#slice of life in the times of the Warriors of Light

[eorzeanflowers]

"Well, Yasha, you asked me out here... Is something the matter?" Yda asked the serious gladiator turned Scion following her to a bridge near the Sylphlands.

"I.. um.." Yasha fidgeted with her hands a moment. "I thought we worked well together... again." She rubbed the back of her head with a self conscious grin.

"We did, didn't we." Yda grinned. She took a couple of cheerful steps towards Yasha, an arm behind her back. "But that's something you could've said back in camp, isn't it?" There was mirth and a flirty tone to her voice. "But instead you asked me to come to this beautiful waterfall."

"I think you're beautiful!" Yasha blurted out nearly immediately after Yda's words. She immediately went red and covered her face.

Yda stepped close to Yasha, taking one of her hands and bringing it to her face. "I think you are quite beautiful too, Yasha." She nuzzled Yasha's hand, dropping her own to her side.

Yasha, a little dumbfounded smiled a goofy grin. She hummed a cheery little ditty before putting her forehead to Yda's aethermeter with a soft thunk. She pulled back with an embarrassed giggle, which Yda joined in with.

Yasha looked at Yda with dreamy look in her eyes, quietly asking, "May I give you a kiss, Yda?"

"Mmm, yes, I think you may." Yda gave a soft giggle and leaned in close.

Yasha leaned in close as well, and gave Yda a soft kiss. One that missed its mark on Yda's waiting lips and instead was clumsily on her cheek. Realizing her error, Yasha reeled back.

"I'msosorryYdaI'vegottago!" Yasha bolted back towards the Gridanian territory, leaving a confused Yda behind.

"Yasha! Wait!" Yda reached out towards the departing Scion, but with Yasha's embarrassed speed, Yasha quickly vanished into the undergrowth. Yda blinked under her mask a couple of times, before sighing.

"Oh my, I think I'm falling..." Yda muttered as she gently touched her kissed cheek.

Bonus:

A day later, back at the Waking Sands.

Yasha was a blushing mess as she recounted her mishap with Yda in the Black Shroud

"So, let me get this straight. You asked Yda to a private place, attempted to court her, KISSED her, and then ran away at the first sign of something good happening to both of you?" Jana directly and bluntly laid out the bare bones of Yasha's story.

"It was quite silly of you Yasha, I do agree with Jana's reasonings. But I'm sure Yda thought you were still quite cute." Eulanne tried to console the mess that was Yasha.

Jana slammed her hands on the table, roaring, "It's not very the worst that you did that night! You had a chance to actually see under Yda's mask and you messed up your opportunity! I am so disappointed in you Yasha!"

"Now, now, Jana. Yasha is still a fledgling. And frankly, the fact that you haven't seen Yda's lovely eyes is a problem of your own." A'tyla finally butted in with a laugh, turning Jana's attention towards her instead of Yasha.

"Wait, what? You've seen Yda's eyes!" Jana incredulously turned to A'tyla.

"Yes."

"Do tell!" Jana scooted her chair over to A'tyla with rapt attention.

"A lady never gives out her secrets." A'tyla taps the side of her nose with a wink.

"WHY YOU MAGE!" Jana flared up again, reaching for her staff.

All while that was happening Eulanne had scooted over to Yasha and patted her on the shoulder. "You'll likely get a second chance hotshot, just close your eyes after you make contact with her lips."

Yasha just sank even deeper into her chair as she turned an even darker shade of red.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part two

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Two - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.9k

Months have passed since Johnny and I first crossed paths in the bleak void of the multiverse. In that time, the Borderlands have evolved from a chaotic, unsettling expanse into a strange but surprisingly reliable haven. I've acclimated to its disjointed blend of makeshift settlements and the diverse, often eccentric band of misfits who call it home. One of them is Laura, a fierce warrior with a rough edge, but a surprising softness beneath her surface. She once tried to explain the nature of my variant in her universe, but when she mentioned Logan, it struck a nerve too deep for me to handle. 

Today, Johnny and I are on a reconnaissance mission near the heart of the void, tasked with scouting for any unusual movements. We trudge through the arid expanse, our boots crunching softly over the dry, sandy terrain. The sky is a turbulent mix of colors, the horizon a jagged line of shifting shadows and light. Alioth.

The constant strain of maintaining control over my powers in this inhospitable space is wearing me thin. I can’t afford to let my guard down. We push through a small sandstorm that sweeps across the landscape, its gritty particles stinging my skin. I keep my eyes sharp and my hand resting on the hilt of my blade—a gift from Electra, a gesture of trust and camaraderie.

The oppressive quiet is almost a physical presence, the weight of isolation pressing down on me. We are about to turn back when a sudden disturbance breaks through the stillness. My heart skips a beat as the faint sounds of a skirmish reach my ears. Johnny’s hand clamps firmly on my arm, his grip conveying urgency.

“Did you hear that?” he growls, his voice low and taut with focus.

“Yeah,” I reply, straining to discern the sounds amidst the howling wind. The unmistakable clang of metal and the harsh grunts of a fight grow louder. “Let’s check it out.”

We advance cautiously, our footsteps muffled by the shifting sands, moving toward the source of the commotion. As we approach a tall, metal structure, I begin to climb it, Johnny following to gain a better vantage point. The structure, a rusted remnant of some long-forgotten machinery, creaks under our weight. From the top, the view unfolds before me, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.

Two figures are locked in combat below us, their movements a blur of speed and violence. The first is a Deadpool variant, clad in a distinctive black-and-red suit. He’s wielding a pair of katanas with an expert’s precision, slicing through the air with practiced ease. His opponent is unmistakably Wolverine, his adamantium claws extended and gleaming with a deadly sheen. Logan moves with a predator's grace, slashing and dodging with equal skill.

At first, I can hardly believe my eyes. A Wolverine—how could one of his variants be here? My mind races, struggling to reconcile this unexpected sight with everything I know. The scene is almost surreal, like a twisted mirror reflecting a reality I can barely grasp. I glance at Johnny, whose expression has turned serious, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Is that…?” I start, my voice trailing off, unable to articulate the confusion swirling in my mind.

“Yeah,” Johnny confirms, his tone grim. “Looks like we’ve got some serious anomalies here. We need to find out what’s going on.”

I watch as Deadpool and Wolverine continue their fierce exchange, their movements a violent dance. Deadpool’s agile maneuvers and rapid strikes are met with Logan’s relentless aggression. Despite the chaos, there’s a strange familiarity in their fighting styles—both driven by an intensity that makes them almost mirror images of each other.

“What the hell is going on?” I mutter under my breath, my mind reeling from the disorienting sight.

Johnny’s eyes remain sharp as he observes the conflict below. “We need to intervene. This could spiral out of control, and Cassandra could notice.”

Before I can respond, Johnny is already moving, his voice ringing out with authority as he shouts to the combatants. “Hey! We fight each other, we lose.”

The two fighters momentarily pause, their heads turning toward Johnny as he approaches. Deadpool’s head tilts, his mask concealing any visible expression, but his posture suggests surprise. “Dear god, it’s him.” His voice carries a mix of awe and disbelief. I watch cautiously from above, hesitant to step in, my heart pounding at the sight of Wolverine. He looks so much like my own Logan that the resemblance is almost painful.

Deadpool’s voice rings out with an irreverent edge. “Fair warning, gorgeous. You’re going to encounter some indelicate language. A smidge of ass play, but we’ve been prohibited from using cocaine on camera.”

Johnny, unfazed, urges me to move. “Veil, let’s go.” He turns to address me directly, his tone focused and commanding.

Logan’s head whips up, his eyes locking onto me with a mixture of suspicion and recognition. “Y/N?”

I jump down cautiously, my heart in my throat as I watch Logan tense, his claws extending in readiness. I land, a knee on the ground.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Logan demands, his voice a harsh growl, the tension palpable.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in realization. “Buddy, I think that’s—”

“Shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask you.”

In that moment, I see it—the familiar huff of his breath, the furrow of his brows, and the flare of his nostrils. I’d recognize my Logan anywhere. His eyes flicker with something unspoken, a mixture of relief and anguish, and his claws slowly retract.

I step closer, my breath catching in my throat. I can barely hold back the tears as I take another step and break into a small run. Logan meets me halfway, his arms enveloping me in a tight embrace. “I thought you died,” he says, his voice choked with emotion as he buries his face into my neck. I squeeze him tightly, my tears mingling with his.

“The TVA, they sent me away. I tried to find you.” I pause, my voice faltering with the weight of unspoken pain. “The others?” I ask, my eyes searching his for answers. He shakes his head, and my face crumples in grief. I had feared this would happen.

Johnny’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp with urgency. “They’re coming.”

I pull away from Logan at Johnny’s warning, my heart pounding as I steel myself. Logan’s face is a mask of pain, and I feel the crushing weight of my failure. I could have saved them all.

Deadpool’s voice interjects with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “Who’s they?”

The answer comes in the form of an onslaught of vehicles, their jumbled piles of mechanics and scrap metal creating a menacing approach. Toad, Pyro, and Sabertooth are among those heading our way, their presence a foreboding sign of trouble.

Deadpool sidles up beside me, his tone laced with a twisted humor. “Oh, they’re driving angry. Can we pick this reunion up later, pumpkin?” He glances at me, then at Logan, who mirrors my confusion.

Johnny steps forward, his posture exuding determination. “I got this.”

I steady myself, preparing for the impending fight. “Stay close,” Johnny warns, and I move closer to him, readying myself for whatever comes next. Behind me, I hear Logan release his claws, the familiar sound providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos.

The cars circle us, forming a tight encirclement. “Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught. You can’t run. Everybody knows that.” Pyro’s voice drips with malice as their vehicles come to a halt.

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” Johnny retorts.

Deadpool’s voice breaks in with manic excitement. “Oh, oh my God. Oh my God, he’s going to say it. Ha! Oh my God, he’s gonna say it!”

Johnny grins, preparing for his signature move. “Avengers—”

“—Flame on!” 

“What?”

I look at Deadpool with a mix of bewilderment and exasperation as Johnny ignites in a ball of fire. Pyro watches, amused and relaxed. I create a temporal clone in the sky, urging it to engage as I manipulate time, freezing the action momentarily. As I resume time, Pyro defeats Johnny’s clone with a burst of flames. The real Johnny lands beside me.

“I know you,” growls a voice from ahead, and I turn to see Sabertooth approaching with a predatory glare.

Deadpool’s voice is a mix of awe and irreverence. “Holy shit… Sabertooth… your brother.”

I snap at him. “Deadpool, can it.”

Sabertooth snarls, his voice a deep rumble. “Ready to die!”

Logan prepares to fight, his stance resolute. Deadpool adds with exaggerated seriousness, “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Time! People have waited decades for this fight. It’s not gonna be easy. Maybe not. Shoot the double and take him down. Side control, then full mount and you ground and pound, until he makes no sound because he’s dead.” He’s gripping Logan’s shoulders.

Wolverine’s expression hardens. “Shut the fuck up.”

Deadpool responds with a mix of arousal and admiration. “Oh my God. Okay, good luck. I’m a huge fan.”

The battle erupts with a ferocity that is almost immediate. Logan’s claws flash with deadly precision, and he swiftly decapitates Sabertooth. The severed head skids to a stop in front of Deadpool, who remarks with a grim humor, “What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” It stops at his feet. “Oh, big trouble.” As Deadpool leans down and picks up Sabertooth’s severed head, I can’t help but grimace at the gory mess. Blood drips onto the sand, and Deadpool’s voice rings out with a bizarre sense of theatricality. 

“Behold! The head of your precious queen, Furiosa!” Deadpool announces dramatically, holding the head aloft like a trophy. “I have the Wolverine. I alone control her. You come for me! You come for her!” He points accusingly at Logan. I furrow my brows in confusion. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced ‘him.’ I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear,” he adds with a wink, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Logan, breathing heavily from the intense battle, turns to me. “Who’s next?”

“Toad! You’re up!” Pyro’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I can’t help but let out a mischievous giggle. I watch with amusement as Toad sticks out his grotesque, warty tongue. I pull out my blade, my eyes narrowed in focus. With a quick, precise motion, I slice through the air, severing the tongue cleanly. It falls to the ground with a wet, squishy plop.

“Fucking nasty,” I mutter as the severed tongue writhes like a headless worm. The sight is both disgusting and oddly fascinating. Toad lets out a high-pitched scream of anguish, and as the chaos escalates, someone flips a switch. I turn just in time to see Logan hurtling towards me, and I brace myself. 

Before I can react, Deadpool appears behind me, and the next thing I know, we’re all smashed together against a massive magnet. The force of the impact slams us into a heap, and I feel myself being crushed between Deadpool and Logan.

“Uh-oh. Holy shi—” Deadpool starts to exclaim before the sound is abruptly cut off. 

The giant magnet presses down hard, and I feel a wave of darkness engulf me. The last thing I hear is Johnny’s distant shout, filled with frustration and concern.

Next Part

A/N: Let me know what you think! I’m sort of loving and hating my writing, next part will be Logan’s POV (maybe)

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hun something else I want to ask is if you would do a hybrid dragon Yan..? Forgot to mention it in the last ask because I forget ideas a lot <3

-from the one anon who said to use 3 names you like :)!

P.s I’ll probably refer to myself as this forever now hun

I'm sorry this took so long!! Here it is:

CW: mild violence, video game logic

Yandere!Dragon x GN!Reader

The winds in the mountains were cold enough to slice open skin and leave blisters.

Traveling up towards the sky was (Reader), a warrior known throughout the lands for their incredible feats, climbing up the snowy pass towards the dark splotch on their map.

The dragon's lair.

Only human in appearance, (Reader) had slaughtered almost every type of monster and fiend in the continent, sending fear through all living beings. They were rumored to be immortal, since they seemed to be capable of recovering from any wound they received, no matter how critical. Whatever life threatening hit they took, and no matter how certain their death seemed to be, (Reader) would only black out, waking a few hours later. A warrior without a past, without a home, who only lived to kill.

Slaying a dragon would be the last creature on the killer's list, having already defeated deities and apocalypse level threats. It wasn't that a dragon would be harder than killing a god; they just hadn't gotten around to it.

In the grand scheme of life, dragon slaying would be a side quest.

(Reader) doubted that the battle would be difficult in any sort of sense; aside from their incredible physical attributes they also had legendary gear such as "the Ring of Absolution" which was forged from the tears of a Golden Warrior. That ring alone made it impossible for enemies to block their attacks or use "break out" to parry.

Upon finding the cave and entering recklessly, (Reader) wished that someone had told them sooner:

That "when you're at the top, the only place to go is down.."

A blast of fire knocked their helmet off their head as the heat pushed them back. Shocked (and a little excited) the warrior raised their vampiric sword. Inside the cave, a giant red and golden dragon sat posed, muscles tense and eyeing the invader with intrigue.

"Who are you, to enter my home?" His deep voice sounded more confused than offended. And when (Reader) pointed their weapon at him in response, he chuckled. "Adorable little human, if you wish to live a long life, leave this cave now, and I shall spare you."

(Reader) shouted, igniting a glowing light around their body, then lunged, slashing at the beast.

To the dragon's surprise it hurt.

"Foul little thing!" He snarled, attempting to blast the human with another bolt of flames (this time not as a warning) but the fighter rolled out of the way, effectively dodging the attack. (Reader) thrust again, angering the dragon when he found that he could not block the sword, the blade passing his harder scales and hitting his soft flesh despite his guarding.

Amidst the rage and frustration a new emotion began forming within the centuries young being; respect.

There were no dragons he wished to associate with, there were no creatures that approached him of their own free will. He was alone. For a very, very long time. For he was not just a dragon..

He was Targov the Malicious.

A dragon of legend, ender of nations, killer of kings..

And his health was slowly being chipped away by the steel of a mortal.

(Reader) did not know who the dragon was, only that this was the closest location for a dragon nest.

"Small human.. I have a proposition for you."

The warrior paused, tilting their head as they waited for the dragon to continue.

"You have impressed me, and you have earned my admiration. So I offer you a chance at life eternal: become my mate, and ascend to a higher state of being.

You shall never want nor need for anything. I will be your willing servant for all of eternity."

It wasn't the first proposal (Reader) had received, yet it was certainly the first from a beast. They stepped back a fraction as though his words caused them to stumble. His request sounded so genuine that it almost killed their blood lust.

Almost.

Disappointment and betrayal filled the dragon's eyes as (Reader) suddenly threw their sword like a spear, lodging it into Targov's chest, a feather's distance shy of his heart. But even that only further fueled the growing need he had for the mortal. And the obvious solution to the warrior's resistance was to make the choice easier for them.

Targov flew forward, but instead of attacking like (Reader) had predicted, he grappled the human in his talons and continued faster, propelling them both out of the cave and into the sky as he built speed.

The wind jostled the surprised human about like a rag doll as they rose higher into the atmosphere. Their ears popped painfully, but they could still hear the roaring laughter of the dragon.

"HA! Now what do you say, human?! Shall you be mine? Or shall I drop you?!" He held the adventurer loosely by the fabric visible under their armor in an attempt to frighten them. But what he saw next made his heart falter.

His eyes widened as (Reader) smiled triumphantly, raising a dagger while maintaining eye contact, and sliced off the part of their outfit Targov held onto, willingly allowing themselves to fall.

It was just a fall.

Yeah, it would hurt. It would hurt like a son of a bitch, but (Reader) knew they wouldn't die. They never did.

However, their near immortality was something that Targov didn't know about.

Before his emotions could fully form into separate feelings, Targov dove, recatching the little human, now with a more secure grip, and flew back to his home, his heart beating a billion beats per second once it restarted.

(Reader) was thrown to the floor by the dragon seconds before being blinded by a bright flash. The dragon was consumed in a bright white glow that illuminated the cave, morphing into a more human appearance, with deep golden skin and red hair. His horns and claws still remained, but as (Reader) could see clearly from his lack of clothes, was now mostly human. He charged towards (Reader), face twisted in his confusing mix of emotions. Anger, shock, hurt, feelings his adrenaline wouldn't give him time to categorize as he closed in on the confused human.

He hoisted (Reader) up by their neck.

"You'd really rather die than be mine?!" The enraged dragon screamed.

Struggling to breathe, the warrior grabbed one of his scaly hands while trying to smack his face with their dominant hand.

The glint of their ring caught Targov's attention, who recognized it instantly. He had been alive for a very long time, and killed many a god during his rebellious years. Sharp teeth sunk into (Reader's) fingers, the dragon biting their hand lightly, suddenly, earning a shocked cry from the struggling human. Targov dropped (Reader), pulling the ring off their finger with his fangs as he did so.

The warrior didn't notice their missing ring until they regained their composure and attempted to attack the humanoid dragon, who blocked their attack perfectly fine.

Targov wore the ring on his smallest claw.

"I see I was right about you.." His deep voice chuckled, but (Reader) couldn't tell if it was out of amusement or fury. "A fellow God killer.. who better suited to be my mate?"

He grabbed (Reader's) wrist, and despite it's low speed, the ring prevented (Reader) from dodging.

"Welcome home, my mate."

"Even if I have to break you, I will have you. And you will learn to love me."

[imaginesmai]

Promises to keep (2) - Azriel

Part 1

Plot: you and Azriel try to make it out of your captivity in time. With your powers discovered, is up to you to survive enough to save him - and with your powers draining, is up to him to save you.

Warnings: blood and violence, again.

You weren’t the first one to move. Stories about your parents’ death, hunted and slaughtered for their powers, terrified you until you couldn’t force yourself to move. Safe in Velaris, you had never wondered the consequences of a power like yours in such a selfish world.

When the first fae lunched at you, it was Azriel who made her trip with his crippled leg to the ground. His years of training and war showed themselves when the woman didn’t utter another breath, her neck broken in a terrible angle. Your mate growled like a storm, promising death to whoever came close to you.

That thought, Azriel facing them hurt and defenseless, was enough to spur you into action – and everyone else. You weren’t a warrior, not like him. Hadn’t been trained in your power in fear someone would sense it and come for you. You were clumsy, untrained and tired, but you were powerful.

It was blur of blood, iron and light.

Your goal was clear – not to let them close to Azriel. He could defend himself, maybe, for a few minutes. But you weren’t stupid enough to believe he could win against trained soldiers in the state he was in. So you fought, with your power, nails and teeth.

A knife sliced through your collarbone and someone kicked your knee to make you fall. They were blasted away before you touched the ground, only to be replaced by an arm around your throat and a punch against your stomach.

You lost your breath and the light disappeared, and you couldn’t get it back. Not with the male behind you chocking the life out of you, arm and fingers pressing over your windpipe. You wondered briefly if he could break your neck, crush your throat, with just his grip, but he was pushed off you before you could wonder farther.

Azriel’s pained inhale made your light explode, and then everything was silent.

You fell to the ground and curled yourself in a tight ball, your ears ringing. It felt as if every part of your body was covered by fried nerves, the feel of the ground on your skin sickening. Old wounds reopened by the sheer force of your power, blood coming out of them.

The pain and overwhelming feelings weren’t enough obstacle to realize there were no other heartbeats but Azriel’s and yours.

You never used your power, and you were ready to never use them again. The next breath was forced into your lungs when Azriel hastily turned you over and pain wrecked your body. He had a new gash on his forehead, and was covered in blood that wasn’t his.

“Look at me” he grabbed your cheeks and only dared himself to flinch at the obvious pain in your gaze. “You need to breath. You’re not breathing – Y/N! Now!”

He physically recoiled when he moved you, knowing what it would do to your sensitive body. But he had to shake you out of your stupor before it was too late. You finally took a shaky breath and kept hyperventilating, not tearing your gaze away from him.

That was what he had always feared. That you would be forced to use it, because of him, because he wasn’t able to protect you. He had trained harder for centuries, had assured your safety after you found refuge in his court and he became your protector, your friend, your mate and lover. Watching your body rigid with pain and shock, watching you kill those fae for him, was threatening to pull him under another wave of panic and terror.

“Listen to me” he exhaled, his whole body screaming at the movement. “The male – he’s gone. He has managed to get out and he’s coming back. You need to leave. The door is open and –“

“I killed them” you stated, not looking around but smelling their blood.

“It was either them or us. You saved us” Azriel allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, pushing the spy out of him and bringing the caring mate you needed. “I know you are scared. I am scared. And when all of this is over, we can be scared together. But I need you to run, darling, because I can’t hold them off forever when they come back. Don’t look back. Listen for any sound and choose the opposite direction. And if it comes between you and them, you burn this place down”

Those words took you out of your shock, because burning that place down meant burning him with it. Yet you realized he hadn’t included himself in that certain part of the plan, because he was asking you to run without him.

Through fried nerve ends and rigid limbs, you found it in you to be furious. To want to berate for hours about him being a selfless idiot and punch some sense into him. Instead of doing that, you rose up until you were kneeling on shaky limbs. Your burnt hands were bleeding all over again, pressed against the tiles of the cell in an effort to keep you conscious.

You brushed Azriel’s worried hand off your shoulder and got up only blacking out for a few seconds. The cell rotated around you, lights and shadows behind your eyelids.

By the time you could orientate yourself, you noticed Azriel had gotten up too using just one leg, and was keeping you straight between himself and the wall.

“I’m not going to leave you” you stated.

“My love” he used that damned nickname, knowing it made you weak in the knees. “You have to. I can buy you enough time for you to go out. I can’t… you have to”

Looking down, you fixed your gaze on his leg. The sight of open, seeping wounds and sticking bones was enough to tremble your world, and if you looked at his wings, it would only be worse. But you swallowed the lump around your throat and shook your head.

“We are walking out of this cell together, or we wait here together. I’m not gonna leave you”

You couldn’t stop shaking your head, couldn’t stop your voice from trembling. Because living without Azriel would be worse than dying in that cell without him. He seemed to understand he wouldn’t be winning that argument, so he nodded softly. He didn’t protest when you used part of your power as a crutch to keep him steady, when you wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him forward.

Azriel could only look at you swallowing down your pain and wish the Cauldron was merciful enough to keep you safe when he was gone.

He couldn’t identify where you were, because the hallways looked the same. No windows, no rooms. Just walls and ceilings and floors of stone and marble, right and left, long and short. Each step felt like a race against time, and Azriel was aware that you weren’t winning. Without him, you could move at a limited speed. He had seen what using your power meant, after you barely escaped your captors when he found you centuries ago.

Without him, you would be able to walk fast, maybe jog at certain time without rest. But you were holding onto him as if he was the one carrying both of you. You held his weight and used part of your power to keep him straight enough not to fall.

Azriel kept looking behind his shoulder, waiting to see them coming at you. His heart jumped in his throat when he heard a noise, but so far, you had only found two patrols that you had taken care of. The first one was easy – after the second, he had to help you sit down against the wall and wait impatiently for you regain conscious.

“Don’t fall back” he reminded you, even though it was pointless. Your body was slacking off and his was too. “One step at a time”

“I’m trying” your breath came in pants.

“Drop my leg”

“Shut up”

For the fifth time, you refused to let that little help go, even if that was the last remain of your strength. You could do it on your own, you could get out of there without him, but Azriel understood that he wouldn’t. Trying to convince you otherwise, trying to make you see that it was pointless, would be wasting a time that you didn’t have.

So his hope lay on the faebane.

He hadn’t eaten breakfast nor lunch, which was starting to take a toll on his already mangled body. But that meant he hadn’t had faebane in his body for a while. And now, out of that damn cell, he could try to use his powers without risking your life.

He was already starting to feel the bond back, waves of nausea and pain that weren’t his coming in steady waves. Azriel had blocked his part, but you were too busy to notice yours. So he swallowed the stinging of your burned hands, the tightness of your body and the cut on your collarbone.

You didn’t waste time either talking, nor trying to plan your escape. By the time you had escaped the fourth patrol, Azriel was the one carrying you. You didn’t argue when you were lowered to the ground once more, his scarred hand brushing the hair out of your sweaty face.

“I’m not going to drop it” you reminded him, your eyes half-closed. You had never used to much power, but were ready to see where it took you. “Nor leave you”

“Got the point a couple of hours ago. How are you feeling?” he asked, leaving his hand covering your cheek. While you got worse with each minute, Azriel had gained some of his strength and power back. “Tell me how can I help”

“It feels like I’m being turned inside out” you told him honestly, no point in lying when both of your lives were at risk. “I’m hot but shivering, my whole body vibrated and it… I’m tired”

“Let’s get this jacket off, hm?”

You noticed he was still stiff and hurt, but he managed to brush his own jacket off your body and use part of it to clean the dried blood from your face. You closed your eyes against his touch, his warmth. If you drifted far enough, you could pretend you were back in Velaris, Azriel brushing the hair off your face while you fell asleep.

Memories from your relationship filled your mind. The first time you met, how scared you had been and how kind the winged stranger had been. The weeks of healing and explaining, his presence always by your side. Moments together in your shared cabin, taken from granted. If you tried enough, you could pretend you were locked in one of them.

Azriel’s voice brought you back to the present. He tried giving you a reassuring smile, but you could see in his eyes that he had been talking for a while and you hadn’t answered. That he was beyond worried.

“Back with me?” he asked, always gentle.

“Yeah” you looked towards the end of another hallway. “We should keep going. It must end somewhere”

“Rhys is coming” Azriel blurted out, making you slightly more aware. “He must have noticed our presences without the faebane, but I sent some shadows. Just in case. He’s coming, so you just hold on, alright?”

“I can’t feel it” you frowned.

Azriel didn’t bother pointing out that with the drain of your power it was a mystery how you were still conscious. He had watched you twice now lose consciousness, only to come back moments later with your gaze a little darker. Every inch of his power was directed at his high lord, at his brother, because he knew he wouldn’t be getting you out of there on his own.

You stared at him in silence. In a matter of hours, things had changed – Azriel could now walk without your help, a little trembling, but he could manage. His wings were still useless and he almost blacked out too when he rotated his shoulder. Still, things had changed. Because now it was him who stood a chance of making it out, while you dampened in front of him.

It was pointless to turn the tables and ask him to leave, so you decided to give it a rest. You retreated your power from his leg and sagged against the wall. Certainly, you felt like there wasn’t anything left of you.

“Hold on. And that’s an order, not a promise”

“So bossy”

Azriel smiled with silver lines under his bruised eyes. He leaned forward and, for the first time since you were taken, pressed his lips against yours. The kiss tasted like blood, yours or his you couldn’t know. They were gentle and soft, despite the many times his lips had been opened by an angry fist.

He cupped your cheek, as if it was the first time you kissed, and brushed his tongue against your lower lip. Before he could deepen it, he moved his mouth to the corner of yours. To your lower cheek, then to your upper part. He kissed each and every part of your face, gathering the scared tears you were finally letting free.

Your breath hiccupped as you finally let yourself feel afraid. That you might not make it out, that the power you had used killed people with families, that your body was drained and ready to give out. That, if you blinked for too long, no one assured you that Azriel would be breathing when you opened them again.

You rose your hand and closed it around his wrist. If you made it out, you would have matching scars, but that was the least of your worries. Your burns needed treatment, and you didn’t miss how his body went rigid under your touch. Still, he pulled away and looked at you in the eyes.

“Promise me it’ll be okay” you begged him, the sight of him blurry with tears. “Just one time”

“I promise it’ll be okay” he lied without hesitation, knowing he couldn’t make you that promise. Even if you made it out, he knew it wouldn’t be fine. “You promise me to hold on a little longer”

You fell quiet, blinking slowly. Could you promise him that, though? Could you gather strength to lie to him one more time? Just as you were, he could hear the sound of footsteps coming closer. You wouldn’t get up that time. Even if you tried, all you would gather was a brief flick of light. And he would try, you were certain, to get up, and maybe would hold them for a while.

Swallowing down, you nodded and whispered your promise.

Azriel was all you could feel and see for a moment. His hazel eyes, filled with worry and sorrow and guilt, so much more guilt that any person should carry. His soft freckles, that were covered by stains of blood. Dark locks of hair fell over his face, greasy and tangled, but they couldn’t cover the beauty of your mate.

He still held your face on the palm of his hand and you still gripped his wrist. If you had to die, you guessed, you didn’t mind doing it staring at him. And he must have thought the same, because his shoulders sagged in relief and his eyes softened.

His mouth moved, saying something. I love you seemed worthy of the moment, but you didn’t hear it. Only white noise and static. His smile dropped and his eyebrows scrunched when he repeated himself and you didn’t move.

You must had been worthy in any other life, because suddenly there were two beautiful copies of your mate in front of you, both of them equally worried. Before you blinked one last time, you saw Azriel’s face scrunching in horror, a kind hand making him step sideways.

Worried violet eyes were the last thing you remembered before blacking out.

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[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.2 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terassen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

See masterlist

A/n: Hey everyone! I am so happy that you guys liked the first chapter of this series which is why I have decided to continue it yayy!! Anywaysss, enjoy this second chapter <3

Y/n could not move, could not think or feel properly as her mind tried to come up with ways to escape whoever the male behind her is. The knife was placed in a way that, if she even dared to move her head an inch, it would slice right through her throat. She was wearing a simple white shirt with black pants and did not have any weapons, except a small knife hidden in her pants pocket, because in a perfect world, she was expecting to still be at home, preparing for bed, not fighting with Azriel and certainly not ending up wherever this place is.

As if he could hear her thoughts, the male slowly lowered the knife but still kept his hold on her as he turned y/n around. The second she turned around, y/n felt weak in the knees as she beheld the male in front of her.

Lucious, wavy and golden blond hair, beautiful sun kissed, golden brown skin and most importantly, those hypnotizing onyx eyes that look darker than a night devoid of stars. Whoever this male is, he was definetly a warrior or atleast a skilled fighter if his broad chest and shoulders that had multiple different kinds of weapons strapped to them were any indicator.

"You are coming with me."

This dragged y/n back into reality as she realized that she has been creepily staring at him. However, she did not have the time to feel embarassed as she noticed his slightly loose hold on her arms as an opening to her escape. With a quick move that the male did not see coming, y/n threw a punch to the strangers nose. This caused his hold on her to loosen completely and so, y/n gathered all her remaining strength and shot to the sky.

From above, she started searching for any clues as to where she might be. This site looks nothing like Velaris or even the Night Court. Open grassy fields, lakes, mountains...what is this place? not even the Spring court was this beautiful. Definetly not the other courts either. Maybe the mortal lands? But no, the male who threatened her was a fae. Definetly not Hybern either. Well, she has never been to Hybern, especially not after the war, but still, y/n did not imagine for that place to look this breathtaking.

Y/n's wings started slowing down as she realized how tired she was and that is when she spotted a small open area in the middle of a forest and decided to land there. The stranger is a good distance away so getting some rest and then exploring some more is the only good plan.

But before she could even sit down for a second, a giant white wolf leapt on her and pinned her to the ground, baring its teeth to her with a low growl. Y/n knew then and there that this was it, that she was about to be killed by this beast when suddenly, she got blinded by a bright light and the next thing she knew, the white beast was replaced by that stranger from before. He left her no time to ask questions or fight him back as his skillfull hands did a quick work of chaining her arms to his belt.

"You think that just because you have wings you can escape me? Get up." The stranger said, as he stood up from his position over her body.

Y/n bared her teeth at him before she replied, "Unchain me, I am not going anywhere with you."

The male, still looking down at her, only said, "Now."

"How did you find me? I thought my punch would have made you go home crying."

He gave her a cruel smirk as he said, "The next time you try to punch someone, try to aim properly."

"I was panicked! I did not care where I aimed as long as it got me far away from you!"

His face became cold and hardened again as he said, "Get up. This will be the last time I say it."

When y/n refused to oblige, she saw him turn around and start walking but before she could yell after him to unchain her, she was being dragged through the grassy ground by the chain. He was dragging her? He was dragging her!

"Hey! what are you doing?!"

He ignored her.

"Stop! your'e hurting me!"

He ignored her

"My wings! They will rip apart if you keep this up!"

He ignored her.

"You bastard! You are dragging me through the ground, stop!"

He kept on ignoring her.

With no options left, y/n sighed and shouted, "Fine! I will follow you, but please stop for a moment the back of my shirt is about to rip open! I will get up and follow you!"

At that, he stopped and turned around, still looking expectantly at her with cold, unflinching eyes that made her shiver.

To say y/n was furious, would be an understatement; however, looking at him made her realize something. She would rather die than admit it but y/n found it very impressive (and attractive) how he could walk so casually while dragging her weight with the chain linked to his body. Not wanting to gather all the dirt on the ground, y/n got up to her feet and started hesitantly following him.

As they kept walking, y/n decided to get some information out of her captor that could potentially be helpful when she escapes. So, changing her expression to the most indifferent and nonchalant one like she was trained to do, y/n asked the male, "What is this place?"

The male did not look back as he replied, "Don't act so foolishly by asking me such a meaningless question."

"I am not being foolish, I have no clue as to where am I and what this place is."

When she saw how the stranger scoffed but said nothing, y/n knew that she had to use a different strategy and so, she stayed silent because she knew she could not trust this male to tell him anything about where she comes from and it seemed he wouldn't tell her anything either. So her next best plan would be to wait and see where he takes her. But as if curiosity got the best of her, y/n asked, "What is your name?"

"That does not concern you."

"So I am to call you stranger then? As you wish stranger."

He sighed but then said, "Fenrys, call me Fenrys."

Fenrys. Such a unique name and yet, something about it felt so comforting that as y/n tested out his name on her tounge silently, she could not help but feel as if the name had something that made it feel special to her. And maybe it was that momentary comfort that made her slip up and reveal her name to him.

"My name is Y/n"

Fenrys did not turn around but she saw just a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment and that was enough.

When they reached the clearing of the forest, Fenrys turned around and told her, "Come closer to me."

"Why, I don-"

"Do not waste my time. You are a captive here so do as I say and come closer to me."

Y/n hesitantly came closer as Fenrys held out his hand. When she gave him a questioning look, he sighed and said, "Trust me, I won't kill you, atleast not until my queen commands me to."

Y/n took his hand, gave him a puzzling look and asked, "Your queen? Is she one of the mortal queens? There is no fae queen in Pryth-"

She did not get to finish her sentence as suddenly y/n felt this strong yet comforting power course around them. That is when she realized that Fenrys was winnowing them.

One second y/n was clinging to his arms as he winnowed them, and the next she was standing in the center of what looked like a large palace room. White, gold and hints of silver with green were everywhere, from the tall pillars to the designs on the ceiling. Everywhere she looked was a masterpiece, even the small but comfortable lounge chairs had green intricate designs on them. The large windows brought in the sunlight that made the room look very heavenly and peaceful. There was also a medium sized flag that carried the image of a white stag with a crown on its head hanging from the large window in the back. Y/n guessed it to be their house crest.

But, the fae in the room were what brought y/n back from her daydream. There were four of them. Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, was a a stunning female with pale skin, long voluminous brown hair that cascaded down her back and eyes of the most beautiful shade of green ever. Standing next to her, was a very tall, tan and muscled male with long blond hair and blue eyes. Then, right infront of y/n, in the center of the room, was a handsome, tan male with silver hair that was cut short to his scalp, emerald green eyes and broad shoulder's that made him look dominating. But what caught her attention the most, was the tattoo that started from his left temple and continued all the way through his throat where it disappeared under his clothes. Finally, next to him was a beautiful female with long blond locks and eyes that seem to be the brightest shade of blue. In fact, it seems like this female and the other male are twins or atleast related because they are the spitting image of one another.

The brown haired female spoke first, "Took you long enough."

Fenrys sighed and replied with, "She was not easy to catch."

The blond female gave a cool assesing stare at y/n and especially at her wings before asking, "What part of Erilea are you from?"

"What? I know of no such place."

"Do you consider us to be fools?"

This question came from the blonde haired male who was now stalking closer to her.

"Do I look like one? I do not know who you are, let alone where I am!"

Y/n suddenly felt as if all the air was drained out of her body which caused her to fall on her knees. She was suffocating, she could not think or say anything but choke and gasp for air. Just when she felt like dying, the air returned back to her body. Y/n, still in shock, did not care about her image as she kept kneeling on the ground and greedily inhaling air while still coughing.

That is when she felt a pair of arms hold her by her waist as she tried to get up again. The comforting scent of vanilla and sandalwood hit her nose and as she turned her head sideways...Fenrys was the one holding her and even though he was't looking at her, she could feel from his tight grip on her waist how unnerved he was.

"Let this be a warning for you if you lie again." That cold voice brought her back to reality as Fenrys let go of y/n, still staying behind her, and she turned around to see the silver haired male now standing before the blond female, protecting her.

The female pushed past him and came closer to y/n and asked her, although slightly less aggressively than before, "Who sent you here? Who do you work for?"

At that moment, y/n felt all sorts of emotions. Disbelief, confusion, frustration but most importantly, anger. Who do they think they are? Judging her like she came here on purpose. Trying to kill her with their...impressive powers. Since when does Prythian have fae who can take the air of of your body?

With a frustrated sigh, she says, "I do not know what this place is OR who you are. I know of no place named Eri-what was it? I come from the Night Court in Prythian so either you are the ones acting like fools or you simply have lost your minds because to think that I would come here of my own will? I mean, have you seen what I am wearing? This certainly does not look like something I would wear if I were to be sent off on a mission."

"You have wings. No one in Erilea has ever had wings before. At least not anyone we know."

Y/n was slightly startled when she heard the voice from behind her, sounding too close for her comfort. The green eyed female was no longer on her lounge chair but right behind y/n, as if preparing to attack her should y/n attempt something.

A gasp made y/n turn her head back around to see what was going on. The blond female was looking at her with wide eyes and then at the silver haired male beside her. They stared like that at one another, which made y/n believe that they were conversing mentally. The males eyes widened for a split second before he turned his head at her and asked, "Where did you say you were from?"

"Night Court in Prythian. Why?"

The blond female looked at her look alike, then at the green eyed female and lastly, at Fenrys who was behind y/n as well. Then, with a slightly shaky voice, she asked no one in particular, "The Wyrdgates. Could it be? Is it possible?"

The other blond one says, "No, you closed it. It can't be."

At that, the room grew silent as some sort of an unnerving tension fell over everyone. Confused and annoyed, y/n asked, "What is that? Where am I? I don't understand. Explain. Now."

The brown hair female came around to face y/n as she said, "We don't know what Prythian is. There is no place named the Night Court in here."

Seeing y/n's shocked yet confused face, it was Fenrys who spoke up, "Do you remember how you ended up here?"

Y/n started recounting what happened more to herself than to anyone else, "I had an argument with Azriel, then the voice led me to the House of Wind and then...the book of Breathings. Oh Mother above." Realization dawned upon her as she realized that she had just ended up in a completely different world.

"Well, we will pretend like we understood what you just said." The blond male said which earned him a glare from his look a like.

The blue eyed female sighed as she looked at everyone and then said to y/n, "We...we need to have a talk. There is a lot that you need to be told and a lot that you need to tell us."

"I-I am not telling you anything. You can torture me all you like but you won't get any information out of me."

"You need to. We need to know if what we believe is happening is true." The silver haired male speaks as he slowly motions for everyone else to spread around and sort of cage her in the room.

But y/n wasn't hearing anyone as her mind went completely silent and all she heard were murmurs as she felt like she was underwater. She started pacing around as her eyes were wide with disbelief, "T-th-that stupid book....Oh Cauldron boil me...I-I...home..need to g-"

"Keep your eyes on her." Silver hair says.

Y/n did not see how around her, everyone was just as shocked by her. How they were watching her every move, ready to attack her if she dares to try something. She did not care because she felt like she was hyperventilating, loosing her mind.

"Aedion call a heale-"

The only thing she saw was Fenrys's concerned face reaching out to hold her as she descended into darkness.

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Taglist: @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @blackgirlmagicforever

[bits-and-babs]

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : Din Djarin x Reader

» CONTENTS : Smuttt. Needy Din- maskless Din is a sub, fight with the wall. Body worship (face… worship?). P in V sex- emphasis more on the P on V sex). Not proof read.

» SUMMARY: Traditions form after Din removes the mask.

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

It’s freezing cold to the touch, the sharp edges of his helmet practically slicing your fingers open as you tentatively lift the beskar from his face. You feel his aquiline nose catch on the foam padding on the inside. You utter a sorry.

Din’s palms splay over your hips where you straddle him in the minute cot, leather biting lightly against your bare skin where he digs his fingers in. His eyelashes flutter as the edge of his helmet is pulled up, and he’s exposed to the harsh, untempered lights inside the Razor Crest. Din turns his face to the side, unable to look you in the eye. Even now, after all this time, he’s still momentarily apprehensive about displaying his face to you.

“Hold still for me,” you whisper, so quiet that you’re sure that your own heartbeat muffles your order, drowning your words out with its pulse. It’s thrumming wildly against your sternum, still thrilled by the sight of Din’s eyes on you.

Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian- Mandalore. All of Din’s titles melt away like beskar in an armourer’s kiln when you’re alone. The alloy drips and runs and cools, melding the warrior a far simpler and benign title- yours.

Din’s breath stalls in his lungs as you begin your ritual, his eyes cast to the durasteel hangar ceiling as he feels you press your lips to his with a gentle urgency. One kiss, then another, and another. You barely give him a moment to register your affections, his own lips lagging behind in their response.

“Mhmm~” You hum, but it bleeds into a whine as you settle your bare cunt over the length of Din’s cock. His groan dies behind gritted teeth as you sweep your hips over the length of him, soaking the velvety skin with your slick.

His chestplate is freezing against your breasts as you lean over him, having given him no time to undress when you threw him back against the cot and took what you wanted. Your nipples are hard against the cold Beskar-steel, dragging back and forth slightly as your hips rock against the curve of his dick. It makes you ache for him even more.

Focusing a slow, steady rhythm with your hips, you allow your lips to wander. They trace his jawline, sharp as the spear he carries with him. Din tilts his head back for you, gasping out your name as you bite the skin stretched across the bone. You nip playfully, focusing your attention on the patchy parts of his jaw, where the hair is sparse.

“C-Cyar'ika,” Din groans, his voice pitchy over the wet sounds of his cock sweeping through your folds. The head bumps your clit, and you whine against the curve of his jaw, your chin pressed to his pulse point.

Din Djarin is the prettiest man you’d ever met. His expressions, however, were even more enticing. Hidden behind a mask for his entire adult life, Din never learnt to neutralise his face. It made him emotive, especially in bed.

As you kiss the tip of his nose, you watch as his eyebrows pinch together, then arch up slightly as you let the weeping tip of his cock nudge at your entrance. You settle on it lightly, let the head sink inside before pulling up again quickly, barely allowing him a moment to relish the tight heat. He lets out a groan of frustration, desperation, as you drag your lips over the arch of his aquiline nose.

God, you love his nose. You praise it, its beauty, worship the way it makes you feel when you grind down on it. Humming softly, you can’t help but grin into the kisses you offer as his jaw falls slack, moaning out your name.

“Stars,” he groans out louder, with a sudden urgency that startles you, “Please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Din’s voice without the modulator is impassioned, cracking slightly on a whine as he begs you for mercy. For relief. A vulnerable tone he barely affords you unless you take control. The leather of his gloves digs into the meat of your ass, palms shifting your hips forward to pull your weeping pussy across his length.

Refusing to give into his demands, you continue your affections. You press soft kisses above his eyebrows, then each of his closed eyelids. His eyes- they took your breath away, stealing your attention when he first removed his helmet for you. You’d heard the tales of ‘brown eyes’, but they did little to emphasise their beauty. Deep, rich, laced with Din’s heavily guarded emotions that he’d veiled with beskar.

“You’re impatient,” you finally point out in a breathy whisper, lungs working a little harder as you feel something delicious settle at the base of your spine. Din looks like he could cry, desperation kicking in as he jerks his hips up against yours.

“I am deprived,” he murmurs back, an edge to his tone. The Child had clung to him for days following his last bounty job- he hadn’t had time alone with you for at least a week despite doing everything he could- stolen kisses in the cockpit, even attempting to shut Grogu in his bassinet. Somehow, he always managed to stumble into the room at the most inopportune time, much to his father’s utter dismay.

Sitting up, one of your palms settles on Din’s breastplate, you push strands of his unkempt curls from his damp forehead. Din, as renowned and feared a bounty hunter he is, also keens for you, vulnerable and achy for your affections. He chases your hand, leaning his face into your touch as you care for him.

Rewarding his openness, you reach between your thighs to take his cock in your palm. Din lets out a slight hiss, sucking between his teeth as you work his cock slowly. The drag of your palm against his sensitive flesh has him bucking his hips again, pressing the crown of his head back into the pillow.

“Din,” you whisper his name, watching him squeeze his eyes shut and centre his focus on the swirling arousal that builds quickly.

“Please.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Din’s lips, swollen from your previous affections, you sink down onto his aching cock.

“Fuuuuck, Cyar'ik-aah-“

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess

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[adrift-in-thyme]

@uncleskyrule happy belated birthday!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this! I hope it's worth the wait!

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Four knows what sleep deprivation looks like. 

He’s seen it spelled out on his grandfather’s face when long days turn his usual joviality to melancholy exhaustion and draws the shadows of half moons beneath his eyes.

He’s seen it painted across Dot’s beautiful features after an arduous night when the memories resurface, memories of a leering crimson eye, of claims to possession hanging heavy over her, of cages and darkness and smothering magic. 

He’s seen it shadowed across his own face too, when the battles within and without grow to be too much, darkening his features, drawing them thin, sucking the youthful fat from his cheeks, the light from his eyes.

And he’s seen it…on the faces of his brothers.

On Time’s when the moon is full. On Twilight’s when a quiet twilight falls and skeletal trees whisper in tongues known only to some. On Wild’s when the amnesia recedes, Warriors’ when phantom lips press across his cheek, Wind’s after he awakens screaming his sister’s name. On Hyrule’s when he gives too much, Legend’s when the adventures he never speaks of tell their tale in his petrified cries at night…

And now on, Sky’s.

Some may find it strange for a man who can drift off practically anywhere to suffer from fatigue. Add to that uncanny ability, Sky’s penchant for seeming one of the most mature of their little group, the most…put together.

But Four is well acquainted with the deceptions someone can tell through demeanor alone. He himself has been dubbed mature, put together, responsible. And while, yes, those labels are true (Four would certainly be cross if people decided to start dubbing him childish or, Hylia forbid, a disaster as they call some more unruly children in his Hyrule), the lie rests in the assumptions they bring about.

Beliefs of invincibility and impervious spirit. Beliefs that there is no need to be gentle or kind, no need to offer respite or lighten the load.

It is the same fate their leader suffers so often, the same Warriors and Twilight sometimes crumble beneath. Suffering silently, yet always strong. So strong.

And Sky…

Sky hides it better than anyone.

Four is uncertain whether or not he is the only one who notices his distress. Perhaps, he is. 

It doesn’t matter though. In fact, if he is the only one who has taken note of it then it is all the more important that he do something before Sky’s inevitable collapse.

But life never makes things simple. And in the end, he’s too late.

It has happened too many times now — a portal that separates the heroes into mismatched groups. Four thinks that perhaps, after his near defeat at the combined hands of the champion and the rancher the Shadow is attempting to be more careful. 

More conniving. More vicious.

Attack first and you won’t be defeated. Such is the attitude of wild animals and beasts. More than likely, the Shadow shares it too.

This would explain why in addition to splitting the heroes up, this portal also dumps them right onto a battlefield.

Or at least, it does for Sky, Legend, and himself. Four can’t be sure what the others are facing. But he can only pray it isn’t a sand-drenched dungeon packed with redeads and stalfos.

The unearthly screeches of the emaciated corpses fill his ears as he fights, teeth gritted, heart pounding. It’s all the three heroes can do to stay out of reach of their paralyzing cries.

Back up to escape one beast and you nearly collide with the mad swing of a stalfos’ claymore. 

Four winces as the very tip of a blade slices across his left arm and leaves an angry gash in its wake.

That’s going to need a bit of potion to remedy.

Beside him, Legend growls what sounds like a curse as he plunges his hand into his pouch and retrieves a fire rod. He brings it in a sweeping horizontal arc. In a blaze of blistering heat, a group of the monsters fall.

“Well done,” Four says with a breathless smirk. He plunges his sword into the gaping chest cavity of one of the stalfos still struggling for survival on the darkened floorboards. With a raspy exhale, it dissolves into ash. “I think you just turned the battle in our favor.”

“I’d better have,” Legend huffs. “The sooner we get rid of these things, the sooner we can get out of here.” He screws up his face in a grimace. More monsters crumple beneath his skilled hands. “It smells like death.”

It does, indeed, Four thinks as, finally, the last of the monsters fall. The stench of it hangs heavy, permeating the thick darkness that surrounds them, wafting from the thin threads of light carrying from faltering torches. 

But now that the battle is over they can focus on escape. Hopefully, to a place where it proves easier to breathe.

He sheathes his sword, glances around. The gash on his arm throbs and the various bruises and smaller cuts he earned join in its stomach-churning beat. Still, it could have gone far worse. 

“We all okay?” Legend asks, bangs falling into his face as he replaces his fire rod. 

“Yes,” Four says. “How about you…Sky?”

His voice pitches an octave higher as he catches sight of the Skyloftian, turning the question almost into an exclamation. 

The knight lies crumpled where he had stood mere moments before. The Master Sword lies fallen beside him, his cape flows over him like a blanket of snow. His breath comes in shuddering gasps that grate upon Four’s ears as he races to his side. 

“Sky!” 

He shakes him, slightly, and hazy blue orbs flutter open. Sky groans. 

“What happened?” Legend drops down beside him, panic in his voice and a half-empty potion bottle in his hand. “Did a monster get him?”

Four shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” A quick inspection provides no sign of blood or other injury. But Sky’s face is ashen and he shudders as though in the throes of fever. “Sky, are you hurt?”

“N-not hurt.” Sky curls his fingers into a fist, as though attempting to gather strength. “J-just…just…” He swallows, tries to drag himself up, and nearly collapses again. It’s only Four and Legend’s quick movement that keeps him upright. “‘M fine.”

“Like hell you are!” Legend’s eyes are blazing with emotion now. “Sky, what happened?”

Sky shudders again. He glances down at the trembling hands he has folded into one, white-knuckled fist. There is a certain helplessness in the look.

“I dunno,” he croaks. “Was fighting and the room start-started swirling.” He curls in on himself further, and Four wonders if the next shaky exhale brings tears with it. His voice is very small. “I just-just fell.”

“And you didn’t have the strength to get back up,” Four says, solemnly. An idea is already forming in his head, a confirmation of what he has witnessed these past few hellish weeks. 

I should’ve acted sooner.

But there had been fights both in and out of the group, and injuries and secrets unveiled. There had been discussions long overdue, restorations to be made in the face of pain and sorrow. And he, he had been in the midst of it all. 

Between explaining the Four Sword and its powers and making up with Wild, he just hadn’t found the time…

“You haven’t been sleeping, Sky…have you?”

Now, Sky raises his head, glazed eyes focusing unsteadily on Four. Slowly, he shakes his head.

Legend blows out a sigh. He sits down beside Four and brings a dusty hand over his sweaty brow. 

“Sleep deprivation? Yeah, that’ll do it. How long haven’t you been sleeping?” 

Sky swallows. A beat passes, then another. The oppressive feel of death begins to crowd in on Four again. He struggles to breathe beneath it.

Then, “Since Twilight,” Sky whispers, and Four’s heart plummets to the depths of his stomach.

Legend’s hand falls to his lap with more viciousness than defeat. His face screws up in an expression that toes the line between sorrowful and intensely irritated. “I knew something was up! I knew it! I should’ve — ”

“Couldn’t have done anything,” Sky croaks, leaning further into Four’s touch. A small smile quirks his lips. “Was me that should-should’ve d-done something in the…in the first place.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Sky looks back down at his hands.

Another theory is beginning to form in Four’s mind now, joining with the previous one, enlarging it, and embellishing it until things start to make sense. A theory born out of something Sky has said before, a snippet he had overheard and tossed aside in favor of giving his full attention to fighting the Yiga that had taken Wild captive.

“I’m sorry, champion,” the Skyloftian had said as he had helped Warriors tend to the boy’s wounds. “I was late…again. I’m sorry.”

“You blame yourself.” Four measures the words carefully, speaking each one with intricate precision. Lest he step in the wrong place and cause them all to plummet. “You blame yourself for what happened to Twilight.”

Sky lifts his bloodshot eyes. A tear wells in one of them then spills over to slither gracefully down his cheek. 

“Why would you blame yourself?” Legend asks, even as comprehension burns in his violet irises. “It’s not your fault the rancher got hit. You weren’t even near him when it happened!”

“I was near enough.” Sky’s voice is quieter than ever now, more like a whisper than anything else. “I know the skyward strike. I could’ve hit that…that thing if I’d been…b-been faster.” His breath hitches. But to Four it sounds defeated more than panicked. “I was late and he paid for it. I’m a-always…”

He curls in on himself, weighed down by exhaustion, shuddering with pain and sorrow. Legend looks at Four and Four looks at Legend. Then, slowly, together they reach out and draw Sky into their arms.

It’s strange. Four hadn’t taken Legend for someone willing to show physical affection freely. But he embraces the Skyloftian as though it is no price to pay. As though he has done so before.

Long nights. A shuddering sob. Soft feet dressed in boots with wings adorning their sides. Whispers in the dark that exhaustion muddles before Four can make them out. Amethyst eyes staring from over a hazy cloud of silken white. Sliding shut as a larger form huddles deeper into an embrace.

Sky shivers again and Legend holds him tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Four murmurs, pouring every ounce of confidence he possesses into those words and praying that it is enough. “It’s not your fault, Sky. You did everything you could do for him. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Sky doesn’t reply. 

They hold him, whispering assurances, as his tears wet their tunics and his fatigued body quakes beneath the burden he forces it to carry. They hold him until, at last, in the murky darkness, surrounded by carcasses of monsters and piles of resting sand, he drifts off.

In the arms of his brothers.

[babyxbluexmoon]

☁︎ tsu'tey's daughter ☁︎

Neteyam x Daughter Tsu'tey! Reader!

Warnings: Light angst. Depressed reader. Abusive/toxic mother. Not proof read.

synopsis : After Tsu'Tey's death, you were raised alone by your mother, Rhi'all. Best female hunter of the clan. However, best the daughter of quite a high ranking, meant expectations that you weren't seemingly born for, and that was what actually drew Neteyam to you. Your passion for healing, armoured off by the preassure of being a warrior.

Today was like any other day.

You had an argument with your mother to start off your 'lovely' day. Next off, you flew on your Ikran, scoping out sky people, marking where theywere on a piece of -what the lab people call- paper. She let out a breath, and after her morning chore, she headed back to the omaticaya clan base hidden in the moutains to keep away from the demons. Her and her purple and blue Ikran pulled up and she kissed his snout before making her way over to the Sully family, more pacificly, Toruk Makto, Jake Sully, the Olo'eyktan.

"Y/n." He said, smiling as the girl walked over. She was slim and blue, with adnormally short black hair. But some reason your hair mever grew passed your shoulders, so you just tried to own it. And for your eyes, that matched Tsu'Tey's to a T. That's probably why Neytiri amd Jake Sully were so protective of you. "Hello mr and mrs. Sully." She greeted, her voice actually quite motherly. "I have the wereabouts." She said, handing them the paper which Jake took and scanned his eyes over. "Well done, Little one." Neytiri petted your hair, and Y/n left.

She went back to her Ikran, pnly to hear a squeal of fear. She grabbed her weapons and bolted towards it, into the trees where she saw the Sully's youngest, Tuktiery with an angry Thanator approching her. Y/n jumped infront of her and hissed at the beast, which roared back at her. Y/n got herself ready, gripping the blade in her four fingered palm, standing infront of Tuk who stared at her bewildered and frightened.

The thanator went for her and she roared and went back, using her skills. As she fought it off, protecting Tuktiery, Neteyam and Lo'ak arrivied, staring at the scene with wide orbs. "That's Y/n! Her father was the great Tsu'Tey!" Lo'ak whispered to Neteyam, "Who fought beside dad!". "I know.." Neteyam replied, seeing her, her arm sliced and soon she was slammed to the floor, and Neteyam lifted his bow'n arrows, shooting at the beast that roared out in pain, then growled at him.

As the Thanator was distracted with Lo'ak and Neteyam, Y/n lunged forward and stabbed her blade straight into its nap, regretting it instantly, but it was that or possibly four deaths, inculding a child under the age of ten. She couldn't let that happen. "Your time on pandora was served well brother, now you may walk alongside Eywa." she endee his life quickly, speaking her words in Na'vi before dashing over to Tuk, checking her.

"Are you alright? How's your body? Any scratches or bites? Anything?" Y/n asked and Neteyam smiled softly. There was his Y/n. They grew up aschild hood best friends, being only two months apart in age, Neteyam being older. He loved the real Y/n. Sensetive, gentle, fragile. Not this.. warrior machine her mother forced her to play. God, they used to be so close until her mother drove them apart. Speaking of her mother...

"Y/n!". An angered filled voice yelled and Y/n whipped her head around, neeting the eyes of her mother, Rhi'all. She gulped before speaking. "Mother, what os the matter?" She asked and the female omaticaya snarled. "Is this where you have been, slacking off, and infront of the Olo'eyktan children of all." Could herm other not see the blood staining her body, or the dead thanator behid her? "N-no mother.. I fought the thanator to save Tukt-". "I do not want to hear your nonsense! Home, now."

Y/n gave the siblings a dry wave, but before her hand could completely fall, it was grasped in the palm of Neteyam, who glared at her mother with inflamed golden orbs. "She saved my younger sister from a thanator, show her some respect." He spoke sternly, and the shock of everyones faces was definetly readable. "Excuse me, boy?" She asked, but it was then that Jake arrived. "I saw everything." He said, and went over to Y/n. "Thank you..".

He then turned to Rhi'all, "She fought the Thanator bravely. Rhis girl needs rest." He spoke and her mother only replied with taking her daughters hand and ripping her from Neteyam, dragging her away. She glanced back at her old friend and gave a gently wave with her free hand, which made him wave back, then look down, feeling defeated once again by that wicked na'vi. "We should set mommy on her." Tuk huffed and Jake chuckled, picking her up. "Or your grandmother.".

Y/n stood in the training area, panting as her mother kept throwing diffrent challenges at her, each harder than the last, by god she was exhausted. Her body, her small, gentle hands, her kind expression.. she wasn't meant to be this sort of na'vi. She wpuld make the perfect healer, but ever since the death of her great father, she was cursed to live up to him, a curse set by her mother.

"Mother, I can not do anymore.. please, let us sit..?" She asked, leaning down to place her hands on her knees, exhausted. Little did she knew, a pair of eyes were watching, golden and sharp. "No, you Train!" She yelled but Y/n had, had enough. "No! My body is on fire, mother! I just need ten minutes to regain myself!" She barked and suddenly felt a stinging pain on her cheek. Rhi'all had slapped her.

"You are disapointment to your father!" She screeched and Y/n felt like her heart had been pierced. "You nothing like hi-". "And I never will be! I'm me, mother! I will never be anything more! So just... grow up and deal with it! Your like a baby!" Y/n yelled back and her mother hissed at her, but just before Y/n could hiss back, a deeper hiss arrupted. She turned and saw Neteyam, and his family behind him. "Never, lay a hand, on her.." he snarled and Y/n stared slightly wide eyed.

It was then Neytiri approched and went right up to her, staring her down with an evil look. "She does not dissapoint Tsu'tey.. you do." She said,theb turned to Y/n and placed a hand on her head. "Come, we are going to redo some beads as they are dirtying. Join." She offered and Y/n gulped, was she really about to walk away from her mother. Seems that choice was taken when Tuk grabbed her hand, "lets put beads in your hair!" She giggled and began to drag her, making her squeak in surprise.

Neteyam smiled softly and followed after, but got stopped by his father who looked down at him. "You should tell her today, son. Only then, can we protect her." He said and Neteyam nodded, "yes sir." When they arrived bacl at the Sully's hut, she allowed Tuk to sit her down and do her short hair. Kiri helped the youngest aswell, smirking at Neteyam as her hair was beaded nicely, with a bit of help from Neytiri.

Neteyam couldn't help but stare. He'd never seen Y/n look.. girlish and pretty. He swallowed, then stood up and cleared his throat. "I wish to take Y/n somewhere." No more needed to be said, everyone nodded and he held his hand out to the girl who was confused, but nodded and walked away with him. "Where we going, Neteyam?" She asked and he chuckled, "you'll see. Come on!" He took her away from the moutain hide out and climbed down to the forest below. "Are we allowed here?" She asked and he nodded, "With me, you are.".

They came to the forest, and she remembered how her fathers life was taken here by the sky people, and how Jake Sully ended his pain by finishing him. "Why are we here, Neteyam..?" She asked, and he slipped his hand into hers. "You'll see.." he pulled her along, going over a large log where the trees never parted, making it ahole lot darker even in the evening. She followed, holding his hand, her heart fluttering from the contact. She knew her feelings for him since childhood hadn't faded, she had just pushed them down as the years went on.

"Over here!" He said and took her to.. "The tree of Voices?" She asked, staring amamzing as their blye skin slightly illumated pink. Spinning frogs with almpst mushroom like heads went around them and Neteyam couldn't help but remember his mother describing it. Now he knew why she loved this memory. "Wow.. this is amazing Neteyam. But why are we here?" She asked, holding her arms out as they walked, letting the pink vines hit her scarred skin and wave over her.

"My father told me a story.." he started. "He said that, if you were to..confess your love for someone here.. Eywa would guide you down the right path.." he swallowed and Y/n's eyes widened slightly, and he turned away slightly, making her tilt her head. "If you do not accept my feelings.. I understand. We aren't as close as we used to be.." he said gently, but then heard Y/n giggle and turned back to her.

"Neteyam.." she said gently, then sighed and grabbed his hand, making him fully turn to face him. "I see you.." she said and his ears twitched. If his face didn't give away his reactipn,his tail certainly did, swaying quickly as if he would take off in flight. "I-I see you.. Y/n..". With that, she slowly moved her hand, cupping his cheek lovingly and he leant into her touch, then slowly placed his hands on her waist and pulled her body closer to his.

"Oh and um.. your father, would never be disapointed in you.. Y/n.." he said, flustered and she giggled. "Kiss me, Neteyam." He placed his lips on hers and she felt fireworks go off in her heart, and butterflies in her stomach. A sicky feeling bit she knew that was a good thing. As they kissed, Neteyam reached back and took his braid in his hand, bringing it over his shoulder and she did the same. They pulled away slightly, inches away and slowly, staring into eachothers eyes, they connected.

A small sigh excaped their lips, and Neteyam hugged her closely. "I promise to protect you from now on.." he whispered. He knew they weren't fully mated yet, but he knew neither of them were ready to.. do that- but this was enough. "My love..". He said gently and she sighed, melting into him. "I know you will... ma'neteyam..".

[cryptidcorners]

Hello again! I have yet another request to ask of my favorite Mike writer, if you are in want of something to make. How about Abby’s babysitter girl and her are playing/reenacting Abby’s favorite fairy tale, then Mike steps in just in time and Abby demands he come over to play Prince Charming. Humiliating Mike, amusing the babysitter, and then also stirring up romantic feelings all the while. Thanks so much!

Crown - Mike Schmidt x F!Reader

Description: Mike is dragged into another one of Abby's plays, being forced to play Prince Charming with you as some warrior princess as the pairing. As Abby's creative tale unfolds, she's completely oblivious to your romantic tension with her older brother.

# requested by @/scribblesandsherlock

Media: FNaF!Movie

Character: Mike Schmidt (+ Abby)

Tags: Babysitter!Reader, Flusteted Mike, Domestic, Fluff, Playing With Abby, Fantasy Themed, Romantic Tension, Slice of Life, Friends to ? ? ?, Some Flirting, Cute Stuff, Feminine Terms used !

No Warnings.

read my TOS + Mike Schmidt Masterlist

"And then—" Abby was holding a cardboard tube colored messily over your head, blessing you with the imaginary title of "Warrior queen of the Rabbit Kingdom." which held a decent ring to it. Trying hard to desperately not break out of character, you giggled and replied as seriously as you could: "Thank you for bestowing this honor on me, Queen Schmidt."

Abby giggled and cleared her throat, shaking in excitement. "Now, I give you the honor of my son. Prince—uhm, Schmidt." She shrugged at you with a smile, then shifted back into her Queen Schmidt personality. "So you can get married and live happily ever after," her eyes wandered around for a toy suitable to fit the role. You gazed around too, "Oh, no. Is your son, perhaps, missing?"

"I hope not." Abby said, "You'll see him." she scavenged around and you sat comfortably. Until you saw Mike walk into the room, fixing the color of his sweater, unknowing of the world he was about to accidentally walk into, "Hey Abs, have you seen my—" Mike halted. "What is happening?"

"Hey, you can be the prince." Abby said, "I think my crown can fix you."

Mike raised his hands defensively, "Oh, no. I'm not good at playing royalty." he shook his head. "Besides, I need to go shopping."

"When will you be back?" You asked in your normal tone of voice.

"Three," he said. "Three-ish?"

"Ah,"

"Mike, please." Abby begs, tugging her sluggish older brother by his sleeve as he stumbles hunched toward to level with her. Mike huffs, "Do I really need to be a prince? Why not a knight, or something cool?" he humors lightly. His eyes wash up at you, and he can't resist giggling at your costume made from scratch. It was impressive what Abby could make with her scrapes of material and tape. "No, she's the the knight." Abby pointed. Amused, you respond, "and a princess."

"And a princess." Abby adds, "And a witch!"

"Oh. So, I don't get any powers?" Mike says dryly, though there's a scrape of playfulness wrapped behind his blunt demeanour. He sat up and shut his eyes promptly for Abby to delicately place a cardboard mock crown on Mike's head. Abby smiled, before replying honestly, "That's because you're lame. Maybe next time you can be a princess, witch and knight."

"Goodie." Mike was obviously trying to drag a laugh out of you with his dramatic tone. You could see his eyes twinkled when it worked. There was a circle of stuffed animals and dolls, all clad in an organic costume made from Abby's workshop of a room.

"Okay, now we have a prince." She discarded the toy in her hand. "Now, you two can get married. And rule The Rabbit Kingdom."

"Married?" Mike knew it was pretend but his face flushed. "I didn't know that,"

"I am a princess, and you're the prince." You explained, almost toying with him. Mike chuckled, covering his face in light embarrassment.

"Yeah, Mike. Catch up." She cleared her throat. Mike was enjoying it much more than he thought he would. Maybe it was the idea of marrying you that sounded appealing, but that was ridiculous. He didn't love you. Did he?

Abby grabbed a floppy cat with buttoned eyes and calico patterns, making a deep voice. "I am the priest, and I say, that—we are gathered here today to see a prince and a princess get married. And, well . . ." She trailed off. "I don't know what a priest says, so. You're married!" She dropped the toy and tube together. Raising her hands out dramatically with a fun smile. "You can kiss now. Like couples do," she snickered.

You and Mike got close, giggling and awkwardly talking over each other as you tried to find a loophole. Mike swore his face was as hot as a furnace, and your stomach was twisted with butterflies caught in a trap. Abby broke the strange mental tango between you two, "You can hug if you want."

"Oh, right." You gazed at Abby, then back at Mike.

"Yeah, we can do that." He said. And so you did. Falling into a tight embrace for a couple seconds. Mike wanted to be longer, but he had errands. Plus, he doubt you'd stay long enough. Abby giggled, "You guys are husband and wife, now! Awesome." she looked around, eyes plotting something. She ran towards her room,"One second, I need to get something! Don't leave, Mike."

Yet, as soon as she disappeared. Mike stood up with a grunt, sighing. With a gentle smile, you gazed up at him. "Going so soon? We just got married."

"Very funny." Mike's cheeks flared as he removed the crown delicately and ran his fingers through his curls. He sighed and grabbed his wallet that was sitting longingly on the tabletop. "Tell her I got kidnapped by some monster or something, I'll think of a way to sneak in."

"Well, you got the right girl." You walked up to him, grabbing the door. "I am a warrior too."

"You're very in character." Mike hummed. "Is this going to be referenced often? Is it gonna be a thing?"

"Maybe, maybe not." You chuckled.

Once Mike had left his house. He felt an intense whirlwind of emotions. Romantic emotions. Loving feelings and sick stomach aches. Mike knew he wasn't a real prince, nor were you the ruler of some Bunny Palace but part of him was thinking of a life like that. Not with royalty or talking animals, but just you two. Married. The thought wasn't too strong, yet. But it kept him smiling when he was shopping. All the way through.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

HERE WE GO.

Angst time, baby.

@tmntaucompetition @boots-with-the-fur-club @daboyau

CW: Injury, blood

Prev || Next || Illustration

April's eyes widened when she saw it all happen. The glowing golden chains that ignited, the room turning into a tornado, the ground cracking and breaking as if an earthquake would devour them, the crevices and miniature canyons that formed - also glowing gold - erupting and spewing what she could only assume was something like mystic magma. It was as if every natural disaster was happening at once.

"Is he trying to kill us?!" April shouted. She'd meant it as a figure of speech, an exaggeration. She didn't yet realize how right she really was.

"Get to the other side!" Karai yelled over the roaring wind. "We'll try to surround him!"

The two girls started circling the tiny warrior, who kept his hands held out as long golden cracks started to form from his fingertips, slowly but surely. Flakes of light peeled off of him and danced away. He felt nothing. He said nothing. His stone cold expression was chiseled into his face like the statues from his namesake. The chains circled around him, rings of fire that lashed out at whoever came near. The hand had long since been dropped, and it scuttled away into the dark room Mikey had broken into before.

Karai lunged at him, shouting a war cry. Mikey's head snapped towards her. A series of chains shot at her, coming in so fast they would pierce her flesh straight through if they got a direct hit. But Karai never let that happen. Instantly, her hands burst into green flames, the shapes of swords that covered her fists and forearms down to the elbow. She slashed, shattering the first chain into pieces. She swung again, twirling for momentum and thrashing relentlessly, turning each chain into shards, destroying every link. Mikey's eye twitched, he growled at her. He thrust both hands towards her, she danced and dipped and dodged every advance. Mikey waved his hand and an army of chains came towards her as the ground underneath her broke into two pieces, causing her to lose her balance. One chain was too fast for her and it struck her in the arm, cutting her sleeve and slicing her tricep. Blood spurted, and she cried out in pain. The other chains made their advance, wrapping around her legs and stomach and neck, pulling tight and suspending her in midair as she began to choke. She clawed at the chains, straining to pull them away and let air back into her throat.

"Michelangelo... Mikey... this isn't you!"

Mikey closed his fist.

The chains drew tight, cutting off her airways completely so that she couldn't even speak. She gasped and coughed, fighting for her life as the burning mystic energy sizzled against her skin.

Mikey grinned maliciously. He couldn't see who he was choking the life out of. But honestly... he really didn't care at this juncture.

"APRIIIIIIILLLL O'NEIIIIIIILLLLLL!!!!"

Mikey didn't even have time to turn around and see the banshee screaming girl who teleported on top of him. With his mystic chains focused on Karai, he'd left himself all but defenseless. April wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him in a choke-hold and hoping to get him to pass out.

"Snap! Out! Of! It! Don't make me kick your mystic butt!"

Mikey screamed with fury and threw his elbows back. One hit her in the stomach, the other smashing her in the face, breaking her glasses and colliding into her nose with an audible CRACK!

April went flying. She hadn't taken into account the differences between her Mikey and this Mikey. Her Mikey was 70lbs soaking wet with almost no muscle mass and not at all the kind to pull a move like that, whereas this one was INCREDIBLY STRONG and TWO YEARS OLDER with MUCH MORE FIGHTING EXPERIENCE.

Karai had managed to get herself free during this time, and as soon as April was incapacitated, she lunged again. Mikey saw her coming, and reached out a hand. His chains wrapped around his gram-gram and bound her arms to her sides.

"Mikey! Stop this! It's not real, none of this is real!! You're stronger than this!"

Mikey's expression slowly fell. His eyes were lost, glazed over in gold and amber. His barred teeth, his snarl softened and calmed. He no longer looked angry. He looked... devoid of all feeling.

"I know I am," he responded, his eyes slowly turning from gold to that horrible shade of sickening electric blue. "Let me show you how much stronger THAN YOU I am."

Mikey's chains changed colour. The cracks in his hands - which had now reached his elbows - changed too. The deep glow and burning from the ground followed suit. The magic sparkles in the air. The whole world seemed to follow the cue, and everything went blue.

Karai was brought close to her "grandson", who gently raised his hand, opened his palm, and blew. Instead of the flakes that came from his disintegrating hands, there came the spores.

Karai, not realizing what this Mikey was now capable of until it was too late, didn't get a chance to hold her breath.

Mikey flung her into the wall, Karai's head smacking into the drywall. Stars floated overhead as her vision was filled with black spots. Once the ringing in her ears quieted, she slowly got back up.

She was not in the same place she had been before.

Karai knew these green skies, the tentacle plants that sprouted all around, the debris and the enormous glowing orb chained to the spot in front of her. But the lock was broken, her sword in her hand, and her father slowly creeping towards her.

Each footstep made a horrid clank, klink, clunking sound as a mechanical laugh echoed throughout the Twilight Realm.

"No... No... this isn't real. I know this isn't real. I shan't be afraid of a bad dream..."

"Is that what you think of me, my daughter?"

That voice... it wasn't the Shredder's. It was Oroku Saki. It was her beloved father. His voice was broken, choked up as he tried to escape from the steel that kept him prisoner.

"F...Father?"

"Please, my dear," he begged, forcing his hand through the chestplate, desperately attempting to free himself. "Please... do not give up on me! I know I've made mistakes, but I am still in here! It is not me that does these things, but the armor! I'm trapped! A prisoner!"

"F-Father... I'm coming, Father, I--" Karai froze. "No... no, it... it isn't real. You're not him."

"Why do you condemn me to eternal torment? Why do you leave me in this godforsaken place, why do you personally deliver my execution? I love you, I did all this for you! Please, do not leave me here to suffer... I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you, I know I have done so much to hurt you... I... perhaps I do deserve to stay here. But not by your hand, you don't deserve to be stuck in this hellscape with me. Flee, now, while you can!"

"Stop," Karai begged, tears streaming down her face. "Stop using his voice. Stop showing his face. I did what I had to, he was going to--"

"I was going to kill your family," Oroku finished. "I remember that... I remember setting the villages ablaze. I remember tearing their houses down... and... I remember your face," he wept, reaching to her as he finally stepped out of the armor, "I remember the look you gave me when you saw what I had become. Worse than the Foot Clan, worse than the marauders that drove me to this, worse than the oni that I made the deal with... worse than all of it. I truly am a monster, the look you gave me let me see it all... it was nothing like how you used to look at me..."

"Stop it, please," she begged, falling to her knees, her strength slowly giving out. She wished she could fight this, as she had told April to fight before... why was it so hard now?

"I remember how you used to smile when I entered a room. How you laughed and giggled when I would pick you up and spin you around. How you only ever cried at night, when you were awoken from a nightmare, but I was always there to comfort you. Now... I'm the nightmare, aren't I? Have I... have I lost you, my dear one?" he asked, his eyes blurring over with saltwater as he finally reached her, kneeling down beside her and wiping away her own tears.

"Īe, otōsan, anata wa watashi o ushinatta wakede wa arimasen. No, father, you have not lost me." She looked up at him, reaching for him, for his embrace. "I still love you. I still miss you. I will never stop fighting for you..."

He smiled so brightly, opened his arms to hold her close again.

The armor reacted, its claws extending and reaching forwards to grab him, screaming and begging for his daughter to save him as he was pulled back into his demonic prison, forced back into the armor.

"NO!" Karai screamed, jumping up. She just got him back, she couldn't lose him again!!

Karai leapt forwards, summoning daggers of green fire and throwing them all at the metal monster.

"Release him!"

"You'll have to destroy me," the Shredder growled low. "That is what the fates have cast for us, daughter. Either you will die by my hands, or you must kill your father. I shall not give him up."

"Neither shall I!" she screamed, jumping into the air to fight the Shredder, her father weeping inside as he begged her to save him or else save herself.

The Shredder pounded his fists against the cracking ground, the portion he was on getting lifted into the air as the rest broke away, sonic waves like giant ripples throwing Karai off balance and pushing her back again. She couldn't get close to him... she couldn't save him...

She looked back up in desperation, hoping she could find some way to defeat him. The Shredder held his hands out, summoning chains of mystic blue and fire and... wait a minute...

This wasn't her father in the armor anymore.

It was Mikey.

The Dark Armor slowly faded into golden dust, revealing a new bearer of the mystic armor as she watched the alternate version of her great(x14) grandson become the thing she'd sworn to stop at all costs. His chest coated in metal, his head covered by the wicked headpiece, his hands wrapped in long gauntlets with claws, silhouetted by an amber cape that billowed and whipped in the whirlwind around them. The cracks had made their way up to his shoulders now, his hands completely engulfed in the glow as he continued to destroy himself. He was a dark mystic warrior... the next Shredder.

Whether by luck or the work of the spores to further ignite her fear and devastation, Karai happened to glance behind him. Into the room he'd broken into, where Leo was meant to be kept. And she saw him, the blue ninja, sitting slumped on the floor, eyes open but unfocused, glowing a vibrant blue. Against the blue glow, she saw dark vines and roots wrapped around him, circling his neck and chest and arms, keeping him in place. What was holding him? She couldn't tell from this distance, from the darkness of the room contrasted by the furious flames in this hall now. But the door was open, and the room was solid and hidden and it kept prisoner all who entered.

Karai knew what she had to do. And she hated that this was the only solution, the same one she'd come to many generations ago...

"April!!" she shouted loudly.

...

April slowly came to. Her head ached, there was a long bloody streak pouring from her nostrils. She gradually forced herself up, her arms shaking and straining. Her head felt like it weighed a hundred thousand pounds...

She vaguely registered someone calling her name. But there was so much wind and wildfire and crackling of lightning...

"APRIL!"

That got her attention. She snapped her neck so quickly that it audibly cracked, the muscles shooting pain up and down her nape. Karai was yelling at her, trying to explain something.

"April! Go find the others!"

"What?!"

"Go get the others! The other Raphael and Donatello, and go find our family! Get the others, it's up to you! I have to stop this!"

"But how? What are you going to do?!"

"There's no time!! GO! HURRY!!"

Karai ran back a few feet and knelt down, preparing to leap one more time. Underneath the soles of her feet, green ninpo activated - fire like from a jet engine exploded, causing her to take flight and shoot towards Michelangelo.

"KARAI!!!" April screamed, realizing too late what her plan was. "NO!!"

He didn't even have time to summon a chain.

She crashed into his chest, knocking the wind right out of him. Karai immediately wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight, even twisting the back of his sash around her wrist - so that they were tied together, no chance for escape.

Karai blasted off with the young adolescent, flying the two of them into the room with Leo. April watched as the chains followed their master, getting sucked in with him and the last Hamato martyr, all the devastation ceasing in the process. At the last second, April managed to catch sight of Leo, who "watched" it all with sad and sleepy eyes, held in place by a... what was that...?

April was closer to the door than Karai had been, she could see it much clearer than her.

And inside... she saw Leo, held down by the clutches of a terrifyingly large mushroom. It was three - no, FIVE times his size, with a giant glowing eyeball in the center that stared at her menacingly.

Karai and Mikey disappeared into the abyss, the door promptly slamming shut and locking behind them, claiming two more prisoners.

And April was left alone.

KKkkkrrrsssshhh-- "Clean up in hall 221B, Bakers district, please."

April stared at the devastation left behind by the other Mikey. She shakily got to her feet, blood and sweat and tears dripping from her face as she sluggishly came to the realization that it had been a trap right from the start. Finding the hand so easily, getting into the hive mind, her vision leading them to Leo and straight into this ambush.

And now... the hand and the mushrooms had Karai and the alt. Mikey. She... she didn't know what to do now.

She had to find the others, and fast.

[firelightmuse]

Save Him

Yume x Zenos

Immediately following the final battle with Zenos at the end of 6.0; After granting Zenos the battle he had been pining for ever since he returned from the dead, Yume makes a life altering decision in a brief moment of desperation.

1,456 Words

Featuring @traveler-of-light’s Astrid and Arslan

Content/Trigger Warnings: Brief Descriptions of Attempted Ritualistic Suicide/Seppuku and Depictions of Character Death

This is my first time ever writing for Yume x Zenos, so I hope you all enjoy!! A HUGE shout out to all who have been so encouraging and supportive of me while I navigate this new ship, especially @meepsthemiqo!! Thank you so much!!

As the two combatants channeled as much aether into their punches as they could, Yume Aino, Warrior of Light, got the upper hand and delt the disgraced Garlean prince a devastating blow. The enshrouded Zenos viator Galvus flew backwards, flipped over and landed face first onto the ground.

Though she could hardly catch her breath, and feeling an overwhelming amount of pain in her chest and abdomen, likely due to cracked ribs and internal bleeding, she quickly surmised, Yume pushed the pain from her conscious mind as much as she could as she slowly dragged her broken form closer to her opponent.

Zenos managed to get up onto his knees and reached out his hand to her, but too much of his life force had been spent and he instead dropped back to ground, this time facing the firmament. A moment later, Zenos’ enshrouded form dissipated from the majority of his body, but his left arm was still twisted with bright red flesh, reminiscent of a voidsent.

The samurai stood close enough to Zenos’ fallen form that she could see him open his eyes as he deeply sighed, “That I should lose again...”

With a chuckle, he closed his eyes before he dejectedly said, “How disappointing.”

Yume shook her head and questioned, “Did you though? Heh… I do not feel victorious.”

“Is that so?”

Before she could say anything more, Yume collapsed under her own weight, falling down right next to Zenos, her hand mere ilms away from his.

She looked over at him, and though her vision had begun to slightly blur, she saw his sky blue eyes aimed upward towards the heavens, yet by the look on his face, she knew his mind was drifting, to where she knew naught.

Zenos must’ve sensed that her focus was upon him, as he began to speak his thoughts aloud.

“Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions.” He paused a moment, the memories of his life floating in and out of consciousness as he continued, “Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities.”

Yume could swear that his eyes shifted to her face briefly, yet the pain was nearly unbearable and it was a struggle to keep listening, let alone to see properly.

The Garlean’s deep, rough voice reached her horns once more; this time she could hear a hint of joy in his tone. “But in these fleeting moments, there is...a spark. Blinding, brilliant... Gone...too soon...”

She let out a small sigh. “Yes… I understand.”

Yume had enough visual clarity to see Zenos turn towards her, trying to catch his breath as blood ran out of his mouth and trickled down his face.

“What of you, Yume, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure...”

Yume turned towards Zenos as much as she could, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. As she shut her eyes, the pain that racked her whole body started to slowly fade away, and in turn, her mind’s eye began to wander.

“Was this life a gift...or a burden?”

Her mind wandered to her childhood in Hingashi, images began to rise to her conscious mind and soon fall away to the next; Mt. Aino rising up to the sky, its peak surrounded by clouds, flags flying of the Aino clan’s sigil, the seemingly endless multitudes of people bowing to her father, the duels that always ended with her victory yet with no worthy husband, her slicing her belly open and her father coming to stop her, and her leaving her homeland behind for lands unknown.

“Did you find...fulfillment?” Zenos asked as Yume’s mind continued to wander through the memories of her life.

Images floated to the surface of her new life in Eorzea; her arrival in Limsa Lominsa, first adventuring in Ul’dah, fighting Ifrit, joining the Scions, meeting all of whom she would now consider her found family, going on to fight so many primals, so many Garleans, then the dragons, and then the sin eaters, and finally the blasphemies and then the Endsinger. One victory after another, always more victories, and yet, she still felt the same emptiness as before.

“Did I? Did I… really?” Yume wondered aloud, as her mind flashed to images not of memories of real events as before, but of the dreams that haunted her off and on again for years. Dreams of adventure in far off places she had never experienced before, always with a steadfast companion by her side through all the battles and hardships to come, but also celebrating moments of pure joy and true happiness; she sees the scene of an eternal bonding, realizing that it was in fact her own. Yume gleaming in a white dress, joined hand in hand with the love of her life, sealing their bond with a kiss full of passion and love. Yet, she couldn’t not see her lover’s face. Always was her lover’s face shrouded in shadow. She knew that these must be visions of a future not yet written, and now may never come to pass.

Yume knew in her heart that she was a samurai, and there was no greater honor than to die an honorable death in battle. That was a comforting thought. And yet… it was not enough. She asked herself the same question that Zenos had just asked. Right now, in what could well be her final moments in this life, was she fulfilled? Did she find what she had been looking for in all these years of searching?

With a single tear falling from her eye, Yume answered her beaten opponent’s poignant question, “No… Not yet… There is so much left to experience…”

As the words passed her lips, she heard only a single sound from the man laying next to her.

“I...”

What followed was nothing but silence and darkness, as her vision was failing her, and she could not see nor hear him anymore. Was he still there? Or was it too late?

“Z-Zenos…?” Yume spoke his name aloud as she lifted her hand, reaching out for his. She soon found it, but tears instantly began to fall from her eyes as his skin felt cold in hers.

“No… Do not… leave me…alone…”

Yume gripped his cold hand with the last remains of her energy. If she was to die, then she wanted to die with him, the only man who would ever be worthy of her in her family’s eyes. The only person who could ever understand her, who saw all of her, her beauty and her ugliness, her strengths and her weaknesses, her determination and her doubts. Everyone else only saw the light, but he saw the darkness that she hid deep inside, and he was unafraid. In fact, he welcomed it, and drew it out of her, and made her feel unashamed of herself for the first time in her life.

No. Zenos was the only one that she deemed worthy. If she was to die, then she will die having made her own choice. And she chooses him. Her enemy… her love….

As she felt her consciousness slipping away from her, Yume heard a faint clanging of metal, and then as she still held Zenos’ hand, she felt them both being whisked away, and then arrive in another place.

Yume felt nothing, and she could see nothing, but the very faintest of sounds reached her horns.

“Oh… Yume!”

Was that… Astrid’s voice? Was she back in the ship? Was she in the Ragnarok with the others?

“Yume! And… Zenos?!”

That could only be the exclamations of Arslan, confirming that she had in fact been teleported back to the ship, and Zenos had arrived with her, though if he was alive or dead, Yume did not know.

“Can you hear... Say...” Estinien’s voice called out, though it was incredibly difficult to make sense of what he had said.

Yume heard more voices, Urianger, Y’shtola, Alphinaud and Alisaie, but she couldn’t seem to understand what they were saying at all.

With the last of her strength, Yume opened her eyes enough to see her vision blurred so badly that she couldn’t make out any faces, but she finally spotted her target: a shock of pink entered her sight, and she knew she had found the only person who had a chance of saving him. If anyone could do it, it’d be her.

“H-Hali…” Yume spoke with the last of her breath, “Save… him… p-please…”

As the words left her lips, Yume closed her eyes and let the darkness pass over her. Life or death, she knew not what awaited her. It was out of her hands now.

[howlingday]

Knightshade: The White Knight Vs The Dark Samurai

What if During the fall of Beacon Blake was about to face her end at Adams blade that is until. Jaune jumps in to save her from him instead of Yang.

Jaune fighting to save Blake while Adam Fights to Kill her. Meanwhile Blake seeing Jaune in a whole new light and her heart beating in love and fear.

Who’d be the victor?

———–———–———–———–———–

Beacon was in chaos. Following the tragedy of Penny Polendina, in which Jaune’s partner, Pyrrha Nikos, had unintentionally sliced her opponent in half and revealed she was an android all along. After a short speech given by a mysterious woman to raise negativity from the crowd, the Grimm invaded and began attacking civilians and huntsman alike. Making matters worse, the White Fang were releasing Grimm into the fleeing crowds while Atlas’ own military began firing on both Grimm and spectators.

Pyrrha had fled to Beacon Tower to seek aid from Professor Ozpin, Jaune trailing not far behind to help his partner. However, Pyrrha then betrayed her partner by using her semblance to knock him far away by his sword. By the time he’d righted himself, she was already gone.

“Blake?!“ A voice called out, just as desperate as he felt. “Blake?!“

“Yang?” He ran to the blond. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not!” She said between heaving breaths. “Have you seen Blake?”

“No, I haven’t, but…” He swallowed, bringing clarity to his mind. “Yang, I have a favor to ask of you…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And as I set out upon this world and deliver the justice mankind so greatly deserves” Adam raised his blade high, aimed squarely at the terrified visage of his former partner, “I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love.”

“Blake!”

As she flinched, the telltale sound of metal scraping against metal assaulted her ears. Opening her eyes, she found a familiar blond standing against Adam, pressing sword to sword.

“Jaune?!”

“Human!”

“Blake!” Jaune grunted as he was pressed back but held firm. “Get out of here!”

“Jaune, don’t fight him! He’s-”

“NOW!” Jaune roared as he jumped away. He held his blade out, both hands gripping the handle tightly. This wasn’t Jaune’s first time fighting something that wasn’t a Grimm or a practice dummy, but it was the first when time his life was on the line. His opponent sheathed his blade, but never lifted his hand from the handle.

Blake made her way to her weapon, keeping one eye on the dueling swordsmen. Picking up Gambol Shroud, she heard the student Adam threatened groan, directing her attention away from the fight. She couldn’t just leave him, could she? She headed over and removed the rubble from the downed huntsman-in-training, while the two warriors dueled in the shadows of the burning Beacon..

“You stand in the way of my justice, human?” Adam snarled.

“My name,” Jaune growled, “is Jaune.”

Adam crept close, but just enough to keep out of Jaune’s reach. Jaune stepped carefully to the side, keeping his sword ready for the incoming strike. The first move was the most important, so it shouldn’t be made so hastily. Jaune knew this, and Adam knew this, but that was the extent of their shared knowledge.

Adam took a step back, rapping his fingers on his scabbard. Jaune thought maybe his opponent had a change of heart, realizing this wasn’t a fight to be fought. He loosed his grip for a moment, but it was a key moment.

There was a ringing explosion, like the blast of a shotgun, and Adam’s sword flew into Jaune’s face. He stumbled back, but didn’t fall, and met Adam blade to blade once more as the dark-clad man began his assault. Jaune’s face burned with the stinging pain from the unexpected strike, but he maintained enough focus to block every blow Adam made with his sword. As the red blade pressed into the white, Jaune felt something else press against him. Something round and hot.

Jaune leaped away, barely missing the full force of the shotgun’s shredding blast, but still caught by the furthest edges of it. Blake gave a yelp as she ducked her head down. Looking behind her, she saw that the two swordsmen were facing each other with the gun away from her. The man below her gave a groan as she removed the last piece of rubble and began carrying him out of the battlefield. The last thing she saw was Jaune holding his blade with both hands with one arm pressed into his side.

“You’re out of your depth, human.” Adam said, sheathing his blade. “Killing you would be a mercy.”

“Is that what you’re giving everyone else?” Jaune grunted, his aura healing his injury and giving him some much-needed reprieve of the pain. “You’re killing innocent people.”

“I’m sending a message.” Adam waved his arm to the burning building, the burning everything around him. “With Beacon gone, people will learn to fear the White Fang. To respect the Faunus.”

“You’re a monster.” Jaune gripped sword tightly, heat rising up his neck.

“No,” Adam grinned, “I’m the hero.”

Jaune ran forward and everything slowed. In a step, Adam curled into himself. In another step, his hand gripped his handle tightly while his other hand gripped the scabbard. Another step, Adam’s hair began to glow. A step to the side, Jaune feinted and brought his sword down. Before another step, everything went red.

“I’ll make you see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was dark, hot, and itchy. Jaune gave a groan as he opened his eyes. He could hear beeping, chirping, and hushes. Familiar hushes. Cracking open his eyes, he found his team seated around him, all of them with worried grins on their faces. He gave a sleepy smile.

“Hey, guys...”

“Hi, Jaune.” Pyrrha, on his right, placed her hand on his. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot.” He answered. “Itchy. Tired.” A hand came to rest on her shoulder. Jaune turned his head and saw Yang behind her. “Oh, hey, Yang.”

“Hey, Vomit Boy.” Yang answered. “I found Pyrrha.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He tried to turn his head further. “Is Blake behind you?”

Yang’s face notably changed color. She turned away. Jaune’s body chilled. Did he fail? Was she-

“Blake... left earlier this morning.” Pyrrha said, choosing her words carefully. “She left a note saying she needed to stay away after bringing the White Fang to us.”

“What?” Jaune tried to sit up. “That’s ridiculous.” He grunted, finding new strength. “We need to find her. Let me talk to her and-”

“She doesn’t want to see you!” Jaune froze at Yang’s words. “She blames herself for bringing the White Fang, but she also blames herself for what happened to you.”

“What happened to me?” Jaune blinked. Why did it feel weird? Reaching up, he felt the scar on his cheek. Following it up, he realized the horrible truth. Looking down, he could see his left hand shaking and gripping the hospital sheet. But only the left, despite feeling both hands doing the same thing.

In his fight with Adam Taurus, the madman leader of the White Fang had taken his eye.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Orc/Male Reader SFW Wordcount: 4,047 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist | Commission for @doomfisthero

You've only just started work at Ink Envy, but the gorgeous orc receptionist has caught your eye. When he asks you to tattoo him, things go even better than you could have imagined.

You arrived at Ink Envy on a brisk morning, the kind where your breath formed clouds in the air, mingling with the faint buzz of the city waking up. The shop front was beautiful with its bold, gothic lettering and windows adorned with intricate flowering designs. Your heart thrummed with nerves; this was the beginning of… well, you’re whole career.

Pushing open the door, the chime above announced your entrance, slicing through the hum of anticipation that filled your chest. The walls were decked in a myriad of designs, from the delicate to the daring. Your eyes, however, were drawn to the figure behind the reception desk.

The receptionist stood there, an imposing presence with his broad shoulders and long, messy black hair. Two enormous tusks jutted from his lower jaw. Yet, it was the warmth in his eyes, a soft, mossy green that truly caught your attention. He looked up from his paperwork, a hint of surprise in his expression before it melted into a welcoming smile.

"Morning," he greeted, his voice deep and resonant, the sort that filled the space and made you feel oddly at home. "You must be the new artist. Andromeda mentioned someone was starting today, but she's not in until the afternoon. I'm Ceth, receptionist and piercer."

A flicker of confusion crossed your mind, realising the slight mix-up, but Ceth's calm demeanor eased your worries. He rounded the desk, his movements surprisingly graceful for his size, and gestured for you to follow him.

"Let me show you to your space," he said, leading you through the parlour, past stations that showcased an array of artistic talent. 

Your station was a cosy nook by a large window, blinds half closed to offer ample natural light that danced across the clean, inviting setup. 

“Need help setting up?” Ceth asked, and his dark eyes sparkled. 

There was a lump in your throat as you stammered to reply, “s-sure, sounds great. Thanks.”

He grinned wide, and it lit up his entire face so beautifully. Your cheeks warmed at the thought. First day, and you were already flushed scarlet?

As Ceth helped you set up your station, though, his calmness soothed your jittering nerves. Every time he passed you something, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a tiny thrill through you. It was surprising, this little spark, but not unwelcome.

He adjusted the lamp for you, making sure the light was just right. "Good lighting's crucial," he said, his deep voice making the words feel more like a promise. “Though I’m no tattoo artist myself.”

The light fell across his face, and showed off off the maze of tattoos that wrapped around his arms and peeked from under his shirt. They were a mix of the old, the kind of designs you'd imagine on ancient orc warriors, and the new, with some twists that felt modern and bold.

Ceth noticed you staring and gave a small, proud smile. "Each one's got its own story," he shared, pointing to a thick band of ink on his arm. "This one's for strength," he explained. It felt intimate, him sharing these bits of his life with you, like he was letting you in on secret chapters of his story.

“And this one?” you asked. In a sudden rush of boldness, you reached out to trace a thick, curving line that vanished around the back of his neck.

Ceth hummed, and the vibration went right through your arm and all the way to your chest in a delightful shiver.

“That one’s for love.”

Your mood dropped. Of course somebody so handsome was already taken.

Maybe he sensed it, too, because his enormous hand skimmed across yours, the warmth of him seeping into you. “I’m not married or anything,” he said gruffly, “it’s more like… the idea of love. Us orcs can be romantic.”

You snorted in disbelief, but his gaze had captured yours.

“Some of us anyway,” Ceth corrected. “Anyway,  do you need a hand with anything else?" 

You swallowed thickly, hating how your whole body tingled with such a simple touch. "Just this last bit," you said, pointing to a tricky piece of equipment and trying not to think about his hand on yours.

With the last piece of equipment finally in place, thanks to Ceth's steady hands, you took a step back to admire your new station. It was more than just a workspace; it felt like a small piece of you, a little piece of Ink Envy that belonged to you.

Just as you were soaking in the moment, the entrance door chimed, heralding Andromeda's arrival. She was a vision, her tall and curvy frame accentuated by a vintage fifties dress that hugged her in all the right places. You weren’t into women, but between her and Ceth’s rippling muscles, it was easy to imagine why they were both so popular. 

The single eye in the middle of her forehead sparkled with a mischievous glint as she stepped into the tattoo room and saw you standing there.

"Making yourself at home, I see," she teased, her voice rich and full of warmth. Her gaze shifted between you and Ceth, a playful smirk curling her lips. "It looks like you've already taken a liking to Ceth. Can't say I blame you; he's one of our best."

You felt a flush of warmth at her words, glancing at Ceth to find a hint of a blush on his cheeks too.

“Come off it Andromeda,” Ceth scolded. There was warmth in his eyes despite his rough voice.

Andromeda, ever the gracious host, didn't dwell on the moment. She clapped her hands together, her single eye gleaming with excitement. "Right, let's give you a quick refresher before we open up. I know we did the grand tour last week, but it never hurts to double-check.”

You smiled. “Sure.” 

“You’re not really an apprentice, just new to Ink Envy, but I’d like you to check in with me at the end of each day for a little bit. Any problems or questions, come right over to me. While you’re waiting on the clients coming in, work on your portfolio a bit, shadow some of the other artists if you want some inspiration."

She whisked you around the parlour, her energy infectious. Despite having seen it all before, her enthusiasm made everything feel new and exciting again. Andromeda's pride in Ink Envy was palpable, from the carefully curated art on the walls to the spotless workstations, each reflecting the unique spirit of the artist who occupied it.

As the tour wrapped up, Andromeda leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't have any bookings yet, but the buzz is already building. People are curious about the new talent we've snagged. Give it a bit of time, and you'll be as in-demand as the rest of us."

Her confidence was reassuring. With a final, encouraging pat on your shoulder, she sauntered off to attend to her own preparations, leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the day might bring.

Ceth, who had been a quiet presence during Andromeda's whirlwind tour, now turned to you with a soft smile. "Looks like you're all set. If you need anything, though, I'm right up front."

There was something in the way he said it that made you believe he truly meant it. It wasn't just about being colleagues; there was a genuine offer of support there, a foundation for something more.

As the first customers began to trickle in, curiosity alight in their eyes as they glanced your way, you felt a surge of gratitude for the warm welcome you'd received. Ink Envy was more than just a tattoo parlour; it was a community, a family of sorts, and you were starting to feel like you belonged.

As the day unfolded, Ink Envy became a hive of activity, the air thick with the buzz of machines and the murmur of voices. Customers filtered in and out, their eyes bright with the anticipation of new ink. You found yourself swept up in the energy, fielding inquiries with a growing confidence that surprised even you. By midday, you had your first two bookings—a collection of small, intricate designs and a sprawling back piece.

In the lulls between consultations, you sketched up ideas, your mind whirring with creativity. The vibrant, geometric patterns flowed from your pen, and you wondered if you could ask to put a piece of your own on the wall. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice Ceth approach until he was right beside you.

"That's quite something," he remarked, his voice tinged with intrigue as he peered over your shoulder at the designs spread out before you. His proximity sent a subtle shiver down your spine, the warmth of him so close - but never quite touching.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "It's a bit different from the usual stuff here."

Ceth hummed in agreement, his gaze still fixed on your sketches. "It's nothing like any of my tattoos, but... I like it. A lot, actually." There was a pause, a moment charged with something unspoken before he added, "Would you design one for me? Something in your style?"

The request took you aback, a mix of honour and excitement bubbling up inside you. "I'd love to, Ceth. Do you have anything in mind?"

His response was a thoughtful look, his eyes scanning the sketches before settling back on you. "I trust your vision. Maybe something in blue."

The thought of leaving your mark on him, in the form of a tattoo, felt intimate, a tangible sign of the attraction that had been simmering between you all day.

"You sure you're ready for something this bold?" you teased, gesturing to the most vibrant of your sketches.

Ceth's reply was a grin, his confidence unwavering. "I think I can handle it. Besides, it's not every day I find an artist who can make me see colours quite like you do."

Despite his usually reserved nature, Ceth seemed to find comfort in your presence, allowing his words to carry a lighter, more teasing edge. "You know," he mused, leaning casually against the edge of your station, "I never took myself for someone who'd go for something so... vivid. There's a first time for everything, especially when the artist has such... compelling persuasion."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily lost for words. The way he held your gaze, a soft challenge in his eyes, made your heart skip a beat. Yet, before you could muster a response, he was called away to the reception desk, his duty pulling him back to the front of the shop.

You found yourself watching him as he moved, the ease with which he interacted with clients and managed the bustling front desk a testament to his skill and dedication. Even from a distance, you could see the way his presence put people at ease, his quiet confidence a steady anchor in the lively environment of the parlour.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, marking the end of your first day, you turned your attention back to the design you'd been sketching for Ceth. The lines flowed freely, inspired by the interplay of light and shadow, and the vibrant, geometric patterns took on a life of their own under your pen.

When Ceth returned, his shift at the reception desk over, you presented the design with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. His reaction, however, was nothing short of admiring, his praise genuine and effusive. "This is incredible," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to colour his words with a deeper meaning. "I can't believe you came up with something this perfect so quickly."

Those words sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the flattery leaving you flustered yet elated. The connection between you, already sparking with potential, seemed to deepen in that moment, the shared excitement over the design a bridge between your worlds.

"We should set a date for this," Ceth suggested, his gaze lingering on the sketch before meeting yours again. "I can't wait to see this come to life."

The realisation that Ceth would be your first client brought with it a surge of both pride and nerves. To mark his skin with your art, to leave a piece of yourself with him, felt like an intimate exchange, one that transcended the usual artist-client relationship.

As you agreed on a date, the significance of the moment wasn't lost on you. The third of February - Ceth would be your first proper client.

***

Over the next few days, the rhythm of life at Ink Envy became more familiar, and you settled into routine. Clients came and went, and the designs you had to prepare began stacking up. Your portfolio of sketches grew, vibrant geometric patterns mingling with the softer, more organic designs requested by your clients.

Yet despite how busy you were, your thoughts often drifted to Ceth. You'd catch glimpses of him throughout the day, his presence a constant in the back of your mind. Whether he was greeting clients with his quiet confidence or organising the front desk, you found your gaze lingering a moment too long, a distraction that was both welcome and unnerving.

His laughter, rare but rich, would send a warmth cascading through you, and the briefest touch—a brush of hands as you passed him a pen or the momentary press of shoulders as you navigated the busy space—left a lingering heat on your skin.

Finally, the day arrived for Ceth's tattoo, a day that had been marked on your calendar since the first day. As you prepared your station, the usual calm that accompanied your routine was tinged with an electric charge, the air around you thick with the weight of the moment.

When Ceth approached, you smiled. “Come on over,” you chirped, “I’ve got the stencil ready and everything is good to go.”

Ceth’s smile brought a familiar flicker rising inside of you. He sat down heavily, broad body making the chair creak.

You grinned, holding out the stencil. “You’ll, uh, need to remove your shirt. We decided on the ribs, right?”

“Mm,” Ceth hummed. “It’s one of the few spots I still haven’t been inked yet.”

You took a moment to mentally prepare yourself, focusing on the stencil in your gloved hand instead of the way Ceth’s massive body shifted, so close your knees almost touched. “All right,” you said finally, “take it off, then.”

The moment Ceth removed his shirt to allow for the stencil application, the air in the room seemed to shift. The expanse of his skin, already marked with dozens of sprawling tattoos, now laid bare before you, sent a flush of heat to your cheeks. The sight of him stirred something deep within you, a flicker of something you couldn’t place.

Carefully, you positioned the stencil, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. Ceth's steady breathing, the rise and fall of his bare torso beneath your hands, was a grounding rhythm in the charged silence of the room.

The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space between you and Ceth. As you began, the needle dancing across the stencil, Ceth's composure remained unflinching. It was impressive, really, how he stayed so stoic.

"Doesn't that hurt?" you ventured, breaking the silence, your focus unwavering from the task at hand. You thought of your own multiple tattoos, years and years of work, and how even you had flinched once or twice in the past.

Ceth chuckled, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. "I've had worse scrapes from a day in the garden," he quipped, his tone light. "Your hand is steady. It's comforting, in a way."

“You garden?” you asked without thinking. 

When you paused to glance up at Ceth, he was smiling amiably. “Sure, sometimes. I’m no landscaper, but I’m good with a shovel and a watering can.”

It was easy to picture him, massive shoulders straining a tight t-shirt, dusted with dirt as he worked the garden. Or did he work without any shirt on at all? You had to steady your hand at the thought, suddenly flustered.

Thankfully, Ceth broke through your thoughts before you could embarrass yourself. "So, do all your clients get this level of service, or am I just special?" he teased, a hint of a smile in his voice, even as he remained perfectly still under your hand.

"You might just be topping the charts," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The hours slipped by, marked not by the clock but by the progress of ink on skin, the design coming to life with each stroke. Ceth's resilience was impressive; he hardly seemed to notice the discomfort, his attention instead caught up in the exchange between you.

Yet, as the tattoo neared completion, the air between you grew charged. You had to lean right over him to finish the last dots of colour, free hand pulling the thick muscles taught. The proximity, the intimate touch necessary for the art, seemed to amplify everything and it left you sweating nervously.

Finally, you reached a natural pause, the majority of the design laid down in bold, vibrant lines against Ceth's skin. You found yourself hesitating, staring at the tattoo to avoid meeting his gaze.

"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested, your voice steadier than you felt. The words were an excuse, a chance to step back and breathe, to regain some semblance of control over the racing of your heart.

Ceth agreed, a knowing look in his eyes as he rose from the chair. The break was necessary, a brief respite from… whatever was going on between you.

As you stepped away to gather your thoughts, the reality of it all finally settled in.

Taking a moment for yourself, you stepped into the back room, the cool air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the tattoo room. The buzz of the tattoo machines faded into a distant hum, allowing you a moment of quiet to collect your thoughts.

When you returned, something in the air had shifted. Ceth was waiting, his usual composed self, yet there was a tension in his posture, a hesitancy that you hadn't seen before. His eyes met yours, and there was something there, a warmth, that made your stomach flip.

The room seemed to grow smaller around you. The gentle hum of the place faded into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

Ceth broke the silence, his voice low, each word measured. "There's something I need to say," he began, the words hanging between you, heavy.

The anticipation was a tangible thing, a thread pulled taut, ready to snap. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue, the air between you thick with the unsaid.

Words failed him, and in a moment that seemed to suspend time, Ceth stepped closer. The space between you evaporated, and with a gentle certainty, he kissed you.

You felt a rush of warmth and softness as his lips crushed yours. The world tilted slightly, and in that instant, everything else fell away, leaving only the sensation of his insistent lips on yours, the sweet musk of his cologne, the tickle of his tusks as Ceth drew you ever closer.

Your initial shock melted into the kiss, a soft sigh escaping you as you leaned into the moment, head whirling. Ceth's hands found their way to your waist, grounding you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the world outside the embrace fading to a distant murmur.

When you finally parted, the world came rushing back, the sounds of the parlour returning to fill the silence. You flushed, remembering that there was only a thin curtain between you and the rest of the shop. 

In the aftermath of the kiss, a silence enveloped the room. Not awkward, but heavy with the significance of… everything. Ceth was the first to break it, his voice softer than usua;. "I don't usually do things like this," he confessed, his gaze locked with yours, searching, as if trying to gauge your reaction.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, fear prickled at the edges of your mind, the worry that maybe this moment, this connection, was something he regretted.

Then Ceth continued, his voice firmer, laced with a conviction that chased away any doubts. "Kissing you? That might just be the best decision I've ever made."

The honesty in his words, the open admission, brought a warmth that flooded through you, chasing away the last remnants of uncertainty. 

"I asked for the tattoo because I wanted to get closer to you," he admitted, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.. "Seems like it worked better than I hoped."

The confession drew a laugh from you, a sound of pure joy that filled the room. 

Leaning in, Ceth captured your lips in another kiss, this one softer, his tusks barely brushing across your lips, feather-light. Even that was enough to make you sigh, melting against him.

As you pulled away, the reality of the situation settled back in, the reminder of the unfinished tattoo rushing back to you. 

"We should probably finish the tattoo," you murmured. “tt's not good to leave it exposed for too long."

Ceth's chuckle was warm, his gaze softening with affection. "Your concern is sweet," he said, his hand reaching out to gently brush against yours.. "Let's finish it then. Maybe after, we could go for dinner?”

The invitation was unexpected but immensely welcome, stirring a flurry of excitement within you. "I'd like that," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of eagerness you couldn't quite mask. The prospect of spending more time with Ceth, outside the walls of Ink Envy, made you shiver in anticipation.

As you slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and prepared to resume your work, the atmosphere between you shifted. There was a lightness now, a sense of openness that hadn't been there before. Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach, your hands remained steady.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Ceth said, a note of wonder in his voice that mirrored your own feelings. "Can’t say I’ve ever gotten myself a date this way before."

"It's not the most conventional start, I'll give you that," you admitted, the needle buzzing as you resumed your work. The lines flowed smoothly, the design coming to life under your careful touch. "I'm not complaining."

"Neither am I," Ceth replied, his voice steady despite the sensation of the tattoo.

As you worked, your mind buzzed. The excitement of seeing the tattoo completed, of witnessing your art permanently etched onto Ceth's skin, was thrilling. Yet, it was the anticipation of dinner that really had you on edge.

"Any preferences for dinner?" you asked, glancing up to meet his dark gaze.

Ceth considered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Surprise me. You seem to be good at that."

You hummed in agreement, smiling to yourself.

It wasn’t long before you were finishing up, thoughts of dinner still on your mind. As the final lines of the tattoo were laid down, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. It was beautiful - a splash of colour amongst Ceth’s otherwise heavy, black tattoos.

"There," you announced, a smile tugging at your lips as you wiped away the last of the ink. "All done."

Ceth rose, examining the tattoo with a mix of admiration and awe. "It's perfect," he said, and there was something wistful in his voice.

Ceth barely gave you time to wrap the tattoo before his hand found yours, an electric spark running through you at the touch. He pulled you gently into an embrace, his strength enveloping you in a comfort that felt like coming home. ns.

Breaking away, he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Dinner's just the beginning, you know. I've got plans for dessert."

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. How could you say no to that?

[tadpolesonalgae]

Chapter 8

A/N: Please defer to warning section in Chapter 1

-Chapter 7- -Chapter 9-

You finally exit the building, entering into the cool night breeze that soothes your heated skin.

You aren’t foolish enough to get completely drunk on a night like this—you need some sort of sense about you. And you want to remember, too. Every part of it. So you’re only a little tipsy—enough to have a pleasurable buzz beneath your skin but not enough to entirely lose your inhibitions.

As you promised, you’re walking slowly, allowing the tension to build in the pit of your stomach. Though maybe he won’t come. You’d purposely left it up for him to decide—leaving that air of uncertainty to get high off. Maybe he’ll drag you away, maybe you’ll make it home in one piece.

But there it is.

The hairs rising at the back of your neck, awareness lighting your body, a predator’s gaze piercing your back, slicing down your exposed spine. You feel a familiar tingle lick over your skin, heating between your thighs as you feel his eyes on you, tracking your movement.

Your heartbeat kicks up, pounding heavily in your chest and you feel your skin raise with sensitivity, keeping beneath the razor-sharp attention. Your eyes flick to the alleyways, one just behind you, another further on your left, two on your right across the street. Then of course, the night sky is completely open.

But the eyes have vanished. Simply disappeared.

You can’t feel him, can’t feel his direction, leaving you wandering along the cobbles, alone and vaguely cold. Your life’s pulse thrums in your ears, blood rushing throughout your body as you try to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness. What’s happening? What’s he doing?

Darkness seems to spill from one alleyway, almost taunting you with it’s tantalising danger. You stop at it’s edge. The faelight doesn’t reach inside, completely black and void. You hesitate, toes a millimetre away from where that darkness starts, a stark line on the cobbles.

You swallow, and step into the shadows.

It’s instantly colder, and even with your keen eyesight it’s difficult to navigate your way.

You stumble a little and slightly regret your choice of having a drink at the restaurant. Maybe you should have remained sober for this experience. But that’s the thrill of it—putting yourself so helplessly at the mercy of such a powerful warrior. He’s been trained for this, arguably bred for it too, this predator’s chase.

You trip again, but this time you know it isn’t you. Something tipped your balance.

You stop, turning to look back on the way you came.

Nothing.

No light from the street, not even a sign the street had been there. It’s gone.

Something metallic rustles at your back, and you spin on your feet, toppling in your heels as you loose your balance for a moment. The second before you right yourself, you could swear you feel skin brush against your spine. Just a teasing touch, taunting you with a presence you can’t see.

You’re utterly blind to him. Unable to sense him, see him, feel him. You can’t even pick up a scent. Nothing stands out to you in this inky blackness. A swirling vortex of malevolence.

You can feel yourself nearing the centre of his web.

So you swallow, and move forward. At least, you think it’s forward, but you’ve already gotten so turned around, you’re not sure you could get out if you wanted to.

An image flashes through your mind: taking one step further, and falling off the edge of the world. Stepping into a bottomless pit, free falling into the space between realms. Lost in time and space, swallowed up in a gap.

Another flashes: a large hand reaching for you, stretching down the alleyway, fingers beginning to close around your unaware body, talons scraping at your mind as you twist on your feet, hands subconsciously reaching out to feel for the claws.

A nail drags over the nape of your neck and you yelp, muscles tensing, hand slapping over the skin in protection, hackles raised in primordial fear.

Something akin to the snapping of animal teeth sounds somewhere to your left— or was it your right? Then a hot puff of air brushes against the hollow of your throat and you gasp, shivering, trying to back away from the senses.

How was Cassian managing this? He doesn’t have magic. Not the normal kind, anyway. You’re getting nervous. Scared, even. He shouldn’t be able to recreate these senses.

A low growl sounds beside your ear before something surges into you, knocking you off kilter. Hands bite into your hips, spinning you around as you’re shoved against a wall, cheek pressing against the rough stone, breasts squishing against the cold solidness.

A hot, male body presses tightly behind you and your breath hitches, feeling the invasive press of his hips against the swell of your hind. “Cassian,” you murmur, softly—shakily. Again, hot breath puffs out over your neck, followed by the menacing scrape of canines over your delicate skin, nipping beneath your ear, followed by a soft snarl.

His hips grind into you, pressing you tight into the wall, smushing you against it with the weight of him. Your breathing stutters as you arch your back, helping him as you press against the hard outline of his cock, gasping quietly at the promise. You inhale, desperate to have his scent fill you up, submerge yourself in the feel of him, but it’s not his scent you taste—

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, little lynx?”

Every muscle in your body goes taut as Rhysand presses into you tighter, grinding his hips into your backside, keeping you crushed against the wall.

You’re caught off guard. Stunned with shock. What’s your High Lord doing here?

“Rhys…” you stammer, attempting to pull out of his grip, the tiniest seed of humiliation planting itself in your chest. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t give the slightest bit as you struggle. “Rhys, what—?”

“Why did you call me Cassian?” He breathes, lips brushing the shell of your ear, fingertips biting down harder into the softness of your hips. You open your mouth to reply—to give the truth, you realise—and quickly shut it.

He laughs softly, the sounds dripping with malevolence, “you’re a brazen thing, you know,” he purrs. “I can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased us with the promise of something, only to dance out of our reach a second too soon.”

You struggle again, but his touch is so demanding, so ironlike that it hurts to move—darkness keeping your arms tucked to your front. “Rhys,” you hiss, “what are you talking about? Why are you here?” He growls softly, the sound dragging from deep within his chest, and you can feel the reverberations in your back.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He asks menacingly, voice still deceptively soft and you can practically feel all of him against you. “No,” you reply, hurriedly, “I—” He tugs on your hips, pulling you into him as he snarls quietly, “don’t lie to me. You were waiting for Cassian, weren’t you?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before one of his arms is snaking around your waist, wrapping over the sweep of bone while the other forces its way between your front and the wall, slowly—teasingly—slinking downwards. “Rhysand,” you hiss, shoulders locking and breath stuttering as he cups your heat, easily slipping his hand beneath your dress.

Arousal dulls your mind as the warmth of his hand envelops you, pressing against the lace that’s clinging to your hips. He bites lightly at your earlobe, tugging gently before he’s nosing up the side of your neck, inhaling your scent, humming with male satisfaction. “Even adorning yourself in some nice underthings. All because you let him get his grubby paws between your thighs.”

Rhysand sighs, as if he’s disappointed in you, but adds torturous pressure to his hand over your heat, making you gulp.

“Is that really all it took? Some half-decent pleasure and you were willing to throw away that act you’ve kept up for the past three centuries?” He drawls smoothly, opening his mouth over your throat as he laps at the skin. “Never mind we could give you so much more.” You shiver when he nips at your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses up the column until he’s beneath your jaw. “wouldn’t you like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insist, shakily, still struggling against him. Even if it only pushes you back into him. “No?” He asks, a note of mockery in his lover’s voice. “Then why did you stumble down this alley? Why not walk within the light, where you would be safe and untouched?” You try to shift, but it only causes his fingers to roll across your clit, a sound of need building in your chest.

“Fine,” you snap, softly, “I was meeting Cassian. Not that it’s any of your concern.” A low hum of approval is all you get before he’s roughly flipping you round to face him, hands shackling your wrists as he pins your lower body with his hips. You stiffen as you peer up at him, his violet eyes seeming to glow in the dark—so inky it’s difficult to discern his features.

He laughs; it’s low and silky sounding. “That won’t do,” he purrs, “that won’t do at all.” You don’t like the sound of that tone. Not one bit. “What about me and Az, hm? Were you just going to exclude us, huh? Leave us out of your fun, little fling?” He laughs again, but it’s turned darker—sinister. “You thought you could fuck Cassian behind our backs and we wouldn’t know? You’d have had better luck trying to escape Velaris without one of us catching you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest but it has nothing to do with the way his cock is pressing into your lower belly, feeling his firm outline. “He told you?” You breathe, shakily.

“He has a possessive streak,” Rhys answers lazily, as if he hasn’t a concern in the world. “A pretty nasty one, too, when it comes to you.” He huffs a laugh, rolling his hips against yours, making heat boil within you out of habit. “We all do. It just got the better of him this time. He thought he could have you before we did. Even when Az and I had been generous enough to let him have a share of you. But he got greedy. Tried to keep you to himself.”

Your blood runs cold, the heat suddenly draining from your body as his violet eyes take on an icy hue.

It’s getting seriously out of hand.

“What did you do?” You utter, lips trembling. You’re certain your legs have long since given out—Rhysand the only thing keeping you from collapsing. He only laughs softly, as if this is usual behaviour between them—is it? “What did you do, Rhys?” You ask again, firmer this time.

“There’s a reason why only one of us comes to you at a time, you know. Just like last time.”

“Stop talking cryptically. You know it pisses me off.”

You get the vague impression he’s smiling. It’s disconcerting.

“Remember us? In the kitchen? How Cassian was gone when you went back upstairs despite not having heard him leave?” He purrs quietly, seemingly enjoying watching the cogs turn in your mind. “I get the lovely pleasure of dealing with you, while Az takes care of Cassian. Just some fun on our part.”

Your eyes widen marginally, “what do you mean takes care of?”

“Nothing like what you’re thinking, I assure you. Though Az is probably taking his time in tying my General up—making sure he’ll be able to see everything, with hardly a drop of relief.” Teeth flash in the blackness, and something dark and delicious licks up your spine. “You’re mad,” you breathe. “Absolutely insane.”

“You can’t mean to say you didn’t see this coming. Really, I think Cassian made it quiet obvious. Even I did, at times. Azriel was the only one successful at keeping it secret.” Rhys drawls, still in that smooth voice of his.

“That is, until the night before.” The warmth drains from your face. Az’s eyes had gone glazed, which means—

“You’re making this difficult for yourself,” he mutters, roughly. “We’re having you tonight, no way around it. So either you can refuse and struggle, kick and scream.” Again, you get the feeling he’s smiling, “or you can dive into one of those fucked up fantasies you mentioned, and live out the pleasure of the moment.”

His hands grip firmly on your hips, pulling you tight against him, your back arching as your chest smushes against his. “So what will it be?”

Heat boils beneath your skin, arousal he can surely scent. But this is real life, and wrong, and you can’t be endorsing this sort of behaviour from anyone—

“I want my safeword to be vanilla,” you manage, hands settling over his forearms, and you swear you can scent his own arousal at the confirmation.

But instead, he leans down, mouth brushing over your own. “If that will give you the illusion of safety you need, then, by all means. Scream vanilla until your lungs give out.”

And then his grip tightens possessively; the weightlessness of winnowing overtakes you.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

The Witch 3

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: Part 3 of the lovely Anon request about Sihtric x healer!reader. I have to post it before I nuke again everything I have written.

Warnings: fluff and a bit of angst, being trapped in a burning house, side charackters canon death

Word Count: 3,8 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The flames rapidly engulfed the area, hungrily consuming the dry wooden walls and thatched roofs. Carried by the wind, embers danced from building to building, igniting new blazes in a furious tempest of fire and smoke.

"Quick, to the horses!" Uhtred barked, seizing the princess's hand and pulling her along as he led the way. The surrounding chaos provided a fleeting cover. But as they reached the stables, the first Danes appeared in hot pursuit.

Time was of the essence. Sihtric knelt, offering his hands as a step. The moment Princess Aethelfled's foot grazed his palms, he propelled her onto the horse. Seizing the reins, her eyes widened, a wild glint of near-madness sparkling within.

"Clapa!" Uhtred called out. The towering Dane glanced back at his lord, then, with a ferocious roar, charged at the encroaching warriors. Clapa's axe, seemingly a mere toy in his massive hands, sliced through the air. He deftly felled the first assailant, then swung back, bringing the axe down on another. Both attackers collapsed in an instant, yet the onslaught of enemies was relentless.

"Clapa!" Uhtred's voice rang out once more. But it was too late. The first strike hit Clapa from behind, followed swiftly by others. The giant warrior crumbled to his knees, yet continued to swing his axe with ferocious might, a grim smile on his lips. It was a noble end, befitting a warrior.

"See you in Valhalla, my friend," Uhtred murmured, before bellowing, "Forward!" He urged his horse into a swift gallop. A moment later it would have been too late for them, as more and more Danes swarmed the area, bows at the ready.

Sihtric, following closely behind his lord, cast anxious glances over his shoulder. Arrows whistled past, embedding in the earth. Behind them, Beamfleot was ablaze, its fiery glow painting the skyline in a tapestry of red and orange hues.

"Lord, I must return," Sihtric's voice reached Uhtred as the young Dane pulled his horse alongside. "I have to go back," he repeated, determination clear in his voice, his dark eyes reflecting the inferno behind them.

"Go then, and find your witch," Uhtred gruffly replied, goading his horse into a faster pace. "And don't die!" he shouted after Sihtric, whose silhouette swiftly turned, adeptly guiding his horse back into the heart of the chaos.

Driven more by instinct than reason, Sihtric nudged his horse into a frantic gallop, making his way back to Beamfleot. He had no clue what to say upon arriving at your doorstep. He was an enemy. You had stated that pretty clearly the last time he saw you. That night, he had left silently, eschewing farewells and not even waiting for dawn's light. Yet here he was, pushing his horse to its limits, his heart pounding in sync with the animal's strides as they approached Beamfleot.

His rational mind urged him to turn back, to let go of the faint hope that clung to him. It screamed of the folly in his actions; it was pure madness. He was not wanted. But deep down, a small voice whispered, "What if this is it? The last chance?" 

There were so many unanswered questions. He still couldn’t  understand why you had saved his life, and more than that, why you hadn't exposed him as a spy. And then there was that kiss. Had it meant something to you, had it been a genuine moment, or merely a fleeting whim? A cruel jest at the expense of the feelings he was certain you knew he harboured. He had allowed himself to be swept up in his affection for you. He had bared his soul and shown a vulnerability he had never dared reveal to anyone else. Was it all merely a twisted game to glean information about his lord? 

The questions burned in his mind like a relentless fire, unquenchable and consuming, each thought igniting another in a ceaseless blaze of uncertainty and longing. He wasn’t even sure he wanted the answers. 

"I just need to say goodbye – properly this time. Not like that last night, sneaking away without a word," he kept repeating in his head.

"Yeah, right," his reason scoffed at his own sentimentality. "Like she’s just going to welcome you with open arms." But the pull was too strong, the need to see you one last time too alluring to resist. And as the familiar outlines of Beamfleot loomed ahead, Sihtric steeled himself for whatever awaited him at the end – be it rejection, a moment of understanding, or simply the chance of a final, bittersweet goodbye.

A thick plume of dark smoke, rising high into the sky and tinged with the acrid smell of burning wood welcomed Sihtric as he approached. The town's gates were wide open, abandoned by guards and unattended on the ramparts. The Danes were apparently chasing their golden cow, leaving the locals to fend for themselves in a frantic effort to save their homes and livelihoods. The clamour of people shuttling buckets of water from the docks, forming a human chain, merged with the frantic cries of women ushering their children, clutching whatever belongings they could salvage amidst the chaos. Amidst this turmoil, Sihtric passed unnoticed.

Dismounting, he led his horse by the reins, making his way towards the small healer's house. The fire was concentrated around the great hall and nearby buildings, but it had not engulfed the entire town. The other structures, spaced further apart, had slowed the fire's spread. A surreal calm enveloped him as he walked, the chaos receding behind him. Raising his eyes, he noticed another flicker of red in the distance, a stark contrast to the relative tranquillity of his current surroundings.

As Sihtric approached, it became increasingly evident that the lone house ablaze at the town's edge was his destination. Quickening his pace, he released his horse, confident it would respond to his call if necessary.

The sight of the isolated burning house, set apart from the rest, struck him as peculiar. It stood like a solitary torch against the darkening evening sky, eerily abandoned. There was no one in sight, no frantic efforts to douse the flames. The fire had engulfed the roof, its flames dancing and flickering menacingly, casting an ominous orange-red glow into the night.

Drawing nearer, Sihtric heard the wooden structure groan and creak under the assault of the fire, which now gnawed at its supports and framework. Embers and sparks soared into the air, creating a fiery spectacle. Then, a chilling detail caught his eye: a log wedged against the door, effectively trapping anyone inside. His gaze swept over the house, noting all the shutters were firmly closed and secured from the outside.

"What the heck!" Sihtric whispered in shock, his heart pounding as a sudden realisation struck him. He rushed forward, seizing the log with both hands in an attempt to unblock the door. It stubbornly refused to budge. The smoke swirled around him like a corrosive cloud, stinging his eyes, invading his nostrils, and triggering fits of coughing. Resorting to his axe, Sihtric began hacking at the log, wood chips flying through the air, until it finally split in two, granting access to the door.

As he wrenched the door open, a blistering wave of heat and smoke billowed out, forcing him to retreat and shield his eyes with his forearm. Hastily tearing the lower part of his tunic, he fashioned a makeshift mask, covering his nose and mouth, and plunged into the inferno inside the house.

Inside, the flames surged with ferocious intensity, the air dense with suffocating smoke. Each step was a battle against the relentless heat, scorching his skin. His eyes watered from the intensity of the heat and smoke, blurring his vision, while every breath felt like inhaling fire. With each step his surroundings become increasingly surreal, everything around him painted in shades of orange and red, wrapped in a thick coat of smoke.

Sihtric dropped to his knees, coughing uncontrollably, yet he persevered forward. He had no choice; he needed to find you and the barred doors and shutters suggested that you were likely inside. With every muscle in his body tensed, Sihtric crawled towards the next room, the heat growing more oppressive by the second and the sound of crackling wood a constant reminder that there was no time left.

Through his blurred vision, Sihtric spotted something on the floor near the window at the far end of the room. Clenching his teeth, he flattened himself completely against the floor, inching forward on his stomach.

Sihtric instantly recognized you. Gritting his teeth, he slid his arms under your shoulders and knees, lifting you with a strained groan. The lack of air made his heart pound furiously, each step feeling unbearably heavy, as if his boots were weighed down with lead. The air around his head seemed to boil; blinded by smoke and heat, he held his breath and stumbled towards where he recalled the door was.

Sihtric collapsed to his knees on the grass, gently laying you down beside him. He coughed violently, gasping for air. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd managed to find the exit. All that remained vivid in his mind was the sensation of your fragile form pressed against his chest, driving him forward with each step, fueled by the urgent beat of his heart.

"No, no, no," Sihtric murmured anxiously as he sprang to his feet, dashing towards his horse grazing nearby. He swiftly grabbed the leather flask filled with fresh water from the saddle and hurried back to your side, kneeling beside you. Carefully, he splashed a handful of water onto your face, trying to revive you.

"Come on, breathe!" he urged, his voice tinged with desperation. He pressed his ear to your chest, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, making it difficult to distinguish whether it was his or yours. Gently, he lifted you, cradling your head in his lap. With trembling hands, he tried to wipe the soot off your cheeks, but in his frantic state, he only managed to smear it further, leaving trails of his dirty fingers across your face.

“Please, just open your eyes,” Sihtric begged, keeping you close, and gently stroking your hair. “Breathe, you damned witch!” he hissed, shaking you slightly, despair slowly overtaking him.

"I hate it," a faint, barely audible whisper came to Sihtric's ears.

"What?" he asked, puzzled, looking down at you.

"I hate being called a witch," you replied, your voice low and raspy, yet with a definitive firmness that brought a smile to Sihtric's face. He held you closer, nuzzling your dishevelled hair, carrying the acrid scents of ash, smoke, and soot.

Just then, the walls and roof of the small house collapsed with a thunderous roar, sending a cascade of sparks and burning debris skyward. You flinched, gripping Sihtric's arm tightly as you watched your house transform into nothing but a skeleton of wooden beams and supports.

It wasn't just a house being reduced to ashes; it was the destruction of your dream for a haven, a sanctuary you had called home. Your vision of peace, your hope for acceptance, was crumbling before your eyes,  all turning into dust, leaving you bare,  bereft and alone.

Tears began forming in your eyes, and there was no strength left within you to hold them back as you leaned into the solid embrace of the very same young man you had thought you'd pushed away forever. You had rejected him, driven him off, intimidated by your own deepening emotions, yet here he was, cradling you in his strong arms, his fingers gently combing through your hair, while you sobbed your face hidden in his broad chest. 

"The door... Sihtric, it was blocked," you hiccuped between sobs, dampening his leather armor with your tears as the painful memories resurfaced. "Why would they do that? I've never harmed them," your cries grew louder, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching at Sihtric’s armor, seeking solace in his presence.

"I thought... I thought I was going to die," you managed to say through your sobs.

"Shh, it's all over now. You're safe with me," Sihtric soothed, humming softly as he rocked you in his arms. His fingers tenderly stroked your hair, trailing down your back with a featherlight touch. It was an unfamiliar sensation, so full of genuine care and protectiveness. For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of safety enveloping you, easing the tension in your muscles, allowing you to fully relax into his strong yet gentle hold.

As your sobs subsided and your body stopped shivering, Sihtric gazed down at you and a smile crept onto his lips. You were covered in dirt and grime, your hair tinged grey with ash and smoke, your nose reddened from crying and rubbing against his armour. You seemed so small and fragile against his chest, your hands gripping his armour, tears carving paths through the soot on your face. Yet to him, you were incredibly beautiful, perhaps more so than ever before.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Sihtric found you seated outside the healer's tent, perched on a wooden block, your hands stained with blood resting in your lap. Exhaustion was etched on your face, your eyes red and swollen from weariness. Another evening was approaching, and though the battle had ceased, for you and the other healers in Alfred’s camp, a different fight had just begun – a struggle for the lives of the wounded.

You had arrived at the camp with Sihtric, who had ridden hard to get both of you there. He immediately brought you to the healer's tent before vanishing towards the sounds of clashing weapons and battle cries. Despite the suspicious and wary glances from others, you had lent your skills wherever you could.

You clearly didn't belong there,  it was more than obvious. Yet, the question remained: where did you belong? You had attempted to belong to both worlds - the Saxon and the Danish one, but the price was high – your home burned down, and both your lords dead. Not that you grieved them deeply; you had long understood that such was likely their fated end. There are no shepherds in Valhalla, you remembered them saying when you had once suggested that a peaceful coexistence with Saxons was better than endless conquest.

"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow," Sihtric said, his voice carrying an unusual weight that drew your attention as you lifted your gaze to meet Sihtric’s eyes as he extended his hand, covered in blood just as yours. A hand that saves lives and a hand that takes lives - both looking the same, slipped through your mind. You were in his world now, and as much as you didn’t want to show it, you were frightened. 

"A scared, little witch," you mused inwardly, a wry tone to your thoughts. With a moment's hesitation, you averted your gaze and gently took Sihtric's warm hand, relying on his strength to help you rise.

"What will happen to me?" you asked, striving for a calm and composed tone, yet finding it hard to meet Sihtric’s eyes directly.

"You're free to go. I've spoken with Uhtred; you're not a prisoner," Sihtric said, his hand still holding yours, his thumb lightly tracing your skin. He paused, clearing his throat as if he had more to say, but the words seemed to elude him.

"To go where?" you asked with a wry smile, finally meeting his gaze.

It was so strange. He was and he wasn’t the same Sihtric you remembered – the shy, bashful young warrior who had struggled for breath at your slightest touch while tending to his wounds. You hadn't noticed before how much taller he was than you. Your hand seemed so small engulfed in his, and despite your efforts to mask your anxiety, it quivered ever so slightly. 

"Anywhere you wish," Sihtric replied, his voice fading to a whisper, his lower lip caught nervously between his teeth.

He was filled with unspoken words, yearning to say, 'Come with me, let me take care of you.' He cursed himself silently, frustrated that the words hovering on the brink of his tongue remained unspoken. The sadness in your eyes was almost too much for him. You had lost everything, and yet, what he could offer seemed so insignificant in comparison. Why would you choose a life with him? Yet he knew, without a shred of doubt, that if it meant saving you, he would brave the flames of a burning house over and over again.

After a moment of awkward silence, you withdrew your hand under the guise of adjusting your clothing. Your fingers trembled as they pretended to smooth out non-existent creases, followed by a quiet chuckle.

"So, this is it then. Our paths part for good," you mumbled, your voice catching slightly. "Your debt is settled, and I'm free to go," you said, attempting to mask your emotions with a bright, forced smile. As you reached out to cup Sihtric's cheek, he started to raise his hand, as if to grasp yours, but you quickly pulled back. With no clear destination in mind, the urge to flee, to escape the mounting embarrassment of your unreciprocated feelings for this young warrior, was overwhelming. "What did you expect? That he'd offer you his hand and heart?" your inner voice taunted. "He saved my life," you countered weakly. "Only to be free from you and his debt," your mind reacted bitterly.

Turning away, you sighed deeply, surveying your surroundings. You weren't defeated. There had to be a place in this cursed world where you belonged, and you were determined to find it. Though your initial steps away from Sihtric were shaky, you soon straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and quickened your pace with each stride. It was only the tears slowly trailing down your cheeks that could betray your aching heart, but luckily he couldn’t see them. 

As you walked away, the evening sun cast a shimmering glow on your loose, fluttering hair. Sihtric watched, swallowing hard, as your figure gradually diminished, embraced by the evening's shadows. His heart seemed to leap into his throat, beating erratically. Everything felt so wrong. 

Everything had happened too fast for Sihtric to fully comprehend. He had imagined various scenarios of meeting you again, but none had involved rescuing you from a burning house or bringing you to Alfred's camp. He had thought, perhaps, that fate or the whimsical Norns, weaving the threads of life, had given him another chance with you. The way you had clung to him, crying out your despair and anger, had kindled a hope in him that his feelings weren't futile. Yet, he had let you walk away, falling silent once more. How did it come to this?

Restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Sihtric felt an unexplainable warmth spread through him, flushing his cheeks and suddenly, he was running as if chased by the hounds of Niflheim, his heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. His longer strides quickly closed the distance between you. He reached out, grasping your elbow to turn you towards him, his breath heavy on your skin as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I don't want you to leave," Sihtric whispered, his hold on your arms growing firmer as he drew you closer. "Please, come with me. I know I can't offer you what you once had, but if you just gave me a chance. It’s all I’m asking for – a chance to show you I'm worth your attention."

Sihtric's words poured out in a fervent stream, catching you off guard and robbing your ability to respond. All you could do was to stare in bewilderment in his beautiful mismatched eyes, soft sobs trembling through your shoulders as his heartfelt confession and the sincerity in his words overwhelmed you.

"I don’t want to leave, Sihtric," you finally whispered back, cradling his face in your hands, tears shimmering in your eyes. "By the gods, Sihtric, you don’t need to prove anything. I feared I had wounded your pride too deeply for you to still want me."

"You don’t want to leave?" Sihtric exhaled sharply, letting out his breath he was apparently holding back.

"I never wanted to go, and I didn’t want you to leave either. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I was just too afraid to admit that I’ve fallen for you."

"Fallen for me? Does this mean you’ll come with me?" The astonishment in Sihtric’s voice was unmistakable, prompting a smile from you.

"If you'll have me," you replied with a playful chuckle. In an instant, you let out a squeal as Sihtric scooped you up, hoisting you over his shoulder.

"You bet I will, witch," Sihtric declared, striding towards the distant tents. No matter how much you wriggled or protested, he didn’t set you down until you reached his tent. Once there, he gently placed you on the ground, immediately enveloping you in his embrace, making sure you couldn’t take a single step away.

"Say it again," Sihtric's voice was husky and low.

"Say what?" you playfully responded, your arms encircling his neck.

"Say that you love me," Sihtric nearly growled, his voice resonating deep in his throat. "Stop teasing me, witch!" he implored, pulling you tightly against his chest.

"Please, stop teasing," he repeated, his voice softening to a gentle murmur. "Because I love you, and I want you to be mine – today, tomorrow, and all the days that follow."

Rising on your toes, you leaned close to his ear, your breath warm against his neck. "Is that what you want? Your very own witch to play with? Because if so, I'm all in. I love you, my hapless spy."

A soft moan escaped you as Sihtric's lips met yours passionately, his hands eagerly working at the laces of your garment, seeking to liberate you from it. You surrendered to his touch, liberated from the mental barriers you had imposed on yourself, aflame with love and desire for this young, spirited warrior who had ignited a fire in you like never before.

Your clothes and Sihtric’s armour and tunic fell to the floor in a flurry of urgency, hands frenziedly removing the last barriers between your eager bodies. As the final piece of your undergarment was removed, Sihtric gasped softly, his eyes taking in the sight of your bare form. Dressed only in his breeches, he lifted you with ease, and in one smooth motion, you wrapped your legs around his waist, securing them behind his back. His lips remained locked with yours as he carried you to the pile of furs that served as his bed, laying you down and enveloping you with his presence.

"I want you," Sihtric whispered into your ear, "I want to give you pleasure like no one else has. I want you to guide me, to teach me, to show me all that you desire. You are mine, witch. Mine forever."

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 18 : New year

New years us coming and the gang organize a party

 “I'm not even living’ cause I want to but ‘cause I don't want to die.”

The words echoed in his head, blurry memories of what happened when he was cowering in his mind, fragments of sounds, of talks he lived through without really being there. 

“I thought… I thought you liked me, maybe I was just delusional. It hurt, to be killed like I'm nothing. You made me feel like I'm nothing. I'm still feeling like I'm nothing.”

He recognized this voice. How could he not when he knew it from such a long time, when he had longed for it for most of his life. But it sounded burdened with uncried tears, on the verge of fading. 

Sun Wukong woke up with a struggling breath, he took several seconds to recollect himself and grasped the scarf neatly warped on his neck. Sock, who was sleeping beside him, woke up with a startle “mrrp?”. She walked towards him and rubbed her head against his sides, purring soothingly to calm his frantic breath. Sun Wukong turned and curled around her, encircling her like the sun encircled the earth at dusk. Sock meowed happily and welcomed his embrace with glee, she found her place in-between his arms and closed her eyes. 

The sage breathed in the familiar scent of his little lady, nose burried in her fur, tail coiling around her, and focused on her heartbeats. He felt good, here, cradling her in his arms. He liked to be like that, to protect, to curl around someone, it soothed the primal need of his nature, of his protective side. 

He stayed here for a long time, waiting for the rise of his little lady, playing with her tail and giggling each time she hissed at him for disturbing her beauty sleep. She never clawed at him, even if he annoyed her daily, instead she pushed him away with her cute pads. And how he loved pads, they were so soft and cushy, he adored covering them in kisses, for the great misfortune of his cat who didn't like his kisses that much. 

Sock woke after a few more hours, like always she jumped out of the bed, pushing him away to escape his embrace, and hurried towards her bowl. Sun Wukong followed after her, the scarf still on his neck, and shushed her demanding moews with food. The sage didn't eat, instead he watched his little lady wolfing her food like it would disappear, mind lost in his dreams. It wasn't the first time he dreamed of past memories, his time as a feral monkey always resurfaced through his nights, even sometimes through his days. 

Sometimes the memories were joyous, fragments of light times he spent by his moon sides. But, on a few occasions, he relived some worrying things. Scenes of anguish, of pain and tears. Some words sliced through his chest, crushing his already quite frail heart. “I'm not even living’ cause I want to but ‘cause I don't want to die.” It worried him. He wanted to run towards the warrior, and to cradle him like he cradled his cat, to hide him, to cover him, to have him in his arms, the safest place on this mountain. But he knew he couldn't, he knew it would break the fragile bound they managed to create. 

Macaque never asked him for magic, never revealed why his body ripped itself apart. So far, the sage had been lucky enough to convince the other, to make him indulge his worried heart, to make him accept his magic. He gave and gave and gave, and Macaque always seemed troubled, as if he shouldn't accept his magic, as if it was a sin in itself to ever hope for any sort of help coming from him. And it worried him to no end, it haunted him at nights. Sometimes, he would dream of it, of Macaque ‘s corpse, laying cold and stiff, as if made of wood. And he would try to give him magic, to give him life, but nothing worked, Macaque would lay, unresponsive. 

Sun Wukong, even if he acted like it sometimes, was no fool. He was old, he lived enough to see empires rise and fall, even if Macaque wasn't revealing the truth, the sage was wise enough to gather some clues. The warrior’s state was odd, his body seemed to need magic to even sustain itself, something that would normally not be possible. Magic could certainly be a life force, but it wasn't meant to be the drive sustaining the body of living beings. 

Those who lived were driven by blood and air, their body didn't need life, it was life itself. 

And he feared this, because if Macaque's body couldn't sustain itself, couldn't live without magic, it meant it wasn't the body of a living being. Sun Wukong knew he killed his moon, but he thought the other was fully resurrected, he thought he was living again. Resurrection was a dangerous magic, but it wasn't impossible. Sun Wukong himself wasn't able to do it, he wasn't built for such delicate operations, his own magic too strong and burning to deal with souls, but he knew it wasn't a fable. 

He thought Macaque had been resurrected, brought back to the mortal planes by some soul master. But his theory was becoming more and more uncertain the more he thought of his moon's weak states. It was highly probable that the Lady Bone Demon was the one behind his warrior's resurrection. And the sage didn't want to believe it, because he knew that, even if she was a master of mind, she wasn't a master of soul, she wasn't powerful enough to bring back the dead among the living. 

If he was correct, it meant the Bone Demon did something unspeakable, something forbidden by those who dwelled in soulcraft. Resurrection was the art of bringing back the souls, for it to be working, the soul had to be full. It was the highest form of healing magic. But for those that weren't powerful enough to dwell with souls and they fickle nature, you could bring back only fragments of it, it was called necromancy. 

Necromancy was the art to break the soul, the foulest of sin for souls dweller. Necromancers broke the soul of those they wanted to bring back, and stole fragments of it, stuffing it in corpses, creating the paradoxical living-dead, creatures that lost part of themselves, rejected by nature, but cherished by life.

Sun Wukong didn't want to believe Macaque was a living-dead, but he knew it was the only reasonable explanation for the other odd state. It was heart-breaking to think that, because it meant Macaque lost parts of himself, parts of who he was, parts of his soul. And the other seemed so full of life each time Sun Wukong saw him, he never struck the sage as incomplete, as broken. 

But Sun Wukong wasn't an expert on souls, mayhaps there could be another explanation, or something that he overlooked. He promised himself to look into it at a later date, for now, he had to chase away his somber musing, tonight was the new year, and he promised MK to celebrate it with his little group. 

The sage spent the rest of his day with Sock, he groomed her, petted her and took her on a walk. Well, it was more of him following Sock around as she explored the outside of the cave. Sun Wukong wasn't very keen on letting her roam around the mountain unsupervised, there were dangerous places here for a defenseless cat. And, yes, even if his little lady managed to scare away every wild animal that dared to cross her (be it foxes or snakes), Sun Wukong still thought her pretty defenseless. She was tiny and fluffy and adorable, she could be stolen, or even eaten by some evil beasts. 

"Are you alright? I bet it scared you! Aww, don't worry lil bud, I'm here now." Cooed the sage as he nuzzled his cat, reassuring her after her encounter with a wild boar. Sock seemed quite unbothered, licking her bloody paws (she did scratch the boar when it jumped her) as if nothing happened. "You're a therapy cat after all, the wild life is too dangerous." Mumbled the sage, Sock looked at him for a second, tilting her head a little and meowing curiously, playing with his snout. "Aww, yeaa, you're just a lil lady, no roaming the mountain for you. I'll create a safe place for you later my lil sage."

He went back with Sock preciously cradled in his arms. Sun Wukong spent quite a lot of time trying to choose the perfect outfit for his little outing, he settled for a brand new hanfu, a striking yellow one, and carefully groomed himself. Once ready, he joined his cat on the couch and set numerous accessories he bought a few days prior in front of her. 

"Alright my lil floof triangle, we're going out tonight, so you have to be dressed too. What do you want to wear ?" Sock looked at him a hot minute, before playing with the yellow necktie next to her. "Necktie it is then, aww we're matching." The sage dressed his lil lady, carefully tying the necktie, and cooed shamelessly at her when she looked down with a frown. Sock played with the necktie a little, caressing it softly with her front paws, before looking up at the sage." Yeah, I know, you're very pretty like that." Sock meowed, as if satisfied, and stopped fiddling with her necktie. Sun Wukong took hundreds of pictures of her, squealing each time she blinked at the camera, or when she rolled on herself and showed her belly. 

The King stopped his onslaught of pictures after a while, he packed his phone and took his lil bud in his arms. 

"Now, I know you rode the cloud once to come here, but don't freak out, I'm here." Softly said the sage, Sock looked quite unbothered when Sun Wukong summoned his cloud, and sat on it. They soared through the sky, both lightened up by the day fading light. Sock hid in his chest to evade the chilling winds, but other than that she looked quite peaceful. "I never met a cat so calm, you know I think other animals would freak out." Laughed the sage, Sock looked up and played with the trims of his hanfu. "Yeah, you're right, you're not like the others. You know Heaven recognized your titles yesterday, I received their letter. So now you have a standing lil sage." Sun Wukong hung his tail above his cat, she pawed at it curiously, playing with the fluffy end." Lil sage of floof~ the floofiest sage on earth."

They arrived at the docks after a few seconds. MK and the others wanted to roam around the festival a bit before heading towards Sandy's to celebrate the new year. And even if Sun Wukong liked the new year, he wasn't fond of crowds. Sandy already gave him the green light to wait for them at his house, he knew the place quite well after his sessions. They did a few sessions after his embarrassing breakdown, Sandy proposed to stop the heavy talks for a bit, and focus on rebuilding their trust. The sage was quite grateful for that, he didn't know if he could handle it if each session ended in tears and bleeding hearts. 

The few exercises they did were fun in itself. They would talk about their days, usually Macaque would talk about the troop, or about his roaming on the mountain, and Sun Wukong would talk about MK and Sock, even showing pictures he took from time to time. Macaque laughed at his first attempts at taking pictures, mocking the blurry and unrecognizable form of his lil lady. Sun Wukong trained in the art of photography just to spite him, and now he could capture Sock's best angles easily. 

They also drew a little, both admitting that they missed it, and never took the time to do it after their breakup. Those sessions were spent in silence, they would each bring their own sketchbook and share the crayons, sometimes showing their art at the end of it if they felt like it. Sun Wukong even got to keep some of Macaque's drawings after asking, he put them on his bedroom wall, proudly showing them to anyone who walked in. He missed the other style, the sharp angles and the comically large eyes never failed to cheer him up on any rough days. Macaque even drew Sock, one time, after the sage kept pestering him with photos of her. He put this drawing in a beautiful framework, one he bought specially for that, and put it on his nightstand. 

They spent the last session, the one from a few days ago, telling compliments about one another at Sandy's demand. It didn't last long, both too embarrassed to keep it going. Nonetheless the few words they said was enough to cheer the sage up, he felt like he walked on cloud nine for the last few days. Macaque had said four things to him, he said he was “good with the kid even if he could learn a thing or two about mentoring”, that he was “strong even for an old man”, that he was “caring and good” and that he could be “handsome in specific lights”. 

And even if three of those were probably backhanded compliments, Macaque uttered them with such sincerity, it touched his heart. In response, Sun Wukong said that Macaque was “kind even if he liked to pretend otherwise”, that he was “a warrior”, that he was “good company when he wasn't a brat”, and that he was “pretty in the moonlight”. The last one fell out of his mouth without his consent, and he has to admit he was quite nervous to see the other after this particular slip of tongue. They talked a bit by messages (they tended to do that a lot after his outing with his clones in the city) but never about this. 

The sage sat on Sandy's couch, and looked at his lil lady to clear his mind. Sock walked towards the other cats and proudly showed her necktie, softly caressing it from times to times with her front paws, and hissing at any that dared touch it. Sun Wukong thought it was adorable and filmed the whole process. 

"I have to send it to Macaque." Giggled the King as he ended the video.

"Send me what?" Sun Wukong jumped and turned towards the kitchen entrance, Macaque was there, hands on his hips, obviously proud of himself for startling the sage, the little rascal. 

"Holy–why are you here??"

"I was here before you. I was making tea in the kitchen." Snorted the warrior. "So, send me what?"

"Just another video of Sock."

"Again? By now I feel like I know her, even if I never interacted with her properly." Sighed the macaque, he looked around and spotted her easily. He walked toward her and crouched down. She meowed happily, seemingly loving his pets, and even showed her belly, when Macaque went for the floof, she didn't bite him, the traitor." The necktie looks cute."

"Yeah, we're even matching." Laughed the sage. "Oh, you know Heaven recognized her titles!"

"Really? When?" 

"I received the letter last night."

"Well then." Macaque took one of her front paws and softly kissed it, as if she was a noble lady from another time. "Pleasure to meet you, Lady Above Else, Little Sage Of Floof."Sock blinked a moment, before using the fact he was quite close to her to boop his snout with the tip of her paws. Macaque laughed at that, he rose and turned toward the sage, who was obviously recording the whole thing. "You want some tea? And stop recording."

"Hm, nah, I'll keep recording. And yeah, purple!"

Macaque rolled his eyes and disappeared in the kitchen while grumbling “of course purple, why did I even ask”. Sun Wukong followed him with his eyes, letting his tail thump on the couch like crazy the second the other disappeared, and stopping when he came back. They sip on their cups, one on the couch and the other on the floor, surrounded by cats. 

"How's your cave project doing?" Asked the sage after a while. 

"It's coming along. I moved some things from my old dojo, and the bedding you bought is quite comfy." Sun Wukong smothered the happy trills wanting to pass his throat with a gulp of tea. 

"That's cool. Need help with anything?" 

"No, that's alright. I got it."The cave project was quite simple in itself, Macaque was only creating his own space on the mountain, in a shaded cave, with the sage's permission of course. The King didn't know where the said cave was exactly, but he didn't try to pry, he didn't want to anger the other. He only knew it was a shaded cave near one of the shores. 

"Okay. Don't hesitate to ask though."

"Yeah, I will."

The conversation died down naturally as they both enjoyed their teas. In the past, those sort of moments would have been unthinkable for the both of them. In his youth, Wukong had hated silence more than anything, always wanting to do something, or talk until his voice was bruised. Macaque hadn't been the type to enjoy quiet moments either, with him at least. And the sage had the inkling suspicion it was because he was insecure about himself, and thought the King would be annoyed if they didn't fill the silence. Nowadays though, Sun Wukong found himself fond of those quiet moments, he liked the peacefulness of existing with the other without the need to fill any void. It was in the serenity of those silences that he could truly appreciate each second, and let himself muse over wandering thoughts. 

"Do you still have trouble teaching MK how to summon his cloud ?" The King let the question echo a second, simply enjoying the way Macaque's voice sounded, before answering. 

"Yeah, the kid has trouble keeping the form, his cloud disperse each time he tries."

"Hm, you know thus far I only did light footwork with MK, but if you allow me I can help with that. I'm quite good with wind related magic."

"Oh yeah." The sage looked at the macaque and met his gaze with fondness. "That would help me, and the kid, thanks."

"You're welcome. Just call me for the next training session." Mumbled Macaque, perhaps embarrassed by his thankfulness.

"I'll do that."

They let the silence embrace them once more, enjoying themself quietly as they petted all the cats that wandered near them. The group arrived after a bit, they greeted them joyously, some more than others, and sat around the living room. 

"Hey Monkey King!!" Greeted the kid as he sat besides his mentor. 

"Hey there, bud. You had fun?"

"Yeah! Mei and I got scammed!" Sun Wukong raised an eyebrow at that, he looked at the pig, the only responsible adult in the lot, and the chef sighed, but he didn't seem to be seething. And if the pig wasn't seething, then it was probably already dealt with. 

"You mean, you got scammed, I was just playing along."Chuckled the dragon girl as she sat beside his mentee. 

" No fair ! You were scammed too."

" I'm too awesome for that." They bickered a little after that. 

The evening was quite nice in itself, they talked about anything and everything, Sun Wukong showed his cat pictures and ranted about how Sock was the cutest cat in the world, Sandy readily agreed that the necktie was cute, to his utter delight. As the evening passed by, the energy died down a little. The kids were gushing about a new video game, Sandy and the pig were talking about tonight's menu, and, surprisingly enough, Macaque was socializing with Tang, at least he believed the other name was Tang. 

The ebony monkey wasn't overly comfortable, the sage could see how his muscles tensed ever so slightly, how his voice wavered, perhaps doubting himself on his own words. But he was making an effort, listening to the scholar's excited rants quite attentively, and answering some of his questions, even sharing one or two laughs. It was lovely, to see the other trying to come out of his shell, to see him make an effort. But it was at the same time very bittersweet, because Macaque didn't even try with his past companions, with the monk's past life. There was a part of him, some deep secretive part he buried, that was upset at the fact that Macaque wasn't looking at him. 

The warrior caught his eyes, one mesle second, when the scholar was busy looking through his notes to ask more precise questions. The sage gulped, feeling as if he was struck in place by those twilight eyes. Macaque looked away, and gently flickered his tail, a tentative invitation. The King, despite feeling nervous, left the couch and sat beside the warrior. 

"So anything interesting going on?" Awkwardly asked the sage. The scholar immediately looked up, and beamed the second his eyes caught him. 

"Monkey King! Perfect, you can also answer some questions for me! Is it true that phoenixes were born because merchants didn't recognize the Egyptian sphinx?" Sun Wukong fidgeted with his hanfu trims, he replied to the best of his ability, and Tang beamed even more. Macaque snickered beside him, and leaned over him, softly bumping his shoulder. 

" Now I'm not the only one suffering through this."

"How dare you lead me into this trap." Snorted the King. 

"I'm just evil like that." Replied the other with a teasing glance, Wukong would forever deny blushing. 

"You rascal."

They spent the rest of the evening answering the scholar's questions, sometimes whispering among themselves, bickering about the silliest of things. Once the night fell, they all got out of the house, preparing seats on the docks to admire the fireworks. As the others settled their chairs and food, the sage noticed Macaque slipping away with his mentee, going to a more shaded place. Curiosity nipped at the King, he quietly followed them, Sock hot on his steps, playing with his tail at each of his steps. 

Macaque and MK were at the corner of the house, in a silent place. Sun Wukong crouched down, peeking from his hiding place, Sock locked in his arms to shush her demanding meows. Perhaps, he shouldn't breach their privacy like this, but monkeys were curious by nature, sue him. 

"What do you wanted to talk about?" Curiously asked his mentee. 

"Hm… I mean…" Macaque took a deep breath, and dived in his mentee gaze. "I just… I wanted to say sorry, you know, for the whole manipulating you, stealing your powers and chasing you thing. Just, sorry. I never told you that, and…well, sorry. You didn't deserve any of that." 

"Oh… I wasn't expecting that." Awkwardly chuckled the boy. "It's alright, I guess. I'm… glad you're telling me this. We can, if you want, maybe work on forgiving and all?" 

"Oh, yeah, totally, that would be swell."

"Swell?"

"Shut it, old habits." Huffed the warrior

"You're an old man." Chuckled his mentee. 

"And you're a brat. Now come on, the fireworks are starting soon."

Sun Wukong scrambled on his feet to get out of the way before they could spot them. His chest was filled with a warm feeling, something fluttering that made him smile foolishly. He put dampening spells on his cat ears before putting her to the ground, not wanting her to be startled by the fireworks. He approached the warrior once he let Sock run wild, innocently taking the place next to him. 

"Hey, hm, did you put spells on your ears and all?"

"Yeah, I'm not an idiot." Snorted the other. 

"No, of course not. Just, you know, just checking." Macaque turned towards him with a raised eyebrow, he seemed to think for a second, before pinching the King's side quite hard. Sun Wukong yelped, and glared at the ebony monkey. "What was that for!?, 

"It's for eavesdropping, you're not discreet, Wukong." Huffed the warrior with an amused glint in his eyes. Sun Wukong wanted to reply, say something to defend his honor, but the fireworks flew, and the night exploded in colors. The colorful lights fell upon the warrior's midnight fur, highlighting him in the loveliest way possible. The sage turned away, heart hammering inside of his chest. 

As always, the fireworks were the best thing invented by humankind. They illuminated the sky as everyone wished for a joyous year, flowers of fire erupting in the dark, turning the night into the day. Sun Wukong gazed at them with wonder, tail wagging widely each time colors bloomed in the sky. Even after they faded away, he could still feel his excitement buzzing in his veins, making his skin tingle with pleasant sparks. He had always loved fireworks, loved the way they made him feel.

 Fireworks had always been the one thing able to clear his mind even on the darkest of days. 

After the show, the group gathered to talk a bit, letting their excitement be known. MK had to leave after checking his phone, he muttered something about “Red Son needing him”, and while that wasn't uncommon (the two of them seemingly closer than before) the look he threw at the dragon girl before leaving, and said girl sharp nods were worrying. Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes, he wanted to follow after his mentee and finally discover what he has been doing for the past few months. But at the same time, he didn't want to leave the warrior's side. This was one in a kind night, and Macaque rarely got out of the mountain, he rarely dressed so nicely. 

The sage turned towards his moon and gulped, eyeing the way his brand new hanfu (courtesy of the dragon girl) was hugging his curves and highlighting his fur, silver definitely looked good on him. 

"Hey, hm, Macaque… you wanna head out?" Tentatively asked the sage, trying to coax him in his shenanigans. 

"Where ?" 

"Oh, just, you know, take a walk, there…" He pointed at the direction MK took, while averting his eyes. 

"You mean the place MK ran to? You want to spy on him?" 

"N-no, I mean, maybe? Don't look at me like that, I know you're wondering what he's doing too…" 

"And so your only solution is to follow after him?" Sighed the warrior. 

"Yes?"

Macaque rolled his eyes and walked away, the sage wondered if he made a mistake, but his musing was cut off by his moon's voice. 

"You're coming or what?" Inquired the warrior, he respectfully said goodbye to everyone and turned towards him, gaze diving in him. The King gulped, feeling himself being frozen, stilling in his place. He was brought back from his frozen state by his lil lady, Sock pawed at his pants, looking up at him with worry. The sage cooed and took her in his arms. He hurried towards the warrior with a skip in his steps. 

"W-wait for me."

Macaque petted Sock the second the sage caught up with him, his lil sage leaned in the touch greedily, the lucky lady. 

"Alright, let's go, I've been curious about what this kid is scheming for months now." Chuckled the macaque, Sun Wukong admired him for a bit before answering. 

"Yeah, leggo !"

+ Mac drawing Sock be like this :

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