#wc novice

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

A scene where it’s the Dark Forest with:

--Batlight hanging from a tree

--Grouse and Alder playing ball with Myrtle’s head, while headless Myrtle cuddles with his kids

--Loonfur sits ominously in the shadows with her eyes glowing

--Gorseheart sitting in a tree, screeching

--Clawbear pulling on Gorseheart’s tail, thinking it’s a game or something

--Emberdawn swatting at Clawbear (or laughing)

--Novice racing to stop Clawbear

--Sparktail setting something on fire (probably spreading onto unsuspecting Jackdawfoot)

--Basiltooth showing Smalljump his bugs, who is TREMBLING

--all this the background, while Ferndoe in the foreground is welcoming the cat (the viewer) into the Dark Forest

[galamalion]

꒰১໒꒱. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

summary. you take zoro on a camping trip to relax; zoro finds other activities to partake in.

⤷ contents. afab!reader, fluff + smut, pet names (baby, babe, sweetheart, good girl), outdoor sex, light strength kink, light degradation, cunnilingus, hair pulling, light slapping (zoro slaps your ass/thighs) // wc. 1.5k

⤷ notes. request by @isapirata for camping and stargazing with zoro + a little bit of smut. hope you enjoy! hoping to pump out some works before my semester starts up <3

"I'm telling you right now, you're gonna enjoy it!"

"And I'm telling you, as long as I can shut my eyes without you pestering me, I'll love this trip."

"Oh, believe me, princess," you teased, hammering the stake into the ground, "you'll get all the beauty rest you need and more."

"Who you callin' princess, princess?" Zoro sneered, giving you a dirty look.

You stood, looking at the tent you single handedly pitched, "You're the one lazing about while I do all the work."

"It's called napping, sweetheart," Zoro rolled his eyes, "you want my help, just holler and your big strong boyfriend will be there."

"My hero," you scoffed, unpacking your gear in the tent.

You couldn't be too mad at Zoro for not helping. After all, he carried you up this gorgeous mountain so that you could go camping. If he wanted to sleep while you set everything up, he was more than welcome to. You would, however, be forcing him to roast marshmallows later. That was non negotiable.

“Would you mind getting some firewood at least, Zoro?” you peaked over your shoulder at the dozing swordsman. “It'd be good exercise.”

With a deep, displeased grumble, Zoro arose from beneath his shady tree, stomping away from your camping setup and into the nearby woods.

“Stay safe!” you called, giving him a small wave.

Zoro being gone allowed you to focus on other necessities, like digging out a spot for a small fire pit. You definitely weren’t as skilled as Franky, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try your hand at crafting something. With the rudimentary skills of a novice craftsman, you laid a couple of sizable stones around your dug out hole, creating a misshapen circle that would make any child envious of your talents.

Occasional loud thumps in the distance kept you on your toes, clearly originating from Zoro taking your request a little too far. Part of you was scared to see how many tree trunks Zoro would return with, while the other part of you was excited to put him to work. Maybe you could fashion one into some kind of bench for the two of you? Of course, that was assuming that the tree trunk could withstand Zoro’s hulking frame. It’d be terribly unfortunate if it collapsed on the spot.

Moments later your boyfriend emerged from the woods with five massive trunks slung over his shoulder, balanced perfectly with the help of his huge bicep.

“Welcome back, handsome!” you cooed, skipping over to his side.

“Go back to your arts and crafts,” he grunted, continuing his stride towards your camp.

You gasped, “I came over here to help! How ungrateful!”

“What are you gonna do, help me carry these?” he gestured above his shoulder.

“I came to be a cheerleader, for your information. There’s no way in hell I can lift those over my shoulder like you can.”

“You couldn’t lift one, period.”

“I’m not fighting you on that.”

Upon your instruction, Zoro laid a single log near your amateur fire pit, setting the others aside. After removing his shirt, he began slicing them into smaller pieces, ripping the fragments in half to fit inside the pit. You thought about assisting him, but after considering the danger of splinters, decided against it.

“Hurry up, babe! It’s getting cold!” you shouted, searching for any available tinder to use in your fire.

“Quit yer’ bitchin’! I got your wood right here.” He stomped over beside you, tossing the wood into the fire pit.

“Thank you,” you emphasized, standing up to give him a hug. A grunt was all you got in response, but it was all you needed.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Zoro whistled from his spot under the tree, arms folded behind his head.

“What? What do you mean ‘come here’?” you stared at him befuddled, “I just finished setting all this stuff up, and you just wanna sit on—”

“No complaints, ya brat,” he barked, moving a hand to pat his bare chest, signaling for you to come lay against it.

Annoyed, you stomped towards your boyfriend, sitting just a couple inches away from him in defiance.

“You really wanna play this game?” Zoro muttered, raising an eyebrow at your actions.

“What game?” you said, batting your eyelashes and flashing him a smile.

“Alright, fine,” Zoro whispered to himself, standing up from beneath the tree.

You just closed your eyes and rested your chin on your hand, quietly humming to yourself. It was somewhat of a surprise that Zoro gave up so easily, knowing that your boyfriend was stubborn to a fault. He stood up; was he really just gonna—

“Up we go,” Zoro huffed, easily slinging you over his shoulder and walking towards a clearer area.

“Hey, hold on!” you shrieked, flailing as he laid you down in the grass.

“Oh come on, baby,” he grinned, pulling your hips plush against his, “I think I’ve earned a little something for all my hard work tonight, and all you’ve done was whine.”

“Excuse me! I also worked hard tonight,” you scoffed, pushing your thighs close together, denying Zoro access to what he wanted most.

“Don’t be a tease,” he growled, sliding a calloused hand between your thighs. Zoro could effortlessly spread your legs faster than even you could open them, and both of you were aware of this. But what was the fun in just giving him what he wanted?

“Me? A tease? I think you’re just being a little unfair. You want a treat, so why can’t I also have one?”

“You’re really pushing my buttons here, babe.”

“I think you’ll get over it.”

“Fine,” he said, “you want a little reward, huh? Somethin’ sweet?”

Your legs were quickly pulled apart, Zoro’s hands quickly moving to cup your ass.

“Might as well get a little treat myself,” he hissed, yanking your panties down to your ankles.

“Wait!” you yelped, “take it slow!”

The pleas that left your lips fell on deaf ears as Zoro dove straight into his midnight snack, snaking his tongue across your folds and plunging it into your wet cunt. Your initial surprise wore off as soon as his tongue entered you, replaced with feelings of reluctant bliss and overpowering your other senses.

“So now the princess doesn’t want her reward?” he gasped, popping his mouth off your clit.

“S-Someone might hear us,” you sputtered, trying to not look at his mouth that was covered with your juices. 

“Oh, come on. You’ve been a real brat today, ya know?” he groaned, giving your ass a hard slap. “Don’t go soft on me now, I know you can take it.”

He went back to his mission, between your legs in order to devour your sweet pussy. Every lick he made caused you to yank your pelvis away, but his tight hold on your hips kept you from escaping grasp, leaving you a pathetic, squirming mess.

“Right there, baby,” you moaned, gripping his hair and yanking him closer, “don’t stop!” 

His hands moved in response to your request for more, sliding his rough hands up to your thighs and throwing them over his shoulders to delve deeper into your poor cunt.

It was overbearing, and you couldn’t decide which was worse—or in this case, better. The way he tongue-fucked you relentlessly, swirling around inside your walls, or the way he’d switch to sucking on your, now swollen, clit. All you could do was curl your toes and grasp at the sleeping bag beneath you, gasping for air as pleasure racked your body.

“Gonna cum, Zo!” you cried, crossing your legs tight around his head.

Zoro squeezed your thighs, lapping at your clit with his tongue as he sucked it for all it was worth, watching eagerly from below as you felt apart.

“Knew you could handle it, sweetheart,” he panted, giving your cunt one last lick before he easily escaped your weakened hold.

“W-What about yo-u!” you yelped as Zoro slapped your cunt, rising from his place beneath you.

“Believe me, I'll get my fill later," he grunted, bringing you up to lay against his chest, “we still have all of tomorrow, right?”

“I guess,” you mumbled, nuzzling into him and readjusting your clothes.

You looked up into the shimmering night sky, beholding the glittering stars above, scattered about their blackened canvas like grains of sand on a beach. 

"You know anything about stars, Zo?" you asked.

"Not a damn thing."

“Well, that one,” you pointed, “is Ursa Major.”

“Hm?” Zoro questioned, looking up in the direction you pointed. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right there! Those are the feet, and that’s the tail, and that little sticky-outy-bit is the head!”

“I guess I kinda see it.”

“And that one is Ursa Minor, with the big long tail.”

“The hell? Are constellations having babies now? Didn’t know stars could fuck.”

“Be more romantic, Zoro,” you begged.

“The sky is Nami’s thing,” he frowned, “I’m not interested unless there’s one that I can fight. Or one shaped like a sword.”

You crossed your arms and pouted, leaning further into his chest.

 “Well, aren’t the stars pretty, at least?”

“I guess,” he muttered, a grin rising to his face.zoro romance

“But I got the prettiest star of all, right?”

[canarycolemine]

The Cardinale

Pairing: Cardinal Terzo x Female Reader

Summary: Cardinal Terzo is one arragont motherfucker.

AO3 Link

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only. hate sex. lots of it. cardinal is a little cheeky piece of shit. WC 4.4k.

Heavily inspired by @mardyart's depiction of Cardi T. Such a phenomenal artist!

Cocky, arrogant, headstrong.

The third Emeritus brother, destined to become Papa one day, nepotism to the highest degree. His suave, angular face and his overly confident charms - how he assumes every Sister will fall into his bed.

How I despise him. How I hope to never fall under his gaze, never be subjected to his attention.

Imagine my rage when Sister Superior informed me that I, her star pupil, will be responsible for tutoring the bastard in English.

He was “reassigned” to the country-side Abbey after displaying what I can only imagine was simply inappropriate behavior for an upper clergy member. The man believes that he can seduce and bed any living thing! Perhaps it’s not a matter of belief, but a goal, rather. At his current pace, he will have had most of the Sisters in his bed before the year is up!

Watching him saunter through the halls, smoking his little cigarettes - inside! I always made a concerted effort to cough as I walked past, head held high. He would simply perish, it seems, if he did not attempt to woo a woman a day. Kissing their hands, wearing his stupid white gloves, and winking that shining white eye.

I love my Sisters, but please, have some self-respect.

Quite frankly, I’ve always been appalled by his behavior. He has never led an entire black mass by himself, needing his brothers to finish the job. There was even one instance where I could have sworn he had a sister hidden under the pulpit from where he stood, evidently having communion. No, Cardinal Terzo only ever wanted to lead the rituals - the demon and ghoul summonings (he needs new things to fuck), the mystic elements (anything he can light on fire), and of course, orgies. (duh!).

It was early fall when Sister Superior invited me to her office. I was promised tea; secretly, I had hoped she would invite me to teach a seminar or two over the semester. My lecture series on the invocation of Lilith and Samuel could rival even the Dark One’s knowledge, himself!

But, no.

“The Cardinal is in desperate need of more restraint, and he could benefit from a more rigorous understanding of the English language. He prefers to speak in his mother tongue, and truthfully, it is not accommodating to international chapters.” Superior started, my ears perked at the mention of my personal enemy. I brought the steaming cup to my mouth. “I could think of none other to teach him all of these skills rather than you, Sister.”

I could hardly register the hind notes of the tea before it went straight through my nose, burning the whole way up! I coughed and sputtered the hot liquid at the shock of my assignment.

Still catching my breath, “My apologies, Sister, but… why me?”

“Give yourself credit, Sister. You are a star pupil!” A shine in her eyes, a smirk in her mouth let me know two things - she meant what she said and there was another reason, too.

My eyes narrowed, seeking the answers in her eyes.

“And you’re the only student that the Cardinal has not gotten to know… intimately.” Her lips pursed, looking towards the ground.

“Sister Superior…” I started, not above begging.

“Sister, I will make it worth your while. I will make sure you have your lecture series as a mandatory presentation for all first-year novicates.” A smile crossed my face, but dropped; still, the deal was unsatisfactory.

I sat up a little straighter, now making a dare. “And, no kitchen duty for the entirety of his lessons.” I hated the kitchens. Everything I’ve ever made was burnt to a crispr, so I’ve always been delegated to cleaning the dishes - the worst thing in the world.

She nodded, “That can be arranged.”

I smiled, relaxing a little, but how it only lasted so long. Resigned to my fate, I was excused to prepare for my lesson with the Cardinal this Tuesday.

A pause from my duties was provided in anticipation - he needed to be assessed for his English skills - grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation. From my understanding, he had a functional grasp on the language. But I did not really know.

Truth be told, I have never spoken even a word to the Cardinal - always avoiding him, always souring my face when his eyes gazed at me. I wanted to be wholly unappealing to the man. For the most part, he had taken the hint and left me alone. Although, I could have sworn he said something in Italian as I walked past, something like “how I want to be the stick up her…” I didn’t inquire further.

By Lucifer’s grace, I had successfully avoided him. Until the sunset on the second day of the week, when our paths collide.

I arrived at our designated location - one of the older classrooms, repurposed for private studying, long abandoned by the day. Thirty minutes early to the beginning of the lesson, how I tidied our space, laid the materials out and cleaned the chalkboard.

The hanging wall clock, the ever present heartbeat, kept steady. It was almost unnerving, as if keeping me in tempo with the eventual encounter with the asshole. The old bell tower clock rang out 6 times.

And the aforementioned asshole was not here. The door was unlocked, the sun firmly setting. My lips tightened to a pout. I will give him five minutes - no more.

Electing to sit in one of the old desks I rearranged, I pulled out a trusty book, as I had anticipated his tardiness.

Some twenty odd pages in, and I had lost track of time entirely - forgotten the reason I was in this dusty room. The bastard didn’t even show up, easily thirty minutes late! Quite frankly, it was embarrassing that I managed to stay this long. But now, I elected to start the process of cleaning my things.

In the morning, I planned to tell Sister Superior that I will simply not take the Cardinal as a student, he had no respect for my time. Future Papa or not, not enough breaths on this Earth could be spared for a man with little regard for others.

I managed to talk myself through this script as I cleaned up my belongings, nearly whispering her retorts back. But I would not be deterred! Lost in the monologue, I heard a hoard of boys giggling, getting closer to the door.

No, no. It could not be.

The door opened, the raven haired cardinal stumbled in - his pack of brothers falling behind him. Laughing at some lewd joke, no doubt. He turned to look at me, suddenly stiffening his posture. The smug smile falling from his face. He offered some excuse to the men behind him, closing the door to the two of us. He leaned against the old door frame, creaking under his weight. As if that would make him look cooler. The black cassock he preferred was immaculately ironed - surely not by his own hands. Maybe he was screwing the laundry girls.

I tried hard to keep my gaze away from him. My rage and my pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Scusa sorella, I, eh, lost the time.” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders. His voice was rich with his mother tongue.

“Well, Cardinal, I won’t keep you long, then. Our lesson is canceled.” I coldly retorted.

“Che cosa?”

“Canceled, cardinal.” I spat back, lifting my book and walking towards him. “You were late.”

“But I am here now, no?” That white eye twinkled - a charm that assuredly got him into many sisters’ beds.

“And I have been here, Cardinal. For thirty minutes past our scheduled time. Either your watch is broken or you have so little regard for others that time is no object to you?” I said, every syllable articulated, glaring at him.

His eyebrow quirked, a challenge, he supposed. A grin crossed his face, a chuckle that died in his throat.

“It really is you, eh sister?”

“What?” I shot back, whatever could he mean by that?

“You - you,” he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one to his lips, lighting it, and puffing the smoke away from us, “I thought my school would be with you. You are the sister that always walks with a stick up her ass.”

I made a pointed effort to cough at his smoke.

“Some of us have priorities besides fucking an entire congregation, Cardinal.”

“Am I really so evil, Sorella?” he feigned offense, the cigarette affecting his enunciation. Removing from his lips, another puff. “To celebrate our eh, how do you say, istinti?”

“Instincts.” I corrected.

“Ah, si, instincts. That is why we are here, no? Our Lord calls us to do just that.”

“You’ve got quite the head start on the sin of lust, Cardinal, I don’t think you could ever live long enough to dedicate your life to such… dedicated studies of the other sins.”

“It is my favorite.” His white gloves took the cigarette from his mouth, curling it between his fingers, before dropping it to the ground to extinguish the flame. His shoes shined brilliantly, even I could admit, but as I gazed at his shoes, I swore he winked at me through the reflection of his face.

“You really shouldn’t smoke, you know.”

“It is not good for me, this I know.” “I couldn’t care about what happens to you, the flame isn’t good for these old buildings. You’d burn down the whole abbey.”

“You say you don’t care about me sister.” He moved past me, further into the room, settling in one of the old teachers' desks. He kicked those expensive shoes onto the desk, relaxing back into the chair. “But I do not think that is so true.”

I faced him fully, still standing near the door. “I promise you, I do not.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, bringing his gloved hand to his mouth, running the fabric gently against his lower, unpainted lip. “No.” He said so sternly.

“What?”

“What?” he mocked me, a voice that was far too high pitched to be an imitation of me.

I let out an exasperated sigh, to which he laughed.

“Fuck you.” I went for my bag, still at the old desk.

“Do you want to know how I know this?” He said, staring at my rage.

“I doubt you ever shut up, so it doesn’t really matter what I want.”

“Sorella,” he sat up in the chair, his feet meeting the ground and his hands coming together on the desk. “We have not spoken any words to each other. But you hate me so much?”

I huffed. “You have no respect for anyone but yourself!” I could feel an all too familiar lump in my throat.

“How do you know this?” His patience now wearing thin, I could hear it.

“You walk around the abbey like you own the place. I get it, I know you’re the future Papa, but God damn it, you are so arrogant. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life! You think you can just fuck anyone and anything that walks through these doors. You’ve had everything handed to you by a silver spoon, and I hate it.”

My eyes watered, I couldn’t look at him. Whether from my rage or some secret hopes I had, I could feel the emotion.

“I’ve worked so fucking hard to get where I am, and I will never be anything close to you, just because you’re, fucking, you! And now, I have to waste my time teaching you English because you can’t stay focused for more than five seconds!”

My fist met the school table. His face leaned into his hands, thinking too carefully about the situation. His eyebrow quirked.

“... You are jealous of me, then?” He hid a smirk behind his hands.

I glared at him, how I wish my stare could kill.

“Fuck. You.”

“That does not sound like a no.” No effort in hiding his smirk now.

“Since when does ‘no’ matter to you?” I baited.

He feigned offense, yet again, bringing his hand to his chest. “Sorella, I am offended! I can promise you all of my sexual encounters have been enthusiastic by all parties. I would not dare to violate another!”

“What a well constructed sentence, Cardinal. It seems like you have no need for any help with the English language.”

“Ah, she has gotten me off of the topic…”

“All I had to do was talk about sex, so it wasn’t too hard, was it now?”

“No, no, no, we were talking about you, si! About how you are so jealous of me.” He ran that stupid fucking gloved hand through his hair, slicked with grease.

“Even now, you cannot say you are not jealous of me. Admit it.”

I paused. “So what?”

He clapped his hands, catching me apparently.

“She is! She is very jealous of my status and my future. But, I think she is jealous of not only me, no?” His tone shifted, in a direction I was not comfortable with.

“What?”

“She is also very jealous of all of the people that I get to fuck.” He punctuated the syllables far too clearly.

I huffed again, rolling my eyes. “There it is again. She does not say ‘no!’”

I hated how well he was reading me.

“Why do you even care? You fuck everything with a pulse, so why do you care?”

Fuck. I was not selling this very well. His gaze told me everything. The raised eyebrow, the smug pull of his painted lips.

He tilted his head, as if to study me further. I could feel myself recoil.

“You have done too much assuming, Sorella. About me, about yourself.”

He stood from the chair and stalked towards me. Instinctively, I crept back from him, nearing the wall for safety.

“You think I do not care about anyone but me, and that is not true. You think I abuse my future position, but that is not true either. And you think I fuck anything with a pulse.” He reached me, cornering me against the wall.

“And that,” he brought his finger to my chin, forcing my eyes to his, “is not true. I only fuck the pretty ones.”

Here is where I could be offended, he never fucked me. I thought that I was fairly pretty, so damn, that kinda hurt my feelings.

Sensing the monologue, “And you are a pretty one.” His painted lips gently touched mine.

God damn it. I hated how good that felt.

“So you see, sister, I knew you thought all of this.” His other hand reached for my waist, exploring the dip of my body. “I saw the way you scowled at me, pretending to hate me. It was all jealousy. But there is something about the way you hated me that pulled me so, so close. I needed to have you.”

“But how to get to you?” His hands reached for mine, holding them in place, behind my back.

“Who better to teach me restraint?” he purred.

“I act like an asshole for a while, speak in Italian with my friends. I get the attention of the Sister Superior, who will certainly demand I be subdued by studies.” His painted lips traveled a path along my jaw to my ear. “And who here have I not fucked?”

His teeth grazed my earlobe. “I could deceive the world for you.”

I bit my lip. His gaze returned to mine.

“Pretty good, no?”

“Pretending you’re stupid was a very believable act, apparently.” I mustered out, flustered as I was.

“Don’t deceive me now, Sorella.” His lips met mine again, pressing his forehead to mine. “There is one thing I need to hear you say.” His words left his mouth easily, but he was not unaffected. Just as flustered as I.

I huffed, pausing for only a moment.

“Si.”

His lips crashed to mine, with a fire that was barely restrained before. He released my hands from behind my back; his hands traveled to my hips, lifting me. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

We traveled through the room, locked in the heated kiss, when he sat me on the teacher’s desk.

“On the teacher’s desk?” I giggled, taking in the chosen location.

“It’s always been a fantasy.” He laughed back, then resumed his fury on my neck.

His large hands reached for my habit, pulling it off in a fell swoop. Evident of his experience, it hardly hurt. He pulled away from me, just gazing at me for a moment.

“Pretty one.” As if he didn’t know he said it.

Fuck.

I lead the charge back to his mouth, my hands now locking into his raven locks. The diligent work of unbuttoning that goddamn stupid black cassock. I gave it my best shot. My hands kept slipping on the buttons, struggling to unhook them. He chuckled from our kiss, removing my hands from him.

“Having trouble, darling? It’s always difficult.” His gloved hands made the show unbuttoning each cotton button - traveling down in body in quite the show.

Once to the bottom, he stepped out of the garment and removed his crisp white undershirt. I was out of my body, unaware of how I looked as I looked at him. Each new sight of his skin lit a fire in me. He was as slender as I thought he would be, well defined, certainly. A healthy patch of hair on his chest - he was certainly Italian.

A glance to his eyes knew how I enjoyed his spectacle.

Cocky, arrogant, and headstrong was the Cardinale.

“Your turn.”

He came back to my neck, teasing the delicate flesh. The first moan slipped from my lips as he sucked the skin purple.

“Good girl.” He purred. He lifted my habit from my legs, over my head, leaving me in my undergarments. Pausing his efforts to take in my form. A glance in his eyes - like my body was a feast for his soul. Another look at my undergarments, “Matching?” in reference to the black bra and panties I was sporting.

Guilty.

He leaned closer to me, resting an arm on the table. Teasingly, looking into me.

“Women match when they are planning to be fucked.” My eyes turned from his, embarrassing me again. His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Was there someone else, Sorella?”

I opened my mouth, but the words failed me.

“No.” He answered for me, feigning sympathy. “There wasn’t, was there?”

My mouth hung open, but I couldn’t admit it.

“Say it, then.”

Bastard.

“Say it, pretty one, I do not have all night.” His voice nearly sang.

The fire his was stroking in me burned, “I need you to fuck me.” I whined, my eyes nearly starting to water.

His hand, holding my gaze, went to my shoulder, forcing me to lay on the old, creaking desk. Quickly, he made work removing my bra. Adoringly, he stared at the exposed skin.

Wordlessly, he painted my breasts with his lips. As his lips latched around my nipple, I whimpered, already so sensitive. His other hand toyed with the opposite breast, kneading the flesh. As his teeth grazed the delicate flesh, he nearly pinched the opposite.

Another gasp escaped.

“She likes it when it hurts?”

Obviously. I fucking hated him so much.

He mirrored his actions on the opposite breasts before trailing his kisses further down my torso. Nipping at the skin, kissing it, dragging his tongue.

He left a particularly gentle kiss below my navel, as he gazed back at me. Wordlessly asking.

I nodded.

He hooked his hands to the elastic of the lacy panties, dragging them off of my legs in a well-practiced motion.

“Spread your legs.” I obliged, as he pulled the teacher’s chair to sit in between my legs.

His gaze never left my core, which he could see how he affected me. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders, granting a better view. Biting the fingers of his gloves, removing them. Gently working the muscle of my inner thighs, unconsciously creeping higher.

Reaching my core, his uncovered hands spread me open further to him. He gazed reverently.

“Pretty, pretty girl.” He stroked my slit delicately, I shivered and whined at the feeling. “Such a pretty girl.”

He brought his face close, kissing my mound and licking the slit all the way up. He left gentle kisses onto my already sensitive clit, dying for attention. He latched his lips around the bud, suckling softly.

As his tongue flicked my clit, I bucked my hips into his mouth, firming my grip in his hair.

He unlatched to drag his tongue, flattened, up and down my core. His tongue prodded at my entrance, lapping at my slick. His fingers moved towards my center, replacing his mouth, pressing into me.

One finger - pumping slowly into me - adjusting the feeling. Adding another one, stretching slightly. His eyes studied my face for discomfort. Once I adjusted, his divine mouth returned to my clit, alternating between kissing and suckling. His fingers curled into me, searching. When they found the spongy tissue inside, the moans fell easily. Begging him. He teased the spot, expertly. Pressing into it with each pump, as he sucked on my clit.

“Cardinal-” I started. “I’m getting - close” I managed to get out.

I could feel a smile on his lips as he continued, speeding his actions.

The band in my stomach was burning, stretching, white hot. At the precipice, as my cries started to build.

When suddenly he stopped. Sitting back, removing his mouth and fingers from me.

I shuddered at the loss of sensation, being so close. I sat up slightly to look at him.

The fucker was wiping my slick from his chin, licking his fingers clean.

Apparently, my face told him how close I was, how it was moments away.

“I wanted to feel it on my cock, darling.” His eyebrow raised. “Plus, it feels better when you ruin it a little bit.”

A fight was breaking in my head, an internal debate I was having with him.

His belt jingled, his pants being slid down and discarded. Left in pristine white boxers, which he lowered. His cock sprang free, dripping with his precum.

“I could have came just from tasting you, you know?” as he began languidly stroking himself, using himself to lubricate the movements. “All of your little sounds, they sounded so sweet. And you were oh so close, weren’t you?”

His teasing was back, his hand sped up, only to build himself up more. I whined.

“Just think. Even an hour ago, you were cursing my name, wanting me dead. Look at you now - begging for my cock.”

He pressed his cock into my core, rubbing the reddened head onto my clit. A guttural noise fell from me. An animalistic cry.

“She was so jealous of me, too. And now all she wants to be is fucked by me. Maybe she’ll die if she doesn’t get it, what do you think?”

“Please, Terzo.” “Oh, using my name now? What happened to ‘asshole?’” His voice cracked, unaffected by his own need.

“Please fuck me.” I cried out, a tear falling from my eye.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Tumbling out.

On command, he aligned himself and pressed into my dripping heat. Feeling every inch of my warmth, he shuddered and groaned.

“So, so good” he whispered.

He filled me exquisitely, pressing in carefully, allowing me to adjust. My nails marked his back, savoring every inch.

His hips finally met mine, I swore I could feel him in my stomach. He let out a breath, unsteadied from restraint.

“Don’t have that restraint now, Cardinal.” I teased. “Move.”

A low groan from him, as his hips rolled, moving back. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don't.”

“Try your worst.”

He slammed forward again, now setting a punishing pace. Feeling the drag of his cock on my walls, I whined. His hands tilted my hips further up, angling to my sweet spot. I gasped at the pressure. It was returning - the precipice. He couldn’t rob me a second time.

“Perhaps, sorella, it is you who needs a lesson, eh?” He nearly coughed through, maintaining his pace. “I could teach you something.”

His hand moved towards we were joined, circling my clit. It was becoming too much - the sweet pressure of him inside and now his devious fingers.

His fingers moved quickly on my clit, building the fire again. My moans telling him it all. As if in perfect rhythm, his pistoning hips and circling fingers.

“Let’s countdown, darling. In Italian.”

His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze. He nodded, as if to reassert his power. “It goes…dieci, nove…”

The fire was reaching a breaking point, I knew what he was doing now. His fingers still moved with a steady speed.

“Otto, sette, sei…”

“...Terzo…” I whined.

“Cinque, quattro, tre…”

“I’m gonna…”

“Due, uno.”

The waves of pleasure crashed down on me, my legs shaking. My vision blurry, white hot. His hips stuttered, as I felt him swell inside, riding out my pleasure. Milking him for all he had. The course of our cries rang in the old room. His fingers didn’t stop until I whined with oversensitivity, his spend leaking from me.

He stayed inside, pressing his full weight onto me.

We held each other in an embrace, coming down from divinity. Our breaths in sync, slowing down.

My breath nearly returned to me as I came to, laughing with what air I had.

“What’s so funny?” His smirk shined with a warmth I had not seen before.

“A countdown to my orgasm. Cheeky.”

He laughed. “It worked, eh?”

“Don’t be too full of yourself.”

“I cannot, you are full of me.”

“Ew! Don’t say it like that, dumbass.”

“There is the girl that hates me. I missed her.” He gazed at me, smiling more softly now, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. Holding my face in his hand, so gently. He placed the last soft his to my lips.

“And I’ll never stop hating you, Cardinal.”

“So be it, but it has worked out well for me so far, huh?”

Bastard.

[junggunz]

tape it slow ft. eli jang | 🔞

summary: eli doesn't like that there have been rumors of you collabing with another streamer on the adult site the two of you are popular on. so, before that newbie can lay a finger on you, he takes matters into his own hands. cw: fembodied reader, established relationship, SMUT, camboy!au eli, camgirl!reader, literal crumb of plot (it's in the same universe as camboy!goo LOL), oral (f and m receiving), simulated voyeurism (reader and eli are both aware they're being filmed), p in v, wc: 2.9k an: 69ing with eli has now been checked off the to do list uwu.

Eli doesn’t like to think he’s in competition with any of the other male streamers on the platform even if the viewers see it that way. He knows that there’s no one quite like him. If he was another generic pretty face, he wouldn’t have so many fans flocking to the adult site, making accounts and paying a monthly subscription solely to see more of him. He has nothing to prove to anyone so there’s no use flaunting and being boisterous about how much money he makes; especially when haters lurk around the corner, ready to throw it back in his face that he’s a father and engaging in “immoral” behavior just to make money is shameful. Nothing really phases him in this field of work after doing it for so long.

However, what does manage to get under Eli’s skin is that the top cam model on the site had expressed interest in working with someone other than him. 

A harmless crush had led to him popping into your streams. Watching your streams led to him leaving the occasional message in your chat, often getting lost in the thirsty comments made by your fans. Then by stroke of luck, his messages being noticed by you would lead to messaging each other in private and speaking often. In his mind, Eli had done everything right— he was kind and courteous to you with no ulterior motives, your friendship progressed organically and he never asked you to promote his channel or even watch his streams. He thought by now, the two of you would discuss doing some sort of collaboration on content since the two of you were in the same tier of popularity. Alas, he heard through the grapevine that a certain blond, novice streamer would beat him to the punch. 

Eli could admit to himself that he may have been in the wrong for assuming that you’d want to work with him and feeling entitled to it, but based on the playful borderline amorous conversations he would have with you, he figured there was some sort of mutual spark between the two of you. Wanting to get to the bottom of things, as soon as he heard the rumors of your upcoming collab, he called you. 

“Hey, Eli. How are you? I was just-” Your voice is cheery when you answered his call; more proof that you do like him along with the fact you had answered on the first ring. But he wasn’t seeking any more validation.

“How come you never asked to collab with me?” Eli questioned immediately, his voice calm and even; genuinely curious about why he wasn’t on your radar. 

From your end of the line, he could  hear you do that little laugh you do in your streams. The laugh when a viewer asks a question that’s a little too personal or out of pocket. He could practically envision the small lopsided smile of amusement on your face and the way you shift in your seat awkwardly in these types of situations. 

“I wanted to work with you for a long time, honestly. Like, even before we started talking…” You started off gently, your tone of voice eerily reminding him of all the times he’s faced rejection. “It’s just that you have really scary fangirls.” You let out another sweet sounding laugh before going into a long tangent about what you’ve seen his fans say online but at that point, Eli’s mind went blank.

So, he was never the issue, his fans were. That puts things into perspective for him 

“If I told you that you wouldn’t have to worry about my fans, would you want to work together?”

After making the suggestion, Eli explained the idea he hatched and much to his delight, you’re just as elated as he is to finally see each other in person. 

All he had to do was wait for the day to come.

When the day finally comes, it’s like a normal outing between friends—you talk, you go out for a light meal and some drinks then return to his place to speak in a more private setting— there’s just one thing that’s different. Your time together is being not-so secretly filmed. 

Eli had pitched the idea of emulating one of those voyeuristic secret camera pornos to you. As much as he hated the idea of filming someone without their consent, the genre was insanely popular. He wouldn’t have to stress about perfect camera set up and getting into sex positions where he could keep the camera steady. There was no need to fuss about professional lighting and quality editing. And most importantly, he wouldn’t have to name drop you to ensure it was a hit.

He knew that the idea was a good one but to hear you tell him how great it was gave him the extra confidence boost needed to perform.  

You sit on the edge of Eli’s bed, shyly and totally unaware of the hidden cameras placed around his room facing your direction. Effectively selling the idea of a first date Eli’s hand rests on your thigh while the two of you idly chatter, his fingers dancing along the hem of your skirt. The shy giggles and the warm flush that heats up your neck and face are all genuine reactions to his touch. He’s so nonchalantly speaking to you about normal things while his hand gets bolder, venturing under your skirt and groping your inner thigh. Goosebumps rise along your skin as his fingers spider higher and higher; not even realizing his face was getting closer until you feel his lips on yours.   

 The intensity he kisses you with makes your mind go blank and your body is on autopilot, letting him guide you and maneuver you as he pleases. So pliant and willing, Eli briefly wonders if the role of being submissive is what comes natural to you or if you’re just really good at acting. Once the short lived thought passes, what’s at the forefront of his mind is getting between your legs and seeing if your lips down there were as soft and sweet as the lips on your face. 

Though you didn’t put up much of a fuss when Eli was making out with you and coaxing you out of your clothes while feeling you up, when you notice his kisses moving lower and lower, you grab him by the shoulders to hold him in place. Before he can get out the words to ask you what was wrong, you’re nonverbally instructing him to lay on his back.  Once in position, you shimmy out of your panties then climb on top of him; letting him get up close and personal with the treasure between your legs while you face the boxer clad length twitching beneath its confines. 

Just seeing the outline of him through the tight briefs had your mouth salivating—almost as if your body knew that you would need the extra lubrication to welcome his size into your throat. When you finally unveil his cock, you audibly gasp. Realizing he rivaled one of your biggest toys, any shred of confidence you had flies out the window. Alas, faking it was a big part of the porn industry and today you would have to pretend that you weren’t worried about his dick making you tap out before you even started. 

The moment you reach to grab the base of his shaft, Eli takes this as the green light to dive right into you. As soon as you had put that pussy in his face, he was dying to get a taste. The minute you took to strip him out of his boxers and brace yourself for his cock had felt like forever in his mind.  After months of watching you on cam, seeing you, feeling you and finally tasting you in person was well worth the wait. Tongue dragging languidly from your clit to your fluttering hole, he laps up all the honey leaking out of you; his taste buds going into overdrive as he tries to decipher the complex taste of your arousal. 

More vocal than you expected as he eats you out, it’s hard to focus on trying to get Eli’s cock thoroughly coated in your spit to prep him for your throat when you hear the raspy grunts falling past his lips. With each swipe of his tongue against your folds, his length pulses beneath your palm. With his hands played on the back of your thighs, he keeps you nice and spread open for him, kissing and practically making out with your dripping cunt then transitioning into hungry suckles and slurps.  Every time he buries his face in your wetness, his nose brushes against your folds in the most salacious manner causing sweet whines and whimpers of his name to fall past your lips.

“Oh my god, Eli—” You pant, trying to claw your way out of the thick haze clouding your mind so you could finally return the favor and give him some pleasure too. Even if he seemed so pussy drunk already, his tongue totally feral as it tasted you inside and out.

Your moans had escalated in volume so much, it was enough to snap you out of your lewd reveries of how hot Eli must have looked while he ate you out so ferociously. Swallowing thickly as you eye his cock, you finally get enough courage to put your mouth on him. Carefully swirling your tongue along his tip, you take more and more into your mouth. Saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth as you finally have him filling the warm orifice. The tip of his cock is nicely embedded in the back of your throat by the time you take all of him; every single miniscule vibration from the little moans you make as he continues to feast on your pussy going straight to his dick. 

Licking long stripes along the length of his shaft while gradually bobbing your head along him faster, it’s hard to tell who’s making more noise. Slobbering all over his length, creating a vacuum like suction on his cock with muffled moans reverberating in your chest, you’re the farthest thing from silent. And Eli is in a similar predicament, shamelessly groaning into your cunt as he gets lost in his own pleasure created by the mere act of tasting you while you suck him off. Quite honestly, he was content in this position. He could die happily between your plush thighs. Though he didn’t want to think about this encounter ending, Eli knew that the warmth of your pussy on his tongue was something he would fantasize about for ages. 

And when the ministrations of his tongue prove to be too much and you involuntarily cum all over his face, he thanks the heavens that this intimate moment was being documented. The way your body quivers on top of his to you letting out the whiniest garbled moans along his cock as you had tried to hold off your climax. It was all so precious. But you cumming on his face once wouldn’t stop him. He continues to lap at your cunt, licking up the remains of your orgasm even as your hips buck and try to escape him due to your sensitivity. 

Whether the tears pricking your eyes were the result of your intense finish or from Eli’s cock nudging your gag reflex every so often, your vision is blurred and vivid colors dance behind your eyelids as you try to blink away the stray tears. It seems to bother you more so than Eli as you release his cock from the warmth of your mouth since he was still happily lapping at your pussy, your breathing comes out ragged. Just as you feared, you had broken down before you made him cum in your mouth. But you were so far gone, the little pity party you have for yourself doesn’t last long before you’re begging to be released from the intense lashings of Eli’s tongue. 

“I can’t take it anymore.” You say, voice coming out slightly hoarse. “Need you inside.” 

With the way his cock twitches at the sound of your words, you thought he would heed to your desires immediately. However, you had severely estimated how much Eli liked eating you out. 

“You don’t wanna cum on my face one more time?” He coos gently, his hand trailing from your thigh to rub at your throbbing pussy when he takes his mouth off you. “You made me wait so long. The least you can do is let me taste more of this pussy.”

How easily he speaks those lewd words sends shivers down your spine and your hole is fluttering in desire, aching to be filled. When he speaks that seductively to you, you almost feel bad for rejecting his wishes. 

“Eli, you can have that next time. I need you to fuck me now.” You state in the firmest tone you could, trying to not let your voice waver when you feel the pads of his fingers grazing your clit. 

The mention of there being a next time seems to be what causes Eli to relent before he gently pats your butt, signaling that it was time to change positions.

Finding yourself on your back with Eli towering above you and licking the clear gloss of arousal that lingered on his lips as he took in your current state. Hair disheveled. Skin shining with a light layer of perspiration. Twitching inner thighs decorated your own arousal. It was so enticing and it was even more satisfying knowing that he was the one who got you like this. 

“So pretty,” He muses, mostly to himself before taking hold of your thighs and pushing them to your chest so he could get a better look at your pussy once again. 

Eli’s cock is hard and heavy against your folds when he moves closer, letting his shaft glide along your arousal. You shiver every time he grazes your clit, unable to stay still until you feel his tip teasing your entrance. Freezing up, just the mere sensation of the head breaching the tight ring of muscle has you consumed with anticipation. Were you scared of him splitting you in half with his massive cock? Perhaps just a little. But what really had you nervous was how quick he could probably make you cum because of how sensitive you were from orgasming on his tongue. 

“How do you like it? Gentle? Rough? Fast or slow?” He asks you softly, his voice full of warmth and giving you a strange sense of comfort that pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“Be gentle first.” You respond in a coy manner, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck and fanning across your face. 

Leaning in to give you a quick reassuring kiss on the forehead, Eli slowly eases his cock into you; eyes trained on your face to see your reaction as he feeds you each thick inch of his shaft. You’re so shy and cute to him with the way you avoid his gaze, opting to gawk at your point of connection. Jaw hung open in a silent moan, you watch his length burrowing deeper into your warmth. It’s a mostly pleasurable stretch until he bottoms out and you tense up from a sudden sprinkling of pain you recognize as the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Your thighs want to lock up around him but he holds your legs firmly against your chest, keeping you spread open for him to devour with his eyes. 

Hips pulling back, the pain fades just as suddenly as it had come and he rocks into your heat slow and sensually, causing both of you to let out harmonious moans together. By the time Eli develops a consistent, slow and steady pace, you feel more than confident being able to take something more exhilarating but the mere feeling of having him rubbing up against all the good spots within you leaves you speechless. He’s putting in so little effort and all of these salacious noises are leaving you. 

Finally brave enough to make eye contact with him, the arduous flames of desire dancing behind Eli’s pupils sends a shiver down your spine as you look at him with an equally needy expression that piques his interest; his lips curling into a pleased smirk.

“Want me to fuck you harder now, baby?” He asks in a saccharine tone, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Wanna find out what you’ve been missing out on?” 

You nod eagerly, the verbal response you had rehearsed in your head several times over dying on your tongue when he shifts the angle of his thrusts and the head of his cock makes contact with the sweet spot nestled in your gummy walls.

“You’re a big girl. You can use your words to beg me.” Eli tells you, smirk growing wider and his eyes growing darker when he sees the look of shock wash over your face as he keeps stimulating your sensitive area and hearing your own moans keep cutting off what he assumes are the beginnings of your sentences.  

Eli had patiently waited for his time with you. The last thing he wanted was the night to end too soon. Seeing how speechless he made you, it'd probably be a while before you were able to find enough mental clarity to get your words out. And even if it meant having to spend hours cutting down and editing the footage he recorded with you; you were definitely worth the time and effort to him.

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐈.]

summary: “When the end comes, turn me into stardust, Dream Lord.”

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: thank you so much to everyone for your warm feedback on part 1 & enjoy!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART TWO: YEAR 200-300

“That’s eerie, Dream.”

“When finished, they will be a nightmare.”

He does that often. Speak as if certain things should be obvious. You’ve learned by now he’s not being patronising. Dream is simply ancient. These things are apparent to him. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he, himself, forgets you’re a human who—even with such long existence—still understands scarce little about this universe. 

“Yeah, but teeth for eyes?” you pose, circling. Blackened beach sand crunches beneath your soles. The only sound in the otherwise remote landscape. “Pretty sure that would make anyone cry and run. Do the teeth chatter? Will they? You see them coming because the quiet chatter gives them away. Chomp, chomp.”

A laugh tickles from your chest, saturating the air. Dream peers in your direction from the corner of his eye, permitting the moment of blitheness. Perhaps he noticed the exhausted creases around your eyes or the listless way you followed after him when he informed you he planned to spend the afternoon crafting new dreams and nightmares. A long, painful journey to return here now lies behind you.

“Nightmares are mirrors,” Dream rumbles, his head slanting as he examines the barebone frame of the soon-to-be nightmare. “They are as necessary as dreams. They challenge and reveal. They’re lessons in bravery and vulnerability.”

You settle beside him, eyeing the teeth and the subtle horror woven into being right before you. “So you prefer creating nightmares over dreams?”

Does that then indicate he prefers being the King of Nightmare Realms to being the Dream King? 

“I have no preference.” No hitch in pitch, but after two hundred and forty years, you know better than to hope you can unravel a tell so effortlessly. Instead, you seek his face, that piercing stare, crafting even while he speaks. Raw creation, supercharging the air with energy you’re still too young, too novice in your existence, to fully comprehend—he’s endless, pouring from himself into the universe, and you’re a lone atom held in his gravity. “The Dreaming, the waking world, dreams and nightmares. Everything is a scale. I merely balance it.”

You ghost your palm over the nightmare’s shell, your head lowering. An odd, pained smile twists your mouth, tilting downward soon after.

“We must be nothing to you,” you whisper in pained realisation, avoiding looking his way. “We’re so tiny that you don’t even see us. We die in a blink for you, and ten more take our place in a breath.”

How could anyone hold his attention? It’s no wonder Dream is so closed-off, so wrapped up in his duty and rules, in his seclusion. 

His hand appears in your peripheral, grazing over the empty shell, matter sewing itself together where his pale fingers travel. Dream Lord doesn’t look your way, nor you his when he speaks: 

“On the contrary, Wanderer, I see you perfectly well.”

.

Your feet shuffle. Dream slants his body in your direction, no more than lackadaisical observation, and you scowl at him. 

"I'm not nervous." You've repeated the affirmation several times now but to no avail. Dream Lord appears no less convinced by your words despite how adamant you've been. Heaving the deepest sigh you can muster up, you let your shoulders droop. "Okay, fine. I'm nervous. I know you said as long as you're here, your guests can't be harmed, but I'm about to see two gods meet."

This time, Dream turns his entirely in your direction. Around you, Dream’s subjects bustle in preparation. It’s not every day another Endless visits the Dreaming. It’s all exceedingly formal and showy, more human than you might have expected, and it worries you because you’re not a subject under Dream’s protection. You’re a stray, a bad omen, and it’s discomforting to be in the presence of beings that make you feel abhorrent in your own skin. 

"I am not God. I'm the Endless." Dream's dark hair hangs over his forehead, almost covering his eyes, his words pitched low; each one reverberates against your spine with a thrum. "We are older than your gods. We were birthed with this universe, and we'll be the last beings when the universe goes silent. You perceive me as a man of flesh and blood, but it is not so rudimentary, Wanderer. My siblings and I exist outside the bounds of your human comprehension." 

You ruminate over his words, picking each one apart in your mind. A realisation settles in your chest, one that leaves you frowning and sad. “So one day you’ll be the last?”

“Death will be the last,” Dream replies. You get a distinct impression that he’s not concerned about such a thing or that he, too, may cease to exist one day. “When we are gone, she will kiss this universe to sleep.”

She will kiss this universe to sleep. You've run into Death occasionally, but you silently agree. She's kind enough to love a dead universe as much as one overflowing with life. 

“Can I ask for a favour if I’m still around?” Your own voice has lowered as well. Pale purple light from the glass-stained windows inside the throne room washes over Dream Lord’s sharp features when he glances your way. Silent and patient. “When the end comes, turn me into stardust, Dream Lord.”

Dream is unmoving beside you. “Stardust?” he echoes softly. 

“Yeah,” you say with a crooked grin. “That way, I’ll be free for all eternity.”

.

“You think me callous.”

Direct much?

Stride rigid and jaw tense, you mutter a quiet, “No, I didn’t say that.”

Dream keeps pace easily, seemingly half morphing into the ground, gliding along as his black coat flutters behind him. “You do not need to.”

Can a cursed human be cursed again? Surely giving him a rude gesture would result in something similar. 

The castle entrance looms ahead, and you step outside, fresh wildflowers and cotton candy air expanding your lungs. Gates of Horn and Ivory loom on the distant horizon, dreams and nightmares weaving around the portals to the mortal lands. Gatekeepers loom above the castle, watchfully guarding the heart of the Dreaming. For once, the magnificence of Dream's kingdom does little to quell your ire.

You halt, pivoting sharply on your heels to face him. Several dreams scuttle from sight when they spot you and Dream together. It’s sad that they skitter away, fearful of overstepping a line Dream never permits them to tread.  

“I just think…” You chew on your tongue, fading off. Inhaling deeply, you hold it in your lungs, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He appears more caught off guard by your reluctant mutter, by your backing down, where you would usually shout your thoughts, than anything else. 

“You refuse to speak your mind?” he wonders.

He really doesn’t see it. This realm craves his love, attention, and approval, yet he’s so cold to them. It’s not from disinterest or insensitivity, but there’s such a yawning distance between him and the creatures inhabiting the Dreaming. It’s painful as it is frustrating. It’s not your business. You learned with swift brutality what happens when you try to meddle and force your misplaced wisdom onto others. Nothing good. Your bruised body and soul are a testament to that. 

Losing this, losing the Dreaming, would break you. It’s the only place you’ve ever felt safe in. The only place where your scars throb less and doubts flee your mind—a place where you can rest and not fear for yourself. 

“This is your domain,” you acknowledge. “You let me drop by, and I love the Dreaming. It’s… it’s very dear to me. Lucienne, Merv, Abel and Cain, and yes, even you. I don’t want to lose that because I said something you don’t like to hear.”

It’s stupid. You’re so stupid. Your words taste juvenile and fatuous. Why would an Endless care for what you think? What are you but bones to him? Another soul worn down by the weight on your shoulders. 

Dream takes a single stride closer, and the infinity flows with him. Perpetually grave, potent with his calm presence—he’s suffocating, he’s so stupid, he’s magnificent. “I invite honesty.”

You’re not sure whether to cry or laugh. “Do you?”

Something more honed shapes Dream’s face, neutralising his previous focus and reshaping it into something venerable and all-powerful despite his outward neutrality. You nape tingles. “Your meaning?”

“Oh, as if you don’t know,” you scoff under your breath, marching away from him, your shoulders bunching up again. “Corinthian may be dangerous, but wanting freedom is not a crime. If you just talked with him openly—”

Dream’s voice is a powerful rasp behind you. “That is not his function.”

No change in his intonation, but the ground beneath your feet seems to tremble. Your knees lock momentarily. You refuse to let him see the falter, forcing yourself to keep moving, away, better that than a fight—

Maybe you're foolhardy, or possibly because you were there when Dream created Corinthian, but you can't stand down. You're still awfully and unashamedly human despite Dream's numerous hints that it's ebbing from you, that beating human heart. 

You’re halfway across the stone bridge leading to and fro the castle when you draw to another stop. 

“You’re right. It isn’t.” Your words come out subdued, each word slipping with an imploring edge. “But it doesn’t mean he, or anyone else, is wrong for wanting to be free.”

Turning, you risk a step closer, then another, continuing gently, “You told me decades ago that you see me. But do you really, Dream? You love them, but you don’t see them. Not really. You created them. To them, you’re everything, but you don’t try to understand their wishes or fears. Because understanding them means letting them close.”

The ruby around his neck glows faintly. You’re not sure what it means, if anything. “You speak of… empathy.”

You exhale. “Yes.” 

A flicker sparks and flees from his gaze, leaving that stony composure behind. He leans slightly closer as if he’s about to share a great secret with you. 

“I’m neither man nor God, Wanderer.” Silky, composed reminder. “I’m not here to be cruel nor kind. I simply am. And you will do well to remember the difference.”

His coat rustles, phantom feathers fissling through the air, and then he’s gone.

Your head lifts towards the sky. Sunny, blue expanse moments prior has been replaced by heavy, low-hanging clouds. Bruised purple, swollen, and above else, you infer distantly, lonely. 

.

He began with the first dream. 

For Morpheus, the universe was once a cold, desolate, ravenous void bar his family. Then came dreams. His duty, a shining purpose, and with it, sense. Belonging. An endless stream of human consciousness resting curled in his hands. Warm and purring, a living feline, coiling and expanding, and to contain it, to nurture it, he built a kingdom. The waking world has grown with age. Mortals have come far since the First People, gaining speed with their innovation, compelled forth by their sheer, unbridled imagination. 

Stumbling and young, concerned with their short lives. 

Well, not all of them. 

He’s on his throne, Lucienne reading updates from the dossier, her voice smooth and firm, when he senses it. A ripple in the Dreaming. The fabric—sand, rocks, trees, air, and water—forming his realm, loosening to make an entrance. What once felt so wrong three hundred years ago is now familiar and anticipated. 

Wanderer. 

You had not visited in five years after your last dissent. With time you will view the cosmos in similar light he does. He is certain. This return is but proof. The curse will drag you through the ages, and fragments already lost after three hundred years will only increase in volume. Order is what keeps the universe turning and its inhabitants breathing. Everything in this vast cosmos has a purpose, especially for him and his own. 

There’s a crackling zap in the air. Morpheus gets a lungful of the sheer power output that is you dragging from one place in the boundless universe to another, then stillness. 

Coruscate light from glass-stained windows behind his throne illuminates your frame, several paces away from where Lucienne stands. 

His librarian’s quiet gasp alerts Morpheus that something is terribly wrong. 

He stretches to his full height. Your grin is lopsided; warm, lips wobbling, stained with black liquid, not blood. 

“Hey, Dream.”

Duller, unfailingly affectionate but disturbingly scratchy with pain. 

The Dreaming contorts around him viciously, and he’s at the bottom of the dais in a single step. Just as you tip forward, collapsing right into him. 

an: hope you enjoyed part 2, let me know any thoughts you may have!!!

[cassieuncaged]

Price of Compassion - Part 3

NSFW/MATURE/MDNI/18+

Part 1 | Part 2

Astarion x Reader

Summary: You and a certain roguish vampire give into a night of passion.

TW: explicit sexual content, blood drinking, language.

WC: 2.4K

A/N: I posted chapter three awhile ago and decided to finally cross post. One more chapter filled with angst and fluff coming soon!

The next part will officially be my final reader insert :)

Lithe fingers dip between a tangle of limbs, undoing the clasps of your doublet while his swelling groin ruts against your pubic bone. The friction is the most palpable sexual attention you’ve garnered in what feels like a lifetime.

Not to mention the attention of such a talented lover instead of a fumbling novice. His iciness is a strange sensation, pearlescent skin freezing against the warmth of a flushed chest when a ruffled jerkin is finally yanked open. One elbow is braced beside a clothed shoulder as skillful lips lap at the puckered pin pricks marring your neck while one breast is kneaded beneath restrictive smalls.

Despite his condition, Astarion feels so alive as fangs snag against a tender throat, groaning needily as he basks in your warmth. The barrier of a woven brassiere is pushed aside as a skilled forefinger and thumb tweak a pebbled teat. Mewling hungrily at his ministrations, cold breaths spans across the shell of one ear before that velvety voice is cradling your senses in promising words.

“I wonder what delicious secrets this body of yours is harboring.” One thigh presses against a sharp hip as your leg remains hooked across the small of his back. “Shall we discover together?”

“Please…” you whine, arching upwards as he spreads the front of your doublet completely open. “Ravish my needy form and I’m sure you’ll be delighted in the trove of treasures you seek.”

“Quite the poetic bard considering you’re writhing against my cock like a beast in heat.” He grits, feeling his loins set aflame as you stifle a giggle. You ignite something so foreign in him: pure delight mingled with an insatiable hunger. He wonders if he’s ever felt so unrestrained with a lover before his untimely demise but is unable to patch the memories together. He dismisses the thought before ducking down to take a stiff peak between talented lips. Suckling hungrily, you mewl with delight as his tongue flicks across the tip.

“Bend me on all fours and see exactly how much of a beast I can be,” your fingers desperately thread through silvery curls as a deep laugh rumbles against your chest.

“Oh, you are just a delightful little treat,” Astarion groans before leaning back on his haunches, knees pressed again against your clothed mound. Grinding down, you’re desperate for any friction as muscles desperately clench around nothing. “Greedy little thing too.”

“Fuck me into oblivion and I’ll write the most flattering ballads about our debauchery.” You whine, shrugging the unclasped doublet and brassiere off on the forest floor before working at the laces of velveteen breeches. “I find myself to be a rather generous poet.”

“I’m dying to discover just how generous you can be,” the man practically purrs as his ruffled tunic is swiftly removed and tossed asunder. A desperate moan is torn from your throat as wide eyes hungrily assess a beautifully sculpted body. Muscles twitch beneath warm hands, feeling like molten lava against icy skin. Admiring every dip and ridge, your fingers dance playfully across the waistband of his breeches before softly grazing a clothed cock.

“Very,” you practically sing, melodic voice tinkling through the forest. There’s an intrusive thought, a passing consideration that his intrusion will feel like velvet swaddled ice intruding your womb. Clamoring at the thought, one lace is plucked taut as the string of a fiddle. “My mouth has many talents other than singing bawdy songs.”

“I’d rather like to challenge that declaration,” Astarion delights in how pupils dilate like the moon eclipsing the sun, as he pushes shaking fingers away to undo the ties himself. A strangled cry escapes your throat when a long member is exposed to the night air. Long fingers drift down the length lazily before you’re gracelessly rolling to your belly, crawling until the weeping head bobs in front of your nose. “Be gentle. It’s been…a lifetime.”

You realize he’s quivering, nervous to allow another to be in control of his pleasure. One hand eases leather breeches down thick thighs, caressing tender skin as lust filled eyes flicker upwards to meet a heavily lidded pair.

“May I touch you?” it’s not the words themselves, but rather the kindness emitted that steals the breath from his throat. Something so erotic that straddles the line of pure and loving, something the vampire doesn’t remember from his living years. He wants to be disgusted by such sincerity. Yet all revulsion melts away and is replaced by genuine affection.

How strange.

“You may, pet.” Attempting to rebuild his faltering confidence, a large hand plants firmly at the back of your head. A hot and needy tongue laps at his dripping tip, enjoying the salty chill of his essence. Flicking across his slit teasingly is immediately followed by a stroke against a dusky vein. “Oh, hells.”

“What a lovely cock,” you sigh, before the vicelike grip on the back of your head presses him into the cavernous warmth of your mouth. The cold is strange as he settles deeply with a groan, prickling the back of your throat. You’re unseasoned, attempting to relax tense muscles and breathe out of flared nostrils.

“What was that, darling?” Astarion mocks, hissing his fangs before beginning to thrust languidly. “Appears your mouth is rather full.”

Gagging, you adjust to the heaviness settled on the flat of your tongue, bobbing in time with the tempo set. Saliva gathers at the corners of stretched lips, dribbling down your chin. Larger than you expected, the entirety of his length doesn’t fit as firm fingers wrap around exposed base while you dutifully suck and lave at the rest.

For nearly two centuries of seducing others, he can’t remember when someone so eagerly assisted him in seeking his own pleasure. Teeth grind together as a guttural moan escapes perfect lips, fingers threaded through your hair. Practically toppling over from passion, Astarion watches hungrily as one hand dips between covered thighs.

Rubbing your clothed mound in time with his thrusts relieves the taut pressure mounting between your legs. His pace remains slow yet firm, tip pushing ever so slightly down your throat. Attempting not to gag, blunt teeth gently caress the tender member as your fist squeezes the base. Your cunt clenches as another moan escapes him, needy and shallow.

“Please,” yanking you firmly off his length is surprising though appreciated as tears prickle the corners of bleary eyes, “You are absolutely amazing. But I’m not ready to be spent quite yet.”

“Oh?” an icy palm cradles your chin, gently pulling upwards until you’re settled on your knees, hard nipples scraping against his equally bare chest. One ashen brow quirks delicately, studying the debauched sight before him. Your lips are swollen but not nearly enough…

Mouths crash against each other fervently as a muscular arm latches around the small of your back. Tongues messily lance as the heady taste of expensive brandy flickers against sensitive taste buds, mingling with Astarion’s own saltiness that lingers on your lips. The kiss is wilder than the one earlier, something igniting deep in both of your bellies this time. He doesn’t want to admit how perfect you feel pressed against him, how this feels so natural with you.

For tonight, Astarion is no longer a ghost haunting the husk of a man.

A soft hand palms your breast eagerly, freezing veneer relishing the heat you radiate, like the sun calling to the moon. Then he smirks against your lips, brows pressed together as both pant heavily with no trepidation. The sharp curve of his nose nudges your own as kisses are littered from the corner of your mouth down to the hard plane of your jaw.

“Bite me,” you whine, ready to feel that familiar throb heightens between your thighs. While the subject has never been broached, both know exactly what his nightly feedings do to your body. Astarion feels your pulse quicken, smells the arousal on you like the feral beast you are.

“Such an eager treat,” he chuckles against the crook of your neck before gently pushing you onto your back. Your gaze lingers on his cock, still slick from earlier ministrations as he peels his breeches off completely. Then you’re both working at the laces of your own, awkwardly them down bare legs, “But may I taste something else first?”

“I’m liable to sing your praises if you do that,” It’s a playful warning as spread your thighs as spread obscenely wide.

“I hope you do,” his timbre is deeper, dark with lust as wine red eyes drag across your swollen cunt. “I’d like the entirety of camp hear your cries as you come apart again and again.”

“First you have to touch me.” You jest, allowing your knees to splay against the dewy grass.

“Apparently,” One finger swipes down the length of your slit, before his head is dipping down between spread legs. “I don’t. Considering how wet you are from sucking my cock alone.”

“Stop teasing and-” your words are cut off with an embarrassing sound as soft lips latch against your core. Still retaining the heat from impassioned kisses, he feels like fire against molten flesh as instinct settles in. Lapping at you like a parched man wandering the Anauroch desert, he’s found his oasis. The tip of a skilled tongue circles your clit without directly touching it as you buck against him. Large hands press bare thighs downwards, attempting to keep the wriggling at a minimum before he’s harshly sucking the swollen bud between his lips.

Your own fingers seek purchase in silvery curls, enjoying how the texture tickles your palms. You mewl as that silver tongue suddenly spears a slick hole at a maddening pace. An explosion of stars explode beneath clenched eyelids as pleasure washes over you like a wave, muscles spasming as a chorus of the spawn’s name echoes through the night.

“Minx,” he chides, tearing himself from your cunt before his veins slip into your inner thigh like a blade through sinew. Vampiric venom courses through purpling veins as your head lolls to one side, immersed by a chilling bite as he suckles tender skin. Vision begins to swim again, black beginning to cloud the edges of the night before Astarion pulls away with a pant. “One who tastes sweeter than the finest wine.”

“What exactly tastes so delectable?” you tease before a solid body is slithering up between your legs, pressing a trail of bloody kisses against a quivering mound, a shallow navel, goose pimpled breasts.

“Dare I say both?” Astarion sighs, tongue swiping across one clavicle. “I’ve been with thousands yet I’d travel the across the Faerun twice over to savor something so sweet on my lips again.”

“I thought I was the one supposed to compose poetry.” A sharp nose nuzzles into the hollow of your throat as a talented mouth continues to ghost upwards. Your breathing hitches as his twitching erection prods one thigh.

“You’re not the only one with an affinity for pretty words.” He chides, carefully avoiding your gaze as lips gently glide against each other. Eyelids flutter close as strong arms brace either of your shoulders, chest heaving. There’s a struggle to remain present, to not immediately close his mind off and disappear into its dark recesses. Then your palm flattens against his cheek, pulling his gaze upwards to disarming doe eyes.

Stay with me.

The plea is silent though he can feel the words through the squirming of a tadpole. No one has ever been so cautious with his invisible fragility. You want something more, something that frightens him. Astarion can provide pleasure, a pleasant distraction. How could you ever be anything more than a body to bed?

Then the thoughts fade away as a delicate fingers wind between a tangle of limbs, gently grasping his throbbing cock before swiping the head through dripping folds. His eyes begin to roll back, a snowy ringlet tickling your brow when the bulbous head finally splits you.

“By the gods…” his words are strangled as the he slowly bottoms out. Settled snuggly inside suffocating walls, you spasm uncontrollably as your legs immediately wrap around his hips like creeping vines. You wish to hold him there forever, groaning as an undead heartbeat throbs like a metronome. “You truly were created for my own ruin.”

“I-I…please,” the words are a stammer as lean hips begin to rock slowly before the entire length of him is drawn out and slammed back in with an eager stab. “More…”

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he purrs before kissing his way to the shell of one ear, “You might just get it.”

Words are lost as a maddening pace is struck, slow yet bruising as each slam grinds pelvises together greedily. You’re convinced nothing has felt as delectable as he manages to find every nerve ending and light them each a flame. Feasting on sanguine blood gives the illusion of life as a broad chest houses a foreign heat. It’s intoxicating, even more so the position suddenly shifts. His strength is impressive as you’re effortlessly pulled into his lap.

Arms are knotted around a long neck as large hands settle upon lush hips, vigorously bouncing you atop him. A string of obscenities leaves swelled lips followed by the incessant chanting of his name like you’re worshipping a god. He'd smirk if his hips didn't begin to stutter, cock jerking as you meet each thrust eagerly, hungrily as you roll against him. Feeling yourself unravel from the inside out, your own release beckons when fangs split the healing wound upon your throat once more. Sucking greedily, your body limply falls against a sturdy chest as he finishes with a few bruising thrusts.

Pulling away from a delicious neck, Astarion says nothing as his fingers dig painfully in the skin of your back. Panting breaths are the only sound in the forest other that the rushing water of the river and the chorus of crickets. You grin against the column of his throat as he tucks you beneath a sharp chin.

For a moment, bloody and spent, it feels like you are truly his.

[iheartuwu]

₊˚ ♡ the loveliest ( loneliest ) time ◞ leon s. kennedy

fem!reader, fluff but like…not much lol SORRY, angst but nothing heavy, valentine’s day w/o leon ( reader’s going through it ), modernized or older leon bc reader has a smart phone lmao ?! idk ! wc 0.4k ╮

note. happy vday !! wrote this on short notice in honour of today. hope u guys have / had a wonderful day

The day bids you farewell as the taunting glow of sunset leaks through the window. You refuse to relish in the warm embrace of its swan song and draw the blinds shut with a comically melodramatic sigh. You crawl back into bed, try (and fail) to ignore the tight grip loneliness has on you as it begins to take root, bury yourself under the blanket and scroll endlessly until your strained eyes can no longer handle it.

Here’s how your day has gone:

You awake alone once again without his arms around you, without his drowsy kisses ripe with affection. You lay in bed with your phone screen held close to your face, its harsh brightness illuminating your visage in an utterly unflattering way. You stare blankly at messages from friends inviting you out. Unidentified stains mar your (Leon’s) shirt. Your hunger is a low, insistent growl but your hands can’t be bothered to fix up a meal. You could use a shower. But you don’t care. You just want this day to be over. You want to avoid the rest of the world and its overt displays of love. You want to stay in this bed until Leon comes back.

You’re no novice to the separation that comes with being with Leon. No stranger to the occasional loud emptiness of your shared space when he’s away. It’s manageable. He’s assuring, and he always comes back.

But it’s Valentine’s Day… (you want to slap yourself in the face)

And you love him, you do. You love him so much you don’t know what to do with it sometimes. But you kind of hate him right now. Hate that he had to leave on short notice days prior, fizzling your shared plans into a passive aggressive ‘x’ on your calendar. Hate the tantalizing swells of his lingering scent of cedarwood and citrus wafting throughout the room.

A knock rudely interrupts your shameless wallowing. You scroll on, not expecting anyone. No Leon to answer the door and shoo away unwanted visitors. Seconds pass and your attempt to ignore is proven futile as the heavy handed fist demands your attention. You rise with a groan, yawning into your palm as you pass all mirrors and opportunities to make yourself somewhat presentable.

A delivery person holds a pristine white box with decorative lettering on the other side of the door, says it’s for you and hands it over before you can even be offended at the way their eyes wince upon seeing you.

“Thank you.” You say with a half attempt at a smile. Maybe more of a frown. It’s light despite its size. You set it onto the counter, undo the neatly tied ribbon to reveal its contents.

A teddy bear the size of your hand holding a heart. Cute. A bouquet of roses. You smile. A card that holds his familiar, endearing scrawl.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 [𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬]

this was another fic I already had on my drafts, now that my summer vacation started I finally can go back to my creative self and write more so stay tuned :) hope you enjoy my unholy thoughts

⤷ resume : bless me father for I have sinned... unholy thoughts start to cloud your mind and father michaelis takes the matter into his own hands [wc: 2.4k]

⤷ contains : nun! reader x priest! sebastian, nsfw, religious themes, someone gets slapped

⤷ now playing Monochrome kiss by SID

A wind of monochrome blows

Through our colorless encounter

I shall entrust my pain in its entirety to you

Painfully delineating my old scars,

The merciless autumn has arrived,

And it entices me with its cold fingers

The faint morning sun reflects through the stained glasses of the countless church windows, like colorful spots dancing on the cold stone floor. As usual I woke up, ate breakfast with the sisters of the convent and together we did our morning prayers. After this shared moment, they all start their daily duties but I like to stay a little bit longer and enjoy the vast silence and peace of the house of God. My eyes were closed and my lips soundlessly moved as I recited my prayers alone, however the air seemed to change and I could now feel an eerie presence watching over me, still when I looked around no one could be seen. Out of a wooden door comes the priest of our church – Father Sebastian Michaelis – his piercing eyes fall on my figure and I feel the heat taking over my face, anyway I shake off any intrusive thoughts and promptly head to my morning activities. With imponent arches towering above me I walk down the corridor on my way to a class of little kids waiting for me, yet the feeling of ominous eyes still lingers on the nape of my neck with every step I take.

I am like a burdensome piece of ice

That has just melted into a puddle

You scoop me up gently

and fondle me playfully with your lip

After dinner everyone went back to their rooms, candles were extinguished one by one and the white stone walls now reflected the bright moonlight. A few candles still dance upon my table and cast shadows on the walls as I write about my daily thoughts and feelings in my diary. Lately a dark desire clouds over my mind and stains my soul each second it passes, day by day this unknown sensation seems to take over my heart. Countless prayers, thousands of words written every night, endless hours of work, it was worthless paying attention to any other thing for even after doing everything to stop this feeling my mind still wanders back to him… Father Michaelis. Unaware of the sin that crawls under my skin, I recall the many moments that in the middle of the Sunday worship his words would slowly fade away and a tingling feeling would spread over my core. I shivered and writtled while kneeling on the ground, praying for the sisters to not notice my trembling figure as unholy thoughts flooded over and dirty images got imprinted inside my brain. Every night my mind wanders off to those moments and haunts me in my deepest longings, once again my fingers travel under my nightgown and caress away the desire under my skin. Shrouded by the shadows of the night I can only hope that the all-seeing holy eyes don't watch over me this time.

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

Hiding within the night,

We have covered up our pale skin under the moonlight

On this gloomy autumn morning, I was once again dealing with my hauntings on my lonesome prayers. The other sisters were already out doing their daily chores, however I still could hear some young novices gossiping on a secluded corner of the church, there wasn't many people around, actually we were the only ones there so some snippets of what they were so heatedly talking about made it over my ears "... he's so hot for a priest…" a choir of quiet giggles echoed in the air "... isn't saying those things kind of a sin?" the giggles got louder and so did my hammering heart "... I'm certain God would understand me since he made Father Michaelis so fine like that. Don't you imagine what's under his pants?". That's enough. Anger boiled inside me, my short breathing got louder and louder as a dark presence took over my body and unconsciously directed me to the group of novices. "Aren't you ashamed of saying such things inside the house of God?" I blustered and the three whispering girls turned over to me with surprised faces, the one seeming to be the oldest lifted her chin "Why? Are you jealous that I can say those things while you are trapped in that Virgin Mary thinking?". Anger traveled through every inch of my flesh, my mind went blank and I could only hear a loud snap echoing through all the church halls, followed by a stinging sensation on the palm of my hand. The girl was crying and clutching her reddened face, the other two ran off, probably to snitch to some higher nun what just happened, as for me, I walked away feeling as light as the white feathers of the Holy Spirit.

Many nights have passed since then,

And my love for you only grew stronger

In the sea of obsessive dependency,

I have forgotten even to breathe

I heard a knock on the door of my room and went to open it, another young novice was standing there with scared eyes "The-they sent me here to say that Father Michaelis wants to meet you at the confessional" I looked at her shivering figure and questioned myself if she was scared that I was just gonna slap her for delivering the message "If that's all than you can go, tell whatever nun that sent you that I'm already on my way" the girl shook her head and ran down the corridor, with a guiltless mind I went the opposite way thinking about what could I possibly tell him to clear this situation. As I arrived at the stall and closed the door behind me a deep voice broke away the silence "Hello sister, please tell me what afflicts your soul. May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy". Shivers went down my spine as my once steady hands made the sign of the cross "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been" a sigh escapes my mouth "... three years since my last confession. These are my sins." I gave a pause after saying that and considered lying about what happened to spare myself and the girl of a lecture later, yet something told me to say the whole truth "I felt anger… so much anger… lately I feel like all kinds of sins are taking over me. It seems harder and harder to concentrate and feel at peace" words unconsciously dripped through my tongue "What did the girl say to make you so angry?" with nervous hands I crumpled my habit "That she had impure thoughts about you sir". That dreadful silence seemed to last countless hours "Did you want to punish her for thinking that way?" words got stuck on my throat "... I-I was jealous of her'' a satisfied hum traveled through the division of the stall. "I don't know… it felt like something was crawling under my flesh… anger, greed, envy perhaps" an expectant silence floated in the air "Aren't you forgetting another sin, child?" I could hear the grin on his lips as he waited for my reply "... Lust?" I hope he can't hear the deafening sound of my heart bursting through my ribcage "And how often do you feel it?" "Everyday". Even though the stall was secluded and closed it still felt like a thousand eyes were pointed at me, piercing through my raw flesh, specially those I felt behind my neck lately "Well, I think that's all I need to know for now" his voice seemed different but still I continued "I am sorry for these and all of my sins" he hums again "Why don't we go to my office? So we can talk about this more thoroughly".

While I'm captivated by your gaze,

You've left behind only some dull warmth

I despise your habit of quitting at your convenience

As well as your arrogant kiss

The path to his office was dead silent and every sister that passed through us either looked away or whispered something to their friends. As we arrived he politely motioned for me to enter and sit on the chair in front of his table, as I sat over a faint click on the door could be heard, I turned to him and met his ever unreadable eyes and mysterious grin "We don't want those nosy eyes bothering our talk, do we?". He sighed deeply and sat in front of me "This situation is not much like you sister" my eyes fell to the ground while he gazed out of the window continuing "I remember when you were just a novice. Such a pure heart… yet so aware of the evils of the world". Silence reigned over his office and I said with a quiet voice "You still didn't give me a penance sir" his grin grew wider letting out a chuckle "Don't worry about that child" he stood up and calmly walked behind me "I don't believe you're entirely wrong. All these things might be considered sins in the eyes of God, but I preach that for one to spread virtue must first know sin to warn other pure hearts of the evils of the world'' his slender fingers traveled along my shoulders and up to the nape of my neck. "Don't you want to protect your precious students from what's out there? For this you must feel sin on your own skin" he whispered over my ear and the tingling sensation on my core starts to spread through my body once again "Go to your room and pray ten Hail Marys. By midnight I will visit you so we can finish your penance" my breathing gets hitched and I crumple even more my already messy habit "Why don't you do it now?" he chuckles "Patience is one of the virtues you need to start working on, now go child". I lift from my seat and walk over to the door "It's locked…" he hums and unlocks it while gently trailing his finger along my chin whispering "Well forgive me sister, sometimes I too can give in to dangerous desires" with those words echoing inside I return eagerly to my room.

Don't leave me alone

Please understand me and stain me with bright blood

No matter what I say,

My words will only slip right through your room

I'm already disarrayed and falling asleep,

So won't you teach me something else?

Only the moon is looking at my sighs lost in your smiling inquiries

Hours passed and the moon was already high in the sky, I paced around the room thinking about what could possibly happen in the next few minutes. A knock was heard on the door, standing before me under dim light was Father Michaelis and his gaze that as always seemed to reflect every uncertain thought I had. I greeted and welcomed him inside which he calmly did "Did you pray the ten Hail Marys I asked you to?" I shook my head and he sent me a kind smile "Then let's begin your penance. Please take off your habit" my eyes widened and I felt my face heating up. "Why the surprise? I told you before that I believe you need to experience sin to finally be enlightened by virtue. I as your holy representative will help you on this task, or did you already take the matter into your own hands before I came here?" involuntarily my thighs clenched over and he cooed "What a dirty girl. Seems that the matter is worse than I thought, perhaps your penance will be a bit rougher then". He helped me undo the buttons of my habit, feeling the fabric slide down my body I then lay on the mattress while he also takes off his clothes and hovers over me with his bare body "The only thing I ask is for you to recite the Prayer of the Penitent and when you finish it… everything will be over" I shook my head and started it.

Once the clock's arms point straight into the ceiling,

You will no longer be with me,

For I will no longer be needed

"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart" his warm hands gently traced the sides of my body while moist lips sucked the skin on my neck "In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good" the hot breathing on my flesh sent goosebumps all over it. "I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things" slender finger traveled down to my core and caressed my soaked folds "I firmly intend, with your help to do penance" as he slowly inserted himself inside me I could feel his length filling up empty spaces I never believed to have. "To sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin" with a rhythmic pace and synchronized breathings he opened up my raw heart to the holy sight "Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us" we clingged on each other, shivers went through our bodies as sin dripped over and mixed up with our overflowing fluids "In His name, my God, have mercy". He did the Prayer of Absolution and finished it over with a deep moan "Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good" even breathless I still manage to continue it "His mercy endures forever" and with a faint sigh he ends our blessing "The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace". Cloaked by the shadows our intertwined bodies finally sink deep into the stained mattress, with a worn down feeling I can feel my eyes closing and my lightened mind slowly drifting away. His lukewarm hands trail unknown patterns on my back as his fading voice travels through my slumber "Such a pure soul stained by sin… Can't wait to feel your luscious raw taste entirely inside me. This penance isn't over my darling".

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

My wish echoes hollowly,

While the night still brings in the dawn

With your tender, passionate, yet shamelessly sly kiss,

Please stain me, in this moonlit final night of demise

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

@cosmosnaught

who is bigger? ‘cause I like the idea that Clawbear is but he bends his head to level with Novice (like how a bear sometimes looks, like this guy https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=DaIIed8A&id=2738709D77DC00FF1C967E6AA9D596C533D5AA6F&thid=OIP.DaIIed8Azse188EiuUKtRwHaDt&mediaurl=https%3A%2F%2Fs10014.cdn.ncms.io%2Fd14%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2020%2F10%2Fthumbnail-d61bc788e1a411ea8f700e738d4b8abf.jpeg&cdnurl=https%3A%2F%2Fth.bing.com%2Fth%2Fid%2FR.0da20879df00cec7b5f3c122b942ad47%3Frik%3Db6rVM8WW1alqfg%26pid%3DImgRaw%26r%3D0&exph=900&expw=1800&q=bear&simid=608013313419187359&form=IRPRST&ck=348ED5B4492341F3D16E0CE98CCDBF52&selectedindex=7&ajaxhist=0&ajaxserp=0&vt=0&sim=11 )

damn that’s a long link

[jeanbie]

SHARKBAIT ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: long distance relationships, set after s2 | wc: 6.9k

note: i'm pining over tolya right now. also i know a loooot of fans view tolya as aroace so hopefully this reaches the right audience (and if the show runners or leigh ever confirm this then pls tell me)!!

⏤ Tolya can go months without seeing your face, but he can make out your shape in the darkness of the ship when you steal your visits, fleeing when the sun begins to light up the decks.

Tolya knew what it meant to long, to pine, to wonder and yearn for something you couldn't have. He saw it a thousand times with his poems, between the lines and in each stanza where a romance formed with metaphors and analogies; he saw it in his crew as they busied themselves across an unsteady ocean, searching for purpose and meaning in the vastness of blue and brown. He even saw it in his sister and passing maidens, in his captain and his need to be seen as something more than an amplifier, and he saw it in his own life- with his faith and his resilience, with his own novice works of poetry tucked into journals in his bunk, and in the whispers of silence between the two of you whenever he saw you again, and especially in the stretches of days where he didn't see you at all.

On board the Volkvolny, for what felt like years on end, Tolya had nothing but time to become familiar with what it meant to long. He'd stare out across the expanse of the sea, outlining your body in the clouds as they dipped below the horizon, in the waves rippling under the ship as it sailed away from Os Kervo to Kerch. Sometimes he thought he could make out your shape in the darkness of his bunk, a thin ghostly outline come to haunt him in his sleep, to torment his dreams. Often he woke up to a fading outline of body just to the side of his hammock, remembering that you weren't there, and wouldn't be for some time.

He supposed that he was lucky to be on this ship, with the world at his hands. There were days where he was so caught up in the passion of his work, alongside his never-faltering faith, that he didn't have time to think of you, instead only stumbling into your body through dreams, where you came to him as easily as the sea to the shore. Today hadn't been one of those days, and he feared that the crew on board the Volkvolny knew it too well.

It started off with his last nightmare. Taking steps together on a shoreline that looked like it belonged to a dip of earth in Shu Han, Tolya met you on the sands, his hand slotted into your own as he followed behind you, stepping into your sunken footprints. Tolya had been inches from your mouth before he was ripped away with the sound of horns and laughter, drops of water leaking through the deck overhead. Work was demanding his consciousness, and the image of you remained only on his eyelids as he groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd gone about his day relatively normally after that, or about as normally as he could stomach it. Tamar had seen the worst of his mood- she watched him heave himself up the stairs to the deck with a frown deep on his face, an ache at the corner of his lips tugging down. The front he performed of happiness did little to arouse his crewmates, although they joined the spectacle, letting him think he was giving a performance of a lifetime.

For a while, his mood had settled. He'd only counted seeing you in hallucinations maybe three times, but he'd stopped counting after the third, and couldn't be sure if his mind was allowing him to stick with three for the sake of his own sanity. He'd spotted you in the twist of water under the bowsprit, once in the ripple of the sails and again in the clouds. After the third, his mood was so sour that he opted to be silent for the day's voyage. People never thought they'd miss the sound of his poetry until he took his pitiful vows of silence.

Saints, how he missed you. Each time you were gone, Tolya regretted every second of silence between the two of you, every time he passed up the chance to tell you how much he loved you. And each time you were here, back with him in his arms, he couldn't seem to find the words. You weren't part of the crew on voyage with the Volkvolny, although you were never not welcome as far as Sturmhond was concerned. It was just that you preferred being on land, seeking out thrills and leads and injustice, trying to piece together the gaps in your history. Tolya knew that was what held you to the Crows, and what Inej often said was your lifeline away from him. Still, Tolya yearned for the days you were back with him, however short and fleeting. Months could pass at sea and when he saw you again, it would be like no time had passed at all.

Kerch loomed in the distance. From the crow's nest, he was told that through the spyglass, the oblong shapes of Ketterdam ports could be seen, the buildings packed together tightly and the smoke rising in the air, thick and dark like fires were blooming in the streets. It would be about two days of sailing, if the winds kept up, but if they were lucky, they might arrive ahead of schedule. Tolya couldn't count the moments quick enough- two days would be agonising until he saw you again.

"Yeesh. I kinda miss your poetry right now." Tamar crept up from behind Tolya on the hull of the ship. Not far from where Tolya was standing, with his elbows holding his body up on the side of the beams, was Jacob's ladder, hitting the side of the vessel with irritating small clicks.

Tolya glanced at her, a smile naturally falling into place. As foul as his mood might have been, there was always room in his heart for his sister. "That's something I'll never hear you say again."

His sister grinned. "I'm serious! Go on, give me something?"

Tolya replied with quiet laughter, and Tamar did the same. The twins shared their laughter for a moment before finishing in silence, and Tamar stole a glance as her brother cast his gaze to the water, curving like ribbons around the underbelly of the ship.

"Missing her?" she asked softly.

Tolya rolled his eyes, but saying nothing was as good as admitting it. 

"You know," Tamar continued, spinning so her back was pressed against the beams, "you could always just ask her to come with you." She gestured to the prow, "come with us."

"She wouldn't want to do that," Tolya said, shaking his head.

"Oh, so you asked her already?"

"Well— no."

"Then how'd you know?" 

Tolya sighed, twisting his head. He knew that you were as good as a Crow— although not exactly affiliated in whatever Kaz did or did not do, anybody who knew you knew that you did work for Kaz that filled the gap Inej made on the quest to find her brother. Even before that, you'd told Tolya that Kaz occasionally found himself asking for your help with requests that extended outside of his immediate access. You had been of some help to him finding the name of the slaver ships and traders, of which the Volkvolny was sailing back to Kerch to deliver rescued shipment (one lacking Inej's brother in tow, and the slaver who sold them). 

Your place was on land, on high ground. A bird could fly at sea, yes, but he feared you'd grow restless with little purpose on the ship. Everybody had a place and a role—he knew that simply being there for him wouldn't be a good enough reason for you to abandon whatever work you had unfinished on dry land, which is why he'd never asked you to come in the first place.

Tolya turned to face Tamar, eyeing her side-profile as she meticulously assessed the state of the ship. Many crewmates were down below, rifling through Shu poker cards and coins and sharing ghost stories with cups of ale and wine. 

"Have you ever been so scared of losing something good?" he asked suddenly, making Tamar look back at him. 

"All the time," she replied. 

Tolya dared a glance back at the ocean, relieved that he didn't find you there. "Every time I see her again, it's like magic. Bigger and grander than any kind of Saint-like act. She becomes the most important thing in the room." He blinked. "I don't want that feeling to go away."

Tamar tilted her head, as if to say, 'Go on'. There was a comfort in their twinnish bond, but even with that, Tolya struggled to find the words. Writing poetry was easy—every embarrassing thought could be passed off as fictional prose, but in a conversation it wasn't quite as easy to put on a façade. At the best of times, Tolya was as cool as a sea-cucumber, with an easy going air that put people at ease. Just another performance of a lifetime, but he didn't have to pretend sometimes when he was with his sister.

"We're just very different," Tolya said cautiously, almost like he didn't believe it were true as he said it. "I'm worried she might grow too used to me. Might get restless."

"Bored, you mean?" Tamar interrupted. When Tolya said nothing, she threw herself into extended conversation, "Brother, she adores you. That kind of love is special. And if she didn't love you more when you were doing what you do best- as in, meandering around this beast with your poetry and stupid jokes-" He looked at her with a rising smile- "-then you'd be better off for it."

His stomach churned. He didn't want to be better off without you. 

"Besides," Tamar offered her last words of comfort before pushing herself up and away from him, "there are thousands of men and women in the world for her to see each passing day, and yet she still falls into those arms of yours when we arrive in Ketterdam. If she can love you from a hundred miles away, then I think she'll manage loving you and your quirks on the open sea."

There was an insufferable ache in Tolya's chest whenever he thought back to his conversation with Tamar. 

He'd busied himself the next day, throwing himself into heavy work around the ship as it sailed nearer to the coastline. His crewmates were thankful to see him in reasonably good spirits— Sturmhond had been particularly put off by his lack of comedic timing the day before, and had tried to think back to his own experiences with Alina back in Ravka, putting the pieces together in his own time— but they knew it was bought time with Tolya's pleasantries. Tolya wouldn't be at ease until they docked and only then could his mind be put at ease. It was always the days before returning to Ketterdam where Tolya seemed at his darkest, and it had happened enough times that they should all be used to it, but the sight of his downturned face never got any easier to process.

Night ensued, the moon casting a fickle light to the ocean as it lulled to a cool and calm tempo. The winds were kind tonight, not carrying the wind in an angry gust, and the waves were short and fluid. No storms hid behind thick flurries of clouds, and the creatures below whipped their fins and tails in harmony— no trouble would come tonight, he thought, and glad of it.

Tolya lay in his hammock, staring at the wooden boards above his head. Around him, his crew slept in peaceful slumbers, and to the far side of the room he could see the auburn light of Sturmhond's—now Mal, now that the charade was over— little black lamp sheltered next to a book he'd inherited with his title, now reading to fall asleep. Tolya sighed, his gaze back above. 

The glow of light to his left allowed room for your shape to slowly appear, just an outline that got more hazy in his memory as the months went by. He gulped, the lump in his throat hard and sour tasting, and he closed his eyes quickly to throw away the image of you. Yet you remained, imprinted on his eyelids, smiling as he found sleep to take him away into the night.

When he awoke, he could hear the caw of gulls and loud voices beyond the ship, louder than what he knew his crew to be capable of. Tolya stirred for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes honing in on the same spot he'd last seen you in above his slumbering form. The forecastle was bathed with yellow light, with the sun at an angle pouring down through the hatch to the upper deck, and as he awoke, Tolya could smell the distinct scent of crab hooks and wet moss, the lingering scent of oil and sewage and copper. Strange, he thought.

Balancing on the hammock, Tolya raised himself with his elbow and stole a glance around the forecastle. Two men lay snoring, too drunk the night before, and he noticed a third figure at the foot of his hammock, their back to him but hiding nothing about their identity. His heart lurched, he baulked, and the hammock twisted beneath him with a sudden jolt and his body was sent to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

"Easy, sharkbait."

Tolya's head whipped up quickly, the click in his neck aching. It was you- Y/N, his beloved Y/N, dressed in a blue coat that looked like Mal's. Underneath you wore a dark brown shirt tucked into your trousers—today the attire was more casual, for when you were at work you wore black and black alone. Inej told him it was to blend in with the night, but Tolya reckoned it was also because it flattered you.

You smiled at him warmly, laughing when he didn't move from the floor.

"Come on. Don't tell me after a few months you've forgotten this face?"

Tolya's mouth opened and closed. "What—no! How could I—wait, is that Mal's coat?"

He heard your laugh again as you drew near, pulling his bicep to pick him up off the floor. You were more than capable of pulling his weight, but you still found fun in pretending you couldn't. Tolya rose from the floor, both of his salt-soaked hands gently wrapping around your wrists as he faced you. A smile dawned on his lips as he drank in the image of you; fully fleshed out, solid, real, not a figment of his desperate imagination.

"I saw him up top," you told him. "He looks good as Sturmhond, right? I was almost charmed." You said it with a grin that made Tolya think otherwise, and you shuffled closer towards his torso, the action welcomed as his grip fastened slightly around your arms. 

"Charmed enough to take his clothes?" Tolya asked. He knew that there would never be anything there with Mal—Saints, everybody knew that. Mal was too busy having his own mental quarrels with Alina to entertain the thought of somebody else, and well, you seemed perfectly content being charmed by a different captain below deck, smiling at you with sleep still hanging in his eyes.

"I always did look good in blue," you said.

Tolya hummed. "Yeah."

Falling into a silence, Tolya's eyes flickered across your face, soaking up the sight of you, making a mental note of what had changed while he'd been away. Not much, he found, bar a few scratches across your left cheek flanking down to your chin, and a greenish bruise under your eye. He frowned, moving his hand to ghost his fingers across the painted skin. Meanwhile, you did the same, observing changes in his appearance, concluding every detail: the richer tan across his skin, the stubbly pricks of hair around his jawline and the appearance of a new mark under his right nostril. Drunk on the image of him, you fixed your eyes back on his, surprised to see him already looking.

"What're you doing down here anyway, sharkbait?" you asked. Your voice was lower, quieter and softer, but he knew it had nothing to do with a shift in mood. Instead, you were just simply close enough for him to hear you without strain, close enough to hear you whisper, to hear you breathing. 

Tolya offered a boyish smile. "You know."

"Had a long night?"

"Terribly long."

"What, enjoying someone's company til sunrise?" you teased, entertaining what could be signs of an insecurity in the bilge of your belly. Tolya pretended to ignore it, yet his heart sank nonetheless. 

"Come on, you know me better than that," he laughed, bringing you in closer to him. Tolya nestled his nose against yours, moving it across your face to your cheekbone and closing you in with his arms around your shoulders. He sighed, comfortable. He'd missed this, the way your body felt against his, the way your arms felt around him. Saints, he'd missed this. Tolya took in a breath, his nose above your ear. "I've missed you."

Tolya heard a hum near his sternum, rumbling with a small vibration. It made his body bristle slightly but he warmed to your touch, his arms tightening around you.

"Me too, moi sol ye tselai," you replied, feeling his nose twitch as a smile grew on his face. 

For a moment you stayed like that, entangled in the quiet of the forecastle. Tolya didn't waste a single second of it, not after the torment he'd given himself just hours before. After some time, Tolya felt you wiggling in his arms and he relaxed, opening the distance between you as he leaned back to look at your face. You looked back at him with a smile, head angled up to marvel at him, and Tolya's eyes shifted into crescent moons as he brought his head down to kiss you. 

His one hand cradled the side of your face, the other at the back of your neck, and you made no resists to his advancements. Tolya kissed you deeply, lost in the familiar taste of your lips, sweet like the breakfast you must have ate before coming down here. He felt you kiss him back, the pressures combined, your hands up around his wrists. Your head leaned back slightly, his dominance slightly more assertive, as he captured your lips once, twice, thrice, never allowing a minute of rest.

When he did pull back, he was met with your widened eyes, shining in the light, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and refrain from a smile. He saw it anyway, kissing you once more in a swift gesture and bringing himself back in what he thought was a commendable act of self restraint.

"I take it we are in Ketterdam," he asked, more of like a statement. It had to be true, since you were here. Unless he was dreaming, which he had a sinking feeling that he could be, perhaps trapped in a powerful lucid dream, some kind of sleep paralysis that had him smooching something akin to a squid on the prow. Unlikely, but not impossible, given his mood these days.

"How else would I be here?" you replied with a gentle laugh. 

He held you by your waist as you turned, observing the forecastle he sometimes called home. Tolya freed his grasp with reluctance, holding your fingers til the last second and he fell forward a few steps trying to grab you back. You moved around the hammocks, ducking under a lamp with a feigned interest in the bunks. Tolya didn't like to use his heartrending on you, but he could hear your hammering heartbeat even without using his talents. He smiled in private, watching you with adoration.

"I arrived here as soon as you docked," you explained, still looking around. Tolya hummed with interest, leaning his weight against a support beam. "I was having breakfast with Nina when Jesper told me that your Volkvolny was coming to the harbour. I finished, paid and came here as fast as I could. You didn't meet me at the deck, but it was so early, I figured you'd be sleeping. I greeted your crew, shook hands with your new captain, hugged Tamar, stole a coat and then came down here." You smiled, spinning back to look at him. Your bravado was complete. "To answer your question—yes. Welcome back to Ketterdam."

Tolya loved when you launched into explanations like this. He had a series of entries in a journal you shared where you'd given full detailed accounts of your adventures, but the ink never did justice to the words as you said them. Tolya's grin widened. 

"Kaz wanted to speak with you, too," you added, stepping back towards him and stretching out your hand. Tolya's stomach churned again when he took it with his own, feeling the small blisters across your skin from all your ropework and midnight affairs as an unofficial Crow. Like his own, actually, littered with chafes and burns from the ropes to the masts, sea salted splits across his hands whenever he got too heavy handed around the deck or in other ports. 

"Let's go up, then."

You led the way, all the way to the stairs where Tolya enjoyed watching you ascend before following. It'd been a minute, he'd take whatever he could to feel like everything was good again. Once he stepped up out of the dappled light of the forecastle, he cringed in the brightness of the sun. It was never very bright in Ketterdam, but anything was brighter than the lamplight below. The harbour was alive with noise and merchants. He never missed the smell of Ketterdam, although he admitted that it was a stench that one really did grow accustomed to, as it were with any foreign harbour.

From the deck, he could see the stretch of sea behind him and back ahead, a small cluster of faces across the way. He knew them all already, each by both name and face, and he stepped towards his sister-in-command with you close in tow. His body shivered when your hands smoothed around his middle to manoeuvre around him and Tolya watched you meet your hip with Inej's. Tolya spared another hungry glance at you and then looked back at Kaz expectantly, as he launched into an explanation on affairs in Ketterdam.

The Volkvolny would stay in Ketterdam just shy of a day, giving Tolya more anxiety than it did comfort. There wouldn't be enough time for him to remind you of how much he missed you, and there was certainly no privacy for him to put it into actions instead of words. But business needed to be swift, that was if they wanted a good chance at catching the ships that both you and Kaz felt could hold the secrets to Inej's brothers' whereabouts. The Crow Club was magnificent, but no place for a love-filled reunion, and he couldn't see either of you feeling particularly romantic in the streets. With the Volkvolny being groomed for their next sail, Tolya resorted to holding you close at all times, with meaningful stares and listening with colourful interest about your life over a table in the club, while Kaz oversaw his business and friends reunited once more. Tolya ate up what he could learn about your life during the three months he was at sea.

You had been working with Kaz to crack down harder on slavery leads, finding nothing much about your own family and little to nothing about anybody else's. Inej had been given a much narrower list of names thanks to your good work on the streets, and Tolya heard from Jesper that you'd been a useful asset to the Crow's, although always declined the hospitality of their affiliation for some reason. Meanwhile Tolya offered what he thought might interest you the most about his time away; battles against rough waves, giant squids and krakens lurching from below, sharks and dolphins scratching the surface of the water with their fins chased by swirling serpents; funny tales from travellers in different ports, a retelling of Mal's first night getting drunk at sea. 

Tolya thought, as you mused and laughed opposite him at the table with your friends and found-family, that you were most beautiful when you were off guard. As he stared at you, he felt his heart tug once more. In just a few hours, there'd be nothing left to look at, just shadows in the dark, voices in the wind mimicked by sirens as they fondled the underbelly of the boat, enticing deaf ears to the water as the crew grumbled and sang over their call. The thought of leaving you made him feel sick.

He briefly thought about what Tamar had said. It was true that Tolya had never asked you to join him at sea, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be. There would always be something keeping you here, keeping you both apart.

"How long this time?" you asked, when you both managed to steal some time alone to walk along the dark streets of Ketterdam. With Rollins in prison and with Kaz taking command of a smidge of the barrel, you figured it would be safe out here. Besides, Tolya was tall enough to tower over even Fjerdans, and that was no easy feat. Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with a man his size could break a few bones trying, even if you both knew that out of the two of you, you had more practice taking down the big guys.

Tolya dipped his head. "If we're lucky, then a month or so." He paused, thinking, "You said that list you gave to Inej was accurate, right?"

"I think so. Every lead I had took me right back to those three names," you replied. Inej had flinched at the sight of them, meaning your hunch was accurate enough to give Tolya the hope of coming back soon. 

"If the winds are kind, and the journey is good, we can be back before it starts getting cold here," Tolya said, almost like he was making a wish at a well or a plea to a Saint. "Without any luck on our side, it could be longer..."

You frown, looking over at Tolya and tightening your grasp on his hand. "We'll manage."

"I hope so, milaya," Tolya said, kissing the back of your hand. 

Once you both reached a bright streetlight, you turned to face him. "Do you think it will ever end?"

Tolya paused. "What do you mean?"

"As in…this search. Once you find Inej's brother, what comes next?" you ask. You turn away slightly, Tolya's gaze tight on your movements. "Suppose you'll go sailing to wherever next, right? Or…will you stay a while?"

Tolya knew what you were asking, obvious in what you didn't say. There had been countless times where Tolya had imagined himself throwing his life on the Volkvolny away just to be with you, to retire with you to some peaceful town with no worries, nothing at all but peace gifted by Alina tearing down the fold and enough money and shelter to settle down, explore the world, fall deeper in love. But the Volkvolny was his life, his meaning when he didn't fall into his faith. You were his love, his beloved, but neither one could expect the other to give up their identity to be somebody they weren't.

"I'm not sure," Tolya said truthfully. "And yourself? You're so busy with Kaz here, you may well be a Crow by the next time I see you. Your work seems to spring up like fleas."

Your mouth tilted downwards. He was right. Tolya was the love of your life but there would always be the issue of work. Without your demand with the Crows, what were you? Nothing but a shadow skulking around the city, tailing crooks, locating slaves? You supposed you could be more—you'd thought about it a few times, getting up and going with Tolya wherever he asked you to go. But those were dreams, frightening dreams you weren't sure Tolya saw eye to eye with. His voyages felt to you like escapes.

"Well—" Tolya broke through the silence, using his index finger to pick up your head by your chin. When your eyes met, he smiled warmly, kissing you. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there waiting for you."

Tamar stood beside Kaz and Mal as Tolya heaved himself up the ramp and onto the ship. You were close behind, shadowing his steps, cautious about even a step of distance. Tamar sighed loudly, and Kaz looked over at her and followed her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked. Kaz thought he already knew, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, a lovers parting," she said dramatically. 

Mal smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. "If they're trying to be subtle about things, they're doing a terrible job."

Kaz observed the couple. Kaz knew you well enough to respect you, perhaps even call you a friend, and he had no obvious qualms with Tolya. He'd never forget his loyalty before Alina tore down the fold, and had no concerns about him being a weakness to who might just be his next Crow. He stared at the back of Inej's head for a second too long as she helped someone heave some shipment to a different compartment of the ship, and then he looked back to Tolya and yourself with a funny feeling twist in his stomach.

"Why grovel?" Kaz asked. "Y/N can leave at any time if she wishes."

Tamar glanced over quickly, as if the news was surprising to her. "She's not working?"

"Her work is done," Kaz said plainly. Tamar and Mal's look of confusion made him twitch with slight annoyance, but he otherwise elaborated on what they didn't know: "I told Y/N to find leads on the slavers. She supplied the list of three and now you will be on your way to locate them. Her task has been completed, and she is free to go."

"Yeesh," Tamar said, "way to make her sound expendable."

"Everybody is."

Kaz looked back at Tolya, holding you in his arms. "I have Nina on a lead already. Until I have something for Y/N to do, she is free to do whatever she pleases." He added as an afterthought, "After all, she's not under my employment."

Hm. Tamar and Mal exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Will you be here? When we come back?" Tolya asked you. From afar, he could sense his sister's lingering gaze, and he spared a look, alarmed when he saw her, Mal and Kaz watching the pair of you.

"Most likely," you said. You followed his gaze and nodded your head in their direction, Tolya leading you by the waist back to the step-down where Kaz stood at the top, like a bouncer guarding the way. Tolya greeted each one with a glance and a smile before looking back at you.

There wasn't enough time this time around. Tolya's heart wrenched as he looked at you, trying to remember every detail before he had to leave. Their stops in Ketterdam were never very long, but how he longed for a day more by your side, simply one more hour in your company. The thought of leaving you made his throat harden, tears springing behind his eyes. A blink would surely set them free, but he knew the ways to keep them hidden until he was safe in the darkness, not until you came to him in a premonition like a sick joke.

Tamar and Mal—Sturmhond, now he was back on the wood of the ship— gave a look to Kaz in farewell and stepped around the back of you to move further on the deck. Tolya's heart quickened and you watched them go with a rapid look, glancing back at Tolya with twinkling eyes, twinkles he knew were tears and not reflections of light.

"None of that," he said quietly, with a small smile and he reached out to cup your face. Tolya guided you close for a kiss, and a bell rang from somewhere in the harbour and his heart leaped to his throat. He tugged you closer, kissing you harder. Kaz looked away, fixated on Inej but giving you at least the luxury of some privacy. Tolya lost himself in your kiss, his fingertips brushing your hairline and he swore he could taste the salt of your tears between his lips. Tolya pulled away from you slightly, his eyes slightly wide and breath raspy and all of a sudden: "Come with me."

There was a beat of silence.

If other crewmates heard, they didn't give much away. Kaz had torn his eyes from Inej in a painful defeat, with no option but to assess the lovers before him, and truth be told, Tamar and Sturmhond never stopped watching. Tolya didn't allow the silence to kill his courage. If he didn't say it now, he never would.

"I love you," Tolya said. "I love you so much—eya fyela chi, hm? And I know that your heart is here, with the city and the Crows and your life but, Saints, Y/N I see you in my dreams, I see you in the water and the sky and hear you in the ocean breeze. When I close my eyes, I see you in flashes. You have bewitched me, you are in my soul. I love you. Whenever we are apart, it's like a torment." He gulped. He sounded a lot like some of the amateur poetry he wrote when he felt lonely, poetry he sometimes recited to his crew if he got drunk enough. "So, please, please come with me. See the ocean, go across the sea. Be with me, stay with me—come with me."

His eyes searched your face for a sign, something—anything. You blinked, bewildered, holding his hands as they cupped your face.

"But…" you began to shake your head, and his heart sank deeper, "but my work…"

You spared a glance to Kaz. He could act like he hadn't been listening, but it wouldn't do anybody any good. You were almost startled to see him already observing you. 

"I don't need you," Kaz said simply. "I just owe you a debt."

"But, the slaves—"

"You did your job," he repeated. "So you're free to go."

Tolya was just as surprised as you were. He looked at Kaz with round eyes and met yours in a simultaneous turn. He wasn't quite sure what to say about any of it. Was Kaz telling you to go? Was he giving you permission, saying go, leave, or were you now useless to the Crows? Was it only because he had asked? Maybe you didn't want to leave.

"Am I fired?" you asked dumbly.

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of a smirk on Kaz's face. "I expect your contract will need renewing upon your arrival. There are many things to do in Ketterdam, just not now. Not for you, at least."

You blinked. Processing his words felt like an eternity—you were free to go. Kaz had made it clear that you'd still have a life on shore when you arrived, if you even left in the first place. Marvelling at the thought, you looked back at Tolya. Travelling the oceans with him; being in his arms each night, getting to know the parts of him reserved to his crew, his faith and his poetry and his talents on the deck, seeing what caused the scars on his hands, what caused the creases in his skin; what he ate and drank, what he wore on different days, how his hair fell in the mornings when it wasn't fastened out of his face. All of that for the taking, and you just had to say the words.

Tolya's face didn't waver, giving nothing away as you said nothing to him. For a while, he thought he knew what you'd say. Tolya, I'm sorry, but I just can't—

"But where would I sleep?"

He hadn't expected that.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. "I think there's room for you in my hammock, if you'd like." He caught your look of doubt and grinned, "Aw, come on. I'm not that big."

"What would I do?"

Slowly but surely, Tolya thought he could sense hope building inside of him. You hadn't yet declined. Your piqued interest gave food for thought as Tolya studied your expressions.

"Well," he said, thinking about it. Actually he'd already thought about it, more than ten times out at sea, twice within the few hours they were in Ketterdam, "you could do anything you wanted. Gaze out at the seas. Play card games—in no time, you'll be a better player than Tamar. You could paint the decks, climb the masts, sit in the nest all day for all I care. I just want you to be with me, for longer than just a few hours." 

Tolya's eyes were almost pleading. You gazed into them. There was no need to think, you already knew what you wanted to say. Chewing the skin of your inner cheek, your eyes flickered to Mal. As Sturmhond, you figured whatever he said went. Tolya followed your gaze and laughed when he spotted the source of your interest.

Mal's eyes flickered, like he'd been alerted back to the present. He looked around innocently, refraining from smiling when he caught the glimmer in Tamar's eyes next to him. 

"Don't look at me," Mal said to you, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands, "I'm not in charge."

When you next looked at Tolya, you were smiling. From the corner of your eye, Tamar clapped Mal on the shoulder and disappeared into the crew, helping Nadia unload cargo to a different spot below deck. For a second, Mal looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself, until he shuffled further towards the bow, scanning the horizon. Kaz was no longer on the ship when you turned to acknowledge him. You saw the shape of his coat disappear back into the masses in the harbour, and Jesper extended his hat in a farewell and turned to follow. Nina would understand, you hoped, as you were sure she'd still be occupied with freeing her 'hunk of meat'.

"What do you say, lapushka?" Tolya asked. He knew he was cheating by using the Ravkan tongue on you. You'd mentioned it was your mother language only once in passing, and he'd never wasted a second on charming you with it. He ran his hands up and down your arms, arching to look into your eyes with a wide smile on his face. Tolya grinned as he moved with your shyness, a laugh huffing through his lips. "Hm? Will you come with me?"

You laughed, giggled in his arms, as he brought you closer with a kiss under your eye. Squirming, you faked revolt, wrestling out of his grasp. Your smile told him your answer—the rest was roleplay. 

"I know we're going far from home," he said, watching as someone stepped close to pull up the ramp from the harbour. The distinct clink of the anchor filled his ears, departure would be soon and if you wanted to say no, then now was the time. You never did. "But I promise I'll take care of you."

You gazed at him fondly, reaching up to steal a kiss from his lips. He lingered, his face warm in the rising sun. "You can focus on your business, and I'll keep you safe from harm."

Tolya gasped teasingly. "You know the way to a man's heart, I see."

He pulled himself away, with some reluctance, with a grin and shuffled to aid his mates with assembling the ship. Before he could stray too far, you hooked your finger around the strap over his shoulders, used to hold his ensemble of guns and weapons. Tolya looked back as he felt the pull, the adoration in his gaze never faltering.

"Only the hearts of men I love," you told him, and he smiled, bigger and brighter, tilting his head as his eyes folded into Cheshire smiles before he winked, dipping his head back to look at his crew.

You watched him retreat along the deck, his assertion cool and respectful, commanding the attention of the crew as they fell into their formations. Figuring you had time to find your place, you stood rooted where you had been standing this time, casting one final look at the harbour; you bid silent farewell to the streetlights and carts, to the horses snuffling as they loaded merchandise and travellers into the carriages pulled by their strength, to the place you lovingly called home, until a new one found its way to you in the shape of a man named Tolya, who wherever you were together became your new anchor, the new place you fell to for comfort and safety. The man you loved, yours for the taking, for a life stretching past the horizon across that plane of endless sea.

[romirola]

Balancing Act: A Redactedverse Fanfic (Chapter 1/18)

READ CHAPTER 1 OF BALANCING ACT ON AO3!

Summary:

Rating: T; WC: ~75K over 18 chapters

Note and Thank You Shoutouts: It’s here. It’s here! IT’S HERE! The Redactedverse power swap fic is finally here and ready to share with you all! I’ve been steadily working on this fic for months, barely able to contain myself as I shared the occasional snippet on Tumblr. I can’t tell you how much joy it brings me to contribute this long labor of love to the fandom. Before I kick things off, I want to give some special shoutouts to the wonderful people who let me incorporate their creativity into this story: @claracatlady, for Bob, William’s spoiled ragdoll cat; @pinksparkl, for suggesting Anaia be a panther shifter; @floofdeloop, for Asher’s surname “O’Connell” and his parents’ names, Ciaran and Áine; @frenchiefitzhere, for use of the Dahlia Academy for Magical Novices Alma-Mater Song; @gwenifred , for use of the character, Dani; @palilious, for use of the character, Manu; @itsdaifuku for letting me adapt this art into a textual moment; and @pycth for Zephyr, Lasko’s and his partner’s pet blue jay. Check out their amazing work if you haven’t already. Another thank you to everyone who showed support and excitement for this story during my months of writing it. One last deep and heartfelt thank you to anyone who chooses to read this story. I truly hope you enjoy. As always, any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged.

As requested, I’m tagging @starlitangels, @shellssstuff, @thegoldenlittlerose, and @halscafe in posting updates of this story. Would you like to be alerted when Balancing Act is updated? Please let me know and I’ll be happy to add you to the list. 

Looking for more info about this fic? Find a list of characters and tags at the above AO3 link or below the cut. Still have questions? Feel free to reach out to me! Ready to read? Then let’s go, because there is a lot of story to tell...

Characters: David, Angel, Asher, Babe, Milo, Sweetheart, Darling, Sam, Cutie, Huxley, Marie Greer, William Solaire, Starlight, Lasko, Damien, Geordi, Freelancer, Aaron, Gabe Shaw, Colm Greer, Aggro

Tags: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Love, Support, Trust, Communication, Friendship, Fluff, Banter, Suspense, Action, Adventure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Mates in Love, Relationship Growth, Memories, Healing, Character Growth, Happy Ending, Power Swap, Vernal Equinox, Exchange Ritual, Unempowered David, Shifter Angel, Smol-Wolf Asher, Vampire Babe, Big-Wolf Milo, Telepath Sweetheart, Unempowered Sam, Earth-Elemental Darling, D.U.M.P. is a Toxic Workplace, Vampire Discrimination, Negative Self-Talk, Consensual Trancing, Consensual Blood Drinking, Rival Pegasus Shifter Group, Mate Bond, Child Stealth, Magneto-Energetic Attack, Humor, Bonfire, All Listener Characters are Gender Neutral, Pack Anniversary Party, Pack Dynamics, Pack Bonding, Adult Language, Humor, Bonfire

[cherubispunk]

ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part ii // blood.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: this was meant to be posted earlier and it was also meant to be longer but ive been through so much these past few weeks i couldnt bring myself to write much more. for those waiting on dealer!Joel, its coming. it might just take me a little while. thank you all for your patience. i love you all, look after yourselves.

playlist

wc: 1692 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to , cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eatin, oral sex - m receiving, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | m.list

You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite.  — Madeline Miller ‘Circe’

‘Strangle me with Aphrodite’s very pearls. What a beautiful creation. Funny how we will all die but seek love for a pitiful salvation.’ Words engraved, etched into the gravestone of…this. This creation of torture. Of serpents’ forked tongues and gnashing lions teeth. Silence so large and gaping it made your heart dare to beat only in the ricochet of the shiver down your spine. He was the sharp blade of a knife, you were the wetstone he used to perfect its slide of slice. Bleed ichor from your veins while he grazes blunt teeth over the shallow skin upon your collarbone. 

You didn't care. ‘Give me that pointed, glimmering blade’, you thought, its vermillion stain now smeared too with gold. ‘Give me that blade. Some things are worth bloodshed.’ 

He was a killer. And his bounty was set on your spirit. Your calm. Your superiority over him. In his field, he was a master of his art. His armour gleamed as a trophy for his succession of rank. His clan– Here…he was a novice once again. Knew not a drop of knowledge of your craft, nor the whispering properties of each flower bud, fruit pit and herb stem in your garden. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme were nothing but cooking materials to him. And even that was a stretch to his mind. 

You wished to be Anothny’s Cleopatra to him. Not a wicked witch of the western tides. Toughened beauty, once black coals under pressure, now gleaming in diamond and its own giant covalent structure. Him swooning over your flesh for months and his tongue speaking within your mouth. There was no turquoise over your eyes, nor the stain of the madder root over your lips to paint him with. His face was still an image that belonged to your mind. Not the reality you lived now with him tangled in your sheets. Rippled muscled under a tapestry of scars and skin. 

He did some things. Mainly doted care to the child whom you sense properties in. A magic akin to your own, yet not all the same. His was one of energy, a flowing combination of entities, living a breathing through you, him, the mandalorian and each living being on this island. Mauve further. It was a balance that even you did not know the tipping point of nor the origin of its birth. It was shaking. It crumbled under the erosion of water to salt pillars until its foundations skimmed to their very bare bones. 

It took with it the light of your sanctuary and morphed into Tartarus, so your soul may burn in forged cast iron chains. They were white hot in the black soot tinders. Glowing violently in your corneas while they singed sight. Scorched touch. Seared taste. The battle of yours and the child's power. 

You watched in awe one night, the lights out, but a single sliver of silver from Artemis’s glow caught the sharpened tip of a knife you know strapped to your thigh under the skirts of your dress. Would his blood sizzle when it touched the blade, as you only imagined it ran hot and thick with the brazen burn of his anger. Ichor? No. He was no god. But his touch was of divinity. And left a tingle of power in its bone cramping wake. Wailing for more. 

Only just the night before you had dropped to your knees in the doorframe of your chambers. Took off his armour beforehand in wordless undoing. Your tragic hero ending. And then gave him your mouth. Not words. Nor cunt. Just the mouth. Tip of the tongue, the lips and teeth. The stretch of his cock still wrung out your throat. Slick and wanting while it mimicked the way your cunt hugged the tip so well. Tased of salt and something more. Something forbidden or taboo. And he took his time with slow shallow thrusts at first, a large gloved hand cradling the curve of the jaw that went slack to let him buck deeper. 

This morning was one of the first times you lamented over the now restricted motion in your jaw. The ache still nagged into the later hours, when The Mandalorian returned from your gardens, the bloody and mangled caracas of a rabbit thumping down on the table. He sat at the head of the table opposite you, cleaning the blood from his knife on his cape. You thought if you saw his eyes — be it hickory, azure, or pine — you would have crystallised in that very moment and that very form. Cured oak table under your fingertips, feet planted into the terracotta floor. His irises setting your thrumming heart dead still.

This was the man you let into your bed.

He remained there, sat still in his chair while the child babbled in the kitchen with you. You took that rabbit. Skinned it. Dressed it. And roasted the meat in a marinade of white wine and spices from the edge of your fenced garden. Later you would hang the pelt and let it air — make something for the child. Mittens maybe. 

For now, you took your time circling the table to place each plate down: cheese, seasoned greens, a cup for the vessel of wine to his side. The silverware gleamed menacing in dim candlelight while he awaited each plate, unmoving in his armour while each delicacy was gifted to him upon his high table. And when you retired to your seat, the child had taken his too and started his feast, sticky plum jam smeared over his lips as he dribbled innocently and unaware over his rabbit leg.

But upon your silver plate was a single strip of black cloth, folded over twice on itself. 

Your eyes lifted to meet him, wide in wondering question. Only to hit a barrier of beskar when you see his visor still covers his face. Not a scrap of food had been helped onto his plate by his still gloved hands. His boots that traipsed dirt through your door were still on his feet, caked in mud on the soles.

“What’s this?” Nothing. Not a word past his lips. “Am I to figure it out for myself?” He cleared his throat, raising his head so his chin jutted out towards you. “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?” 

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.” 

You pouted, pressing your tongue to the flesh on the inside of your cheek, then kissed your teeth. 

“You mean to dictate my freedom in my own home.” You scoffed and slung your arms across your chest, crossing them. “At my own table? You are sick in your own head, Mandalorian, if you think I am one to bend my will to the whims of others. Especially in my own house.” And he repeated,

while his shoulders drew taught under his pauldrons with the armour gleaming in the silver glare of Selene’s chariot. And he planted a seed in your stomach, turned in it, and made you feel sick. You preferred him between your legs, his name between your teeth and tongue. 

“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.” 

Eyes fell to the plate, that cloth once more. Would it be poisoned? The fabric snared with nettle to sting your eyes. Here you had two choices. Stay, blind yourself, yield to him somewhere other than your chambers. Or stand and leave. Either way, it was an act of submission. 

You did neither. Instead, you stood, kicking your chair back behind you before swanning over to the seat next to him, taking the other leg of rabbit and sinking your teeth into its cooked flesh, all the while your eyes on him. To tartarus with xenia, he outstayed his welcome long after he passed the threshold of your home. Helios could come and smite you for all you cared, the fates could snip your golden immortal line of yarn. No horror could compare to the satisfaction you had as you stuffed your face with food you'd slaved over for him. His refusal was your gain and soon you moved onto the plumbs, sticky sweet juice dribbling down your demented smile. 

You wafted the half chewn and mangled fleshy bone in his face, smirking with your mouth full. 

“Go on, Madalorian.” You crooned, “have a bite. Give in a little.” 

His hand snatched your wrist the moment the words left your stained lips, gloved fingertips making something click in your bones. You bit down the pain with a swallow, smirk remaining triumphant across your features. 

“Put it down.” He grimaced, curling his helmet covered lip at the state of you. Unkempt and wild, shrewish in your dignity. 

“Or what?” 

He let go. Sat back, pushed out a huff through his nostrils. 

Then he stood. You watched unphased and delighted with yourself as he took the child who cooed up at him. And listened out for his heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs to his and the child’s room. Then silence. All the while you tossed the stripped bone to his plate and licked your fingers. 

You didn’t know what you would rather prefer. Him to come back down. Or stay and retire to bed. Regardless, he’d take you eventually. Here or up in your bed chambers. Unlace your corset or nightgown. Use you as his nightcap before slipping off. Without getting a look upon him. Not a sliver of his visage to hold to in sleep. 

He did come down. And with a heavy hand bent you over the head of the table, a gloved palm pressing your face into the wood. 

Physically you were here. Mentally, you were back against the silver birch. His cock splitting you in two once again while you smiled sadistically in candlelight. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. 

Between your thighs where he belonged. 

[tabswrites]

The Tomb of Light

Summary: In a country where magic has been outlawed, four strangers are sent on a quest to find the last source and destroy it—but something or someone has other plans for them.

Genre: NA Fantasy

WIP Intro

Chapter One: The Pledge

CW: Violent imagery, mentions of death

 WC: 3,507

The bell’s resounding chime summoned him to his retribution.

Adrin’s eyes slid over to the dust-covered window and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair with more urgency.  The reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. For a guard in training, it would have been more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he was already a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but a guard was not who he was meant to be. It was who he needed to become.

With his blonde hair slicked back against his head, he secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, was embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning. Rothar was proud of their violent history, and he would be in defense of it for the rest of his life. He stared back at the downcast face in the foggy glass and bid farewell to the boy who once wished to escape it. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he slouched down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He slipped through the front door just as his mother’s groggy voice called his name.

Once he was certain she hadn’t followed him outside, he paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the morning breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray and her yellow hair dripped with blood.

He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear to the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now. With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him. 

Rothar was struggling to wake, much like himself. Shuttered windows and quiet streets greeted him as he continued further into the city center. The baker, as always, was well into her workday, and as she waved to him from behind her long counter she created a snowstorm over her head. He brought a hand to his left temple and gave her a half-hearted salute. Freshly kneaded loaves rested beneath a damp cloth on the table beside her and he inhaled their comforting scent, letting memories of family dinners and his mother’s exemplary cooking skills quiet the anxious thoughts that plagued him. 

“Valic! Hey, Valic!” A gruff but friendly voice snapped him out of his melancholic reminiscence. 

He spotted the other novice guards lining up just ahead, identical crests emblazoned on the backs of their billowing capes. A short, sandy-haired man with a round belly waved at him. He bit the inside of his cheek and plastered a smile on his face.

“Alright, Milvar?” He quickened his pace to catch up to him. “I thought I was the early one.”

“No one else had to stop and grease their hair, pretty boy.” Milvar landed a solid punch on his arm and grinned at him with crooked teeth. “Maybe give the rest of us a fighting chance with the birds, yeah?”

Adrin gave him a half-smirk. “You strut around here in that uniform and tell anyone who will listen about your pink roses and I assure you, the ladies will find you–but in order to keep that uniform, you might want to actually make it to your pledge.” 

He ushered him through the iron gates that lead to the Veritas Compound, a small cluster of buildings that comprised the guard barracks, watchtower, council chambers and school. The barracks, a round tower of pale limestone, was closest to them. A large group had spread out in front, a  ring of iron torches placed into the ground around them to stave off the haze of dawn.

The High Guard consisted of nearly a hundred men and women, excluding the novices to be sworn in. They stood together in five neat rows, the highest ranked among them front and center. Each of them wore the same uniform of gray trousers, a long sleeved linen tunic and a black leather breastplate with matching bracers. The sea of white cloaks was bathed in a pale orange glow as the sun rose lazily in the sky. Adrin and his comrades formed their own line facing the others, and he held back a groan as he recognized another familiar face. 

If parents were allowed to pick and choose their children based on desirable traits, Lieutenant Rothe would be his father’s pride and joy. The young prodigy had enrolled in guard training at 19, two years before Adrin had finally caved. It had been a year since Adrin and Milvar’s first attempt to join the guard, and they had returned to a version of Rothe even more grating than the last.  

The lieutenant’s delicate facial features and dashing smile stole hearts, but his sharp intelligence and natural gift for swordsmanship had seemingly earned him the respect of everyone who knew him. Adrin saw what they ignored. The young lieutenant was gifted, sure, but he was also a vortex of apathy that left destruction in its wake. When he wasn’t barking orders or having his ego stroked by the captain, he lounged around his family’s sizable cabin spending his inheritance on all the spirits and opium he could find. The council turned a blind eye to their cherished guard as he led naive women into his home night after night. They ignored the scent of alcohol that always lingered on his breath and the dilated pupils that swallowed the icy blue irises everyone loved to admire. It was for these reasons, among others, that made it difficult for Adrin to embrace his new role. It sickened him to think of swearing loyalty to such hypocrites. The ceremony was just another sacrifice for the sake of his parent’s happiness and his penance. For Sophie. 

A dark-skinned woman wearing a black cape and a blank expression stood beside Rothe. Her impossibly shiny hair was secured in a long braid that wrapped around her head and was pinned in place, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her gaze was inscrutable as it swept over the rows and rows of guards, but her voice was welcoming when she spoke.

“Lieutenant Rothe will be swearing you in,” her sickly sweet voice rang out, and the hissing whispers of the eager recruits fell silent at once. 

The ebony-haired man straightened at the sound of his name and immediately, the novices stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. He sauntered forward, the golden sheath at his hip swaying with each motion. A short young woman with mousy brown hair and a timid demeanor hovered near his elbow, a small wooden chest tucked under her arm. Adrin stared at it with a sense of dread, tasting blood as he chewed the inside of his cheek for the second time that morning. 

“Thank you, Captain Hollowar.” Rothe turned to give her a polite nod before addressing them. “Today, you will dedicate yourselves to the protection of Rothar.”

Adrin was surprised that his voice did not waver, and instead echoed with righteous authority.

“You will dedicate yourselves to your fellow guardsmen and the Veritas Council, the guardians of Caledon.” The lieutenant looked out at the novices and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 He let his words linger for a moment, testing their patience further. At last, he nodded to the brown-haired guard. “The chest, please, Havoc.”

Her face flushed, perhaps at the notion that he had remembered her name. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid before holding it out to him. Inside appeared to be thin silver bands of  polished metal. The bands were left partially open with a half inch of space between each end. Rothe lifted one with a single finger and held it aloft, letting it catch the light of the rising sun.

“These bracelets will be permanently closed around your wrist after you have been sworn in. It will serve as a reminder to you all that you cannot simply turn your backs on responsibility. This is a role you will have for life.”

It took every ounce of self control that Adrin possessed for him to hold his tongue from unleashing a biting insult. For most of his childhood he had seen his father brandish his own bracelet with great pride, but for Adrin, it was a shackle.

“Guardsman Valic.” His name must have been funny, for Rothe had turned to address him with a sneer. “Is there a problem?” 

Adrin swallowed. “No problem, sir.” He straightened his shoulders and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the left of Rothe’s amused face.

“Good. Let’s move on, then.” He snapped his fingers and Havoc placed a large book bound in black leather into his outstretched hand. “You can start us off. Repeat after me:

I pledge myself to the good of mankind and its quest for advancement.

I pledge myself to the Council and vow to uphold their ways.

I pledge myself to a world without magic and vow to protect the citizens of my city and my country from its corruption for all time.

I pledge myself to Caledon, from now until I die.”

Adrin received his bracelet from Havoc and shuffled resignedly to the blacksmith, who stood by a torch with a pair of tongs. The old man was silent as he snatched the bracelet and held it in the center of the flame. A small line began to form behind him as he watched the metal change from red to orange.

At last it emerged from the fire and the blacksmith snapped his fingers at him. Adrin held out his left wrist and sought out the shredded flesh of his cheek with his tongue as the heated metal came closer. His flesh sizzled and steamed as the iron slid into place. A gloved hand pinched the metal closed, ensuring it wouldn’t budge. He tried to ignore the smell of his own bubbling, burning skin and gave the blacksmith a courteous nod before stepping aside for the next novice. 

The sun shone brightly above them now as the newly minted guards flashed their matching bracelets at each other, not one of them seeming to take issue with the permanence of their duty, though there were more than a few stifled yells and carefully disguised tears. Adrin stood apart from the others and waited for Milvar as he examined the red skin and puffy welts on his wrist. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.

The novices were granted recreational time to run back home and share their excitement with their families before reporting for their first official day of duty. Adrin slumped back to his house with a gently weeping Milvar, who had invited himself along to partake in breakfast.

“Why didn’t they warn us?” He moaned with a pathetic pout on his bearded face. “Can you die from burns?”

He gave his friend a sympathetic smile. As the son of a cobbler and a teacher, his family lived in South Rothar with the other tradesmen, saving him from the high expectations of the north. Unfortunately, as someone who was also desperate to be one of them, he saw Adrin as the model for an ideal lifestyle. If Adrin had left Rothar years ago as he had planned to, Milvar would have been right there by his side. Instead, his sweet, simple friend went against his own nature and followed him into danger. It seemed that Adrin was destined to destroy lives, not save them. 

  “Have my mum look at it, you twit. She’ll have something for the pain.” He pushed Milvar to the other side of the path with a low chuckle. “Come on, now.”

The city center was more than awake now, with delectable aromas of smoked meats and warm bread assaulting their noses the moment they stepped through the compound gates. He had to drag Milvar away from the baker, who had moved on from bread to fruit tarts since Adrin had last seen her. Golden brown triangles filled with spiced pears, apples, vibrant cherries and plums had been lined up in eye-catching concentric circles on a large silver tray. The baker sprinkled a handful of sugar into a large mortar and pestle and set to work grinding it into a fine powder. Milvar leaned across the counter towards her.

“You make the whole world sweet, you beautiful lass. Never stop,” he murmured as Adrin grabbed his arm and tugged him away.

Indeed, as Adrin smacked his lips together he could taste the sugar and for a moment the throbbing pain in his wrist vanished–but only for a moment. He kept a firm grip on Milvar as they passed the other shops and released him only when they had turned down the northwest road. Sophie’s tree waved to them with wide hands covered in green leaves that were starting to show spots of yellow. Beneath its outstretched arm was his house, a modest but well-kept cottage of cobblestone with a bright red door and matching shutters. On either side of the dirt path were patches of purple clovers that sprouted through sparse green grass. Milvar picked up the pace, jogging towards the door with purpose.

Inside, his parents were waiting for them at their kitchen table, a faded and cracked squaretop surrounded by mismatched chairs. Plates of fat link sausages shining with grease, slices of malt loaf speckled with dried plums and a half dozen fried eggs covered the table. His stomach grumbled its approval, but his attempts to reach the food were foiled by his father’s large, broad-shouldered body rushing towards him.

 “Let me see that!” He grabbed at his left wrist, avoiding the seared skin but still sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain up his arm. “Now you’re just like your old man!” He slapped a thick hand across his back, his own bracelet still encircling his right wrist.

Adrin forced a painful smile on his face. “I would have preferred a necklace, I think.”

“Well I think you look very official.” His mother called over her shoulder as she stirred a large pot of porridge over the fire. She slid the spoon through the pot’s handle and wiped her hands on the patchwork apron tied around her waist. “Both of you. Let me take a look at those wrists, boys.” She swatted his father on the back and he made way for her.

Milvar stepped further into the cramped room and held out his right arm, his watery blue eyes refusing to look.

She clicked her tongue and held each of their hands up to her face. “Such a brutish ceremony. Sit,” she commanded them, then dashed to the shelves on the far wall. Glass jars containing flowers, herbs and salves stood in rows of six. She tied her silvery hair back with a scrap of fabric from within the pocket of her apron and examined the jars with interest before selecting one filled with what looked like wood shavings.

“Hush, woman,” his father chided, but his expression was soft. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“After days of ceaseless whining.” She retrieved the kettle from the fireplace and brought it to the table. “Adrin, join us please, and stop hovering like a stranger in your own home.” 

He pulled out the creaking wooden chair next to Milvar and seated himself in front of a large platter of sausages, lifting one to his mouth with a trembling hand. He tore off a large piece with his front teeth and swallowed it whole, wanting the meal to pass by as quickly as possible. His mother’s pale grey eyes studied him with interest as she sprinkled a few pieces of the shavings in two clay mugs. Steam from the boiling water flushed her cheeks, and she fanned herself with her free hand as she set one down in front of him and Milvar in turn. Milvar leaned forward and sniffed his with narrow eyes.

“Willow bark, for the pain,” she informed them. She claimed the last chair for herself–Sophie’s chair, with painted daisies and sunflowers along the back. 

As the men tucked in, she turned her attention to Adrin. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, pretending that it was hunger that caused him to ignore her. Heedless of Milvar’s sharp eyes, she tucked a loose strand of Adrin’s hair behind his ear and continued to watch him, only taking a few nibbles from her slice of bread every now and then.

“I’ll put some honey on that burn for you tonight after your shift,” she said, and pushed his tea towards him. “Make sure you stop by too, Milton.”

“Please eat something, Mum,” Adrin urged her, cutting off Milvar’s cry of outrage in response to being addressed by his first name. “There’s no need to worry, I promise.”

“I always worry,” she murmured into her lap.

 “Enough of the fussing, Laurel. This is a day to celebrate,” his father mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed before adding, “I’m proud of you.” There was another, longer pause. “I know Sophie would be too.”

The negativity that had been eating away at Adrin all morning suddenly burst out. His fork clattered against the table as it slipped from his fingers.

“You know that’s not true,” he hissed.

Milvar, sensing that the time for pleasantries was running short, began to eat at a much faster pace.

“Adrin–” His parents shared a look of concern.

“I apologize, but I’ve had about all that I can stomach.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I will meet you at the barracks, Milvar.” He left his tea untouched, letting his anger and guilt drown out the burning bite of metal against skin. The front door closed with a loud bang, sending clouds of dust into the air. 

Adrin was surprised to find himself among the last to return to the barracks. He glanced behind him, wondering if Milvar would be willing to sacrifice his rank for another helping of sausages. He did his best to exchange pleasantries with the others while his head fought a futile battle against the dark thoughts raging within. He had never completely meshed with the other novices, or the guards for that matter. Everyone, save for Milvar, looked at him differently in the year since Sophie’s death.

No one had anticipated a death during what was meant to be an innocent night of camaraderie in the woods, and no one could have predicted that their most boisterous recruit would become so somber.  He was permitted time to grieve, of course, and Milvar the loyal had waited to pledge with him–but time would never make things right, make him right.  The loud clanging of the watchtower bell interrupted his mournful introspection and heads whipped around as if the source of the commotion was right in front of them.  

Captain Hollowar exited the barracks alongside the lieutenant. The two of them stalked across the plush green lawn with closed expressions. Their black and white capes whipped back and forth in the wind, and slowed to a flutter as they stopped in front of the group. Hollowar gave them a moment to fall in. 

“One of our gatekeepers received a warning today from a traveling merchant.” She brandished a crisp piece of beige parchment. “An old enemy of Rothar has been spotted making arrangements to enter the city.” She cleared her throat. “The woman has been identified as none other than Mara Wilkes.”

All eyes flashed to Lieutenant Rothe.

[itbmojojoejo]

𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟 ~

A Good Man | Finan x Ealdorman's Daughter!Reader. | NSFW. | 11 Parts | Complete.

A Good Man Alternative OC Verson | On-going. (only on Ao3).

River Of Sins | Finan x OFC x Osferth | NSFW.

𝕆𝕤𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕙 ~

Fall From Grace | Osferth x Novice!Reader | Angst. SFW | DRABBLE.

𝕊𝕚𝕙𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔 ~

Indelicate Tenderness | Sihtric x Ealdorman's Wife!Reader | NSFW.| Complete.

𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕕 ~

The Gold Obsidian Collection | Sigefrid x OFC | NSFW. DUBCON. | Complete.

𝕌𝕙𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕕 ~

Uhtred x Fem!Reader | Drabble | WC:640 | NSFW.

𝔸𝕌'𝕊 -

Crimes Of Passion | Finan x OFC & Sihtric x OFC | NSFW. Smut. | Part 10 | Complete.

Fractured Moonlight | Vamp!Finan x Vamp!OFC | Angst. NSFW. Smut. | Ongoing.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

In the Event of My Demise | Ralvez

not my gif

Title inspo- In the Event of my Demise - Jake Bugg

A/N - this is for @imagining-in-the-margins Comfort Challenge. Thank you to the wonderful @tobias-hankel for being my beta! Set post 13.6 The Bunker. Includes references to 12.22 Red Light. I wrote this in a like a day, but I don’t hate it so, yeah.

Summary - months after his release from prison, Spencer Reid still hasn’t allowed himself to deal with the residual trauma of what happened to him. When a local case triggers his inevitable breakdown, Luke Alvez must pull Spencer back from the brink or risk losing him to his demons forever.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Luke Alvez (platonic ish)

Category - hurt / comfort | angst | hopeful ending

Content Warnings - Mentions of prison arc, Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn and Mr Scratch, talk of PTSD, therapy, swearing, mental breakdowns, possible psychotic breaks, small mention of blood, mentions of sexual assault (as per canon), talk of being drugged, Spencer losing his grip on reality, tears, a broken man just needing a hug, hidden feelings.

WC - 7.6k

Profiling hadn’t come naturally to Luke Alvez. As a former army ranger turned fugitive task force agent it wasn’t something he’d ever had to be versed in. He was a man hunter, he didn’t read human behaviour the way the rest of the BAU did every single day. Picking up on little nuances and tiny changes in a person's tone of voice or posture wasn’t something that came easily to him. 

Luke was used to being more hands on. The physical aspect of the job was no issue for him whatsoever. He could chase down an unsub no problem. In all honesty he could run circles around most of his team, with the exception of Simmons anyway. But Matt’s background in the IRT meant he had a better grasp on profiling and despite joining the team later than Luke, seemed to be flourishing in this environment. 

But Luke was no quitter and he refused to be average at anything he did. So he studied, he read every book he could get his hands on about profiling and human behaviour so Hotch didn’t change his mind about hiring him. And progressively his skills were improving and he started to finally feel like a valid member of the team. 

Still he was a novice in comparison to the rest of the BAU, which was why it was so odd for him to be the only one who seemed to notice that one of their own was struggling. 

It made perfect sense. After what he’d been through of course he would be. But in the aftermath of the whole Scratch debacle, the youngest team members' issues seemed to get swept under the rug. But Luke noticed. Luke couldn’t help but notice. 

If Luke was completely honest with himself he’d done nothing but notice Doctor Spencer Reid since the first day they met, over case files about the Crimson King. Luke was instantly enthralled by the young genius, fascinated by the way he seemed to know something about everything. And his beautiful golden eyes certainly didn’t help matters either. 

He could probably attribute a lot of his newfound profiling skills to his observations of Spencer. He noted and catalogued every facial expression, every verbal and non verbal tick of the captivating man. After only a few months Luke could have written the Idiots Guide to Spencer Reid. He consumed everything pertaining to him without even really meaning to. So maybe that was why he saw through Spencer’s attempts to pretend he was just fine that everyone else seemed to buy. 

They’d just finished up on a local case working with the Richmond Field Office, in which several women had been abducted over the past five years. It came to a head when Spencer and JJ were following up on a lead that landed them trapped in the unsubs underground bunker.  

“Oh boy wonder!” Garcia gasped the second the elevator doors creaked open and Spencer’s frame was revealed inside the metal shaft. How long she’d been standing there, awaiting his return, was anybody's guess. “Are you ok? That must have been horrible for you.”

She’d already give JJ the once over, ensuring her friend had come out of that situation unscathed. But Spencer she was more concerned about. Being trapped in an enclosed space like that after his time in prison had to have been a living nightmare for him. 

Spencer shuffled out of the elevator, avoiding eye contact with the bubbly blonde and willing to just be left alone. As soon as he was close enough, Penelope gripped him by the shoulders, trying to force him to make eye contact. 

“I’m fine, seriously. Please stop fussing over me.” Spencer shook off Garcia’s attempts to coddle him. 

“But after what you’ve been through…gosh it must have been so scary.” She ignored him trying to step away and threw her arms around the touch averse genius, despite him attempting to wriggle free. 

“It would have been scary for anyone, Garcia.” He kept his arms at his sides while Garcia practically hugged the air from his lungs. 

Luke watched on from just inside the glass double doors. He could see the discomfort in Spencer’s eyes that he kept focused on the ground, could sense the fact that the younger man just wanted to be left alone. Garcia on the other hand clearly missed these signals. 

“Stop trying to act brave.” She mumbled against his shoulder. 

“No one’s acting, Garcia. I’m fine. Please can we…” he raised his arms now and placed a hand on each of her biceps. 

Luke continued to watch as Spencer gently guided the tech analyst off of him, peeling her away from his body and taking a few steps back from her. 

Garcia’s eyes were wide with sadness as she looked at Spencer and once again, Spencer averted his gaze. 

“No one would think any less of you if you were affected by this, Spence.” She whispered, Luke had to strain himself to hear her. 

He noticed Spencer’s shoulder stiffen, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides while he kept up his stare off with the floor. 

“Good to know.” He nodded, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth the way Luke knew he did when he was uncomfortable. “Can I use the bathroom now?” 

“Oh,” Garcia nodded, stepping back from Spencer’s path. “Of course! Sorry to keep you.”

Spencer didn’t reply, simply offered her a small shake of his head before he hurried past her down the corridor. 

That had been close to an hour ago now. The rest of the team had called it a night but Luke remained alone in the office. Spencer’s jacket and satchel hung on the back of his chair so he knew the younger man wouldn’t have left and Luke couldn’t bring himself to leave while Spencer was still here. 

He spent the better part of a half hour trying to talk himself into checking on Spencer. He didn’t want to overstep the mark, he’d seen the way in which he’d shot Garcia down when she tried to talk to him and could only assume he would meet a similar fate. Maybe he could just let Spencer know he was here, that he could talk to him if he needed someone. Spencer would no doubt reject him, but at least Luke might be able to sleep a little easier at night knowing he’d tried. 

Either way Luke knew he wasn’t going to leave before he saw Spencer, so no matter how long this internal debate went on, it was always going to end the same. So he swallowed his nerves and forced himself down to the men’s bathroom. 

***

Spencer Reid was incredibly adept at compartmentalisation. It was something that came part and parcel of being an FBI Agent for so many years. 

Frequently it was required to put his own feelings aside, separate the personal from the professional. He was so well versed in it, it came as second nature at this point. 

But there was never more need for this skill after his release from Milburn. 

When JJ had led him out of the prison gates and he’d seen Penelope standing there, eyes glossy with tears, he’d had to force back his own. He’d fallen into her arms, relishing in the feeling of being out, in the arms of one of his best friends and he’d almost crumbled. 

But he couldn’t. Not yet. 

His mom was still missing and if he had any chance of finding her he had to face off with Cat Adams again first. And to do that, he had to be in control of his emotions. 

He pigeonholed his feelings, putting a little pin in them for the time being. If he showed Cat any sign of weakness, no matter how small, his mother was as good as dead. 

And then once they found his mom alive and well, he’d almost allowed himself to succumb to all those emotions he’d bottled up in the past three months. Almost. But then he’d had to put his breakdown on hold again when Scratch kidnapped Emily. 

He barely held it together during that case, one he wasn’t even supposed to be working as he wasn’t technically reinstated. Throwing books at walls and scaring the living daylights out of Garcia certainly wasn’t the signs of a healthy, well adjusted man. Luke had confronted him when he couldn’t stop pressing his palms into his eye sockets, trying to make him feel better with his talks of PTSS. And maybe it worked for a short while. It helped at the very least to get Spencer through until Emily was found. 

Once she was back and safe he expected himself to crumble. But then he was mandated therapy and had to go through the whole rigmarole of being perceived to be capable enough to be reinstated. So once again his breakdown had to be put on the backburner just long enough for his therapist to deem him stable enough to return to work. And once that happened he was working back to back cases, teaching whenever he wasn’t at the BAU and his demise fell by the wayside. 

He didn’t have a second to stop and let himself fragment, and maybe in part, that was intentional. Maybe he’d deliberately kept himself busy to stop himself from reliving the three months he spent in prison so as to protect himself. Because Spencer knew that once he gave in, once he allowed himself to deal with the full weight of what he’d been through, he’d never come back from it. 

He didn’t exactly know why today was the day he’d spiralled. Arguably being in that bunker, trapped in a confined space once again was clearly the trigger. He knew it wouldn’t take much to push him over the ledge he’d been straddling since his arrest. And now the straw had broken the proverbial camel's back and Spencer had snapped, spiralling into the abyss he’d been narrowly avoiding since he’d been released and he was sure there would be no recovering from this. 

He’d excused himself to use the bathroom but time had ceased to exist since then. He could have been gone five minutes or five days for all he knew. He’d made it into the bathroom, to the sink and the mirror hanging above it. But he hadn’t seen his own reflection staring back at him; Cat Adams was staring back at him. She smirked at him before she started laughing maniacally, chiding him about what a fucking mess she’d made of him and his life. 

Oh Spencie, I really did ruin you didn’t I? You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you like this. Broken. Destroyed. I took everything from you and I loved every minute of it. 

Her sick and twisted voice sounded out around him and when he blocked his ears with his hands her voice only got louder. Her laughter grew more menacing, her image swarming his brain even when he closed his eyes. He stumbled backwards from the mirror and collapsed on the floor, hands still pressed firmly against his ears and eyes screwed tightly shut, mumbling under his breath. 

Go away! Leave me alone, you bitch! You don’t get to win, I won’t let you beat me! 

And that was how Luke found him. 

Seeing his friend on the bathroom floor, muttering and rocking and back and forth had all the makings of a psychotic break. Luke had never had to deal with someone in a situation like this. Was it similar to sleepwalking? Would it be dangerous to try and snap Spencer out of his state? It was only when he noticed the blood that his rational thinking flew out of the window and he darted to Spencer’s side. 

“Reid? Oh my god, Reid are you ok?” He threw himself on the floor next to Spencer, quickly finding the source of the blood. 

His knuckles were shredded and judging by the broken glass shards littered around him, Luke thought it was a pretty safe bet that Spencer had punched the mirror. 

“Reid? Can you hear me, man?” He pried Spencer’s right hand away from his ear and inspected the wound. It was still bleeding but it looked as though there was thankfully no glass in his knuckles. 

“Leave me alone you bitch!” Spencer screamed, banging his head back against the tiled wall. “Just leave me alone!” 

“Reid, it’s Luke. Spencer? It’s just me. Can you look at me?” He used his free hand to cup Spencer’s jaw, hoping the contact would make Spencer open his eyes. 

It did. But Luke almost wished he hadn’t. 

Spencer’s usually animated and beautiful eyes were void of any kind of emotion. He was looking right at Luke but he could tell Spencer couldn’t see him. 

“Please. I just want to forget.” He mumbled now, lip quivering. 

“Spencer, who are you talking to?” Luke was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that but he asked it all the same. 

Spencer’s pupils dilated before shrinking again a few times as if he was trying to adjust to the face in front of him. Blood was dripping from his knuckles onto Luke’s hand but he barely noticed. 

“Spencer?” Luke tried again. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” 

Spencer’s eyes glazed over and his head rolled back against the wall. When he spoke it was only one word but it haunted Luke to his core. 

“C-Cat.” He mumbled and then his entire body went limp and his eyes fell closed. His body seemed to crumble but thankfully Luke’s reaction times were faster and he managed to hold his arms out for Spencer to fall into, his head crashing against Luke’s chest as opposed to the hard floor. 

***

“Leave me alone you bitch!” 

“Spencie, it’s only me. Spencer? It’s just me. Can you look at me?”

“Please. I just want to forget.”

“Spencie, who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” 

“C-Cat.” 

The next thing Spencer was conscious of was the sound of an engine idling. With his eyes closed he imagined himself behind the wheel of that truck, hauling ass through the Mexican desert in his pursuit of Lindsey Vaughn. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times as the light from an overhead street lamp flooded his retinas. 

The vibrations from the vehicle rumbled through his legs and up his spine and aided in bringing him back down to earth. He felt a presence next to him and he slowly turned his head to the side. He held his breath, genuinely afraid he would meet the eyes of the woman who had ruined his life. But it wasn’t the evil hit woman he found looking back at him from the driver's seat. He breathed a sigh of relief as he met the other man’s gaze. 

“Luke,” he whispered, nodding his head a little. “Hi.” 

“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say my name.” Luke’s lip twitched into a smile but his eyes were sad. 

“Where are we?” Spencer ignored the confusion that swelled in his brain at Luke’s words and tried to focus on something smaller. 

“In my car. Outside your apartment.” 

Spencer frowned, glancing away from Luke and out of the passenger’s window. He cast his eyes up at the familiar building they were parked in front of. 

“Right. Ok.” He nodded but his confusion was written on his face. 

It was then he noticed a pain in his right hand and he looked down to where it was cradled in his lap to see a thick bandage around his knuckles. Spencer’s head was spinning. He had so many questions that were fighting for first place that it quickly induced a throbbing in his temples. 

He raised his hands to the sides of his head and dug his fingers into his skin, massaging the offending areas.

“Are you ok?” Luke sounded panic stricken all of a sudden and he reached across the centre console and placed his hand on Spencer’s knee. 

“Hmm.” Spencer mumbled. “Just…a lot of things going on in my head.”

“You never let yourself deal with what happened to you in prison.” Luke removed his hand and sat back in his seat. 

Spencer didn’t reply, just continued to knead his temples furiously. 

“Let me help you inside.” Luke unfastened his seatbelt and opened the car door. 

Spencer hadn’t moved by the time he rounded the vehicle and opened his own door. It took him a few more seconds to snap back and he lowered his hands so he could undo his seatbelt. 

He swung his legs out of the car and they shook a little when he stood. He used the door to steady himself for a moment before he trusted himself to move. Luke hovered behind him as he walked, scared the man might collapse but thankfully he made it to the door. Luke followed him inside, carrying his bag and jacket he’d taken from Spencer’s desk. 

He stayed close behind Spencer as he took to the stairs and watched as he fumbled a little unlocking his front door, clearly still not fully with it. It could take a while for him to come back completely. If he ever did. Luke’s main priority became making sure that didn’t happen. 

Spencer let him inside and if he realised the state or his apartment, he didn’t show it. While he kicked off his converse and hung up his blazer, Luke surveyed the chaos of Spencer’s usually perfectly tidy home. He’d only ever been yhere a handful of times, mostly when Spencer was incarcerated and Luke would accompany JJ or Garcia to visit Spencer’s mom. It had struck him each time how pristine the apartment was. Everything seemed to have a place, not a single book was out of line. And right now it was barely recognisable as Spencer’s home. 

He imagined the state of the apartment reflected the state of Spencer’s mind. Books had been ripped from their places on the shelves and tossed haphazardly across the room, some pages even having been torn from their spines as if Spencer had been searching for some kind of answer within those books. Dirty mugs and plates littered his desk and coffee table. A bottle of red wine had spilt and soaked into the rug next to the couch. Case files and pieces of paper were strewn around the room but Spencer didn’t seem to notice. 

Luke watched him head across the room, expertly stepping over the debris in a path he’d memorised in his head. He bypassed the couch and strolled straight into his bedroom, seemingly forgetting Luke was with him. 

“I’m gonna uh…put the kettle on.” Luke called after him but he received no response. 

Sighing to himself, Luke carefully stepped around the destruction on route to the kitchen. He found that room in much the same state of disarray. Cupboards were left open, the sink was full to bursting with dirty dishes, coffee powder and sugar granules coated much of the counter. There were no clean mugs so after he filled the kettle and set it to boil he started on some of Spencer’s washing up. 

He got about half way through the pile by the time it boiled and left the dishes to dry on the draining rack. He fixed Spencer a coffee, with slightly less sugar than the genius usually took, Luke thought he was probably on edge enough. He carried the coffee through the living room, dodging book detritus on his way. 

Spencer’s bedroom door was open so Luke didn’t knock, he shuffled his way inside to find it much like the other rooms in the apartment, this one was also trashed. His bed was unmade, the sheet untucked from one corner and peeling back from the mattress while the duvet sat crumpled at the end. It seemed as though he’d emptied the entirety of his closet across his bedroom floor and items of clothing lay creased in piles all over the place. 

The only thing not in Spencer’s bedroom was Spencer. 

Luke placed the coffee mug on the bureau in the corner as he picked up on the sound he’d missed when he entered the room. He frowned as he looked towards the door at the far side, presumably leading to the bathroom. The shower was running. That was a good sign, right? 

Wrong. 

“Reid, you ok in there?” Luke shuffled towards the door that had been left cracked an inch. 

Spencer didn’t reply, all that could be heard was the sound of the water from the shower head. 

“Spencer? Talk to me, man.” He was right by the door now, one hand flush on the wood. 

Once again he got no response. The last thing Luke wanted to do was walk in on Spencer in the shower. Well, not the last thing. It wasn’t as though Luke had never imagined sharing a shower with the eccentric and beautiful genius, it just hadn’t been under these particular circumstances. He edged the door open slightly, not daring to step in just yet, not unless he felt he had to. 

“Spencer? Please answer me.” He tried again but once again he was met by silence. 

He had two options. One, he waited it out, hoped that eventually Spencer would come out of the bathroom and Luke wouldn’t have to invade his privacy. Or secondly, he could go and check on Spencer only to find the man was probably just showering off a long day. But something in his gut was telling him that Spencer wasn’t simply showering. He knew what he had to do. With a sigh, Luke pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside. 

***

“I’m gonna uh…put the kettle on.”

Spencer registered Luke’s voice from the other room but he didn’t process his words. Stepping into his bedroom and once again catching the woman glaring at him from the mirror over the bureau, he was lost to his own world. 

Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me. 

How did you do it? 

I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instructions to get you in the mood. 

You’re lying. That didn’t happen. 

Why would I lie to you, Spencie? I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. 

He spun away from the mirror, rage pulsing through every one of his veins. She had to be lying, she couldn’t have done that to him. Even by Cat’s standards that had to be too far. 

But what if she wasn’t lying? He was missing such a large chunk of time from that Mexican hotel, he would probably never be able to piece together what had happened to him. Cat’s baby may not be his, but that’s not to say Lindsey hadn’t assaulted him while he’d been drugged. 

No. It’s not true. Even you wouldn’t stoop so low. 

I wanted to hurt you worse than you’ve been before. I’d stop at nothing to destroy you, Spencer. 

“No, no. Couldn’t have happened. Wouldn’t have happened.” He started to pace, ignoring the discarded clothing on the floor. 

His skin started to itch and he felt unfathomably dirty all of a sudden. He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and forced his sleeve up to his elbow, scratching the skin of his forearm to relieve some tension. It didn’t work. He felt like his skin was boiling, like it might melt off of his body. He wasn’t clean. If what Cat said was true he might never be clean again. 

Y

“Dirty. Dirty. I’m unclean. I’m filthy.” His feet led him to the bathroom without realising where he was going. 

Once in the bathroom he turned on the shower and without bothering to get undressed he climbed into the tub and sat under the flow of water. It cascaded around him, soaking through his shirt and slacks in no time at all. He pulled his legs to his chest and hugged his knees. 

“Unclean. I’m so unclean.” He mumbled against the sodden fabric of his pants. 

He kept muttering to himself, hoping the water would cleanse of him whatever Lindsey did or didn’t do to him in Mexico. He was so caught up in his battle with the voices in his head he forgot Luke’s presence in his apartment and didn’t hear him calling for him. He didn’t hear the door creak open or the footsteps on the linoleum floor. 

When Luke pulled back the shower curtain, he covered his eyes with one hand, not wanting to deliberately see Spencer naked in the shower although at any other point in time he would be ok with that outcome. He peaked out between his fingers and found Spencer on the floor of the tub, wet clothes clinging to his frame that appeared so small and fragile as he hugged his legs tightly. 

“I’m unclean.” He spoke, his voice monotone. But Luke knew it wasn’t him he was speaking to. 

Luke felt his heart practically shatter in his chest. It was worse than he thought. So much worse. He wasn’t sure he could handle this on his own. But who would he call? He had to try and step up for Spencer. 

“Spence, buddy. Can you hear me?” 

Spencer stopped mumbling all of a sudden and his eyes shot up to Luke. For the second time that day Luke saw the lack of recognition in his friend's eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s me, Luke. Luke Alvez.” He reached out and switched off the faucet and the water from the shower ceased to fall. 

Spencer resembled a frightened newborn animal, thrust into the world without a clue as to where they came from. His wet hair fell in his eyes and his white shirt was all but see through. His fingers drummed against his shin and he rocked a little in the tub. 

“Am I…am I clean?” He asked, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. 

“Yeah man,” Luke sniffed back his anguish. “You’re all clean. Let’s get you dried off.” 

Luke had seen the tapes of the interrogation of Cat Adams after Spencer’s release. He knew what Cat had told him, that she’d had Lindsey sexually assault him while he was under the influence, and it was clear to him that’s what this had to be about. 

If she really did that to him I’ll kill her with my bare hands. Both of them. If he doesn’t come back from this I’ll kill them too. 

Spencer let Luke help him to his feet and out of the tub with little to no protest. He stood in the bathroom, clothes dripping all over the floor but Spencer neither noticed or cared. 

Luke grabbed a towel off of the rail and turned back to Spencer who was staring at the wall, unmoving. He couldn’t let Spencer stay in these wet clothes, he had to undress him. 

This is so not how I pictured this happening. 

“Spencer, you with me?” Luke asked, standing in his line of sight. 

Spencer didn’t speak, but he nodded his head a little. 

“Ok, good. I’m gonna have to get you out of these clothes ok?” 

Again Spencer simply nodded in reply. 

Luke sighed as he stepped forward and brought his slightly shaking hands up to the top button of Spencer’s shirt. He started slowly popping the buttons, peeling the wet fabric away from Spencer’s skin, untucking it from his pants and finally discarding it on the edge of the bath. 

His bandage on his knuckles was sodden, Luke would have to find a first aid kit and redress his wound. But one problem at a time. 

He wrapped the towel around Spencer’s shoulders, keeping his eyes averted and not letting himself look at Spencer’s exposed torso for longer than necessary. He wanted to look, but it would feel like taking advantage of him. Spencer was more vulnerable than he’d ever been and Luke wasn’t abusing his trust. 

Once the towel was secured around his shoulders, Spencer surprised him by raising his arms and gripping the edge of the downy fabric, keeping it tightly around himself. Luke smiled a little to himself, it was at least some kind of progress. 

“Can you hear me, Spencer? I’m going to need to hear your voice.” 

Spencer blinked a few times, still nodding his head. But then he opened his mouth. 

“Yes.” He croaked out. “Yes I can hear you, Luke.” 

Luke had never been so happy to hear his name. He offered Spencer a weak smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He swallowed. “Do you think you can get your pants off while I find you some dry clothes?” 

Spencer narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to process what Luke was saying. He blinked several more times in quick succession. 

“Y-yes.” He nodded again. “Yes. I t-think I can do that.” 

“Good. Great.” Luke encouraged him. “I’ll grab you some clothes, I’ll be right back ok?” 

Spencer nodded, looking down at his lower body as Luke left the room. For some unbeknownst reason, it seemed like an impossible feat ahead of him, more like scaling Mount Everest than the simple act of undressing. Spencer found a lot recently that the usually most effortless of tasks posed themselves as some of the biggest obstacles. Cleaning dirty dishes. Doing laundry. Putting a book away. They’d become mammoth undertakings that he saw as impossible to achieve. 

But Luke was here now. Luke was here and Cat wasn’t. He had to keep reminding himself of that. And Luke had asked him to do this simple task, he could do it for him. 

Just focus. Unbutton the pants. Take them off. It’s not that hard. 

Luke surveyed the scattered clothes on the bedroom floor, trying to spot something comfortable for Spencer to wear. He rummaged around for a while until he found an old pair of checked pyjama pants and a CalTech t-shirt. They weren’t necessarily clean, but they would have to do for now. 

“Spencer?” He called through to the bathroom. “Can I come in?” 

“Hmm.” Was all the response he received. 

Unsure if that meant Spencer was decent or not, he cautiously entered the bathroom again. Spencer’s pants were in a pile on the floor and he dared look at the man, breathing a sigh of relief to see he had the towel wrapped around his waist. He was staring off at the wall, in some kind of trance once again. 

The speed in which Spencer was slipping in and out of the world around him was terrifying. Luke really was in over his head here, he didn’t have experience with this kind of psychosis, if that’s what this was. Maybe it was just extreme exhaustion coupled with extreme trauma. Either way, Luke was not equipped to deal with whatever Spencer was going through. But he wasn’t about to stop trying. 

“Can you get dressed?” He proffered the clothes towards Spencer but the other man didn’t move. 

With a sigh Luke moved closer to him, and when Spencer didn’t show any signs of noticing him, he slipped the shirt over his head. Spencer’s limbs were like a rag doll as Luke worked on getting his arms in the sleeves and Spencer did nothing to help. He smoothed it down so it was covering Spencer’s torso and tried to not dwell on how fucking weird this was. 

Getting his pants on was going to be a little more difficult. And potentially awkward. Luke kneeled down in front of Spencer, wrapping his hand gently around Spencer’s left ankle and guiding it into one leg of the pants. He repeated the movement with the other leg, all the while Spencer stood frozen. 

Standing up and taking the sides of the pants, he pulled them up with him, over Spencer’s calves and thighs until he reached the towel. Luke looked up at the ceiling as he pulled the garment up under the towel, trying to save as much of Spencer’s dignity as he could. Once he had them secured around Spencer’s hips, he got rid of the towel for the younger man. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Luke looked at the sopping bandage. 

Spencer’s eyes dilated like they had earlier before shrinking again, like he was trying to focus on something but Luke wasn’t sure what. He didn’t get any other kind of communication from him. Luke sighed to himself and looked around the bathroom. He kept his own first aid kit in a cupboard over the sink. Spencer didn’t have a cupboard over the sink. But there was one under it. 

He moved across the room and crouched down to open the cupboard. To his relief the little kit he was looking for was tucked away inside. He pulled it out and found a bandage inside. He brought it back over to Spencer and the other man didn’t show any signs of registering Luke raising his right hand and carefully unwrapping the wet bandage. 

His knuckles were caked in dried blood so without saying anything he guided Spencer to the sink and turned on the faucet. He held Spencer’s hand under the flow of water, gently brushing the blood from his skin with his thumb. Once his hand was clean he used a towel to dab his hand dry before reapplying the new bandage. The whole time Spencer didn’t look at him, didn’t move. 

He secured the bandage and looked back up to meet Spencer’s eye which was harder than it should have been. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Luke asked him softly. 

Once again Spencer was looking at him but his gaze went through him. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Are you hungry?” He tried again and was met by a shake of Spencer’s head. 

“Tired?” 

This time Spencer nodded. 

“Ok, I can put you to bed?” 

Again Spencer nodded, but he didn’t move. Luke had to try and pretend this whole situation wasn’t entirely breaking his heart. He had to keep his emotions at bay, tell himself this wasn’t killing him to see Spencer like this otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get through this. And Spencer needed him to be strong right now. 

He wrapped an arm around Spencer’s waist and Spencer seemed to deflate in an instant. His body crumpled against Luke’s, his entire weight being held up solely by Luke’s strong arms. Luke slowly started towards the bed, Spencer’s feet dragging along the floor like he physically didn’t have the energy left to lift his legs. 

Luke guided him onto the bed and when he let go of the younger man, he caved in on himself, flopping to the mattress where Luke had set him down. With a heavy heart, he took Spencer’s feet and swung them up onto the bed. He located the duvet, briefly noting the coffee he’d made on the bureau and making a mental note to clear it away, before draping the sheet over Spencer still form. 

He was curled on his side, eyes still open, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. Luke couldn’t help but crouch next to the bed and stroke Spencer’s wet hair back off of his face. When he went to pull away he was startled by Spencer grabbing his wrist. 

His long, slender fingers wrapped around him, his eyes suddenly staring right at him. He looked as if he had so much to say but didn’t know how to voice it. Luke tried to encourage him without the use of words. This time there was no doubt in his mind as to whether or not Spencer recognised him. It was the clearest he’d looked at Luke since he’d found him in the bathroom at the BAU. Spencer knew who he was. A little piece of him was coming back. 

“Are you leaving?” Spencer’s voice sounded hollow, distant and so unlike himself. 

“I was going to let you get some rest. But I can come back tomorrow if you’d like?” Luke’s hand was still on Spencer’s forehead, being held in place by Spencer’s grip on his wrist. 

“Don’t leave me alone.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me alone with her.” 

Luke wasn’t sure if the her he referred to was Cat or Lindsey but it didn’t particularly matter. There was no way on earth Luke was going to let Spencer be alone if he didn’t want to be. He was going to be here for as long as Spencer needed or wanted him to be. 

Spencer let go of Luke’s wrist as if testing the waters to see if he would leave. Luke stroked back the rest of his hair and smiled softly at the terrified looking man in front of him. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He assured him. “Get some rest, I’ll be right out there.” He nodded his head towards the door, but Spencer was shaking his head. 

“No.” He whimpered. “No, she can still get to me when you’re gone.” 

Luke felt a sharp pang in his chest, his heart breaking even further at the sad, pathetic tone in Spencer’s voice. 

“What would you like me to do, Spencer? I’ll do anything you need me to.”

Spencer rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as though contemplating this for a moment or two. Then he heaved a pent up sigh and slowly rolled over a little, patting the now free space on the mattress with his bandaged hand. 

“Lay with me?” He sniffed, and that’s when Luke noticed the tears behind his eyes. “Please. Please don’t go.” 

It was hard to say exactly how many pieces Luke’s heart was shattered into at this point. Every bone in his body, every muscle, ached for the torment that must be going on in Spencer’s head. 

“Ok. I can do that.” Luke gave him a slightly shaky smile. 

When he stood back up, Spencer whined a little but Luke offered him a look to tell him he wasn’t leaving. He shrugged off his jacket and toed off his boots before lowering himself to the bed in the small space Spencer had created for him. He swung his legs up, settling his head back against the pillow. 

As soon as he was settled Spencer quickly shuffled as close as was physically possible to Luke, his head coming to rest on Luke’s chest, nuzzling himself into Luke’s side. 

An ear piercing sob wracked Spencer’s whole body and he buried his head into the fabric of Luke’s t-shirt. Luke wrapped Spencer in his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. He ran his fingers through Spencer’s wet and tangled hair and held him while he sobbed, imagining they were the first tears he’d let escape since his release. He clutched Luke’s shirt, balling the material up in his hand furiously. 

“It’s ok cariño, I’m here. It’s ok.” He cooed, rocking Spencer slightly. 

“Will it ever get better? Will she ever leave?” Spencer’s muffled sobs were hard to make out but Luke got the gist of it. 

“I promise you it will get better. If it’s the last thing I do, I will help you through this, Spencer.” 

Spencer became incoherent after that, crying and mumbling into Luke’s chest while Luke held him and tried to provide a little semblance of comfort to the man who needed it so much. 

Hours seemed to pass and at one point Luke worried he may never stop crying. But eventually he wore himself out, or ran out of tears or maybe even both. His breathing started to calm, evening out slowly until his body went limp in Luke’s arms. 

Luke didn’t expect Spencer would have a peaceful night's sleep, but it just might be restful enough for him to garner the energy to fight his demons another day. 

***

Spencer’s eyes fluttered and he grumbled at the slight dull ache in the back of his head. He was used to waking up with a headache, that was a side effect of all the pent up emotions and thoughts he refused to let win. 

But today was different. It wasn’t the typical excruciating pain he was used to waking up with, the kind no amount of Advil could tame. It was just a dull throb, relatively minor. He could definitely deal with that. 

It took him a moment or two to realise that his pillow beneath his head was significantly harder than he remembered it being. He forced his eyes open, rubbed them with one hand and blinked a few times. 

He shuffled a little, trying to find a comfortable spot but it was like his pillow had been replaced by…

“Morning, Reid.” 

Spencer swallowed thickly as his eyes looked up into those of Luke Alvez. The pillow beneath his head, not a pillow at all, but Luke’s rock hard chest. 

It was then Spencer realised his right leg was draped over Luke’s and his arm was wrapped around Luke’s waist. 

Luke’s cheeks were flushed red as he looked down at the younger man using him as a life sized stuffed animal. Spencer blinked a few more times, trying to remember how he’d ended up here, in the arms of the one man he’d always wanted to find in his bed. 

“Uh…hi?” Spencer croaked, his confusion written all over his face. He didn’t move though, he wasn’t sure why other than the fact being in Luke’s arms was warm and he felt safe. “Did I drink last night?” 

“No.” Luke chuckled sadly, bringing his hand up to Spencer’s face and brushing back his unruly curls from his forehead. “You don’t remember?”

“No.” Spencer swallowed again. “I think that…maybe it’s best that I don’t. At least right now anyway.” 

“Why’s that?” Luke kept stroking his hair and Spencer adored the way it felt. 

“Because,” Spencer smiled a little, the tiniest movement of his lip but it was more than Luke had seen in a long time. “For the first time since I left prison, I feel light. And I don’t want that to go away just yet.” 

“Fair enough.” Luke smiled back at him, fingertips grazing down from his forehead, down his cheek and jaw until he let it fall to his side. “We will have to talk about it though.” 

“I know.” Spencer nodded, dreading what he could have gotten himself into to end up here. “But for now, can we just stay like this? Just a little longer?” 

“Of course we can.” Luke agreed. 

Spencer settled back onto Luke’s chest and Luke held him tightly. Spencer didn’t know how he’d ended up here but it was the best thing that could have happened to him. For the first time in months, Spencer Reid felt safe. He felt calm, like just for a moment his demons were silenced by the strong arms of Luke. It wouldn’t last, he was sure of it, but that didn’t matter right now. All that he cared about in that moment was how unburdened he felt for the first time since Mexico, since Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn. Maybe even for the first time ever. 

Chances were it would pass, like most good things in his life. But for now Spencer was going to relish in the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted. Here in Luke’s arms he was safe from harm, protected from the wicked clutches of Cat Adams and all the other evils of the world. Luke Alvez was Spencer’s guardian angel, that he was sure of. 

The two men laid in silence for some time, Luke’s hand languidly stroking Spencer’s hair while Spencer concentrated on the rhythmic beating of Luke’s heart. 

Eventually, a sigh escaped Luke’s lips and his hand stilled on the back of Spencer’s neck. 

“You know you need to get help right? The professional kind.” He spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to startle the younger man. 

“Yeah I know.” Spencer’s voice trembled. “But Luke?” Spencer shifted in his arms so he could look up at Luke through watery eyes. 

“Yes, Spencer?” 

“I don’t know if I can…if I can do it alone.” He swallowed thickly, his eyes pleading Luke to never leave him. 

Luke smiled at him and couldn’t stop himself when he bowed his head and placed a tender kiss on Spencer’s forehead. 

He’d known from the moment he met Spencer that he’d do just about anything for this man. That had never changed, he’d never wavered from his belief that he would protect this creature with his life. If anything, at that moment, he was even more sure of that fact. If Spencer Reid needed him, he could have him, in any capacity. 

Spencer’s lips twitched into a smile at the sensation of Luke’s lips pressing against his fragile skin. When Luke pulled away, he saw a light behind Spencer’s eyes he hadn’t seen since before his arrest. 

He had a long way to go, huge mountains left to climb. But he’d take it one day at a time, and Luke would be there for him every painful step of the way. 

“You’ll never be alone, Spencer.” He whispered, cupping the other man’s jaw lightly in his palm. “I promise you, you’ll never be alone again.” 

Spencer’s tears overflowed at the sentiment as he nodded his head in understanding. He had a long, dark road ahead of him, but as long as Luke Alvez was the light guiding his way, the shadows lining his path didn’t seem quite as formidable as they did yesterday. 

Taglist

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[homomenhommes]

saga: SOUMISSION / DOMINATION 148

Dans le donjon, avec Daniel, je mets Cédric à nu. Direction les douches. Nous le lavons. Je vérifie qu'il est nickel coté pilosité et à l'aide de quelques bandes de cire enlève les quelques poils en trop. Pour le reste (aisselles, couilles) le travail est déjà bien fait. Il est surpris quand je lui enfile la canule de lavement dans le cul. C'est une première pour lui. Comme je viens de l'enculer, elle rentre facile et j'ouvre l'eau. Je lui explique le principe. Je coupe l'eau quand il se tortille et Daniel le pose sur les WC. Il expulse et nous recommençons. A la troisième fois, l'eau sort nickel. Séchage, inspection, il est tout beau. Avec Daniel, je le pousse jusqu'à l'un des slings. Nous le positionnons dessus. Ajustement des attaches et le voilà pieds et poings liés. Un peu paniqué (mais bientôt...niqué) il nous questionne. Daniel le rassure et lui dit que l'on ne lui fera rien qu'il n'aime déjà. A l'aide des chaines de suspension, nous remontons le sling jusqu'à pouvoir travailler son trou sans se pencher. Avec nos doigts et à 4 mains, nous ouvrons gentiment sa rondelle. Durant la prépa, nous avons du nous arrêter plusieurs fois, notre sujet d'étude arrivant au bord de l'éjaculation. Après nos doigts, nous sommes passés aux godes. Taille progressive jusqu'au 22 x 4,5 afin qu'il reste un peu de travail à la bite de Marc. Cela fait, je lui ai mis un plug taille moyenne pour le faire patienter et nous l'avons descendu à hauteur de bite.

Juste comme nous finissions, la porte s'est ouverte sur Marc. Sacoche à la main, il arrivait directement du taf. J'ai embarqué Daniel pour m'occuper de lui après avoir glissé dans l'oreille de Cédric de ne pas dire un mot.

En quelques instants, nous l'avons dévêtu puis douché. Daniel n'a pu résister à l'appel de sa bite qui prenait doucement du volume et à genoux, a commencé à lui sucer la queue. Bientôt il a du engouffrer les 22cm en pleines formes. Pendant ce temps là je roulais un patin à mon homme. Ainsi mis en forme, il nous a repoussé et s'est déplacé vers le centre du donjon et le sling. Devant Cédric en position, il nous a félicité de notre choix. Sa main a parcouru le corps mis à sa disposition, provoquant quelques frissonnements et apparition locale de " chair de poule ". Il s'est finalement positionné à sa tête et poussant le front vers le bas a dit à Cédric d'ouvrir la bouche. En avançant le bassin, il a entré son gland puis sa bite entière. L'entrée dans la gorge a fait sursauté le corps allongé mais pas plus. A la suite, il s'est offert à Marc sans recul. Comme Cédric, encore novice en gorge profonde, était obligé de déglutir fréquemment, Marc nous a dit son plaisir à se faire un néophyte.

Pendant ce temps là Daniel et moi nous bandions comme des fous. Marc nous demande alors d'enculer Cédric pour le roder. Aussitôt demandé aussitôt réalisé. Je passe en premier. Retrait du plug avec sursaut de son hébergeur lors du passage renflé et je pousse mon gland au fond de son trou. Avec Marc nous ajustons nos mouvements pour les synchroniser. Avec régularité, nous nous enfonçons en léger décalé ensemble dans le jeune corps à notre disposition. Quand je suis au fond du cul, Marc est au fond de la gorge. Cédric gémit de plaisir sous l'envahissement de nos bites. Daniel se presse contre mon dos et je sens sa queue entre mes fesses. Comme je ne veux pas sortir de Cédric, je lui dis de mettre une kpote. Il comprend de suite et, encapuchonné, il revient se coller à moi. Je me bloque au fond de Cédric le temps que Daniel m'entube. C'est trop bon ! Lentement il me met ses 20 cm. Quand je sens ses couilles contre les miennes, je sais qu'il est entré entièrement. Je me recule pour le placer à la bonne distance et m'active. Seul en mouvement, je coulisse sur la bite de Daniel tout en limant l'anneau de Cédric. J'y prends un grand plaisir ! Marc nous demande de lui laisser la place. Je me recule et sors de Cédric sans me décoller de Daniel. Nous nous déplaçons à l'autre extrémité du sling et kpote retirée, je remplace Marc dans la bouche accueillante de Cédric pendant que Marc l'enfile à l'autre extrémité. Malgré mes passages dans son cul, Cédric reste encore serré pour Marc. Je me penche sur Cédric pour mieux voir le travail de la queue de Marc. Son petit sexe tout droit m'attire et je fini par le prendre en bouche. avec un peu de persévérance, j'arrive à y faire entrer aussi ses deux petites boules. Sous mes yeux, la bite de Marc entre et sort de l'anus de Cédric qui commence à se boursoufler un peu. Ce n'est que gémissements et cris de plaisir. sous ma langue je sens monter la pression dans les couilles de Cédric et me relève juste à temps pour voir jaillir son sperme. Ses premiers jets atteignent mon menton puis mes pecs pour finir à 5cm de son gland sur ses abdos. Cela ne l'a pas arrêté dans sa pipe et je sens que ça va bientôt être à mon tour. J'ai juste le temps de reculer et je jute 6 grosses giclées sur Cédric. Mes contractions annales achèvent Daniel qui n'a pas le temps de sortir et jute dans sa kpote, accroché à mes épaules. Marc, lui, a profité du resserrement de l'anus de Cédric (dû à l'après éjaculation) pour continuer à le limer avec augmentation de frottement. Cela l'emmène à jouir à son tour. Il décule et dkpote dans le même mouvement et ajoute son sperme au mélange du mien et de celui de Cédric. J'ai juste la force de détacher Cédric, d'enlever le bandeau de ses yeux et de le faire descendre du sling, puis nous nous étalons sur les tatamis. Cédric choisit de se coucher sur Daniel (y aurait il plus que du sexe entre eux ?). Un 1/4 d'heure plus tard, sous une sensation de froid, nous filons tous les 4 aux douches que nous prenons brulantes.

Ammed nous attend avec peignoirs et manteaux pour nous dire que le diner est prêt. Samir nous attend à la maison. Apéritif, Daniel commence par refuser, c'est lui qui pilote. Marc lui dit qu'il peut se lâcher et rester dormir ici, la maison est grande. Il refuse devant ramener Cédric chez ses parents. Ce dernier confirme mais ajoute aussitôt que si on veut, il s'arrangerait pour pouvoir rester en WE. Il nous dit en rougissant, avoir vu des trucs dans le donjon qu'il aimerait bien essayer. Nous rions tous puis dinons avec appétit. ; Comme Daniel et Cédric nous ont quittés, Marc et moi discutons un peu. De son taf, il sera absent environ une semaine sur deux, des miens, où il est d'accord avec moi que je dois continuer à encadrer Jimmy et surtout Ed.

Nous convenons de nouveau du fait qu'en voyage il baise qui il veut (en général il n'a pas de difficulté à se trouver un cul parmi le personnel de service, c'est l'avantage de l'hôtellerie haut de gamme) et moi idem de mon coté le tout sous protection maximale. Pour moi, ses semaines d'absence seront principalement occupées par Emma, avec surement un peu d'André (mon banquier) et parfois de Xavier et Laure, cela sans compter bien sur les rencontres furtives possibles (aires de repos...).

Le soir même dans notre grand lit nous avons fait l'amour comme des perdus. Après m'être occupé de son corps des pieds à la tête, il m'a pris le cul comme lui seul sait le faire, me faisant monter très doucement jusqu'à la jouissance complète, celle qui fait oublier qui on est, où l'on est.

Ma langue a commencé par parcourir la surface de sa peau en commençant du gros orteil droit, remontant sur le tibia, la cuisse et hanche droite, le flanc, passage sur le téton, descente du bras, remontée sur l'épaule, le cou et l'oreille. Roulage de pelle puis descente à gauche. La stimulation de ses sens l'a fait bander et je peux m'attaquer à son sexe. Boule droite en bouche puis la gauche et enfin les deux ensemble me distendent les joues. Je les relâche pour lécher les 20cm de hampe dressés. Une fois ce cylindre brillant de ma salive je chapeaute le gland le prenant seul dans ma bouche. Il est brulant. Ma langue lèche toute sa surface, glisse sous la couronne. Marc laisse échapper un gémissement de plaisir. Je continu encore quelques instants avant de me pencher un peu plus et d'en prendre plus en bouche, jusqu'à ce que mes lèvres soient collées à son pubis (et donc son gland locataire de ma gorge). Je pompe cette bite un bon moment, déglutissant quand elle est dans ma gorge pour masser le gland, le recrachant en limite de ma capacité respiratoire. Quand je suis parti comme cela, je m'en étoufferais presque ! De temps à autre je récupère l'excédent de salive et en tartine mon anus. Ça plus mon excitation, ça devrait le faire. Après une bonne demi heure de pipe, je remonte lui rouler une pelle. Naturellement, mes genoux encadrent ses hanche et je sens son gland tapoter mes reins. Je relève le cul doucement pour que ce dernier se pose sur mon anneau. Et quand il y est, je m'assois d'un petit coup sec qui le fait entrer en moi. Un grognement d'approbation nait sous ma langue. je ne quitte pas sa bouche tout pendant que je descend sur sa queue. J'avais raison, ma salive plus l'excitation m'ont ouvert juste comme il fallait ! Vers la fin, je me redresse et enfonce le dernier cm dans mon cul, trop bon ! Marc me tient les hanches pour que je ne bouge pas tout de suite. Il se régale d'être au fond de moi. Quand il relâche la pression, je sais que je peux y aller et " trotter " sur sa bite. Je varie le rythme, mes mains en appui sur ses pecs, je monte et descend mon cul pour le limer sur son pieu. Par deux fois je dois me calmer sous peine de juter prématurément. Je me couche alors sur lui et nous nous roulon un patin. J'aime sa langue venir impérieusement occuper ma cavité buccale. Quand je sens que lui aussi est sur le point d'exploser, je passe au galop jusqu'à ce qu'il se cabre et soulève son bassin pour m'en mettre encore un peu plus si c'était possible et me tapisse le boyau de son jus. Ce n'est que qu'and il a expulsé sa dernière giclée comme nous retombons sur le lit qu'à mon tour de jute la pression envoyant mon sperme jusqu'à son visage. Le retour au calme se fait, comme couché sur lui je nettoie sa face à coups de langue et que son sexe glisse doucement hors de moi.

JARDINIER

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