.
She wasn’t the only thing he had ever loved, but she was the only thing that had stayed with him. She was as much a part of him as his metallic backbone or rewired nerves. She had never hurt him purposefully, never abandoned him, never would.
He often wondered how on earth people ever expected him to settle for anything less than this. People were fallible. They broke or acted out or left. Devout stayed.
Tea and Sympathy
Kasimere liked this time of day best. The sun filtering through the trees, the slight chill appearing in the air. Dawn or dusk, the time of inbetweens. Soon, it would be the harvest festival and then soon it would be Winter and her favourite time of year would be over. There would be no more orange leaves, no more sunsets that lit up the sky with a gold so like The Emperor’s. No more pregnant wheat fields, no more mulled ciders, no more bonfires. Winter always depressed her.
So she would enjoy this while it lasted. She curled up on the bench outside of her home, burying her nose in the knitted scarf draped around her neck, and warming her hands on the freshly brewed tea she held. She blew her breath out just to watch the fine mist rise and disappear into the air.
She had been sitting only about a quarter of an hour before she was approached. Elias approached, twisting his cap in his calloused hands, nervous smile painted on his face. She was sweet on him, but wasn’t everyone in the village? He was kind, good with the animals and had only stabbed a member of the opposing clan once. That made him quite a catch. Kasimere wouldn’t allow herself to think he may be sweet on her, but she did like that she was his favourite priest.
She was a good priest. She was kind but no-nonsense. She was serious when she needed to be but laughed often. She pitched in with even the more unglamorous ceremonies like calving without complaint, happy to get her hands both muddy and bloody. She was scatterbrained with timing and lost paperwork alarmingly often. She wasn’t perfect but she was liked.
Elias sat beside her and accepted the warm cup of tea and began to talk about his woes. They were simple ones, worrying about his desire to see the wider world, obsessing about if he was doing his duty if he didn’t give his life. They could be solved with kind words and prayer, as so many things could.
It was a small life. But it was hers. And she loved it.
Flings
If he had bothered keeping notches on his bedpost, he would have sawed through it by now. It wasn’t that he didn’t have standards. It’s more that his standards were broad and far reaching. They could mostly be reduced to:
- Could act like they could kick his ass. - Wouldn’t mind his inability to shut up or at least had a decent gag on hand. - Hot, in some way or another. - Not xenos. One night stands were common. Repeated flings, slightly more unusual but far from unheard of. Actual relationships were rare occurrences and often a little... One sided. There were more instances of one of Lance’s bedmates thinking they were his partner than the other way around. Relationships were too similar to responsibility, obligation. He liked belonging solely to himself, not relying on anybody, not having to ask for permission for whatever dumb idea crashed into his head. He also fundamentally couldn’t stand the idea of anybody caring for him. Letting down his father was bad enough, letting down someone who chose him was even worse.
And so he had a boy in every station and a girl on every ship and anyone who didn’t fit into those categories on every planet. He was fairly sure at least half of the assassins that came after him had nothing to do with his family and everything to do with an empty bed in the morning. He did not envy any astropath that had to deal with the bullshit he left strewn in his wake.
But was he sorry? No. Would he do it again? Certainly.
Back on the Bullshit
“Quick, in here - “ The lanky young man grabbed the hand of the blonde girl, dragging her into the small janitorial cupboard tucked unobtrusively to the side of the grand staircase. Inside, they were sharing breath, listening intently as footsteps rumbled past, barking orders. Lance only managed to stifle his laughter by biting into the leather of his glove, Astrid raising an eyebrow the entire while. In her free hand, there was a bottle filled with golden liquid that shimmered in the low light of the cupboard.
“You act like you’ve done this before.” “I have - “ “No, I mean specifically this. Was it you that looted the drinks cabinet last year?”
All she got in reply was a smirk and him taking the bottle from her hand, rummaging about in the drawer for anything that could be used as a bottle opener. It wasn’t very long before the pair of them lost patience and broke the top of the neck off, pouring the bubbling amasec into a only partially dirty glass they found.
It was about two minutes after this that the realisation dawned on them that the door could only be opened from the outside. And sure, Lance could send a message via his MIU, but that would have to mean admitting he had locked himself in a cupboard. “So I guess we live here now.” He said, shrugging, pulling a face as he took a sip.
Astrid’s face was not impressed as she slid down to sit cross-legged on the floor, confiscating the rest of the bottle from him. He decided on the whole that was pretty fair. He joined her, back against the door, stretching his legs out to possibly accidentally nudge her hip.
“So, who are those from?” She gestured vaguely to the line of purple marks painting his neck. “Oh these? Son of one of the midshipmen. Gorgeous wavy black hair, purple eyes...” He sighed faux-dreamily. “Except he keeps talking about his feelings and that’s a real turn off for me. I’m thinking I might mysteriously have to really start thinking about the family future, ectera ecetera.” “God, you’re trash.” He laughed easily. “Yeah, I am.” ------------------------ He crashed into the seat next to her, the dark circles decorating his face counteracted by the grin he was wearing. She raised an eyebrow, moving a spoon in her rationpack corpse porridge. “I’m not going to ask.” “I know.” “You’re going to tell me anyway.” “Almost certainly.” “Why are you back again?” “Consider it divine justice.”
Threatened
Evie turned over in her bunk and slept until something woke her up. She wasn’t quite sure what had stirred her exactly until she looked at the bottom of her bed and saw her sister, sitting cross legged. This would have not been so unusual except her sister had been dead for three years. Lit in the glow filtering in from the window, it was unmistakably her. The tattoos trailing from her jaw to her neck were identical, the tight complicated braids in her hair, the messy make up across her violet eyes. She looked just how Evie remembered her best.
She must still be dreaming. But when she pinched her arm, it hurt. She could hear sirens outside and the hissing of the vents. She see the light bruising on Tessa’s knuckles. All these small details that she was sure her dreams would not know to include. All the things that made it real. Maybe miracles did happen, if you prayed hard enough. Evie had started to become half convinced of the Emperor’s apathy, His deafening silence more soul destroying than any of the sins the preachers told her were fatal.
“Are you going to sit there gawping at me all night?” Tessa raised an eyebrow. Evie glanced around the sleeping room, but nobody else had stirred, too deep in their opia slumbers. “Sorry, it’s just uh, I thought - “ “I was dead?” She grinned. “You should know that through him all things are possible. And keep your voice down, the gang are sleeping.” A quick shot of shame made her cheeks turn pink, she nodded, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I know but, I saw you. I saw the blood and the...” She trailed off, looking at the coat Tessa was wearing for the first time. There was a stain, darker than dark. “Are you going to keep complaining all night, or are you going to come do a last job with me?” Her eyes twinkled. “It’ll be fun.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers. Evie, as always, found it impossible to resist the charm of her sister. She took her hand.
And stopped. Numbness was spreading down her fingers, as though she had plunged her hand into ice water. Tessa was holding tight, so tight she couldn’t pull away. It was at this moment she noticed some other details. Like how her bed had no dent where Tessa sat. Like how if you looked closer, it wasn’t the light from outside making her skin look pale and washed out. And that it wasn’t lipstick making her lips blue. She moaned in horror, watching as her own skin turned cold and started to become necrotic. Though the smell was sickening, it didn’t hurt, not at all, it couldn’t hurt if the nerves just up and died. As she became sicker, Tessa seemed to become more solid, colour seeping back into her cheeks, gaining substance. It wasn’t long before it reached Evie’s heart, and her body dropped back onto the mattress, lifeless. Just like the others in the room.
Regrets
The magos hummed merrily to itself as it clattered around the room, arranging tools. Well, perhaps hummed is the wrong word. Buzzed with various tones and registers in a way that perhaps resembled music to some. It was not a familar tune to the man strapped to the operating table.
He flexed his fingers. He flexed his toes. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to bend his knees. He filled his lungs as full as they would go with air and exhaled slowly. He was not trying to escape. He was trying to feel his body, every inch of it, for the last time. He had never appreciated before what a miracle his body was. Every time he moved, every time he felt the table underneath him, every breath he took was a blessing from the Emperor. These things would not be taken from him. Not exactly.
At least now he wouldn’t be a coward. Not by choice, but it was the consequences that truly mattered. He wouldn’t run from battle again, desperate and frightened. He would be a proud soldier. And there would be at least a little bit more metal between him and the enemy. This was a blessing too, he repeated to himself, silently.
The saw began to buzz and he clenched his fist one last time. He wondered if he would even be able to choose to blink himself or if that too would be automated. If there would be a single nerve in his body that was his alone. He doubted it. He closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer to the Omnissiah and waited for his punishment.
Whiskey
Fethin’ Imperial heroes. Jaida tutted, holding their broom in one hand. Sure, they had saved the station, but they didn’t help with the bloody clean up, did they? They bossed them around, but they didn’t come over to pick up the discarded or broken laspacks, sweep up the ork blood or sort the broken doors.
And some of these messes were frankly fucking weird. A pile of ash in the middle of a room that stunk of disease and somehow, burning. Tentacle marks on the ceilings. Servitor corpses like no servitor Jaida had ever seen before, full of machinery that just looked wrong. A greenhouse, utterly destroyed. That was not to mention the chalk outlines of patterns in the basement they scrubbed away without looking at them too closely. They didn’t know what they were, but they did know they shouldn’t try to find out.
The bonus of course were the items that they also left behind. Jaida figured it was finders keepers. There was a nice laz pistol, an old one by the looks of it, but still working perfectly. A big piece of wood with the laws of the Mechanicus carved into them. A red robe, apparently discarded. Oddly, a small pile of discarded name tags, all with the same initials. And then, the best one, discovered halfway down a vent with only a few sips taken from it. Some Duroverum whiskey.
That was the rest of their evening sorted.
Leadership
He liked this bit. He liked it immensely. A new set of flight officers. A bit bigger than the usual intake, six aircraft which meant six pilots, plus spares. The ground staff would likely stay the same, maybe a few engineers going with the more specialist machines. But, let’s face it, the ground staff were only technically his problem. The pilots were entirely his problem.
He flicked idly through the files on his desk. Two, he had heard met before on an old posting. Astoundingly competent. They would end up going far but not interstellar, due to how devastatingly uncreative they both were. Minor nobles, joining the navy until they got married. Three were new to him. One agriplaneteer, which was always a toss up in skill. They were generally damn handy with a manual control but struggled with the neural. The lightnings were still divided right down the middle, the newer ones with MIU capability. He hoped she was trained enough in the new ones. He refused to have manual controls on his crafts. Then, there was the flight lieutenant. To be his second. He picked up her file, intrigued by the photo pinned to the front.
She had a defiant stare, her hair cut jaggedly and asymmetrically. He knew before he even opened the first page that she would be a hiver. It was something in the tilt of her jaw, the hardness of her eyes. He liked hivers. They had something to prove. They would either achieve beyond his wildest dreams or crash and burn beautifully. They were never boring. He looked at her list of write ups. Insubordination mostly, never personal admin, never a negligent discharge. Good.
He deposited the file back on his desk, in plain view. He stood up and went to the mirror, shrugging on his jacket, tucking in his shirt, making sure he looked like the perfect model of a superior officer. Contrary to all appearances, he took his responsibility and job extremely seriously. He loved it, after all. He could be a mess in his personal life, but not here. Never here. He made sure his natural cocksure smile had disappeared, that his warmth had turned authoritative. Then he crossed the room and opened his office door, watching the wave of salutes with some satisfaction.
Welcome to the Inquisition
The SaniShowers sprayed down, sluicing the blood and the viscera from his coat. As always, he murmured a brief prayer of thanks. He couldn’t imagine trying to wash this off by hand. He dumped his sodden gloves in the basket waiting by the door. He always wondered, every time if they incinerated them or simply washed them. Neither would surprise him.
All in all, it had been a useful interrogation session. Nothing ground breaking but confirmation of the intelligence they had gathered so far. Cults were on the rise, mostly the Fly Lord as always, but there was something else gathering too. That was what was worrying him more. He had put down the cultist at the end of course. They had two more, and they didn’t want to tire their psyker out too much. Ramesh was fairly convinced as it was that the mind had nothing more to give up anyway. Some people never expected to be caught and these people tended to fall into two categories under pressure. Stupidly brave or just stupidly cowardly. This one had fallen into the latter category and had spilt his secrets as easily as he spilt his guts.
It would be wrong to say Ramesh enjoyed his work. He took a grim satisfaction in it, sure, but only because he enjoyed his own competence. He liked a job well done, he liked boxes being ticked, he liked the feeling of contributing to something greater than himself. And of course, he wasn’t squeamish. He could cut throats, break fingers, maim flesh without breaking a sweat or losing sleep. He had very little time for the more liberal acolytes who turned pale at the sight of blood or criticised unnecessary violence as though any of them would be doing this damn job if it was unnecessary.
He made his way through the station, brain on autopilot. He could find his way to his apartment in his sleep. He often used this time to switch from work mode to home mode, almost completely separate entities. He found himself thinking of himself as a child, fascinated with the way the body worked. He had wanted to be a medicae. He almost laughed at how far from that aspiration he was now. He didn’t heal. He destroyed. And he didn’t feel a single shred of guilt about it. He opened his front door.
“Daddy!” His two daughters tore away from the Sister and ran at him full pelt, shrieking in joy as he gathered them into his arms and planted a hundred kisses on them. This. This is why he didn’t feel guilt. This is why he would kill a million cultists, torture a million more, destroy anybody that even looked at Chaos funny. No matter what the crimes committed by the Imperium were, they were virtues compared to what Chaos would do. And he loved his daughters. He loved them more than himself, feth, more than the Emperor. He wanted them to grow up into a better sector than he had. He wanted their hands to never dirty themselves on the hard work of the Inquisition. He wanted them to be medicaes. And for that to happen, he had to be the brutal one, the harsh one, the unkind one. So they never had to be.
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Crushes
This is connected to my other imagine drabble ‘Cuddles’ in which the reader/oc has an undisclosed crush... this is the story of ‘what if that crush was Dwalin’.
based on “Imagine falling in love with Dwalin on the quest and, after rebuilding Erebor, the she-dwarves start fawning over Dwalin; when you are hurt, Balin confronts his brother and convinces him to tell you how he feels“
word count 1882
Of course, you’d fallen for him, how could you not? He was everything a dwarf should be; brawny, bulky, able to smash skulls with his fists… and he had a kind heart to go along with it, a softness in his eyes when he looked at the lads – even Ori, who was no kin of his had come under that blue-eyed aegis of protection during the Quest. Dwalin knew you well enough to know you could take care of yourself, and yet he still looked out for you and your brothers. Nori might have died in Goblin Town if not for Dwalin’s strength, you knew, the thought still making you shudder. How could you not love such a dwarf? Even back in Ered Luin you’d nursed a small tenderness for the gruff lump of granite, carefully hidden away in your heart. He had never looked at you twice, which was fine, you told yourself, stomping away from the sparring rings.
It was not fine.
With the Mountain slowly filling up with returning dwarrow, you did not have as much time to spend with any member of the Company – not even your brothers, who were busy in their own roles anyway – but you made it a point to show up for your weekly spar with Dwalin, even if you didn’t really have time to fit it into your schedule. Of course, you saw him at dinner sometimes – most eating was still done communally, and the Company ate together at least twice a month as a general rule. Usually, he seemed as eager as you when you showed up in the rings – though no formal agreement had been made between you, you still felt as though this was your time. Today, he was simply not present. You had gone a round with Fíli – still recovering so you didn’t use your full strength – but it was half-hearted at best.
You’d heard him before you saw him.
“Aye, and when the Great Goblin King fell, he took the supportin beams with’im and landed right on top o’ us!” Dwalin exclaimed, to a great chorus of female sighing. You stiffened.
“And then what did you do?” someone gushed. You wanted to throttle her, especially as you caught sight of the pleased look on Dwalin’s face as he looked at his little fan.
“Well, then things got a bit tricky. You see, we had people trapped underneath piles of wood, and a whole mountain’s worth of Goblins coming for us – s’pose they didn’t much like that we killed their king,” Dwalin added thoughtfully. “Well, I looked at Thorin, and Thorin looked at me, and then we started trying to pull at the beams. ‘Leave no Dwarf behind!’ I thought, as I pulled Lord Nori from the debris,” they ooh’ed and ahh’ed at that. You scowled. “Mori!” Dwalin exclaimed, catching sight of you. “This, ladies,” he gestured grandly, “is Lord Nori’s sister, Lady Mori.” It was such a little thing, to be introduced as your brother’s sister, as though you hadn’t earned your place in the Company ten times over; including saving Dwalin’s ungrateful hide a time or two!
“Hello, Dwalin, ladies,” you nodded coldly to all of them. Dwalin frowned a little at your icy expression. You felt an almost overpowering need to be elsewhere, immediately.
“Here for a good spar?” he asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.
“No.” Your voice remained cool, detached. “I haven’t any more time to spend fooling around here,” you claimed, decisively. Fooling around with weapons or fooling yourself that you mattered to the blind oaf, you weren’t sure. Being a fool, perhaps, you thought viciously, fully aware that Nori – at least – was aware of your crush. “Dwalin,” you nodded, ignoring the crestfallen look on his face, “ladies.” With another nod, you swept past them, resting your axe on your shoulder. It wasn’t your favourite weapon, preferring the sword or the glaives, but last week you’d promised him a fight with axes.
“Mori isn’t sitting with us tonight?” Balin asked quietly, taking his place beside Dwalin. Tonight was the bi-monthly Company dinner and Mori was flanked by all three of her brothers as far away from Dwalin as the table allowed. Usually, the ri’s would sit by the Fundinuls, and Balin wasn’t the only one puzzled by the change in seating arrangements. He had tried to catch Dori’s eye, but the mithril-haired tailor had ignored him completely. The dismissal stung, the old diplomat having formed a deep friendship with the oldest ri-brother during the Quest. He had even tried subtly enquiring about the possibility of a closer connection – he wasn’t blind to the way Dwalin sighed after Mori, of course – though nothing had come of it yet. Dori was fiercely protective of his siblings, after all, having been more of a mother to them than their own who’d died when Ori was very young. Mori and Nori – born only three years apart and the only two who knew for sure that they had the same adad – had run wild in Ered Luin, their adad a known thief and grifter. Nori, of course, had become a thief, while Mori had become a sellsword, off with trading caravans before she was truly old enough, the both of them desperate to help Dori raise little Ori as best they could.
“No,” Dwalin sighed sadly. “She’s mad at me because I was late for our sparring session.” Balin just hummed thoughtfully.
“It’s fine, Nori,” you hissed, keeping your voice low enough that Dori wouldn’t catch it. He was busy pushing greens on Ori, however, an unbreakable habit it seemed, and didn’t pay the two of you any attention. Nori was always looking out for you, the two of you affectionately known as the Twins. Brushing your red hair – a few shades redder than Nori’s auburn – away from your face, you tried to focus on the sumptuous meal.
“It’s not fine if you’re unhappy, Mo.” Nori whispered back. He was the only one allowed to call you Mo, shortening your already shortened name.
“I knew it’d never happen, No,” you replied, “I always knew. Just… just leave it alone,” you sighed. Nori frowned at you, but he changed the topic easily. Sometimes, you really loved Nori.
“Where’s Mori?” Dwalin asked, sitting himself down by Nori with a puzzled frown. “She wasn’t in the rings today,” he complained, when Nori didn’t answer.
“Why do you care, Dwalin?” the spymaster asked, his voice deceptively pleasant as he played with one of his many hidden knives, making it dance between nimble fingers.
“She’s the only one willing to put me on my arse,” Dwalin admitted sheepishly. “I look forward to sparring with her every week! She’s so busy, but she makes time for me anyway.. it – she – makes me… happy,” he finished, staring into his mug with a desolate expression. He did not want Nori to know that part of his enjoyment came from feeling her body so close to his, the exhilaration he felt when he caught a whiff of her hair oil on his skin or his clothes after a round of unarmed combat.
“You sound a little smitten,” Nori remarked drily, a smirk flashing in Dwalin’s direction. The warrior gaped. He’d been so careful! No one except Balin knew what he felt for the fiery temptress, he was sure of it, always careful not to watch her when others could see. It had been a nightmare on the Quest, honestly, her presence constant, her wry smiles inescapable. He could still see Bilbo’s hand wrapped around her breast that night, could remember wishing – and dreaming, later – that it had been his hand; that she had welcomed his touch.
“No!” he protested, acutely aware that he was sitting next to the one Dwarf in Erebor who would have no problem slipping a knife between his ribs if he thought Dwalin had set his eyes on his sister. “yes,” he murmured, a second later, momentarily feeling a need to get it all out there. “She’s so beautiful,” he whispered dreamily, while Nori looked a little green beside him. Dwalin didn’t notice, “and strong, and brave, and – Oh Mahal – when she smiles at me…” he trailed off, suddenly mortified. “Don’t worry, Nori, nothing will come of my infatuation, I know,” he sighed, getting to his feet. “Mori deserves better than a scarred old warrior.” Tossing back the last dregs of his ale, Dwalin morosely lumbered off to the large house he shared with Balin; the same house their adad had owned before their Exile.
“Dwalin is in love with my sister.”
It wasn’t a question, but Balin nodded anyway, slightly surprised that the thief-turned-spymaster hadn’t said anything before now.
“Has been for… oh, must be 20-odd years since I first heard his tales about the fiery beauty who knocked him down flat in two minutes,” Balin mused. Nori chuckled. “I have tried, over the years, to get him to confess his heart,” Balin sighed. “I thought he would… before the Battle…” he trailed off, remembering the tense hours they had sat in the darkness of Erebor’s front hall and listened to the sounds of Dáin’s warriors battling the Orcs with the aid of the Elves.
“He only told her to be careful,” Nori replied, before he disappeared as silently as he had arrived. Balin shook his head in fond exasperation.
“Where is Mori?” Thorin Oakenshield asked, at the next Company dinner. The ris were missing a member, he saw.
“Iron Hills, possibly,” Nori replied blandly. “Though she could be halfway to Ered Luin by now.”
“WHAT!” Dwalin roared, standing with such force that he knocked his chair over. “You let her go off on her own?! Anything could happen to her!” he seethed. Nori grinned unrepentantly. “She could be hurt! How can you just sit there, laughing!” Dwalin pointed an accusatory finger at Nori, while Ori’s mouth opened as if to speak. The thief’s lightning-quick hand shot out, blocking whatever words the scribe was about to utter. Dwalin continued ranting in that vein for some time until…
“Why, Dwalin, I didn’t know you cared,” you remarked, catching the tail end of an impressive rant aimed in Nori’s direction and concerning your well-being. You wondered what that was about, even as you felt giddy with the confirmation that Dwalin did care about you. The warrior whirled, staring at you as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. You smiled tentatively. “Sorry, I’m late, everyone,” you waved at the room in general, but no one dared break the silence after Dwalin’s outburst.
“Mori…” he groaned, and your name had never sounded so good before.
“Yes, Dwalin?” you asked, looking up at him with puzzled eyes. The hug was unexpected, but not as unexpected as the small words whispered in your ear.
“Please don’t leave me.” When he pulled back, you were surprised by the swirl of emotion in his eyes, the gentleness with which he cupped your face. You felt frozen to the spot, unconsciously licking your lips.
“Oh, Mahal wept!” Thorin groused. “Kiss her already, you old fool, before dinner gets cold. I’m tired of all the pussyfooting around!” The Company laughed, but you didn’t notice over the sound of your heart racing in response to the softness of Dwalin’s lips meeting your own.
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Nessun Dorma | 01 - m!ver.
he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x m!reader. | female version here.
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.
⟶ index | prologue.
__
You can’t say no to him.
You don't think you'd ever be able to deny Mira anything, really. Not when he looks at you like a kicked puppy… a tall, imposing kicked puppy with weird horns on his head who could probably cremate you alive without breaking a sweat.
"Of course I would stay with you! Do you even have to ask?" You reach out to touch his face. His skin always feels so cold under your fingers, but the fire in his eyes burns brighter than ever, as if the intensity of his flames depends solely on the intensity of your affection for him.
"I love you, Mira."
Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.
You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.
“I… I love you too.”
He sounds like he’s about to cry. One of his hands rests against your chest. It’s an innocent touch. He’s just feeling your heartbeat under his palm, tiny and steady like that of a little bird, “I will always, always love you. Even if one day you grow to hate me. Even if you forget about me. Even should you fall in love with somebody else…”
You suddenly feel very tired.
His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.
“I love you, (y/n).”
The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.
___
A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.
It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.
You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.
"(y/n)! What the hell...?" Your friend rolls away from you, finally letting go of the octopus hold he had on you all night. He's all disheveled as he gives you a weak glare, falling back into the makeshift bed you two share with a groan.
It's not even a bed, really. Just a pile of cotton blankets messily thrown under the skylight of an unused barn. This is your little hiding place, and despite you two having perfectly comfortable beds in the main house with Grandma and Grandpa, you prefer to spend your summer nights sleeping in this very loft, where it's cool and open and comfortable.
"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”
Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”
"No… not really."
"Nothing at all?
"No, just…"
"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.
Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.
"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.
"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"
Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.
He knows you too well.
"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.
"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.
"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.
"Yeah," Epel walks the length of the loft and starts going down the ladder to the ground level of the barn. Before his head completely disappears under the edge of the loft, he throws you an arrogant smirk, "I wouldn't want the deafenin' roars of your stomach wakin’ up every wolf 'n boar in the area."
You're rushing after him immediately.
He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.
___
You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.
Your journey might not have had the best start—your parents left you on a doorstep in a basket when you were a small baby, but Epel's grandparents took you in and cared for you like you were theirs, and you grew up surrounded by love in a small farming community.
Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything invented after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.
Oh, and you have Beau.
The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.
Beau is minuscule. The tiniest lamb you've ever seen, always struggling to follow behind you on unsteady legs like you're his mother. Epel says it's because he feels a kinship with a fellow pipsqueak. You're always quick to point out that Epel is not that much taller than you anyway.
"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"
Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.
"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.
You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.
Sigh. Children.
___
You're always dead tired when you finally reach your bed. Farm life is fun and rewarding, but it’s also incredibly exhausting. That coupled with the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep lately means that you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow, barely having the strength to say goodnight to Epel before you’re spiraling into a deep sleep.
…
…
You know you should be surprised to see him, but you never are. You can always feel him creeping around the outer edges of your dreamscape, but it doesn’t bother you. You invite him in every time, even if you forget all about it when you wake up, almost like you know instinctively that he won’t hurt you. Almost like you know him.
The man in your dreams is gorgeous, the kind of beauty that makes you want to learn sculpting so you can attempt to immortalize it. His skin is paler than marble, free of scars or blemishes. His ebony hair looks silky, a stream of ink that frames his handsome face and falls past his shoulders. He is tall, the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and the evil-looking horns on his head make him look ever more imposing.
But what you find most striking about him are his eyes. Emerald gems with flames inside them. It’s the only detail of his that you remember when you wake up, the rest of him a cloud of black smoke when you attempt to picture him outside of your dreams.
“Good evening, Deerlet.” His voice has the texture of silk and when he speaks, it feels like the ground shakes beneath your feet. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you, I wonder?” He closes in on you with slow, purposeful steps, elegant as a cat even as he leans forward slightly, like he wants to keep you in place by towering over you. His expression is curious and serene. You have a feeling he always looks at you like this.
“Why are you here?” You take a few steps back, not because you’re scared of him, but because you're scared of how badly you suddenly want to reach out and touch him. Your bare feet step on something soft, like flowers, and suddenly the dull landscape around you shifts into a view that feels strangely familiar to you. An open meadow and a purple sky above you. An endless sea of black roses around you.
“Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.” He closes the distance again, as attracted to you as you are to him. You’re like two ends of a magnet, when one pulls back the other follows. “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” The small, arrogant smile on his face sends a flurry of tingles down your spine.
“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”
You feel like you already know where this is going.
“So I’ve brought you your gift today,” He reaches out to touch your elbows, languidly pulling you closer to him in a half-embrace that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s too much empty space between the two of you. His fingers linger over your skin, barely touching you.
“Do you want to know what it is?” He whispers against your ear. One of his hands gently cradles your face. His lips brush against your temple and you shiver, completely paralyzed on the spot, “It’s my love, of course.”
Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing and gently lowers you over the roses.
"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.
He chuckles above you, but he's not amused. It's a pained, bitter sound, like you just reached inside his ribcage and crushed his heart in your hand. His ebony hair tickles your skin when he leans down to press kisses against your jaw, "Oh, you do know me, beloved. You are the other end of my soul, as I am yours."
His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your dick wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your chest breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers glide inside your shorts and he runs a slow circle against the humid head of your member, eager to soak in your juices.
You watch with half-lidded eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth. A forked tongue peaks between his lips, slowly running over one of his lucid fingers. It brings back a memory of that time you dropped jam on your forearm, and that same forked tongue cheekily swept it away. The vision is so clear it leaves the hint of a name in your dry mouth.
"Mi… ra?"
His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of precum behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.
"Is… is that your name?" You manage to gasp the words out, suppressing a shiver when he hums low in his throat. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to just give in already. To stop asking questions and wrap your arms around him instead, letting him use your body until he's satisfied. The urge to make him happy is almost primal in you, cauterizing your synapses. The need for him almost tears you apart.
"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the taut flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."
His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the fabric of your shirt makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.
You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of arousal down your crotch. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your tank top. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.
"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your dick throbs in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.
"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your shirt apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.
Nothing could have prepared you for the thunder that rattles the landscape of your psyche when his forked tongue makes contact with your perky nipple. Your hands find his broad shoulders and you hang on for dear life as he licks, nibbles and sucks like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. His mouth is devastatingly gentle and you weakly beg for more. Mira smirks and ignores you, dragging out his tender torture for as long as he can, even as you desperately grind your stiff erection against him.
"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your dick hurts from the lack of attention, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.
Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, precum leaking in your shorts like dew against the fabric.
"... You little brat." Mira pulls away, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are full of mischief as he looks down at you, the smirk ever present on his handsome face, "Is this how you treat your King?"
You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."
His expression falls and he suddenly looks flustered. It seems like he enjoys hearing that you belong to him quite a bit. Mira quickly composes himself, the fire in his eyes now dim and subtle like a dangerous warning.
You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.
"This is far from me being mean." He growls at you, allowing his instincts to take over for just a second, "So I advise you don't do that again." The stern look on his face makes his presence feel even more oppressing than usual.
It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your magic and his and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.
The world around you loses focus. There's no more questions, no more doubts, you don't need to know anything about him, you just want him to touch you while you moan and gasp and whimper his name. It feels like you're on the verge of shattering and when Mira caresses you with his magic one more time, your stomach squeezes and releases, the dam in your abdomen breaks and blinding white flashes in front of your vision. You're left boneless and dazed and shivering, the shock from climaxing so hard and so abruptly leaving you speechless as you gasp and try to catch your breath.
...Holy shit. You catch his eyes and notice the subtle way he’s panting, sweat coating his forehead as he stares at every twitch of your body with intense rapture. Mira looks almost famished, desperation written all over his face. He looks like he’s in pain.
"I'm trying to be gentle, daelin." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to keep the pieces of his disintegrating self-control together. Your scent is everywhere. The light spice in the air threatens to render Malleus insane and he has to momentarily block you out to keep himself from turning into his half-draconic form.
No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…
"...I know."
Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.
"I trust you, Mira."
Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.
You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.
"... I'll make you feel good." He sounds oddly resolute as he looks at you, his pupils large on a background of gentle flames. He kind of looks like a happy cat and you can't help but giggle. He's still as awkwardly sweet as the scrawny boy in your memories.
"You already did."
He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."
You let out a surprised gasp when he slips your shorts off of you and lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your engorged dick. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.
Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces a slow line from the base to the head. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your urethra. Then he runs his tongue flat over your glans and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow circles around the sensitive head.
"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.
"The tip…" he greedily sucks on your glans and your head falls back, precum dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue down the shaft and gently sucks on your ballsack and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release. He brings a hand to your shaft and starts pumping, coating his fingers in precum and saliva as he continues to suck on your glans hungrily.
Your dick throbs desperately with the need to shoot your semen all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…
"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your dick up into his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"
He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his wet fingers plunges into your asshole, the tight passage clenching in shock at the sudden intrusion.
Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He pumps his index finger in and out of you, smearing saliva all over your walls, then he presses that sensitive button inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. He carefully stretches your cute little hole until he can push another finger in. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.
You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face when your cum fills his mouth, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.
You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.
"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." semen drips off his chin but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the thick liquid off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.
“(y/n), I can’t take it anymore…” He breathes frantically, finally allowing himself some sort of relief as he takes his erection out of his pants. His dick is so hard it fucking hurts. He really wanted to take things slow for your sake, but he only ended up edging himself to the point of almost going into a rut.
He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.
"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your inexperienced asshole clenches with traitorous want.
"Not this time, probably not." Mira cradles your little body in his arms, "I'd have to train you for it to fit. Stretch you out until your insides have my imprint." He runs a hand down his face in a quick, agitated movement. Every single cell in his body is fighting against the urge to ravish you. His muscles hurt from tightening so violently and Malleus has to force himself to count to ten to keep from showing his cock inside you at once.
“It’s… fine. I won’t hurt you.” He promises, searching your face for your approval as he lines himself against your entrance. He’s been alive for centuries and yet his heart has never beaten so fast. His hawk-like eyes are focused on you and you alone, burning the image of you laying helpless under him inside his corneas.
Then you nod up at him, looking so cute as you try to put on a brave face that Malleus almost cums right then and there. The head of his dick slowly pushes inside you. Your head lulls back and Mira's hands shake violently.
It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily despite the pain. Stars, it's stretching you so well. He tried to prepare you for this and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being so thoroughly filled wiping out every thought in your head.
He finally touches the deepest place inside you, his large cock still not completely inside, and you both go completely still. The only sounds that break the humid silence are your loud gasps and his feeble ones, mixing together in a cacophony of absolute amazement as you two take in the surreal feeling of finally being connected.
Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.
"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.
"So small." He makes a show of hovering over you completely and suddenly the sky disappears. There's only him. Above you and around you and inside you. You're face to face with his chest, and as you lean your head back, trying to catch his eyes, you see that he has to tuck his chin against his neck to look back at you.
…
...
Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.
"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.
"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"
You can't speak, so you give him another frantic nod, squeezing your eyes shut. You're not prepared for how good it feels when he pulls back. His veins scrape against you, the stretching becomes almost unbearable and you're left moaning long and loud in a way that makes Malleus sweat. If you could see him now, you'd notice he looks almost shy, like the first time you kissed his cheek.
He's almost out of you when he decides to thrust back in, scattering stars across your stomach with a single, gentle motion. Every nerve ending tingles with pleasure. Sweet nonsense falls from your lips and Malleus has to grit his teeth and dig his clawed fingers into the ground in order to cling to the last remains of his thinning patience. His fangs hurt with the primal urge to mark you.
"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you and rubbing your abused prostate with every thrust of his powerful hips. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet boy—my cute little Deerlet—" His waist snaps back into your smaller one in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.
"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, loving the way your dick bounces against his stomach, “Say that you’re mine."
The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.
"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.
"Malleus." He corrects you through gritted teeth, then he stops moving entirely, ignoring your disappointed cries as he desperately tries to resist the pull your body has on him, "Say I'm yours, Malleus."
"I'm yours, Malleus." His real name becomes a moan in your mouth and Malleus finally snaps. There's no more gentle, just a carnal urgency and a need that has waited centuries to be satisfied. He pulls his hips back and then slams into you and fuck, you should be screaming by now but you can't, there's not enough air as you bounce over the flowers and sob, clinging to him like he's your lifeline.
The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.
Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.
He cums so much. You can feel his hot semen fill you up and then spill out like it's a waterfall. He's not letting go of you, his face hidden in your hair as he recovers from the star-shattering pleasure of finally, finally being one with you.
"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.
...
He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.
Don't cry don't cry don't cry—
You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.
Nonononono— Maker, please—
He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.
He looks lost. His dark lashes are wet with tears, his mouth is curved in a confused frown and that's when you realize that he loves you so much, but he doesn't know how to process the feeling. He's like a panicked child and you are fading. And he’s always going to remember this moment, but you won’t.
You scream out his name, his real name.
…
And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.
Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.
___
Life goes on.
You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.
Epel hates that you have to travel so far when you could just help him out at the farm like you usually do, but you’ll be attending NRC coming September, and you want to save some pocket money for you and Epel to spend on all the cool city stuff you can’t find in your hole of a town.
Beau likes to walk you to the bus stop. Epel would too, but you won’t let him waste his time on you when he has his own work to take care of. Your lamb companion stops following you when the dirt road opens to the fields, getting distracted by the dandelions sprinkled at the edges of the village.
"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.
The bus stop isn't far, a lone plastic port on a background of sunflowers. As per usual you're the only one here, but the occasional horse and buggy passes by, and the farmers who live in the nearby granges all greet you with cheerful smiles on their faces. They all know where you're headed and wish you a good day at work. You really can't keep anything to yourself in such a small community.
The commute to the beach takes almost an hour. The road zig-zags and then straightens towards the coastline. You're almost tempted to doze off, but finding your way to the beach if you miss your stop is going to be a pain in the ass, so you force yourself to stay awake, keeping your eyes on the picturesque horizon and daydreaming about your mysterious man with the emerald eyes.
You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.
…
You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.
___
The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.
There's people everywhere, craving drinks and food before they go lay down on their beach towels for the rest of the day, their flip-flops leaving sand in every corner of the bar that you'll be sweeping for an eternity. Screaming children run this and that way like they're high on vitamin gummies. Their melting popsicles leave a sticky trail on the ground. They step on it and spread liquid sugar everywhere.
…
Why do you work here again?
…
Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.
Said coworker perks up when he sees you. His ears give an excited wiggle (Maker, he's adorable) and he shoots you a smirk that shows his little fangs, "Ah, kitten! Always a sight for sore eyes." He hisses a 'kishishishi' that you've learned to recognize as his laughter, his closed eyes looking like little half-moons.
"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”
Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.
“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.
"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.
You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.
___
“I am dying.” You groan and rest your head on the counter, the coolness of the wood soothing your flushed face, “Why did I take this job anyway? I don't need the money! I can just live off the land with my lamb companion and eat apple jam for the rest of my days."
Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”
You turn your head to look at him, cheek smushed against the counter. Rush hour is finally over, but god, you're in pieces. Waiting tables is not as easy as it sounds, and dealing with entitled moms on vacation is a torture worse than stepping on two Legos at the same time.
The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.
"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.
"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.
"It's not masochism, it's the law of the Savannah." He places the glass right in front of your face. You lift your head off the counter and wrap your hands around the cold beverage as he shoots you a mischievous look. He waits for you to take a sip before adding: "But it's nice ta know you're so interested in my sexual preferences."
You choke.
He laughs that kishishishi sound.
As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.
You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.
This kind of flirting is… not uncommon between the two of you, but it never really leads to anything, if only because you're both stuck manning the bar and you can't really leave the place unattended.
But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...
Regardless of your feelings on the matter, his casual teasing makes you feel like the hottest person on this beach, so you don't discourage it. You take another sip of tea, sighing through your nose at how pleasant the cold beverage feels when it runs down your throat.
...
"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."
...
What?
You look at him like he's grown another head.
"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.
"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"
You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your nipples peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.
"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.
"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."
Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"
"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.
___
Left alone in an empty beach bar, Ruggie barely resists the urge to slam his head against the counter. His shoulders are burning like he's been marked like cattle, and all he wants to do is to walk into the ocean until the waves swallow him completely. Maybe the abhorrent heat that singes his skin would fucking disappear then. And if not, at least the cold water would kill his boner.
This happens every fucking time. Every fucking time. He should be smarter than this, and yet he always falls for the same tricks, and the worst part is that he's tricking himself. Ruggie knows that flirting with you is akin to showing burning coals in his abdomen. He gets so fucking excited his entire body starts tingling with electricity, which is not the ideal state to be when you're at work.
And yet he still does it anyway.
Maybe he really is a masochist.
And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.
And oh God, you're going to the same school as him in September. You're going to be prancing around in your little uniform, calling him 'senpai' and shit and he's going to have to go through his heat while being tortured like that.
Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.
Yeah, he's fucked.
___
"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.
Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."
This is not the first time you've done this song and dance. With how little you've been sleeping lately, you're always looking for excuses to be carried around by Epel. Your legs feel like jello, you are not walking all the way to the barn tonight. Just changing into your pajamas has been hard enough.
"Yeah, but you slept like a rock all night!" You hug him from behind and rest your lips against his shoulder, giving him an unimpressed look from over his shoulder, "I woke up to you drooling all over my shirt multiple times."
Epel flushes the color of the fruit he's named after and mumbles something unintelligible. He waves goodnight to his grandparents and so do you, then he struggles towards the front door, pretty much having to drag you across the hallway.
"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"
The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.
"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."
Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.
"Why don't ya go ask yer darlin' Ruggie to carry ya then?" His accent gets more jumbled as his irritation grows. Still, for all his fussing, Epel bends down and waits for you to climb on his shoulders.
You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.
A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.
"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."
"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.
__
You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.
"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.
He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.
"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."
Epel almost chokes on his saliva.
You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.
You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."
It’s true. Epel often rolls on top of you in his sleep, and nothing you do ever seems to shake him off or wake him up. You figure you can just get right to it, since he apparently loves resting his head on your chest while he snores.
Your friend closes the distance between you with three hesitant steps. "... You're such a moron, seriously." He mumbles, kneeling between your legs and then draping himself over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. He smells like apples, as always. His cotton pajamas and his fluffy hair make him the perfect cuddle buddy. You sigh contently into his hair and wrap your arms tighter around his back.
It’s quiet for a bit. Epel’s weight is strangely comforting over you. The sound of his steady breaths is a familiar lullaby, and you quickly find yourself floating in that comfy, tingly space between sleep and wake.
…
“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”
Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.
“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and scratch his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.
…
…
“Have you ever kissed him?”
Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.
You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”
He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.
“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I’ve never kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.
Right?
“... Do you want to?”
Your breath catches in your throat. Everything seems to still around you. Your heartbeat speeds up as you look into Epel's eyes. You know he's pretty manly despite his soft features, but he's never been so… forward before. You two have always been like siblings, so you really didn't think Epel felt that way about you. Maybe he's just joking?
… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.
Do you want to?
…
"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.
His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…
___
❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?
⟶ Lay back and let Epel take the lead. You deserve this after being teased in your dreams by your mystery man and teased in real life by your hyena coworker. Besides, you kind of want to see what your stubborn Epel is capable of in bed... (sub!deerlet content)
⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)
vote here | what is this?
❥ taglist: @mirrorsandpacts @stormweaver13 @bobaryn @justsomepersons @mokkeguts @maiieus @trashmomarcya @dat-bi-bitch @lem-thebeast @mythrule @hfhgjgji @zzz-sleeplessy-soft-xxx @anicious @kae-draws-sometimes @cogitover @sammy6667 @shrimp-heads @twistedmintcandy @gyghii @akelois @maknae-lenna @chiefcashgianthero @carasketch @mayorkoopbob @linseyz @gardenondreams @andromeda-gay @equus-meretrix @the-king-of-blue @spacebabesupernova @kagicannotsee @doraconia @hello-starlight @yandere-romanticaa @skyboo @uwu-dreams @kay8675 @meltyans @drawbud @msyaoigodkanna @roseinbloom02 @hoodiedevil @ikemenisruiningme @miiluka @hello-selene94 @moondustinhislungs @nosochek-3o @epher-posts @monoshii-wasu @rosavine @bitch-let-me-die @raychel @pumpkiethepie @hypmicluvbot @theallpowerfulrosami @mmquinno @mayunnaise21 @ruvelise @roaringyouth
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland scenarios#nessun dorma#m!reader
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Uhh hi?? Yeah can I request some 2p caname(2p America x 2p Canada)? It's my literal OTP and I will love it to the day I die, so please? You don't have to, like I said just a request and I really love your writing!! ✨❤️⭐️
A bad idea?
He can admit it, and be very loud and proud about it, but Allen had a type. Looking back at past flings and old relationships there’s a defining characteristic between everyone he’s been with. Allen likes people who could kick his ass.
There’s just something about the idea that has Allen weak in the knees with that dopey smile on his face. Strong and tough and able to pick him up. Not that it’s too hard being small as he is, but it’s an added bonus to anyone if they can.
So when Lutz invited him to go see some wrestling, Allen couldn’t refuse. Any chance he could get to see muscles in action he would take.
He cackles and follows Lutz through the large crowd. It’s an outside venue surrounded by trees with food shops and t-shirt souvenirs for sale. They end up at the edge of an arena leaning on the wood banisters. The stage is just a hole in the ground deeper than what everyone else stands on with a few feet of space before the banister. Lutz takes a large swig of his beer.
“You’re gunna love this.” Is all warning he gets as two burly men run from two holed out steps on the sides and straight into each other. Allen cheers with the rest of them as the bodies slap to the ground. His eyes are wide with entertainment as they pummel each other as best they can.
He’s actually surprised to see a referee, but they jump into the stage pit once one of them seems to be passed out. He pushes the other bloody man away and then calls a winner. Some of the crowd boos while the other cheers but Allen just smiles, enjoying everything he’s seeing.
He and Lutz watch many more matches. Some end quick and others take so long they actually get to take a mid fight break. They always come away bloody and it makes Allen wonder what he would have to do in order to get put on their shoulders.
“Go Lulu!” Lutz shouts just before one of the matches starts. Allen learned how to tell when a match would start by the rustle of pushing right by the steps. He spies a short angry looking person glare up at Lutz before they vault over the person holding them back to attack their opponent with a speed Allen hadn’t seen before.
“He may be tiny but shit is he ruthless.” Allen snickers at the dreamy way Lutz talks about the other fighter. He cheers along to show support and the small one wins by choke out when they managed to get on their opponent’s back.
The sky is getting darker and more people are crowding them. Allen gives skeptical looks to the wild life crew that appears as well as the guns with what looks to be tranquilizer. Lutz elbows him with a wild smile.
“Main event,” He says like a giddy child. Allen can feel the energy of the people around him and it’s contagious. By the time a large stage light turns on he’s jumping up and down antsy to see what will happen next.
And what happens next makes Allen swoon. Maybe they’re not the biggest of the wrestlers but they are massive in height and build. Long blonde hair that’s covered in dirt is swept into a low pony tail. They are shirtless which on its own would make Allen smirk but the long scratch like scars littering their body has him itching to touch the man.
“I wanna suck your dick!” He shouts out before his mind can tell him it’s a bad idea. A few people laugh while others cheer for the possibility. The wrestler themselves just kind of looks his direction with a deadpan expression and an icy look in their eyes. Allen winks and they turn away from him.
He’s not even upset about the slight rejection. Not when he gets a perfect view of the wrestler rolling back their shoulders and crouching getting ready, something none of the other fighters got to do. It doesn’t take long for Allen to figure out why.
Suddenly as well, the animal control makes sense as a bear is unleashed into the pit. Allen is screaming now. The wrestler dances around the bear as it growls every so often going up on two legs and towering over everything. The scars have a story now.
The wrestler is the first to make a move, charging and getting the animal by the belly. The animal howls and does it’s best to get a grip on them and bite. The wrestler remains persistent as they can with their feet dragging back in the dirt from the force of the animal pushing back against them.
Lutz has to physically pry him off the banister when the wrestler tosses the animal down. Allen is screaming too much to care. He’s never seen anything like this or more attractive.
A squeal breaks free when the wrestler stumbles back from the bear with three long, now bleeding, wounds across their side torso. The bear growls at him, tilting their head almost curiously, and the wrestler ignores the pain to rush in again. Allen might faint for him.
The match ends when the bear whimpers with the wrestler sitting on their back. Applause erupts as both the bear and wrestler are taken out of the pit with care. Allen is shaking at what he just witnessed with no where to put his energy. So he grabs Lutz by the shoulders and almost climbs up him to properly yell in his face.
“That was the coolest thing ever!” The words come out sharper than he means to but he doesn’t care. Lutz pushes him off but laughs. They hang around the arena waiting for people to disperse when a familiar fighter comes up to them.
“Who’s this asshole?” The tiny fighter asks, Lulu is what Lutz called them. Allen smirks at the nickname.
“He’s an old friend, likes seeing people get beat up,” Lutz explains. Lulu gives him an odd expression then sighs in annoyance.
“Follow me you fucks,” Lutz does so gladly, musing and flirting with the fighter, even after they sweep their leg low and knock him down to his back. Allen laughs at him. They follow this Lulu behind some trees where medical tents stand with people working hard on fighter’s health. They patch up open gashes and check eyesight for concussions.
They walk past them all to a tent farther off. Some of the animal control people stand outside. They give Allen skeptical looks as he steps inside.
“Hey Matt,” Lulu says when he enters. Allen however jerks back seeing a bear chilling in the tent, just sitting there like it belongs, tilting its head at Allen like he’s intruding.
“Here’s the dumbass who said he’d suck your dick,” Lulu introduces him. He manages to take in the rest of his surroundings. Vets and control are looking at the bear, checking vitals. People doctors are doing their best to work on the wrestler as he sits plainly on the ground with his head pressed to the bears in a comforting way. He hisses when a doctor presses something to his open injury. The bear whimpers and nudges him.
“I’m fine Kuma,” The wrestler says and ruffles the animal’s face. Finally he looks over. Lutz is already busy bugging Lulu as a doctor looks over his possible injuries though the tiny fighter doesn’t look interested in anything Lutz has to offer. It leaves Allen to smirk happily at the wrestler.
“I could have sworn you and that bear just tried to kill each other,” He approaches carefully. The doctors smile at his statement and he knows he’s wrong about something. The wrestler, Matt, just pushes the bear over and it flops like a giant puppy.
“Kuma would never,” Comes the gruff answer. Allen stands near him watching as the wrestler casually plays with the bear, getting chided to sit still by the doctor wrapping his torso to help the bleeding. Allen scans what exposed skin he can see, that want to touch them growing stronger with every jagged detail.
“Matt! Great show man!” Lutz claps him on the back and Matt groans in pain. He sends a cold glare to Lutz and Allen has to snicker when he backs up in fear. The dude did just wrestle a bear, fighting a person would be no trouble.
The doctors skip out once they know Lulu and Matt are okay and the animal crew has to pull Kuma away from Matt, whining all the way. Lutz is able to pry Lulu away and then its just the two of them. Matt on a low portable cot that’s angled so he can sit up and Allen debating the pros and cons of straddling him while he still can.
In the end he goes closer and kneels with his arms resting on the cot and his head on his arms. Matt gives him a weird look but doesn’t say anything. Allen doesn’t say anything either, just sighs dreamily.
“What is wrong with you?” Matt asks him then. Allen cackles at the question, not sure if he has a good answer. So he doesn’t answer.
“So how’d you and the bear get into this gig?” He sits up a little straighter, inching closer. Matt rolls his eyes.
“I’ve had Kuma since he was a cub,” Is all Matt says by way of explanation. It’s enough for Allen. He stands and casually leans over Matt, undeterred by the odd look he receives in return.
“You look great while fighting,” His tone is flirtatious as anything. Matt narrows his eyes.
“You’re annoying,” He says and a sly smirk crosses Allen’s face.
“Not annoying enough,” Is his counter. He takes the risk and lifts a leg up and over to sit on Matt’s lap. He’s careful of the injuries, placing his hands on safe spots on Matt’s upper chest. He has to repress a shudder at how good the wrestler feels.
“Otherwise you wouldn’t have let me done that,” He raises his eyebrows quick in a ‘gotcha’ fashion. Matt clenches his jaw and Allen could swear the wrestler is fighting off a blush. That or debating throwing Allen off him. Either would be good in his book.
Matt is warm under him, solid with muscles, and Allen feels the indents in his skin where his scars are. He settles in with a mischievous glint in his eyes as Matt brings his hands to Allen’s legs to hold him steady.
“I was serious you know,” He coos. Matt glares without answer though his hands twitch. Allen wonders if he can push the right buttons to get Matt to really grip him. He wiggles just to get a small bit of friction between them.
“I want to suck your dick.” At the crass bold sentence Matt digs his fingers into Allen’s hips with a frustrated blush forming on his cheeks. Allen couldn’t stop the delighted expression that comes over him even if he wanted to. Matt grits his teeth then sighs.
“I’ve got a better idea,” He says huskily and Allen would agree to anything if it meant Matt’s hands would stay on him. And really, Matt’s idea is truly much better.
#2p america#2p canada#2p caname#caname#drabble#anonymous#aw babe ily too#this was fun to write and i hope you enjoy it
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Got Scars on Our Future Hearts (But We Never Look Back) [5/7]
Where Carlos keeps disappearing, Evie is scheming something, Mal knows and won’t say and Jay just wants to struggle about his new found crushes in peace.
Alternatively, Carlos is in a secret underground rock band and is totally crushing on Jay. Jay finds out about said secret band and finds the lead totally hot. Evie planned it all from the start and Mal likes watching her emotionally stunted male friends fumble about their love lives as much as she did. (Even more alternatively, the Punk Band AU I talked about with be-a-thief-in-the-night)
Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
<AO3>
Carlos laughed as he ran off stage, out of breath and hyped up on the adrenaline of a gig.
“Goodness sake, Snowflake,” their bassist, Beck, says as they pull off the plague doctor inspired carnival mask and ruffling their dark hair, “Really pulling for some groupies, huh?”
“Oh shut up Crow.” Carlos replies, using their stage names in case the mics weren't off yet.“You know I've only got eyes on one.”
“And what a tragedy that is.” Elliot comes in with a flourish and a wink, shaking his sweat soaked hair, dropping the motorcycle helmet he used on the couch and sitting beside it with a groan. “You've got too pretty a voice to get all hung up on one person now.”
Harriet comes in and smacks her brother up the head before squeezing in beside him, “As if you'd actually go for it if he was available you dork.”
Elliot rolls his eyes, “I'm trying to teach you, dear sister. Just because I don't want or need any doesn't mean you have to live your life in constant awkward pining.”
“Oh shut up!” Harriet replies, blowing a raspberry in her twin’s direction.
“Still, I can't believe our lil baby singer had the guts to do it.” Kali replies as she gingerly places her guitar on the stand.
Carlos groans, “You act as if I pushed him against a wall and made out with him- “
“And what an image that would've made.” Elliot cuts in cheekily.
“ -thanks Lio- as I was saying, I just dedicated to an anonymous person, I didn't even say his name.” Carlos finishes, exasperated.
“Maybe you should.” Beck says with a grin that reminded Carlos a tad too much of the Isle. “We could set up a club to go with our gig next time. Have you corner the unsuspecting Jock as the party dwindles.”
Beck waggles their eyebrows suggestively and grabs Kali's hand and pulls her into a dip. “Imagine, you, him, bright light, a dark corner.”
Kali laughs as Beck pulls her up into a twirl. Kali sighs dreamily for effect, “You whisper in his ear, and before you know it-”
“BOOM, “ they say together, as Kali extends her hand in a dramatic pose, “He's all flustered and you have him right where you want him.”
They bow dramatically and the twins clap lightly.
“Take him home, maybe ravage him, or the other way around, whichever,” Elliot adds with an eyebrow waggle of his own, “And happily ever after happens.”
Carlos shakes his head and groans into a facepalm, “I regret telling you all about him.”
Beck laughs, “Telling us? Dear, don't pretend you had a choice.”
Carlos sighs and shakes his head, “Ugh, whatever.”
Kali takes pity on him and pats his head, “Don't worry about it too much. But I do think it's a good idea to invite him to our next gig and have it in a place where you can talk to him instead of having to leave immediately.”
Carlos sighs, less exasperated and more defeated, “Yeah, you're right. You sure we can pull that off?”
Beck and the twins have what you can only describe as Cheshire cat grins on their faces, Kali shrugs and looks at him with an expression that said well, what can ya do?
Carlos can already feel the regret climbing up his spine.
Carlos gets back in a simple shirt and some sweatpants. He heads to Evie and Mal’s dorm room. He gives two sharp knocks on the door and out opens to a widely grinning blue haired princess.
“A note, Carlos?” Evie says with a sly smile, “How old fashioned of you.”
“Ugh,” Carlos grunts as he walks in and lets himself fall on one of the beds, “I would've thought the teasing would end at my bandmates.”
Evie somehow snorts like royalty, “Oh please, C, our resident badass wannabees wouldn't have even touched the tip of the teasing iceberg.”
“Honestly, this is the most fun Auradon drama I've seen.” Mal says from her bed with a grin that reminds Carlos of her mom. “Ironically the main characters are VKs, but then again we are the most fun in general.”
Carlos sighs, wanting to steer the conversation away from his train wreck of a romantic conquest. “Beck’s planning an afterparty for the next gig. Thought you guys might want in on it.”
Carlos doesn’t mention that it’s planned deliberately to move his love life forward but he figures he deserves a bit of reprieve before Evie and Mal find out eventually. He sees Evie with a twinkle in her eye and Carlos already knows he’s going to either owe Evie his soul for the rest of his life or regret this with the force of a thousand dying suns. (Okay, so he’s being a tad dramatic. Don’t judge him, Evie’s plans are always over the top since she, and he quotes, “missed out on the prime of my party planning youth because of a certain half fairy.”)
Mal is giving Carlos the stink eye for planting a party planning thought in Evie’s head and turns to face the blue haired princess with a neutral expression.
“Evie…” she starts cautiously as the other girl turns to her excitedly.
“Mal…” Evie says with a sly smile. “You’d do anything for your best girl right?”
“Don’t you drag my affection for you into this!” Mal says, shaking her head violently and giving Evie what could only be called a childish pout. Not that Carlos would ever say that to Mal’s face.
Evie laughs and pats Mal’s cheek. “You know you can’t turn me down, sweet pea.”
Mal growls playfully, wraps her arms around Evie and pulls her down onto the bed. Evie shrieks with laughter, playfully struggling against Mal’s grip, too distracted and breathless from laughing to really try.
Carlos rolls his eyes at the two and decides that it was his time to leave, he says a quick goodbye the girls won’t hear and hops off the bed and out of the room.
Carlos pads silently to their room, a habit that sometimes freaks the Auradon kids out. Heeled shoes aren't exactly quiet and on the Isle quiet is a lifestyle. Although, to think of it, Evie has perfected the art of stiletto sneaking.
Carlos gets to their room and he opens the door, the hinges creak and Carlos’ jaw locks instinctively. He grimaces at the habit as he loosens his jaw. He wonders when he'll be able to stop locking up at the minutest sound when he's alone, reacting like he's still afraid of a slap to the face for existing.
(He guesses it would be when he actually feels that it's ok for him to exist.)
He opens the door wide and sees Jay sitting up on his own bed, eyes alert and muscles coiled like snake readying to strike. Jay visibly relaxes into a smile when he sees Carlos. A part of Carlos is relieved that he wasn’t the only one with remnants of the Isle in him, the other part is angry that someone as precious as Jay had to live with the Isle marking him.
“Sup, Pup.” Jay says, raising a hand lazily, heavily contrasting the attack-mode he was in earlier.
“Hey, Jay.” Carlos says as he closes the door, walks over to his bed and sits down.
“You alright, C?” Jay says with a worried tone, Carlos looks up in surprise and is startled by the pouty look on Jay’s face, “You look exhausted.”
Adoration bubbles in Carlos’ chest, he couldn’t believe Jay would bother worrying about him, Carlos kicks off his shoes in an effort to get his mind busy and keep his tone light. “Uh- I-I’m fine. New project is’all, keeping us up.”
Carlos looks at his abandoned shoes like they’re the most interesting thing and Jay frowns, worry lines deepening before shaking his head.
“Oh, that’s cool.” Jay says with a strained smile Carlos misses, “Just… don’t go around collapsing.”
Carlos feels a blush starting, which is honestly the stupidest thing seeing as he sung the dude a love song just a couple of hours earlier. Carlos looks up and smiles at Jay, “Thanks, Jay. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I can handle it better than the Auradon kids.”
“Course you can.” Jay says with a snort, “You'd be hurtin’ the VK pride if you didn't.”
Carlos laughs, it was nice to be able to banter with Jay like this. It's been awhile since they weren't both either asleep or busy. That afternoon was actually the first time in a couple of months that they really got to hang out together and now that the rush of the show was fading from Carlos’ veins, he realized that he really missed the older boy. Even on the Isle where Mal and Jay were more frequently out thieving together whilst Carlos and Evie worked on the logistics side of things. When it came down to it, the moment the four of them were in a room, Jay had managed to squeeze into whatever makeshift beanbag Carlos was on, chattering idly about his thoughts and Evie was off to sweet talk Mal into whatever plan she had come up with to get whatever thing she wanted. Honestly, Jay's existence was entwined into Carlos’ life and if it were up to the younger, it would ne-
“Earth to Carlos.”
Carlos blinks as his train of thought stops suddenly. “Huh?”
Jay looks at him with a mixture of fondness and amusement, “Off to lala land again?”
Carlos shrugs and smiles, “Just thinking about how it's been awhile since we got to hang out together. Just us.”
Jay looks startled, mouth opening and closing a couple of times like a fish out of water.
Carlos laughs, embarrassed, “Cat got your tongue?”
Jay looks like how speechless feels before he snaps out of it, “W-wait, are you saying you want us to go out- hang, hang out together?”
“Course,” Carlos says, “Just ‘cause I've got new friends doesn't mean they're higher on the list than you, bro.”
Jay looks taken aback before giving a grin that Carlos has figured made every vaguely interested person swoon on the spot. Carlos manages not to through sheer willpower and built up tolerance over the years.
“Hah, of course I am.” Jay says with faux confidence, “Best bros for life dude.”
They both go quiet.
Jay looks down and speaks up, “I just figured, you'd be better off with the Auradon kids.”
Carlos frowns and sits beside the older boy, nudging the other's shoulder, “Hey, I might not be the most evil but we're VKs for life, right? Ain't nobody but us could really get it.”
Jay grins, “Cause we’re rotten.”
Carlos laughs at the old phrase, “To the core.”
#jaylos#disney descendants#jay descendants#carlos de vil#malvie#the jaylos punk band carlos au#finally releasing the fifth chapter HAHAHA#jaylosfic
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About time.
A/N- Just an alternate more ‘mature’ story of my previous au.
Hope you enjoy this. Its really good, I promise. :) You’re in for a surprise huhuhu :3
Plot- Jungkook is your roommate for about a while now, but time seems to have gotten some strings attached. Lets see how it goes. Will resistance win?
Characters- Y/N, Jimin, Jungkook.
Word Count- 2.2k+.
Warning- Swearing.
For better understanding, check out these!(or don’t, your wish :3)-
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
casual texting- part 1, part 2
-
This wasn’t just your average love story. This was an intense blend of being in a friend zone and being perpetually torn between lust and respect. Almost two years ago you didn’t even expect to be living with a boy too hot for existing. But there you were… With him, under one roof and almost painfully attracted to him. The amazing awkwardness was no longer prominent though. Where on one hand we wanted to clutch onto each other like koalas and not let go and on the other hand, wanted to rip off clothes and sink your souls into each other’s skin. It was almost agonizing for you both to keep your eyes off one another. At this point in life, you were highly satisfied with the situation in general. - It was a quite uneventful Friday evening and this was going to be a long weekend. Jimin, you and your roommate of 2 and a half years, Jungkook were sat down on the ground in your living room, reading comics, texting and just casually wasting time.
“Hey Y/N, let’s go out. I’m bored. And its weekend anyway.” Jimin said yawning and streching his arms out. Jungkook sighed as he looked at you and you were least bothered about tonight.
“I don’t know Chimchim…” You breathed.
Jimin got agitated at this and got up and crawled to you and locked you into an Asian defensive embrace. “Chimchim, no!” You cackled trying to escape from his grip.
You glared at Jungkook who was just straight face busy texting someone. You managed to kick him in the nape of his neck, making him lose his phone.
“Y/N! You-!” He immediately got up and locked you with his muscular arms from the front. You were suffocating but couldn’t complain. It had been so long since you all were finally together, without any college assignments.
“Ah! Jungkook! Jimin! You fuckers, let go, I’m dying!” You laughed as you held their arms so that they loose their grip on you.
“Fuck off!” Jungkook growled.
“Okay, I’m sorry! Ah, let go!” You cried.
“Y/N, please let’s go!” Jimin said.
“Fine! Fine!” You finally felt free. You coughed and hit them both hard.
“Where do we go?” I asked as I lean onto Jungkook’s shoulder. He snaked his hand from behind, to grope your shoulders.
“Let’s go somewhere fancy today.” Jungkook suggested while unconsciously lighting rubbing one of your palms. You nervously sweat at his touch, but you were kind of used to it. His fingers felt like electricity running through and down to you core.
“Oh yeah! There is this, Italian place I saw.” Jimin said as he navigated through his phone.
“Let’s go! I’ll get ready.” You left Jungkook’s grip reluctantly and went to get ready. You needed a moment to settle in the atmosphere after escaping his comfortable heat. He tracked you with his eyes while you were going. Jungkook looks away at Jimin with a slight smile and found Jimin staring at him.
“Just admit it already.” Jimin teased.
“What the fuck?” Jungkook frowned at him with flushed cheeks.
“Come on! We all know you are so in love with her.” He said.
“Oh shut up. I am not.” Jungkook deeply blushed. Unable to be aware about his own feelings towards you. “You ask anyone. Ask any Hyung, they all say the same. Have you even noticed the way you look at her. It’s insane and so magical!” Jimin dreamily told. “No chimi. She is my roommate and my friend. I just care about her. A lot.” Jungkook said looking down at his twiddling thumbs. - “I’m done. Let’s go!” You announced from a distance. You wore a cute little gravy, off-shoulder dress with timberlands. You had messy hair and a dark lip colour on, leaving the two men with ajar mouths.
“Damn.” Jimin scanned you up and down.
“Where is Y/N? Miss, if you’re free, join us for dinner tonight.” Jimin said making me roll my eyes at him. Although you lived for his cheesy compliments, you still made a face at him.
“You still look like a pig.” Jungkook teased without leaving his eyes from his phone.
“Yeah whatever. You still look like a rabbit.” You teased him back which certainly offended him. You were still pondering as to why he had been stuck on his phone lately. Did he get a girlfriend without telling you? You felt a knot in your stomach on the thought of him holding another girl, laughing with her, kissing her, just being with her. You had not released it, but in this course of two and a half years, you might have started liking your roommate. It was obvious for you and him, that you couldn’t keep eyes off one another at times which made you jump. When he jokingly called you cute things like 'baby’ or 'sweetie’ or 'sugar’, your heart would do a 360° flip. - You finally headed out to the restaurant with both the men. You held Jimin’s arm while walking. Jungkook just saw that from the corner of his eyes and ignored. You all talked about life in general, jobs and stuff, whilst on the way.
“Ew, your PDA disgusts me.” Jungkook finally said out of context.
“Oh is someone jealous?” Jimin pouted sarcastically. You just clutched onto him more and kissed his cheek.
“How about that, Kookie?” You poked out your tongue at him.
Jungkook frowned hard and to your surprise, held your waist tight.
“Alright, I need my share too then.” He smirked. You blushed at his quick gesture. We soon reached our destination and had the fanciest meal ever. It was a bit pricey for you all to have but you had a good time. You all split the bill and then happily started walking back home. Once again, you were latched on Jimin and it was killing Jungkook this time, he immediately pulls out his phone and started tapping on it. This time you were low-key mad.
“What is with you and your phone-” you snatched away Jungkook’s phone. He was startled. "The fuck woman! What are you doing?” He screams.
“Seriously Kookie, what is it?” I ask furiously whilst desperately trying to find out.
“Just give my phone back!” He ordered while attempting to snatch it away.
“Can you just tell me what’s even up with you?” You yelled.
“Y/N!” He screams and you fall to the ground bruising your arm.
“Oh my god. Y/N!” Jimin got startled and reached out to pick you up. Jungkook was just stood there with his eyes widened and shook expression.
“You know what? Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook!” I spat as I dusted myself. “You! Don’t talk to me these days, don’t share anything with me, don’t come home till late, always leave the house early, don’t eat the food I make, and you just are so ignoring me. What’s wrong with you?” You were low-key red.
“Y/N, calm down.” Jimin whispered while holding me in place.
“ASSHOLE.” You stared at your wound as you eye him from the corner. His phone beeps and you read he message there.
//are you jealous? <3//
“Y/N I-” As Jungkook was about to say anything, you left before placing his phone on his hand.
“Well done, Kook. Now she hates you for sure.” Jimin sarcastically says.
“Aish! I’m an idiot!” Jungkook face-palmed hard.
“Indeed.” Jimin said while punching him lightly.
“Now go get her. She’s hurt and she needs someone. I’ll be leaving. Taehyung must be home.” Jimin says and leaves.
“I better come up with an apology of reasonable explanation.” Jungkook was really in dilemma and he wanted to really make up for hurting you. Jungkook rushes to a store to buy your favorite beer and Thai food.
-
“Y/N, are you in?” Jungkook sweetly called you out. You frowned at him and ignore without saying a word. You were sat in the balcony with music blasting from the speakers. The night was breezy and you were just sat there in silence and mild darkness. Jungkook keeps the things aside on the dining table as he steps towards and lightly wrap his arms around your shoulders. You were still slightly annoyed at him but the way he holds you made you want to turn around and hug him. Tight. “Y/N. Sorry, baby.” He mumbles like a little 5-year-old boy against your skins. He still had his arms wrapped around you with his head resting over your left shoulder. You were still taken aback at his intimate touch that had happened in the past as well, but not in a situation like this.
You sighed and replied to him finally. “Kookie, what is even up with you I swear I can’t-” as you turn to face him, he gives you the puppy eyes which makes you pout in return. You cup his cute face and tell him to not do it.
“You made me fall.” You tell him making even his heart skip a beat.
‘Only if it were in the way’, Jungkook thought.
“I realized it. I have been an asshole recently. I have been so stressed and I thought I should talk to you but I just didn’t know how.” He didn’t know how to respond to that but he confessed his ignorance towards you. He looked at your bruise which nearly killed him on the inside, seeing that he was responsible to scar you like that.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant you hurt you, I just… Sorry. But hey! Look, I got your favorite beer and Thai food!” He tells me yet with a voice filled with regret and sadness.
“Oh, my god! This is what I really needed now!” You cleared him off the way from the balcony and rushed to the table to grab the beer can. You pop open it up and have a big sip. You could never be mad at him for bringing you alcohol. It was such a uni student thing.
“Ah~ this is good.” You say walking back to balcony where your roommate was. You toss him another can of beer.
“You know it’s been too long that we have actually hung out like this. Remember the one time we went hiking and I slept all over you…” You look up at the beaming moon and reminisce the old times when you were both new and naive.
Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, making sure not to choke himself, cringing at his childish nature back then.
“Not going to lie, I enjoyed it.” He winked at me with that killer bunny smile of his.
“Mate, I bet you did. And I think your alcohol is kicking in.” You laugh and slap him lightly in the arm.
“Oh Y/N, we used to be so awkward. Now look at us, were chilling in our balcony with beer.” He smiles.
“Jungkook, honestly, I would have never even thought I’d get along with you well.” You lean your face to face him.
“Well, same.” He taps the time of your nose making you smile like an idiot. There was a numb silence in the air that night.
“Y/N…” He broke the winds sound with His own lovely voice. After knocking down the third can of beer
You hum in response and look at him with intoxicated eyes. Your eyes were burning at his visual. You wanted to clutch into him so bad, you start to dig your own skin in resistance.
“Why did you want to know what I had been up to these days? Why did you become so curious all of a sudden?” He quietly asks, touching around his hands over your bruise.
You stood quiet and said, “I don’t know, I felt like you changed… And you don’t want my company anymore… I’m sure, she is pretty and nice to you. She has no idea what a gem you are, Jungkook.” You said, trying to look at him who was completely wasted now.
“You were jealous? Weren’t you?” He stares right at me.
Your eyes widen at his sudden abrupt yet kind if true answer.
“I-I-I…” You couldn’t help but stammer.
“You want me all to yourself. Right?” With every word he spoke, he was inching closer to me like never before. You had goosebumps all over your body. He had never crossed lines without context. This time, you felt jolts of thrill and nervousness running in your body.
“Jungkook, I-” before you could say a word, he was cupping your face and admiring you.
“Such a cute little thing you are, Y/N.” With these almost inaudible whispers of his, you felt his hot breath hovering above your lips, almost brushing it against yours. His eyes seemed to feel heavy and closing so lightly.
You felt even more enticed than you already where. There was a nip in the cold air, but his presence made it weirdly warm. You weren’t sure if it was alcohol or his touch that made your squirm to core. You lightly whisper his name and felt your eyes closing. He softly touches his rose petal like soft pink lips to yours and just as so, you melt. You didn’t waste time in grabbing his hair and holding him back in place. The movement seemed so natural, so effortless. it felt as if you both wanted it and it was finally happening. The need of feeling each other so close was finally there. He moved even closer to you, without disconnecting your lips. He was properly holding you now. His lips were dancing along yours, occasionally making his tongue run across your lower lips. You gently part your lips to give him a better access of your pretty little mouth. Both of your hearts were threatened to beat out of your chests.
You were so lost into kissing him deeply and passionately, that you forgot what had even happened. You were his roommate and here you were, making out with him. You couldn’t care less when all you needed was right in your arms, kissing you, holding you, making you feel wanted. You couldn’t ask for more. Even if this act was out of lost consciousness, you want to savior the taste of your desires.
#jungkook scenarios#jungkook smut#jungkook imagine#bts scenarios#jeon jungkook#jeon jungkook scenarios#jimin scenario
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Dark 7
A/n: Dark!Gabriel. Smut and angst in this chapter. Sam is a bit OOC as well.
Words: 2,834
Link to Chapter 6
Pairings: Gabriel x OFC. Past Sam x OFC
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No one made a peep for a few minutes after Gabriel killed the other angels. Gabriel turned back to Ellie ignoring the freaked out expressions on everyone's faces. He reached out gently cupping the cheek that had up until a few moments been pouring blood. Ellie's blue eyes looked a little afraid for a moment but softened after a few moments of starring into Gabriel's eyes.
“Are you okay?”
He asked softly. Ellie was definitely surprised by the sweet tone in his voice. She hadn't heard this particular tone in ages!
“I'm am now.”
She replied softly. Gabriel smiled slightly before taking off the leather jacket that he was wearing and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“They didn't hurt you anywhere else did they?”
Ellie shook her head.
“No. They didn't. I think we came out ahead here.”
Gabriel didn't seem the least bit amused by Ellie's feeble attempt at a joke. He looked over his shoulder taking in the still shocked expressions on everyone's faces before returning his gaze to Ellie.
“Come on. They can take care of themselves for a while. Jack, keep an eye on that Tanya. I don't need anymore surprise leg hugs.”
Jack cheerfully nodded before taking off to the house. Dean stepped forward.
“Where are you two going?”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow with a cold smirk before replying.
“None of your damn business.”
Before Dean could respond Gabriel and Ellie vanished. Dean sighed loudly before looking back to Bobby who was obviously pissed.
“I know I don't like it either.”
Meanwhile, when Ellie's world stopped spinning she came to in a nice hotel room. She wasn't surprised to only find herself and Gabriel standing in the room. Gabriel's arms were wrapped around her waist.
“Where are we?”
Ellie asked. Gabriel chuckled.
“Can't I take you somewhere special?”
Ellie smiled. She missed feeling Gabriel's romantic side. Over the past few months she had been so used to Gabriel being rough when it came to intimacy. He would grab her and whisk her off to the bedroom whenever he wanted. However, there wasn't much romance to it. It was mostly just mad animal like sex. Ellie wasn't complaining though. She enjoyed Gabriel pounding her into submission. There was also the “out of the vessel” sex that was quickly becoming one of the best things that Ellie had ever experienced.
“Well yeah...I just figured you would throw me over your shoulder and take me to our room.”
Gabriel turned Ellie in his arms. He reached down cupping her face in his hands. Gabriel pressed a tender kiss to her lips. Ellie sighed happily. This was what she had been wanting from Gabriel for so long...tenderness.
“Gabe.”
She sighed his name dreamily. Gabriel laughed softly.
“I knew you would like that. You deserve better than some quick fuck in our bed from time to time.”
Ellie's blue eyes fluttered open.
“Gabriel are you normal?”
The archangel's soft expression vanished in an instant as his golden eyes flashed black.
“Would you stop asking questions?! You scared me to death back there! Do you realize how quickly you could have died?! Jack could only protect you for so long and he doesn't need to be! Ellie, what were you thinking?!”
Ellie looked down. Well there went her moment....gone like they always were!
“I'm waiting....you can respond any time.”
Ellie gazed back up at her lover's face.
“I was....I wanted to protect Jack. They came and...Sam and Dean were outnumbered. Sam wanted me to stay inside. So before you go and start attacking him he tried to keep me inside. I guess I didn't think like usual.”
Gabriel's cold expression softened.
“Ellie like I have told you before your heart is too tender. Every time we have one of our spats something like this happens.”
Ellie nodded.
“I didn't ask you to split Gabriel.”
“I know.”
He replied softly. The two stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Ellie turned back to Gabriel after a few more seconds of silence.
“I think you made that angel shit his pants.”
She was relieved when Gabriel laughed.
“He's always been a pussy anyway. You could look in his general direction and he panics. Little prick deserved what he got for touching you.”
The look of jealousy and anger was again clearly evident on Gabriel's handsome face. Ellie reached out intertwining her hand with his.
“Is it true what you said? That you marked me? It wasn't just a trick to freak them out?”
Gabriel's gold eyes rolled to Ellie's blue ones.
“Why in the name of my father would I make something like that up?”
Ellie shrugged.
“I don't know...maybe because of the way things are right with us. Come on Gabriel, even you have to admit that they aren't perfect. It definitely isn't what a relationship should be.”
Gabriel frowned again. He was again trying to keep his tempter under control. Ellie was obviously in a tender place at the moment and him being a jackass wouldn't be getting anything accomplished.
“No, we are far from perfect but it is what it is. Do you really want perfect anyway? What a snooze fest that would be!”
Ellie shrugged.
“I guess.”
She didn't want to tell him what she was really thinking. Ellie didn't want to tell him that part of her was considering breaking off whatever they had. She knew that it would be hard to even look at Gabriel if that happened. Being near Gabriel knowing that they were no longer a couple would be hell. The thought alone made Ellie want to sob.
Ellie was questioning herself wondering why she was putting herself through the mental anguish. She knew that she would never let Gabriel go. There would be no way! She would continue to let the archangel take and take from her until she had nothing left to give.
“Come here sugar.”
Gabriel said calmly. Ellie walked back to Gabriel letting the archangel wrap his arms around her. He went back to gently kissing her forehead.
“Our hot mess of a relationship is just fine for me. You're perfect in my eyes. I may give you a lot of crap but I do love you more than you realize.”
Ellie's eyes widened. Gabriel had finally said I love you. Looking up at him with wide shocked eyes Ellie all but jumped on him. Gabriel quickly wrapped his arms around her to prevent them both from taking a nose dive on the hotel carpet.
“Well damn if I had known saying I love you would make you act like this I would have said it a long time ago.”
Gabriel said with a chuckle as Ellie went back to standing on her own two feet. She quickly began to undo the first few buttons of Gabriel's shirt.
“Well I have been saying I love you for a very long time...you just wouldn't listen.”
Gabriel watched as her delicate fingers continued to undo the buttons on his shirt painfully slow.
“Yeah....listening isn't one of my best skills....will you kind of hurry it up.”
Ellie giggled.
“Someone is getting impatient.”
Gabriel shrugged innocently.
“What can I say? I'm horny and have been for a couple days now. Between that kid showing up and everyone else there hasn't been much time for our favorite activity. I about fucked you senseless over the table but that Jack and Tanya walked in. I have to say that is the first time that I have been cock blocked by kids before. I think I may be turning blue down there sugar.”
Ellie stood on her tiptoes pressing kisses to Gabriel's chest and collar bones. Her fingers traced over the scar that was left from Lucifer ramming the archangel blade through him. Gabriel sighed. He was enjoying every single caress.
“I think we are about to solve that problem.”
Ellie cooed before reaching down to undo the button on his jeans. Gabriel's golden eyes snapped open as her fingers lightly stroked over his now prominent erection.
“You are taking too long. This is getting out of control.”
He growled before snapping his fingers leaving them both completely nude and in bed.
“Wow you really are desperate aren't you?”
Ellie asked as Gabriel's mouth latched onto her breast. He gently sucked a few times as Ellie whimpered. He seductively licked her nipple once more before looking up.
“Let's see I had the literal hell scared out of me earlier by that stupid little fuck boy Aaron earlier. I thought that little fucker may have really hurt you.”
Ellie reached down cupping Gabriel's face.
“Was that the mate rage coming out in you?”
Gabriel's hand that wasn't playing with her nipple slid down her smooth body. Before he even began to reply his index finger began to rub circles on her clit. Ellie cried out raising her hips to meet each of his caresses.
“You could say that.”
Gabriel replied. His voice was casual. If there was someone listening to the conversation they would have no idea that he was about to make love to Ellie.
“Trust me when I say that I can get a lot worse.”
Gabriel continued. This time there was a bit of warning to his voice. Ellie's eyes fluttered down to her lover's face. She could see the jealousy and rage that was still prominent. His angelic features were all too easy to see now.
“You're talking about Sam aren't you?”
Gabriel leaned down again suckling at her breast. He wasn't about to answer that question? Was he jealous of Sam? Hell yes! Was he about to admit it? No way in hell.....
“Gabriel, I don't know why you are so jealous of Sam and I. There is nothing there. I am in love with you. I am bonded to you. The key word here is everything is with you.
Gabriel smiled against her breast. He still wasn't convinced to let his jealousy over Sam Winchester go but he knew if he didn't put on an act Ellie would never let him make love to her.
“Okay okay I get it.”
He mumbled. Seeming pleased enough with his response Ellie rocked her hips into Gabriel's.
“Make love to me.”
Gabriel looked like a delighted child at Christmas.
“Thought you would never ask!”
A few hours later...
Ellie and Gabriel walked back into Bobby's house seeming to be in a much better mood than before! Gabriel's arm was locked around Ellie's waist and he dared anyone in the house to try to get him away from her. He wouldn't feel the least bit guilty in smiting anyone who was brave enough to try.
“So decided to come back?”
Ellie's thoughts of the past few hours were interrupted by Dean's voice. She had been mostly quiet since they had walked in. For the first time in a long time she felt truly and completely satisfied. She didn't feel like Gabriel had totally fucked her insides out. This time it was just romantic love making. As much as she enjoyed Gabriel's rough S&M play as well as the sex that often left her a panting mess this was different. This was what bonding sex was supposed to be.
“Yeah, guess we did.”
Gabriel replied idly. Dean didn't bother looking their direction.
“Bless you both for not making us listen to you two fucking each other. Seeing it happen was enough for me.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to feel more antagonized by the moment.
“Hey you two bonehead's were standing there watching! We didn't ask you to. I don't want you two seeing my naked self.”
Sam appeared to be gagging on the couch. Ellie wasn't for sure if it was just a dramatic act or if he was really that grossed out.
“Trust me it wasn't us wanting to watch.”
Sam said finally. Gabriel's eyes narrowed on Sam.
“Can't blame you though. You lose a hot girl and just wanted to see what you lost one last time.”
Ellie's hand wrapped around Gabriel's as she hissed a quiet stop. Sam stood. He was furious! If he knew that Gabriel couldn't royally fuck him up he would knock the archangel's teeth down his throat.
“I wouldn't take her back now if I could. She contaminated with angel filth.”
Dean's mouth dropped at that one.
“Sam! Holy hell man what is with you?!”
Sam sat down at his brother's comment ignoring the archangel who was genuinely stunned at that comment. Gabriel stood a moment longer before raising his hand to snap his fingers. Ellie quickly made a dive at him ruining whatever plan he had.
“Gabe, stop. It isn't worth it. You promised that you wouldn't do this.”
Gabriel looked at Ellie and the disapproval in her eyes before sinking back against her side. He knew that he in fact had beaten Sam at this game. Gabriel after all, was walking away with the girl while Sam only had his hand for company.
“Would rather her have angel filth then be killed by the Sam Winchester curse. Your cock kills people Sam.”
Sam gritted his teeth as he made himself look at the ground. Even for Gabriel that was a low blow!
“ENOUGH!”
Dean growled as he stood up.
“We are going to stop this shit right now! Jack, Bobby, and Tanya doesn't need to be hearing this! Hell, I don't' need to be hearing this! Now we are going to put all of this shit behind up and learn to get a long. We have a lot of bad stuff coming our way and we don't' need to be at each others throats the whole time. Agreed?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“Sure.”
Dean looked back to Sam.
“Sammy?”
Sam stood storming toward the door.
“Fuck this!”
He all but yelled before storming out. Ellie winced when the door slammed. She stood looking back at Gabriel.
“Gabriel, Dean is right. We need to be on the same page. There are a lot of bad things that are after Jack. If we can't get along that leaves an opening that could get your nephew hurt.”
Gabriel's smug expression turned serious.
“Fine. Go talk to Goliath outside and make sure he doesn't slit his wrist or something. I am not going to hell after him.”
Ellie stood feeling a little more pleased that Gabriel was seeing her point of view. If it took relating everything to Jack's safety to get Gabriel on board then she had a brand new weapon! As she walked outside she looked around for Sam. She knew that she would have to get through to him somehow. Even though they had a history the last thing that Ellie wanted was to lose someone that had been a huge part of her life!
Finally spotting Sam standing next to the Impala brooding; Ellie walked over hoping to make some headway with the youngest Winchester
“Sam?”
Sam looked in her direction with glittering eyes.
“Shouldn't you be inside crammed up Gabriel's ass?”
Ellie was slightly taken back by the venom in Sam's usually kind voice.
“No, I can do things I want to. I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Sam laughed bitterly. Sure he was okay! What kind of fucking lie was that?! He was never okay! Okay and Sam Winchester couldn't go in the same sentence!
“Sure! I am just fine!”
Ellie sighed.
“Sam, can you please stop? You mean so much to me and this is really hard!”
Sam spun around.
“I mean a lot to you?! I MEAN A LOT TO YOU?! Do you realize how much bull shit that line is?! I don't mean a good god damn thing to you Ellie! You couldn't be bothered to tell me that we were having a child and you didn't even tell me about the miscarriage! I could have came and got you! We could have been together! But NO you choose to go be with fucking Gabriel! I love you and none of that matters! You let him mark you! Now anything I could have had with you is GONE! Just stay away from me Ellie! I mean it!”
Sam turned storming off without another word leaving Ellie motionless. He knew that he would regret his words and if Ellie every forgave him it would be a miracle. Tonight, however, Sam didn't give a good god damn about anything!
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#Dark!Gabriel#supernatural fanfiction#Gabriel x ofc#Past Sam x ofc#Sam Winchester#dean winchester#Jack Kline#castiel#Bobby Singer#GABRIEL THE ARCHANGEL
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