#and here is such an excellent place to complain and moan about something you hated
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Perfect Illusion
a/n: this fic is inspired by this post (although I modified the idea a bit)! for those interested, I even made a spotify playlist to hopefully enhance the experience~
pairing: royal guard!San x royal guard/spy!f!reader
genre: smut
word count: 2113
warnings: royal AU, weapons (knives and daggers), brief mention of infidelity (which I do not condone), swearing, teasing, dry humping, hair pulling, name-calling (they keep insulting each other... oops), enemies with benefits, implied enemies to lovers (kind of), slight knife kink, implied pain kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, no clear dom/sub roles
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Despite excelling at undercover work, you weren’t known be incredibly ‘out there’ in the way you executed your tasks, so this particular mission you had been given must have been the one you disliked the most as of now, not to mention that you despised the tactic of seduction.
You did your best to attract as little attention as possible in order to carry out your information gathering in peace. Although it seemed that in doing so, you had become a little too suspicious for one of the guards. You heaved a sigh, meeting his eyes while most of his face remained covered by the hood and the mask he wore to not look like the odd one out at the royal masquerade event. He nudged his head towards a nearby balcony after asking for one of his fellow guards to watch his spot, signalling you to follow.
Albeit slowly, you did what was asked of you - your beliefs were much too deeply rooted in obedience not to. Once outside, the guard closed and locked the door behind you. Shrugging off his hood, he took off his mask while you did the same so the two of you were equally bare to each other.
“San?!” “Y/n?!” You both gasped aloud in equal shock and surprise, slapping a hand over each other’s mouths to prevent anyone from hearing how casually you spoke with each other.
Prying your hand away from his face, although still holding it in his own, San quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, “What, pray tell, are you doing here at this party wearing that?”
Your voice was teasing as you spoke and he gestured towards the black dress you were wearing, “Oh, this old thing~?” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone but allowed you to continue, “As much as I didn’t want to, His Highness requested me to keep my eyes and ears open for anything or anyone suspicious... and had the bright idea of having me use seduction to get the job done.”
Despite knowing how much you hated the technique in question, San thought it fun to tease and rile you up about it, “Do I classify as suspicious then? Cause you’ve definitely caught my interest and seduced me...~”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing him and pulling him close by the tie he was wearing before whispering in his ear, “With how flirty you’re being, definitely. I might have to arrest you now, sunshine~ But if you play your cards right, I might let you fuck me, pretty boy.”
It was your turn to cock an eyebrow when San nonchalantly turned the situation around on you and pinned you against the wall roughly, both of your wrists above your head in one of his own while an almost bored grin danced across on your face at the act. “That all you got~?”
“Not at all, sweetheart...~” “Show me then,” you challenged without hesitation, hooking one of your legs around his hip to draw his body closer and flush against yours, “show me what you can do, unless you want to admit that a woman could dom you~”
Bullseye. You hit him right in his sore spot, knowing him to be much too competitive to let such a cheeky comment slide. You saw something shift in his eyes, something dark, and you knew you had him right then and there, “You asked for it... don’t complain if you limp afterwards.”
“Wanna bet~?” San effectively shut you up by melding his plush lips to yours, your hands tugging greedily at his already messy hair while the grinding of your hips against his coaxed a soft moan from his lips.
“You really don’t intend to make it easy for me do you, little vixen...” He whispered against your lips, his voice low and raspy as he did so, causing you to give him a casual shrug, “You know me, I always want to be the one who comes out on top. Whether that is in the physical sense or not couldn’t matter any less to me, frankly.”
San huffed softly, he knew you were competitive but so was here. However, the difference between the two of you was that you were willing to play dirty to get what you want.
As such, you couldn’t prevent a slight smirk from tugging at your lips when his breath hitched audibly after he pushed the hem of your dress up to your hips and spotted the daggers strapped to one of your thighs. “Staring longer won’t make the image imprint itself in your mind any faster. And in case you haven’t noticed with how much you want my daggers on your body, I’m worked up and hereby telling you to hurry up and fuck me. Right here, right now.”
“Getting feisty and demanding, are we? Two can play that game, Y/n...~” Reaching into the inside of his jacket, San pulled out a knife and held it to your throat while the cocky smirk never left your face, “Are you just gonna keep threatening me with a good time so that I’ll walk right back in there and tell everyone you’re my bitch, or are you actually gonna do something about that obvious boner in your pants?”
San’s eyebrow twitched at your audacity, the discovery of the fact that you had foregone underwear tonight not helping his dwindling patience in the slightest, “Pathetic how desperate you are for my cock, you minx. Needing to cover it up with such a tough girl act...”
He trailed off, watching you closely as he pocketed his knife and used his now unoccupied hand to quickly unfasten his pants and free his aching length from its confines. He stroked himself a few times, the seconds passing torturously slowly in your eyes as you licked your lips in anticipation before throwing your head back against the wall with a strangled gasp when he fully inserted himself inside of you without warning.
“You son of a-” “Shush doll, don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing out here do you~?” You huffed as he interrupted you, pretending to think for a moment before shaking your head with a smile, “I actually do, imagine the surprise when they’d hear that two of the royal guards are all over each other...~”
San’s eyes darkened once more before narrowing them at you, “You asked for it, then... Be prepared to scream.”
“Such big words from the man who’d let me spit in his mouth~” You weren’t having it though, only mewling and moaning softly while San repeatedly snapped his hips into yours. His pace was rough and quick, eager to get both you and himself off, “Won’t even, fuck- won’t even scream for me... am I not fucking you hard enough?”
“Mmh... nope~!” You replied with a toothy grin, gasping sharply when San thrusted inside of you particularly harshly. “That better?” “Much~” He continued to move at the harsh pace he had just set, his breath hitching when his hand accidentally brushed against the leather garter still fixed securely around your thigh.
He felt himself twitch violently when you spoke through low pants, his thrusts stuttering, “Wouldn’t you love to have me trail one of those daggers over your sensitive skin, sunshine? Perhaps even pierce it a little here and there to show who you belong to~?”
Those last words came out unintentionally but you didn’t feel the need to correct yourself, considering that your possessiveness appeared to be the last straw for San judging by the warmth that filled you as he came, your own orgasm washing over you shortly after. Once you had both caught your breath, he carefully pulled out of you and helped you straighten out your dress after doing the same to his own clothes.
You implying that he was yours was undoubtedly a matter to be discussed, but for now, you two had a masquerade to return to. As such, San handed your mask back to you after having previously stored it in one of his jacket pockets. You both secured your masks back on your faces so that your identities were concealed once more, although San decided to not pull his hood back up.
He unlocked the balcony door before turning to you with a teasing albeit charming smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Will you let me have this dance, m’lady~?”
You found it amusing how quickly he could switch back to his professional persona, placing your hand in his own regardless, “It’d be my pleasure~”
He led you back inside of the large, well-lit ballroom where no one was any the wiser of what had transpired mere minutes ago, your dress swaying slightly while you danced with San, a small grin painted on your features.
You ended up getting to bed incredibly late, almost stumbling out of it the next morning before quickly making yourself presentable after being requested in the throne room by His Highness himself, wondering what it could possibly be about.
You ran into San on the way there, finding out that he had been called to see the prince as well. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, you weren’t particularly surprised to find it empty besides the presences of you, your companion and Yeosang, who had placed his crown on a pedestal near himself.
Letting his emotionless facade crack a bit, he gave a small smile when he saw the two of you kneel before him as it was custom for the subordinates or the royal family.
“Those who want to wear the crown need to prove they are able to bear its weight.”
Yeosang’s voice rang out through the room, causing you and San to look at each other questioningly and then back up at him in confusion. The older male had never been more glad to not have any other of his court officials or guards besides the two of you inside of his throne room, relieved that he could be blunt about his message.
“I’m sure you both are aware of how I came to be where I am presently, yes?” You both nodded in response. “Then you know my mother was not a true queen and slept her way to the throne. Hell, I’m even a bastard child - her husband was not my father. In short... she was a whore.”
San gasped quietly next to you in surprise at the word choice, causing you to nudge him gently to remind him to focus and listen.
“I don’t want to keep the two of you here any longer than necessary,” the unrightful prince leaned forward, his weight still resting on the arm he had previously propped himself up on, “My coronation is set to be held eleven days from now. Whichever of you comes up with the better plan to cover up my ‘coincidental’ disappearance by then gets to claim the throne.”
It was a tempting offer, that much you had to admit, but it sounded almost too good to actually be true.
“Your Highness-” “Please drop the formalities Y/n, you’ve known me since I was a little child.” The young man in question corrected softly as you cleared your throat with an understanding nod, “Are you sure this will work out as you intend it to? I’m not sure anyone would believe one of your royal guards to be allowed to inherit the crown just like that...”
“Y/n. Surely you’ve noticed how desperate the people are for a ruler who stands with them, even with all the time you spend working? They’ll accept just about anyone. As long as neither of you exposes the truth about any part of my family... do we have a deal?”
San looked at you and met your eyes, lingering for a few beats before getting up from his knees with you following suit as you looked up at the prince and spoke in unison, always up for a challenge - especially if it just so happened to come with a high reward like this one did, “We have a deal.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now off you two go, there is work to be done~” Yeosang hummed, you and your ‘companion’ bowing respectfully and nodding before turning on your respective heels.
San pulled his hood back over his head and glanced at you with a smug grin that you happily mirrored, both of you making a run for it out of the throne room.
After all, it was only a matter of time and of who created the most perfect illusion, aware that only one of you would come out on top.
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Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):
@atinykitty @cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy
Network tag:
@8makes1teamnet
#8makes1teamnet#ateez royal au#royal au#ateez fanfic#ateez smut#san smut#ateez san smut#me coming out of my figurative writing cave with this: hi did u miss me#hanatiny writes
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Whumpay 2021: Day 27 - Accident
Missing All the Fun
read on ao3
1636 words
graphic depictions of violence, star wars, the clone wars, prequels, obi-wan kenobi, anakin skywalker, hurt!obi-wan kenobi, fighter accident
Blast, this is why I hate flying.
Obi-Wan considered himself an excellent pilot (though he would never say so), but he still hated anything to do with flying. He wasn’t sure which he hated more, Anakin flying, or himself having to go into battle in his fighter.
Right now it was definitely the latter because if Anakin had been flying, perhaps his ridiculously fancy moves could have prevented all this. And by all this, well… First Obi-Wan had been fighting against the Separatist fleet, no problem, and then his ship had been shot at by vulture droids. Maneuvering away from those had caused him to crash into another fighter. His engines had died, but with nothing stopping his ship it just kept on moving. Now it’d been pulled into the planet’s orbit.
He didn’t fancy landing down there. All he saw as the ship was dragged in were mountains of ice and snow dotted with vast forests of deep green conifers.
Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, before he was within the atmosphere, the controls short-circuited, then overheated, and there was a fire in his cockpit. Problem with that was that the pressure was increasing. Increase enough, and… boom!
Not very pleasant, Obi-Wan decided.
The oxygen was decreasing too, the fire feeding off of it.
“Arfour, can’t you do anything about this?” Obi-Wan asked, voice pitched high with panic.
The droid beeped a non-committal answer at him even as she got to work.
In a few moments the computer was back online, except there was still the issue of the fire.
Arfour screeched and whirred at Obi-Wan as the ship plummeted into the atmosphere.
“No, no use,” he said, trying desperately to pull up. All that did was have the ship tilt wildly and then start barrel-rolling. Oh great. “Left engine’s still dead!” Arfour snapped at him. “Well, can you at least lower the pressure?” Obi-Wan asked, trying hard to not panic as the air became too hot, and his ears popped, and sweat was immediately soaked up from his body into the hot, dry air.
He tried to get control of the ship, feeling about it with the Force for some way to fix this predicament.
“Master, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?” Anakin asked.
Finally, someone who would know what to do.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Obi-Wan argued.
Arfour sent him a message over the screen, and despite all the spinning and careening, he was able to take it in.
He tried to kill the engines, and thankfully air resistance and turbulence began to slow him down.
But still, there was Arfour’s plan.
“Are you serious?” he cried at her. “An explosion? Anakin, Arfour’s going to set off a controlled explosion on the ship.”
“With your pressure out of control that’s actually a great idea.”
Obi-Wan would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t being thrashed about the cockpit.
“Of course he agrees with the droid,” he muttered.
“Arfour,” Anakin commanded, “hurry.”
“What?”
“Only way to depressurize the cockpit. Either that or I break the glass and you get sucked out and mercilessly crushed.”
“No, no thanks. I think I’ll stick with… with blowing up.”
Everything was beginning to grow blurry, the heat pressing in on him, smoke filling his lungs. He couldn’t even cough, had to just sit there and suffer from the forces around him that were out of his control.
The heat in the cockpit was rerouted to the back of the fighter, and a burst of explosion had the pressure returning to normal. Cold air filtered in, beginning to clear the smoke. Obi-Wan was relieved at being able to breathe properly again.
The explosion rocketed the ship forward and down, and Anakin began to join him in the insane dive.
“If I can attach my cables—”
“No use,” Obi-Wan said after a cough, gasping. “Your ship will just get caught up in this whole mess.”
Still, Anakin tried to attach the cable.
The cable attached just fine, but now his engines had to work doubly hard to try and slow the momentum of Obi-Wan’s fighter.
It pulled Anakin’s own fighter along, and to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he heard his former Padawan laughing. Laughing!
“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this.”
“And you’re not?”
“I hate flying.”
“Don’t worry, Master. I got you.”
More cables were attached, and at the right angles to minimize the amount Anakin’s engines would have to work.
Obi-Wan’s ship slowed, but they couldn’t get it to stop.
It hit the trees, Anakin’s fighter detaching just beforehand, and then it collided with the icy, rocky ground.
~~~
The cockpit was being forced open when Obi-Wan came to. It was something he could feel more than he could see. Blood was dripping into his eyes, and his head absolutely ached. His whole body ached, his spine feeling as if it had been ripped from his body and then put back piece by piece in the wrong order. His tailbone and hips and even his pelvis were alight with pain, like it was some substance he’d been injected with.
Bitingly cold air met him, and then strong hands grabbed him. Groaning, he was dragged from the cockpit.
An arm wiped over his face, and he blinked open his eyes. Oh, fantastic. The world was spinning.
He tried to fight it, but it was too much. Anakin’s worried face amongst a cold, clear day swam in his vision. He closed his eyes, moaning in distress.
“Don’t worry, I called down a gunship. Kix and some of the other guys are on their way. Are you alright?”
“It’s bloody cold!” Obi-Wan complained.
Anakin must’ve shed his robe because then Obi-Wan was being lifted up, and it was being placed between him and the snow. The upper part of his body was dragged into Anakin’s lap.
A droid nudged at his arm, an arm he wished he could pull back from the stingingly frigid metal.
“Arfour…” he got out.
“Yes, she’s fine. Hey, Artoo, leave it! We’ll have to take his fighter back to a cruiser and get it fixed up there. There’s nothing you can do.”
“How… How bad is it?” Obi-Wan asked.
“You or the ship?”
Obi-Wan tried to laugh, but that jarred him too much, and he curled into Anakin, groaning in pain.
“Both.”
“Ship’s worse than you, so that’s good.”
“Well I can’t imagine what condition it’s in if I feel like this.”
“I did a scan before I got you out. Nothing’s broken.”
“Joy.”
Obi-Wan began to shiver in the cold. Anakin was as well, but he didn’t complain. Years ago he would’ve. Years ago he was a boy whose only concept was dastardly dry heat that felt like it could suck out one’s very will to live. Now here he was in the cold, probably turning blue like Obi-Wan, yet all he did was hold him, remain sturdy for him.
Guilt struck him at that, when his bleary and addled brain could make sense of it. He was the master wasn’t he? He was supposed to take care of Anakin. Not the other way around.
Yet there he was, holding him, doing what he could to shield him from the wind.
“We’re in the atmosphere, approaching your location now,” Obi-Wan heard through the comms, but didn’t really make sense of it.
His legs were beginning to have sharp pains shooting down them. There wasn’t much that could be done for now. He just hoped beyond hope that sometime soon someone would put a large, cushy pillow under his hips.
Anakin temporarily removed his arm from Obi-Wan and said into the comms, “Good, you’re missing all the fun.”
The wind picked up as the gunship came in. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, not able to take not fully knowing what was going on. Anakin swam in his vision. Besides that, his vision was beginning to work fine. But the information his brain was getting began to make less and less sense.
Anakin spoke, his voice seeming to be traveling through a vast tunnel, “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan. You’re gonna be alright.”
Obi-Wan reached up for him with a trembling arm, tried to nod, and then he lost all sense.
~~~
“Here!” Anakin called through the flurry of snow, waving his arm to get the attention of Kix and the men. They rushed over, and Anakin reluctantly relinquished his master to their care.
“Can your fighter get off-world?” Boil asked.
“I’ll be fine. Just get him stable and make sure he gets back to his cruiser in one piece. I’ll be along shortly. And get Arfour on board!”
“Right away, sir.”
Fives was shouting orders, and getting to work, even as the stretcher took Obi-Wan away.
Boil stayed behind to place a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and just from that simple touch, he felt some of the tension coiled tight in him bleed out of him. “Don’t worry, sir. He’ll be okay. You did good.”
Anakin nodded, and grasped his arm. “You did too. Okay, get him home.”
With a nod, Boil was off, jogging to join the rest of the men.
“Force, it’s karking cold,” Anakin complained, body shuddering painfully as he climbed to his feet. “Artoo, come on. We still have a fight to win.”
Artoo beeped in excitement, and Anakin laughed.
Before he got into his fighter, he spared one last glance for Obi-Wan. The gunship doors slid closed.
Right. Now time to focus.
Anakin fired up the thrusters and the engines and took off. Through the comms he said, “Blue squadron, I’m coming back to you.”
“Good, we saved some blaster fire for you,” Broadside answered.
With a fierce grin, Anakin responded, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
His fighter left the atmosphere, and then orbit. Back into the fray.
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#star wars: the clone wars#star wars: the clone wars fanfiction#the clone wars#the clone wars fanfiction#obi-wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#hurt!obi-wan kenobi#whump#tw: graphic depictions of violence#fanfiction#writing#my writing
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MLQC Boys and Jealousy Sex
I’m blaming @kim-stxtches for this because I really wasn’t going to do this and then they forced me! Okay, I’m lying! I needed an excuse to write this! I’m shocked I finished in one go tbh. Normally takes me 3,000 years. Please enjoy!
Warning: Title speaks for itself, but it is NSFW!
UNDER THE CUT!
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Kiro
THIS MISCHIEVOUS MAN!
Will “discreetly” get handsy with you in front of whoever he feels threatened by.
Purposes stands close enough to squeeze your ass. Might hug you from behind and press himself against your ass so you can feel his hardened length.
Its kind of like a reminder when he does it.
“Hey, don’t forget your boyfriend is here.”
By the time he’s done teasing you, you’ll have to excuse yourself. It’s highly likely that you’ll drag him along with you, so he could finish what he started.
Kiro’s a biter.
He likes to leave his mark all over your body, but does his best to leave them in places that make it easier for you to hide. Only because you asked.
Jealous Kiro will throw all that out the window. Be prepared to have your neck covered in bite marks. It’ll be turtleneck season for a while.
You’ll have bite marks on your inner thighs as well so that whenever your legs brush against one another, you’ll have the memory of Kiro and the long lust filled night you spent together.
Doesn’t help when you’re at a shoot with him and you feel your pussy clench involuntarily as you shift slightly, while trying to hold a conversation with Savin. Kiro will notice your discomfort and give you an impish smirk from across the room and all you can do is glare.
The idea of you thinking of him when you’re with another man fills him with pride and has him dying to bury himself inside you when all this is over.
Kiro gets pretty ruthless when he’s eating you out. Normally, he’ll do it until you’ve reached your orgasm and tease you a little bit after, but jealous Kiro is a different story.
No matter how much you beg for him to let up, he probably won’t. He’ll continuously use his mouth until you’re a complete twitching whimpering mess. You’ll be on your fourth orgasm before he finally looks up at you, licking your juices off his lips.
“I’ll make it so that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”
Gavin
A Jealous Gavin in the streets is a soft Gavin in the sheets.
In the moment, he’s possessive of you and has no problem with letting the person know that unless they want to get choked out they need to back off.
Behind closed doors, he’s another one that likes to cling on to you. His actions, however, aren’t as naughty as Kiro’s. Gavin doesn’t like the idea of you catching someone else’s eye so his hugs are also a reminder that you have him. You can barely walk around your apartment without him holding on to you. You rarely complain because a hug from Gavin is like a protective blanket.
It doesn’t take long for you to start to feel him trail soft kisses along your neck and cheek. Then a hand slips under your shirt, lightly grazing your stomach as it travels up to cup your breasts.
His kisses will get a little more intense. The sound of his lips smacking against your skin growing louder as he leaves hickeys in his wake.
When Gavin is jealous he wants to make sure you never feel the need to look elsewhere for love. Will pamper you until his last breath because he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. Might go a bit overboard so make sure to stop him if he gets ahead of himself.
Gavin, please don’t suffocate while eating me out.
Once he slides his cock into you, just know that his movements will be as rough and desperate as his kisses. Yeaaaah prepare for your lips to be swollen and throbbing after this.
He uses his body to convey all the things he wants to say. “I love you.” “You’re mine just as much as I’m yours.” “No one else can you see you like this but me.” “Thank you for choosing me.”
Hands roam all over your naked form to make sure you’re still with him, that you’re more than just his dream girl.
At some point you’ll realize why he’s doing all this and turn the tables on him. Telling Gavin how much you love him while riding him will definitely boost your man’s confidence.
Wiggle your hips the way he likes it, let him hear you moan his name, take his hand, guide it to your aching pussy and have him feel how wet you are.
To make him lose his mind say “You feel that, babe? Only you can make me feel this good.”
Victor
Jealousy sex and angry sex kind of go hand in hand with you and Victor.
You hate when he tries to showcase his dominance, but you also love when he has you bent over his desk, a hand firmly pulling your hair back and his length sliding roughly into your pussy.
You know exactly why he gets like this? A business associate looks at you a lot longer than they should. A passerby makes a comment about how good you look. You say something that gets him worked up.
Victor does his best to compose himself and tries to not let his jealousy get the better of him especially when he’s at work. But if you pick up on it and tease him he will break.
“Is the great Victor Li jealous? Guess he should really appreciate how great his girlfriend is because other men seem to think so.”
Its safe to say that even if you deny it, you love when he’s rough with you. That’s the only reason why you push his buttons when he’s annoyed, jealous, or angry. And he knows it!
Let’s be real...Victor’s thrust game is always on point, but its even better when you’ve gotten under his skin. He hits that spot with excellent precision just so he can have you crumble beneath him.
A few slick comments and you’ll be glad that the sound of your moans and the lewd sounds your pussy made as your juices coated his dick will never leave his soundproof office.
If you don’t tease him enough, Victor will wait until the two of you are home to strike.
You’ll get mouthy which is to be expected, but your feisty words only make things that more intense and you end up on your knees sucking him off regardless.
Afterwards, your grumpy man gets really soft and holds you close while stroking your hair. He knows that being with him is a challenge. He hates to admit how stubborn his is but you take it in stride and challenge him when you could easily live a life of simplicity.
“I know I don’t say it a lot, but I’m grateful that you chose to be by my side.”
Lucien
Lucien is the type of jealous lover who likes to test you. How far can you go before you’re begging for release that only he can give.
Expect for him to throw toys into the mix. More specifically vibrators. He’ll use anything to stimulate you as long as its not his body.
You’re not allowed to touch yourself or orgasm either. That defeats the purpose of what he’s trying to do.
You’ll be chained to the bedpost writhing and panting, practically pleading for some form of release.
Lucien will only watch intently from the other side of the room. Like he’s making note and watching your every move as the seconds ticked by.
“Lucien..please...I don’t think I can...”
Your eyes are watery, the throbbing between your legs growing more unbearable, and your back arches as you let out a frustrated moan.
When he sees you’re almost close to an orgasm, he’ll give you exactly what you want.
Depending on the situation, he can be just as rough as Victor or he’ll dial it down a bit, but you could careless. You just want him to fuck you senseless.
“My beautiful butterfly... You’re forever trapped in my web.”
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I’m honestly proud of myself. I managed to bust this out in a day! Anyways, hope you all enjoyed it this.
Check out my other works here!
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chapter four of stupid things!
Read on AO3 // Playlist // Buy me a coffee?
Sorry this chapter is so late! I've had a lot of difficulties... but I hope you enjoy it!
On Monday, Inej wakes up to over a hundred messages. Groaning, she turns over and considers suffocating herself in her pillow, before forcing herself to unlock her phone.
You have been added to a new group chat.
99+ new messages.
Jesper: Sup bitches
Wylan: Hello! :D
Jesper: I thought we could use this to organise date nights
Kaz: It’s my turn to choose.
Jesper: ik dumbass
Kaz: Meet outside the library at 6pm on Friday. I’ll organise transport.
Jesper: doesn’t sound sketchy at all
Wylan: Is there anything we need to bring???
Kaz: Wear fancy clothes.
Jesper: are we gonna rob a bank?
Kaz: If we were, I wouldn’t bring you.
Jesper: rude
Inej scrolls past the rest of the messages, ignoring the endless bickering. Her finger hovers over the mute chat button as she imagines the headache that her dear friends are about to cause her, but locks her phone instead, sitting up. Surely they can’t be that bad? Besides, she would hate to miss out on anything.
{o0o}
By Wednesday, Inej is massively regretting that decision. Even she didn’t think Jesper is capable of starting that many arguments, and his incessant flirting with Wylan is going to be the death of her.
On Thursday, she runs into Kaz on her way home from class and they grab a coffee together. They find a bench tucked out of the way of any foot traffic and chat for a while, but Kaz refuses to tell her what his plans are for this weekend.
“God,” Inej says, leaning back in the seat. “Is Jesper addicted to his phone? I swear, I’ve never seen anyone send that many messages.”
Kaz raises an eyebrow. “Are you surprised?”
She shrugs, tipping the last of her latte in her mouth. “I shouldn’t be, I suppose.”
“What have they even been talking about?” he asks, taking their empty cups and tossing them in the bin beside him. “I muted the chat about an hour after Jes made it.”
Inej blinks a few times, staring out into the fields coated in mist as she reevaluates her life choices. Why did the universe decide that these would be her friends?
She groans, dramatically flopping sideways onto Kaz. “I should have done that days ago.”
{o0o}
When Friday finally rolls around, their evening plans are still a mystery to everyone but Kaz. No matter what schemes they had come up with, Kaz had refused to tell. Wylan had asked him politely, claiming the not-knowing is bad for his anxiety (which is probably true, actually) and Inej had even offered him a bribe, to no avail.
(Jesper had just pestered him over text. Inej doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Kaz has blocked his number.)
The three of them look ridiculous, standing outside the library in their fanciest clothes. Wylan is wearing a plain black suit, his bow tie slightly askew, while Jesper is wearing a colourful suit jacket and black jeans. A few students give them weird looks, but most of them are too busy with their own lives to give more than a few seconds thought towards them.
When a limo pulls up instead of Kaz’s shady minivan, Jesper’s mouth falls open. Kaz pushes the door open, sticking his head out. “Are you coming, or what? And Jesper, shut your mouth.”
Jesper and Wylan clamber in first, Inej gracefully sliding in after them. She self-consciously runs a hand down her dress, the purple silk soft against her palms.
“You look beautiful,” Kaz whispers while Jesper and Wylan are distracted by a bottle of champagne waiting for them, and she blushes.
“So do you,” she replies, smiling at his entirely black suit. Apart from their day at the beach, she’s never seen him out of a suit, but she can see why he wears them.
“Hey, Kaz,” Jesper interrupts, pouring the champagne into four glasses. “Will you tell us where we’re going yet?”
“Nope,” he replies with a smug smile.
“How did you afford all this?” Wylan asks, looking around at the luxurious. “Did you actually rob that bank? Without us?”
Kaz rolls his eyes, and Inej stifles a laugh.
“You’re not far off, Mr Van Sunshine,” Jesper laughs, sticking his tongue out at Kaz. “He’s always been secretly rich, but no one knows where it comes from.”
“His terrifying glare?” Wylan suggests.
“His suits?” Inej offers.
“I think it’s his sparkling personality,” Jesper answers with a wink.
“Oh, shut up,” Kaz mutters, just as the car comes to a stop.
No one moves for a moment, until Kaz rolls his eyes and climbs out first, muttering something to himself. He extends a hand to help Inej out, but he leaves Jesper and Wylan to fend for themselves as he leans over and gives the driver some instructions.
“Just in here,” he says, ushering them all towards a shady looking door. Jesper and Inej share an incredulous look, and Wylan looks like he is itching to run in the opposite direction of whatever this is.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kaz grumbles, opening the door to reveal a dark corridor. “It’s the back entrance. Someone owed me a favour.”
There’s another blank silence where no one moves.
“I swear no one is going to get murdered and no crimes are going to be committed. Good enough for you?”
Inej can’t help but smirk at how nervous Jesper looks. Usually, he’s up for anything, but he keeps shifting his weight and staring into the long, dark corridor. Wylan, beside him, looks close to passing out.
“Oh, come on guys,” Inej says, stepping (with only a split second of hesitation) towards the doorway, her voice filled with false confidence. “I’m not having you ruin my hot date.”
Kaz doesn’t smile, but his eyes sparkle with that mischief she has come to love. In return, she gives him a glare that roughly translates as ‘I better not get stabbed, I like this dress without the blood stains, thank you.”
Begrudgingly, they all follow her inside, the metal door clanging shut behind them and shrouding them in darkness.
Now her eyes are adjusting, Inej can see a small gleam of light coming from around the corner, so she follows that, praying that she won’t trip over something or walk into a wall.
“This has to be the third sketchiest thing you’ve ever made me do,” Jesper mutters at the back of the group, and Inej hears Kaz snort in response.
“What were the other two?” Wylan whispers nervously, but no one answers him.
Inej comes to an abrupt halt when she reaches the end of the hallway, her mouth dropping open. Kaz must have been telling the truth about the back entrance, because standing in front of them is the most glamorous restaurant she has ever laid eyes on. Inej doesn’t think she has seen so much luxury in one place before; it looks like something straight out of a fairytale or a magazine, the huge chandelier above them dazzling her.
A waiter arrives quickly, shaking hands with Kaz. “Right this way, my friends,” he says, ushering them over to a booth away from the bustle of the kitchen and the other diners. “Here are your menus,” he continues, handing them out, “and I will return in a few moments for your drinks orders.”
“Thanks, Rotty,” Kaz answers, oblivious to the three wide-eyed stares he is getting from around the table.
Somehow, it reminds Inej of the night where she first met Kaz. Hopefully this time they won’t have to worry about getting arrested.
“What’s everyone having?” Kaz asks, and Inej realises he’s ignoring them on purpose. “I hear their duck is excellent.”
“I’ve never been to a super fancy restaurant before!” Jesper exclaims in a whisper shout. “I don’t know what half this stuff says.”
“Uh,” Wylan says, looking at his menu like it personally offended him. “I’m not that hungry…”
Kaz rolls his eyes. “How about I order for everyone, hm? Unless you have any objections, Inej?”
She shakes her head, her mind still swimming as she tries to figure out how Kaz managed to book a table in such a lavish restaurant. Maybe Jesper is onto something with the whole bank robbing thing, she muses.
Sure enough, Kaz orders for them all with no hesitation. When Jesper starts awkwardly shuffling in his seat, he adds, “Dinner’s on me, by the way. It’s only fair, after all.”
Everyone stares at him for a minute, floundering for something to say. Suddenly, Inej starts laughing, leaning her head forward onto the table as she tries to stifle her giggles and ends up hiccupping instead. Wylan joins in with a nervous chuckle, but Kaz and Jesper just stare at her, amused.
“‘Nej, you okay?” Jesper asks eventually as Kaz pats her back in what he hopes is a soothing motion.
“Yeah,” she manages to gasp out, trying to take some deep breaths. “Sorry, it’s just-” She bursts out laughing again as another table looks away, distaste written all over their faces. “It’s just so surreal.”
Luckily, the food arrives before she can embarrass herself any further.
Kaz must secretly be some kind of psychic, because there is no way he somehow knows exactly what Inej’s taste in food is. Whatever he’s picked out for her - some kind of posh pasta, she thinks - is maybe the most delicious food she has ever eaten, and if she wasn’t in public, she would be making all sorts of inappropriate noises as she eats it.
“Mmm,” Jesper moans, clearly not having the same reservations. “I think I can die happy now.”
Kaz rolls his eyes again, but Inej can see the smile peeking out from behind his fork.
Clearly, his food magic is also working on Jesper and Wylan, because they look equally happy with their choices. She has never seen Jes inhale a plate of food so fast, and he usually eats quite quickly. Wylan looks like he’s considering making out with the sauce left on his plate, and Inej decides that if she dropped dead right now, she wouldn’t even be mad.
“I can’t take you people anywhere,” Kaz complains, his eyes twinkling with the light of the chandelier. Inej laughs as Jesper pouts, and the waiter reappears to take their plates away.
{o0o}
“So,” Jesper says in the limo on the way back to the library. “Who has the best taste?”
“Me, clearly,” Kaz answers without hesitation. “You all like what I ordered for you, didn’t you?”
“No, silly.” Jesper whacks him lightly on the arm. “Who organised the best double date?”
Wylan actually raises his hand before speaking. “I liked bowling.”
Inej crosses her arms. “Of course you did. Was it the actual activity, or the fact Jesper was practically grinding-”
“Woah, ‘Nej, let’s not scar the poor boy,” Jesper cuts in, blushing almost as much as his boyfriend. “My favourite was dinner, actually.”
“I liked the game night,” Kaz states, “But I’m sure you’ll all accuse me of being biased.”
“Beach was best,” Inej declares, leaning sideways into Kaz. “So, who wins? It’s just a four way tie, isn’t it?”
“Well,” Jesper exclaims, “We can’t have that.”
There’s no sound but the noise of the traffic outside for a minute or two, and then Jesper jumps like he’s been electrocuted. He smiles, but Inej sees the mischief in his smug grin and immediately senses danger.
“Rematch?” he offers, and she sighs.
tag list below! ask to be added or removed :D
@hrtbreakprincess / @tooindecisivetopickaurl / @kazcoded / @saltyfortunes
#shadow and bone#six of crows#kanej#wesper#grishaverse#mmb writes#stupid things#kanej fics#userhbs#my writing
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Got You in My Clutches (YanKabuto x Reader 18+)
Part 2
Warning this contains Rape and possibly more.
Au to Together At Last and Tainted In Lust.
I hope that you guys enjoy this lovely lemon that was brought to you by hentaifangirl69 sponsored by pervertedthoughts.org which was made possible by viewers like you
________________
~Time skip, Reader’s P.O.V ~
A few days have passed since my brother went missing, I’ve questioned Naruto due to him being the last to Sasuke but he said that he hadn’t seen Sasuke at all.
I called my parents and Itachi to alert them to Sasuke’s disappearance. Itachi got here faster than I thought that he would when I told him but our parents are still trying to get back as soon as possible, Itachi and I have looked practically everywhere we could to find Sasuke but to no avail.
With each day my hope of finding Sasuke shrinks bit by bit but no matter what I won’t stop trying to find him, was the thought that ran through my mind with determination as I searched the west side of town while Itachi searched the east.
As I continue to walk around town I put up posters along the way but just as I was about to walk away I heard a familiar voice speak. “Missing person huh? Now that doesn’t sound right” Out of curiosity as to what they meant by that I turned around to spot Kabuto.
“What do you mean?” He turned to face you while adjusting his glasses.
“I’ve seen him just a while ago” My eyes widen as I grabbed him by the shoulders.
“WHERE?! Where exactly have you seen him?” I practically shouted at him.
He calmly grabbed my hands and gently removed them before replying to my questions. “Not far from here actually” Stopping to fixing his glasses he starts back up with what he was saying. “I could show you if you’d like?”
Stepping closer I firmly nodded my head. “Yes, show me” I was so busy with the thought of finally finding Sasuke that I completely missed the slight smirk and evil glint Kabuto had as he lead me to an ally a few blocks down and when we got there I saw a dark figure hunched over with his knees brought up to their chest foolishly thinking that it was Sasuke I ran over to them while excitedly shouting Sasuke’s name. “Sasuke!”
But when I finally got over to him and pulled off their hoodie I had a confused look on my face as I stared at them. “Sorry, dearie but I’m not Sasuke” His smirk was off-putting as he placed his hand on his hip.
“Orochimaru-Sensei? What are-” I was cut short when I felt something get injected into my neck, feeling my consciousness fading fast but before it did I felt myself fall into someone’s arms.
“Well that was easier than I thought, you really were too trusting” Kabuto shook his head in a mock disapproving manner before smirking again. “Well, I guess that worked more in my favor though” He finished not that I heard much of it remembering that I mentioned that my conscious was fading? Yeah, you do.
When I came to I woke up strapped to some weird chair and in front of me was a TV well two TV’s actually both were currently off, I carefully examined the area in hopes of finding something to aid in my escape but nothing looked like it would work couldn’t even knock my chair over.
After god knows how long someone finally breaks the somewhat silence, I tried to turn my head back as far as I could but could only see a bit of the person which was enough to figure out who it was.
“Kabuto” I glared but he clearly couldn’t see it properly due to the angle.
“Just as timed” He stepped over to my side looking me over and double checking my ties. “Mmm definitely won’t be breaking out of these, good” He did a few other things as well that I couldn't see until a thought came to me.
“Did you...did you kidnap my brother?” He got up and dusted his hands.
“No” I felt relief only for it to be crushed.
“But I did assist in helping him get abducted” He smirked and walked over to a table grabbing a remote.
“Why? For money?” I laughed. “Good luck with that our parents won’t pay a single cent” Not because they don’t care but because they will do everything in their power to get us back.
He had a thoughtful look that was clearly fake before speaking. “You know I don’t think Orochimaru’s reason for abducting Sasuke was for money”
“Then why? Huh, why all of this?” I pressed to find out which caused him to smirk. “You know I could show you better than I could tell you” Grabbing one of the remotes next to him switching on TV 1.
And what I saw was sickening Orochimaru and Sasuke who looked like he was fighting back moans and more soon the camera zoomed in closer on Sasuke and Orochimaru mentioned that I would be watching this video.
He glared at Orochimaru to which Orochimaru asked if there was anything he would like to say but Sasuke only looked away with a look of shame and a mix of hate. Orochimaru brought the camera over to himself and smirked. “Well, ____ it doesn’t look like your precious brother has anything to say pity but nothing that can be done” He then reached over the pet Sasuke’s head causing Sasuke to pull away.
“You know he did try to get out of this life he even tried to make a deal with the cult….” He cut to me tilting his head with a smirk. “Would you like to know what the deal was?” I raised a brow while still keeping a glare.
“I’ll take that as a yes” Turning on the second one this time Naruto showed up on it and horrible stuff was happening to him too. “This is what became of your boyfriend last Saturday all because of Sasuke” He shut it off when Naruto said that we ‘re through.
“Why?” Feeling absolutely broken that was all I could manage to say, I felt him brush some of my hair out of my face.
“Because of you” I looked at him wondering how could this all be my fault?
“What? You never noticed?” He chuckled. “My _____ you are too oblivious it’s almost pathetic if it wasn’t so cute” My anger only grew as he mocked me.
“Noticed what?” He shook his head before answering.
“Your brother loved you and I don’t mean in a platonic way ” I shook my head in disbelief.
“No, no your lying!” I refuse to believe that.
“That’s your choice but personally I can’t say that I blame him, I mean it’s because of my want for you as well that I help set all of this up” As he said this I held a look of disgust.
“What why? We barely talked”
“Ah but the few times we did were enough for my heart to be completely under your spell” That’s just stupid, I’m pretty sure it was four or five times that can’t be enough.
“Regardless I will never return your sick version of love” He stood up and went over to grab something again.
“I’m completely content with just having you so you returning my feelings is unnecessary but would have been a nice bonus” He held up a syringe with some kind of weird liquid in it and with each step he took towards me I moved further back into my chair and still tried to move even more even when I ran out of room it just offered a slight comfort that was short lived.
The moment that needle pierced my skin then I suddenly felt hot all over with a certain needy feeling down below. “My such excellent results” He pushed up his glasses causing a sinister gleam to appear on his glasses.
“Make it stop” He crossed his arms.
“Well, there’s really only one way to do that” He stooped down looking me dead in the eyes. “Which you may not like at first but I assure you that you will grow to”
I knew what he meant but there was just no way I could do it right? Not after everything he’s done to Sasuke, to Naruto.
“But I won’t force you to do it the choice is all yours” He awaited my answer which I tried to think over as carefully as possible, thinking this over was getting harder and harder to do, this was so unbearable that I was sure if I said no I 'd just die, I mean how could I not? It was just so strong.
Not being able to go on I said what I knew he wanted to hear. “Fine just make it go away,” I said with no choice but to give in.
He smirked as he started stripping. “Gladly” Once he was naked he got down lower and started fingering me making me moan uncontrollably. He would scissor, wiggle add an extra finger anything that would give me pleasure and boy did it, I was at the edge of my seat with every move he made but just as I was about to cum he stopped.
“What the hell?” I shouted with need.
“I’m not ready for you to cum just yet first I want to do a few other things” He opened a drawer pulling out a few sex toys that he quickly put to use.
He stuck something up my ass then pressed a button causing it to wiggle around the feeling was odd but pleasurable nonetheless then he added a dildo into my pussy activating it as well making more pleasure surge through me.
I screamed out my moans to which he liked, I could tell by the look on his face that he did. “My your reactions are just perfect” His glasses shone in a mad scientist way as he added a smirk to go along with it. “Couldn’t ask for better ones”
He got closer and opened my mouth placing his cock into my mouth and for some odd reason I started sucking, licking and bobbing causing it to twitch like crazy soon enough he came but yet again before I could he'd stop but before I could complain he kissed me while jerking his penis into me with so much force I’m surprised the chair survived.
Our tongues fought one another as his hips thrust giving me so much pleasure but it didn’t just stop there he would bite and pinch all the right places and the harder he went the more pleasant it felt.
While he was licking my neck I felt a knot build up and this time I prayed that he would finally let me cum which he did.
I was so thankful and soon he came as well and as his warm seed spread inside me I couldn’t help but twitch.
“Now doesn’t that feel much better?” He stepped back as I just nodded.
“Knew that it would” He lean close to my ear biting it a bit before whispering in it. “Would you like to do more?” I looked at him slightly and nodded bringing a side smirk to his face.
“Just what I wanted to hear” He pressed some button that brought out more stuff. “Cause I have so much more that I want to test out on you” A smirk that would put any mad scientist to shame came to his face as he stood in front of me before moving to all of his playthings that he couldn’t wait to try.
_________________
DONE FINALLY! This took forever.
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a year-in-review meme - for writers!
I thought up this writing meme for fic writers who might have been staring at the artists having their lovely and well-deserved collages of their work through the year - and wanted to join in the fun! also this works as a great reminder for those of you (and me) who’ve been thinking that they haven’t been writing as much as they want to, and allows you to go back to enjoy your old fic ;D
Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!
I was tagged by the lovely @ladyxxdaydream so here is mine:
January:
Matchmaker - Kakashi/Iruka - I just love soft, established relationship for these two. Especially when they have a mischievous side.
On the way back to the living room, Kakashi grabbed him by the waist and pulled until Iruka was wedged between his legs and the table. "Are we going to tell him?" he questioned with a mischievous smile. He moved his hands to cup Iruka's ass, food apparently forgotten, and pressed his face against Iruka's stomach.
"Eventually. We can tease him a bit first."
Iruka felt the vibrations of Kakashi's chuckle against his abs, the warmth of his breath and the fingers pressing just barely on the cleft of his ass incredibly arousing. "You're evil," Kakashi said, approving. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."
"I thought it was because of my ass."
February:
Westeros Most Haunted - Jaime/Brienne - What can I say, I love horror stories.
They walked as quick as the darkness permitted, running there was as bad an idea as staying still, and clutched each other's hands. "This is the last time I'm filming without a full crew," she said, and as soon as she spoke there a single note began to play, softly at first but gaining volume the same as the noise had before.
She liked it even less than she had the noise.
Jaime's hand squeezed hers hard enough to hurt but she didn't complain. "Oh fuck," was all he said when a second note and then a third followed, then he was moving faster and pulling Brienne with him. "Run, Brienne, run!"
She did, she knew what song was beginning to play and she knew the doors would close when it did.
They didn't want to be trapped on this side of the door.
March:
Ghost in the Machine - Jaime/Brienne - WestWorld AU, because they made it too easy for me to go there.
"There is a war coming," Maeve said. Jaime wasn't surprised. There was always a war, somehow. That thing in Westworld the man had been talking about, the fear in his voice when he had spoken about it that Jaime had ignored at the time. "And I can't fight it on my own."
"Why me?" There had been so many like him, so many other hosts. Jaime knew about war, but only in his little place, in this little fantasy world someone had written for them.
Maeve could have chosen anyone to fight with her.
"Because you are like me, you fought your programing to get back to her the same way I always tried to get back to my daughter. If they hadn't closed this park, you would have eventually got there on your own, I just got you there faster." She handed him the tablet.
April:
D-Rank mission scrolls - Kakashi/Iruka - Iruka in sexy lady clothing, enough said.
Iruka thought about his options; he could run back home and hide under the bed, pack his belongings and flee the village in the middle of the night. Naruto would miss him but he'd always thought he'd make a pretty good missing-nin, though they'd probably send Kakashi after him and he'd die of embarrassment without even giving him a fight. He could also pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary with his attire, as if academy teachers usually dressed in sexy female clothes, apologize to Kakashi and knock on the next door, hoping this time it was Raidou's house. He could also murder Kotetsu for having such appalling penmanship, and the rest of his friends for not being where they should have been.
May:
In Vino Veritas - Kakashi/Iruka - Another of my favourite tropes, second chances
"I almost proposed, once upon a time." He downed his glass and refilled it, using the last of the second jar and signalling for a third. He was feeling the effects of the drink, his tongue loosening, but he didn't mind. Not if it was with Iruka.
Iruka's eyes sharpened on him. "You did? To whom?" There was something in his voice, curiosity and sadness and maybe some jealousy. It was that what made Kakashi think, fuck it, and throw open the can.
"To you."
Iruka closed his eyes as if in pain and downed his glass, refilling it and downing it again.
"I would have said yes." It was Kakashi's turn to drink to ease the lump in his throat. "Do you remember why we broke up?" he finally asked, as if the sake had given him the courage he needed for the question.
June:
The House on the side of the Road - Kakashi/Iruka - again, horror story. Tooke me over four years to finish, but it was worth it.
It was raining. Again.
It was the thing Kakashi hated the most about autumn. The rain, and the chill that settled in the air and made people's mood turn foul, and the fact that Umino Iruka had disappeared on a day not unlike this one, windy and chilly and rainy.
It had been a year since Iruka had failed to return from his mission, practically vanishing into thin air on the road between Ame and Konoha. That same road Kakashi was travelling through now. Kakashi could still remember everything about the day Iruka had been declared MIA, the search party that had been sent to Ame to look for either him or his body. They had returned empty-handed, shaking their heads and declaring Iruka had just vanished into thin air. Without a body, without proof of any attack on him, Iruka couldn't be declared dead. The conclusion, one that didn't sit well with anyone who had ever known him, was that he had deflected, gone rogue.
July:
This Above All - Jaime/Brienne - Jaime coming out as genderfluid with his own parade
That's not the main thing, though. Seeing it like that, hearing the same things Cersei used to tell him growing up has done for Jaime what years of therapy have not managed. He's spent years and thousands of dragons coming to grips with the fact that he's not a freak for feeling sometimes like a woman and wanting soft things for himself, but he hadn't yet found the resolve to take the last step to be fully himself in public and bring the wrath of Tywin over his head.
Now he's angry enough at the treatment of his nephew to get the heir of the Lannister empire, at least until Tywin sees this, on the front page of all magazines dressed as a woman on the pride parade. He has a plan, he's kind of constructed his career around this moment without acknowledging he was doing it, has put the money his mother let him towards his own architecture studio and other small-time investments. Small-time for a Lannister but enough that he doesn't have to fear being left without resources. And neither does his cousin.
Jaime's also contacted an old friend and knows there is a place in the Martell float for him, ensuring maximum visibility because Jaime can do nothing by halves; if he's going to set his life on fire, he wants a bonfire the Seven can see from the heavens.
August:
Just as Sweet (just as thorny) - Jaime/Brienne - Secret identities, second chances, competency kink. It has all my faves
Jaime shouldn't be doing this.
He's going to be fired or punched, more than likely both. It will be no less than he deserves, he's broken the one rule of his department and he was already on shaky ground with Selmy after the whole Baratheon operation fuckup. If this gets back to him, and he doesn't fool himself that it won't, Jaime's as good as out of a job and not even his family name can save him this time. At the very least he'll be reassigned to the fucking Wall unit, something Selmy has been threatening to do for years when Jaime becomes especially obnoxious.
He looks at Brienne, her blue eyes wide and filling with tears, her entire posture radiating hurt and shock and anger and he couldn't care less. If she forgives him and gives him another chance, Jaime will present his resignation himself.
"Jay?" Brienne asks, her voice lost in the din of the club but he's seen her mouth shape that name enough times he can hear her voice in his head, down to the break at the end.
He leans forward again. "Jaime, my name is Jaime."
That's when she punches him.
September:
Skin Deep - Jaime/Brienne - Brienne owns a strip club asn it’s the most oblivious person on earth.
"She shook my hand," Jaime moans into his drink while Pia and Hilda laugh at him. It's Brienne day off and Jaime is there, sitting in her club surrounded by her employees and friends and missing her. Maybe she's really not interested, though he's seen her looking and there have been times when she was blushing and looking at his mouth, that Jaime was convinced he could just lean forward and kiss her and she'd kiss back, then those moments pass and he's back to wondering if he really is so out of practice flirting that she's not realized yet. If she wasn't interested she would just reject his advances, wouldn't she? "You all suck as wingmen and Brienne is the most oblivious person on earth. What do I have to do, dance naked in front of her so she realizes I want her!"
He groans into his drink when he sees the look Pia and Hilda exchange. "That's an excellent idea, Jaime. Roz! Satin! Come here!"
Jaime looks from one to the other and shakes his head vehemently. "No way. I am not doing that."
Famous last words.
October:
Hollow - Jaime/Brienne - The FMA AU I am not writing (and I keep not writing). This one is not posted because it insists on being a multichapter and I refuseto post it until I have at least another chapter done.
"Another fool," a voice says, low and all encompassing, and Jaime turns in the direction it came from to find nothing but a vague shape of a person, almost like a cutout of lines in the whiteness except for deep red eyes and the biggest ruby ever where its throat should be. "Who are you looking for, fool? Lover or family?"
Jaime narrows his eyes at the speaker. "Neither," he says, because Brienne is almost one of those things, but he's never had the courage to examine which one. "Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter, I've had many names since the beginning of time. I'm the World, and The Flames, and Truth, and Magic and Alchemy. I'm Everything and I am Nothing. " The eyes move past Jaime's shoulder and he turns to look, where there was nothing before now a huge door wreathed in flames stands. "And you, fool, are about to learn all I know."
November:
The Drowned Heart - Jaime/Brienne - an Old Guard AU where I make them suffer a lot.
Brienne pushes herself up on her elbows to see him better. "Will I see you again?" she asks instead of asking him to stay.
"Of course you will, wench, I don't think I can stay away from you forever." He looks at her with some chagrin. "I might kill you again when I do."
"I don't mind," Brienne says, it's the truth. "As long as you kiss me again when I come back."
Jaime closes the distance between them in two quick strides and kneels next to her, hands tangling on her head as he presses their lips together. This kiss is the kind she remembers, the kind they have shared a million times just because they could. It's gentle and sweet, a slow exploration of her mouth, his tongue probing and teasing, and so very arousing. He kisses her, and kisses her until they both run out of breath, and then puts their foreheads together and the look in his eyes is so full of love she wants to cry again.
"I will always kiss you again."
December:
The Prodigal Son - Jaime/Brienne - A view of a good future through the eyes of an outsider.
Spring had finally come to the Westerlands after the longest and harshest winter in memory, something Celys had not been sure they would live to see. The realm had been ravaged by war and cold and famine, too many people had died during that time, and even those living in Lannisport and the small towns surrounding Casterly Rock had felt the bite of hunger, something not even the Lannister gold had been able to keep at bay.
Now the snow had melted and the sun warmed them again, a new crop had been planted and there was a new Targaryen King in King's Landing, one with the blood of the dragons but raised as a northerner, and the Lord of Casterly Rock was his Hand.
And tagging @albatrossisland @ddagent @sdwolfpup @nire-the-mithridatist @scoundrels-in-love @wildlingoftarth @slipsthrufingers @angel-deux-writes and whoever else wants to do it!
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Join Me | Victor Von Doom
Pairing: Victor Von Doom x Plus Size Reader (she/her)
Word Count: 2k
Request: may I please request some NSFW with comic!doctor doom and a short plus size reader who is very sweet and motherly and she dotes on him and loves him deeply. But she is sometimes very self-conscious about her body and the fact that he is so much smarter than her and she is afraid he'd get bored of her someday?
Warnings: nsfw, light angst, reader is a little insecure and Victor kinda doesn’t understand why, smut, fingering, unprotected sex (please, don’t do this), vaginal sex, fluff
❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎
Surrounded by open books and with a notebook resting on your lap, you found yourself enjoying the breeze of the night. You had the balcony all to yourself, your only company was the whooshing of the trees and the stridulating from the crickets.
The setup was comfortable, you had gotten used to doing homework outside. It helped you work quicker and understand clearer, to be the most efficient you had ever been — at least academically.
Flexing your left leg under your extended right one, you leaned over to take notes that would be helpful for your upcoming exam. You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but making Victor proud was more important.
You weren’t at his level, a part of you was sure you would never be. Trying your hardest was your only option to not feel as though you were a burden. There wasn’t a thing Victor didn’t excel at — there was nothing about him anyone would qualify as a flaw, much less yourself.
The light of your eyes and compass of your life he had been since the day you met him. An enticing enigma you couldn’t help but wish to unravel. You thought yourself to be dreaming when he confessed his desires to court you, how a man as regal and powerful as him would ever grow interested in someone like you was a mystery you weren’t interested in solving when he made you so happy.
That was the main reason why you wanted him to be proud, to comfortably take care of his worries and businesses with the certainty you were as prepared to be whatever he needed you to be.
Steps behind you prompted you to close the notebook. You stacked it on top of the books and pushed yourself upward to stand up as the sound of metal clanking filled your ears.
Placing the books and pencil case on the desk near the French doors, you approached Victor. “Let me help you.”
He ceased his movements, standing still before you. He, however, briefly focused his attention on the books you had been lost in. “Are the professors overwhelming you with homework?”
You shook your head, standing on your tiptoes to unclasp the chest piece of his armor. “How was your day?”
Victor complained about the inanity of the American government’s existence as you placed the armor in its place, piece by piece just the way he liked. You were used to it, they weren’t as efficient as him. And even if they were, he hated them, it had never been a secret and no one could blame him — as complicated as Victor was, he had always been clear in his convictions.
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as though you would escape if he didn’t keep an eye on you. He had been doing the same for the past two weeks which only made you feel more nervous.
“You’re busy all the time,” he observed.
Not sure how to take the comment, you handed him a pajama and changed the topic. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”
Victor frowned. His patience was wearing thin, every night you avoided his worries and instead focused on whatever he could need. Victor loved the attention, your love and care had filled a hole in him and made him find a side of him he had only seen while around little Valeria; but he wanted to give you the same, to have a normal conversation with you like at the beginning of your relationship.
Had he done something wrong? Was life in Doomstadt so boring you preferred focusing on getting a second degree?
“Are you leaving me?” He blurted upon seeing you come back from the bathroom.
You frowned. “Of course not. Come, the water is just the way you like it.”
Not taking his eyes off you, he stood. Offering his hand for you to take it, he stared so hard he ceased blinking. Your hesitation made him swallow harshly, your touch eased off the string of doubts and inquires simmering up his throat as the fear of being abandoned once again bubbled up.
His slow steps prompted you to check his body a third time in search of fresh injuries. You didn’t find any. He must have been tired, poor thing.
“Join me.” It wasn’t an invitation but a command.
A silent nod was your only reaction. Dropping his hand in order to get rid of your clothes, you heard him sigh. A splash then filled your ears — you almost giggled, you would have if the air between you wasn’t so tense.
His eyes were heavy on you, so deep you swore their warmth had been replaced by darkness. Steading yourself against the edges of the tub as you sunk into the water, you fully faced him.
Victor rested his cheek on his hand. He inhaled sharply, “I am aware of my failings as a partner, yet I foolishly assumed our relationship was salvable...”
Dropping your gaze, you bit your bottom lip. For a while now you had seen such words coming. You couldn’t fathom why he would ask if you would leave him when he was the one considering it.
“Could you please not dump me while I’m naked in the same bathtub as you?” you pleaded for your dignity.
“I am not dumping you, as you say.”
“Perhaps you should.” You didn’t mean it, but truth to be told, the weight of everyone’s —including your own— expectations were getting too heavy to carry. There were many people who would be better than you at loving him, at ruling Latveria beside him,
“I don’t understand what is it that you want,” he admitted.
You swirled the warm water with your finger, letting the bubbles brush your skin as the water ever so slightly rippled.
Victor took your silence as a sign of indifference. “In fact,” he continued, “I don’t understand how you can be so caring toward me and then...”
“It’s not your fault,” you assured him in a whisper. “I am the problem.”
He scoffed. “How cliché of you.”
“Well, how insensitive of you!” you countered, setting your jaw when you felt him move. “I am honestly telling you there’s nothing wrong with you, or my affections toward you, or... I don’t know, anything that isn’t me, but you have to take it personally because you’re so perfect you can’t understand m—“
“(Y/N),” his voice changed, the cold tone went out of the window then, “breathe, love.”
You breathed in, nodding. His hands found yours underwater just as you were opening your mouth to continue explaining yourself. Victor squeezed them in an attempt to keep you from getting more overwhelmed.
“I’m not good enough,” you confessed, “not always.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He leaned over, dropping one of your hands to place his palm on your thigh. You tensed under his touch, making him tilt his head.
“I’m not smart like you, I can’t solve problems...” you bit your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes in attempts of keeping your tears at bay.
“Of course you can solve problems, simply not in the same way I do. You are sweet and kind. Everyone here loves you, my dear,” Victor slid his hand to your waist, fingers brushing your soft stomach in their way upward. Pulling you toward him, he rested his back against the tub again.
You carefully placed your hand on his shoulder. Splashing water as you fit yourself on his lap, you finally stared at him to asses what he wanted.
“You’ve made me a better ruler and a better man,” he fervently spoke, “I wouldn’t trade you for the universe.”
He had been a God and found it beneath him, but you? Oh, you were his equal, his queen, everything he had ever dreamed and so much more. Happiness hadn’t been in his vocabulary until he started courting you, now the world looked brighter with you by his side — worth saving instead of merely conquering.
“I’m afraid you’ll get tired of me,” you lamented, “find someone prettier, more attractive...”
“Such a person doesn’t exist, not in my eyes.”
“Bu—“ your words died in your throat, this time because Victor grew impatient and slammed his lips onto yours.
Kissing him back, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed. Your hand moved to his cheek where your thumb gently brushed circles around the tender scars under your fingertips.
His grip tightened on your waist. Victor deepened the kiss by prying your mouth open, relishing on your soft sighs as your body relaxed. One of his hands slipped down to your thigh, caressing it softly as you parted from his lips to get some air.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, inching his hand closer to your pussy. His hand stopped at your mount. “Is this okay?”
Taking a shuddering breath, you nodded. Reaching your clit, he circled it gently with his thumb — pleasure ran through you and your head dropped onto his shoulder. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you mouthed at his skin as he gradually moved his thumb faster and applied more pressure.
A moan slipped out of your throat, making him smile as the hand on his chest traveled downward. You started stroking his cock when he slipped two fingers inside you. Whimpering his name, you gripped the base of his cock a little too tight which prompted him to whimper too.
As he felt your walls tighten around his fingers, Victor withdrew them. You groaned in annoyance, thinking it was one of his teasing games. On the contrary, he thrust up in your hand so you would get the hint.
His cock brushed your folds once you took your hand off it. Biting your lip, you lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him. He gave you a hungry look through his eyelashes and you couldn’t believe you had doubted his attraction toward you as his eyes then roamed down your torso.
Impatiently, Victor took you by the hips. Letting out a giggle, you placed both hands on his shoulders and eased yourself onto his cock. His threw his head back, humming in pleasure as you took your time.
The position wasn’t new to you, but the place was. You weren’t sure as to how to move so the water wouldn’t overflow. Asking would probably ruin the mood so you risked it and tentatively moved your hips.
The slow movements were nice, a difference from how sex was usually with Victor. You liked both equally, this one was simply more exciting because of its novelty. He seemed to think the same, at least that was what his expression told you as he uncharacteristically let you do whatever you wanted.
He grew bored of just watching and take it, though. One of his hands ran up your torso to your chest. He kneaded your breast, breath getting harsh as your hands went back to his neck where you this time gripped for more leverage. Thrusting up to meet your movements, Victor kissed his way up from your chest to your neck and then your mouth.
Your moans got louder when he hammered into you harder. The splashing water was the least of your worries, you were lost in the pleasure as now his hands roamed your body, and his mouth sucked on your nipples.
You released a long whimper when he started continuously hitting your spot. He took it as encouragement and quickened his movements. It didn’t take long for you to come undone, him following just behind in slow yet deep thrusts. You clung to him, breath unsteady and head buzzing with the intensity of your orgasm. Victor continued kissing your neck and face, breathing on your skin through his nose.
“The water isn’t warm anymore,” you told him, annoyed by the fact his warm bath had been ruined.
Grunting, he gently pulled you off his lap. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s take a shower and go to bed.”
You moved slowly, more tired than you anticipated. The shower was a blur, you didn’t recall which pajama you had put on or if you had dried your hair or not. It didn’t matter either, you were in bed with the man you loved, clung to his torso as your head rested on his stomach and his arms around you.
#victor von doom x reader#victor von doom x plus size reader#victor von doom smut#plus size smut#plus size fanfiction#doctor doom x reader#doctor doom x plus size reader#doctor doom smut#marvel x reader#marvel x plus size reader#marvel smut
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If This Changed Your Life Did You Have One Before
Kaz is dismayed to learn that for an entire year, the key to a three million kruge pay-out from the Ravkan crown has been hiding right under his nose. Even worse: he’s making excuses not to turn Jesper in, Sun Summoner or not.
4k | Sun Summoner Jesper AU | Jesper Fahey & Kaz Brekker | warning for on-screen torture
The Smirnov home was as easy a target as Kaz predicted. The entire family is out at some gala or other, the staff having used the reprieve to go out dancing, leaving only two guards patrolling in front of the villa. Really, he needn’t have brought in three other Dregs to make copies of the scheduled arrivals of the cargo vessels they have coming over from West Ravka in the next two months. Kaz could have easily done this alone, but his new spider Inej needs all the practice she can get, Anika’s been complaining about getting propositioned in a gambling hall, and Jesper—well, Jesper’s obnoxious when he’s bored.
He’s obnoxious anyway. Kaz has been back with Anika at her watcher’s spot for ten minutes now, Inej materializing out of thin air right after him, and Jesper’s still missing. Probably got distracted, the utter flake, and Kaz has half a mind to go back to the Slat without him. He’ll show up eventually. He always does.
It’s time to discern which lesson Inej needs to learn more at this moment. Should Kaz impress upon her the need for single-minded focus on the job at hand, lest she displease him? Make an example of Jesper that she will not forget? Or should he build her loyalty by implying—not promising—that the Dregs do not leave one of their own behind?
Inej does Kaz’ bidding without question. Only one of these lessons is useful for his new dutiful, terrified spider to learn.
“We could have called it a day early this time,” Kaz rasps, “but unfortunately Jesper has not yet learned the value of punctuality. Let’s hope he hasn’t found another kitchen boy, or we’ll be here all night.”
He hands the copied schedules over to Anika and instructs her and Inej to wait inconspicuously while he retrieves the errant sharpshooter.
The second entry’s just as easy as the first, and this time, he doesn’t take the stairs to the first floor where the office was but explores the ground floor that he ordered Jesper to case out. Useless as Jesper is, surely not even he would dare to diverge from Kaz’ plans that early.
The hallway is dark and empty, and so is the dining room, dark and empty except for—the crack under the door to the kitchen, casting out bright light, light that glints on the pearl-handle of a revolver on the floor. Kaz is almost relieved to see it. The second one, someone’s kicked under a chair, and he quickly picks them up. Guns might come in useful, anyway: Jesper wouldn’t just leave them, ever, he plays loose with money and orders but is far too attached to his weapons, so he must be in danger. He didn’t needlessly complicate Kaz’ plans by being stupid and distractible, after all. To lose a fight is far more excusable than flakiness, and Jesper’s usually a good thief and fighter and a loyal Dreg, so Kaz would hate to have to cut him loose just for his intrinsic character flaws.
It’s not only light that spills out from under the kitchen door. Voices, too, two loud and male and obviously drunk—one Kaz places as mercher Smirnov, who must’ve begged off from the gala, and the other has a similar West Ravkan accent—and then there is someone else, desperately breathless and sobbing and begging, and since Kaz has never heard him sound anything like this before, even though he already knew from the context, it takes him an entire second to recognize the voice as Jesper.
“Please,” Jesper slurs, “I’m sorry,” and then the dull impact of fist against flesh.
“I didn’t tell you to speak you piece of shit crook,” Smirnov hisses, “sorry won’t bring my brother back,” and then Jesper moans in pain again.
Kaz creeps closer, foregoing the use of his cane to avoid any noise despite the discomfort. The mercher sounds much angrier than the situation warrants. This is Ketterdam: the occasional breaking and entering is an occupational hazard for any wealthy person here, and teenage Jesper on his own is hardly a scary sight, unless he’s using his face to make the most hideous shirt look haute couture or he’s landing impossible hits in a shootout, and from the clean smell in the dining room and the fact that Kaz, who must have been a single floor up when Jesper was grabbed, didn’t hear anything, it’s most likely Jesper was taken by surprise before he could fire a single shot. A simple call to the staadwatch would have sufficed. This job was not supposed to involve the risk of torture.
It makes no sense for it to be personal. Kaz has never before targeted Smirnov or his business, and Haskell didn’t recognize the name when Kaz came to him to argue for his plan. Haskell’s not the most talented Barrel boss, to say it lightly, but he does have a good memory for past marks, so it’s most likely the Dregs have never crossed paths with Smirnov in any way. Kaz has never known him to have any siblings, either, and he did observe him for a while before this heist. Jesper, of course, gets into enough scrapes during his off-time, but they’re nearly all about gambling or money he owes from gambling, and if Smirnov was a gambler, Kaz would know. It’s his job to keep track of which merchers are easy targets.
It’s possible, of course, Kaz muses while he silently and gently lowers the handle of the kitchen door—in case this display is an ambush for him—and opens it to a small crack as quickly as he can—he’d prefer to keep his sharpshooter in working condition—it’s definitely possible that Jesper just annoyed the shit out of his captors. Kaz can empathise. He’s also annoyed that Jesper got himself caught by a random sadist on the easiest of jobs.
“Don’t worry, you’ll have enough time to heal up pretty before you get to the Little Palace.”
Or—
The kitchen is bright.
It’s a standard narrow kitchen, very orderly and clean, with a bottle of liquor and two glasses on the work surface. There are three people inside, and it’s ridiculously bright.
Brighter than any room with a single lit candle has any right to be. Brighter than daylight.
And it’s all coming from Jesper.
Jesper, who’s held in the arms of the non-Smirnov drunk, a man who has one big hand pressed to Jesper’s neck and is squeezing so hard that Kaz would probably see Jesper’s face turning blue if he could actually look, squeezing, and then letting go, squeezing again. His other arm is wrapped around Jesper’s waist, pressing both his arms against his body. Jesper’s feet are on the floor, knees bent even; he’s not being held aloft but he’s far too busy sobbing and shuddering to kick his feet against the man holding him captive.
Kaz has always thought Jesper unreasonably tall and lanky—only occasionally with vicious envy—but he looks weirdly small next to his captor, not because he’s shorter because he probably isn’t, just definitely not as broad-shouldered and muscular… Not because the other man is impressive. He’s got a red nose and desperate shallow scratches all over his face (so Jesper’s tried to escape. Kaz makes a mental note to force him to practice grappling and other forms of unarmed combat henceforth. Rotty’s a decent instructor, but he’s still hampered by the ethics taught in childhood boxing practice. Kaz will have to teach a few lessons himself, if he wants his sharpshooter to excel the next time he’s outmanoeuvred and alone). Jesper doesn’t look small for any of those reasons, but because he’s panicking and brutalized and miserably helpless in this mercher’s grasp, and that’s so hard to square with the presence of the flirty, boastful, loud boy he should be.
He lights up every room he enters.
Well, he’s lighting up the room now, just not like that.
All of Jesper’s skin is glowing brightly, every inch that isn’t covered by his hideous outfit (though the glare washes out the vivid contrasts of his chosen colours, rendering the coat slightly less of an eyesore), and the deep bloody slashes down his chest, the cut on his bruised cheek, the gash on his head where someone must have surprise-bashed him—they’re blinding, as if Kaz was looking straight at the sun.
Because that iswhat he’s looking at.
Jesper’s Grisha.
Jesper’s Grisha, and he’s far craftier than Kaz thought he was, because he’s been hiding his secret for a year now, Jesper who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut even when he isn’t drunk, Jesper who pretends to be an open happy book. He’s been hurt before, too, though not often enough for Kaz to give thought to his unarmed defence… so maybe something about the kitchen knife that Smirnov’s using to carve holes into his chest forced him to start burning, or maybe it’s the dazed hopeless terror that permeates every single one of his pleas, his laboured breathing…
“If you’d just gone and destroyed the Fold, instead of stealing from respectable men, this needn’t have happened,” Smirnov says with lethal friendliness, and then he punches Jesper in the face again. The ring he’s wearing tears another gash into Jesper’s cheek: another eruption of sunlight, another sob. “Sun Summoner.”
“Just please—” If Kaz could look at Jesper’s face for more than an instant, he could probably see him flickering through what he might offer—money, information, sexual services, appeals to this man’s mercy or veneration for a mythic Saint or reminders that the Ravkan bounty for the Sun Summoner is alive only. He doesn’t say anything but another “Please,” because it’s plainly useless: these two men have decided he can be hurt just shy of his death, and then he’ll be sold to the Darkling. And if no-one’s come to find him yet, no-one will. It’s over. Jesper knows. Those men know.
Kaz knows, and so he has to figure out a way to get the other West Ravkan to let go of Jesper. Right now, this is intimidation, punishment, and another minute or two while Kaz plots won’t make much of a difference; but once he transforms the nature of this situation by his own attack, Jesper’s safety is far less assured.
No matter how much money the Sun Summoner will fetch (and Kaz knows it’s millions) once they figure out that he means to kill them, and that he came here for Jesper, they’ll use his life to bargain and Kaz is not interested in bartering anything for an excitable fool who’s been lying to Kaz for the entire time they’ve been working together. So he could—
But while he plots, Smirnov walks up to Jesper, a cast iron pan in his hand, and bashes him over the head. The other guy must have known he would, because he lets go, and so Jesper just crumples to the ground, bleeding from yet another burst bruise in his forehead and unconscious and still glowing brightly.
Whatever their plan may have been, they’ve released Jesper. It’s the opening that Kaz was searching for.
He dispatches the other Ravkan with a cane-blow to his face, and then he disarms Smirnov and uses his kitchen knife to slit his throat. Beats the other Ravkan again and again, strategically, so he’ll slowly die from his injuries: killing a mercher is terrible form, especially on a heist he could barely get permission for, but this way, the Staadwatch might believe Smirnov got into a drunken fight with his companion that ended tragically. For good measure (and because Jesper’s still glowing, and he can’t very well bring him back to the Slat this way without attracting attention), Kaz trashes the kitchen as well.
Then, he collects Jesper’s hat from the dining room, and gently places it on his sharpshooter’s head. Jesper’s barely glowing now, and in just a few seconds—
He’s back to normal. Kaz nudges his shoulder with his boot.
“Kaz.” Despite the pain he’s in, Jesper’s face is bright with joy as soon as he realizes it’s Kaz beside him. None of the weird Grisha light—as he turns his head to meet Kaz’ eyes, his skin’s almost gone back to its normal warm brown, although it’s slightly ashen from shock and blood loss and it’s starting to bruise badly, too—but he’s glowing in his own idiot Jesper way, with a happiness no-one sane would feel upon looking at Dirtyhands, not even a Dreg whose life he just saved.
Jesper, though—even when Kaz has called him into his office to chew him out for some indiscretion or other, there’s this fraction of a second where he just looks happy to see him.
“Get up, Jesper. Inej and Anika are waiting.”
“What did you…” And just like during those reprimands in his office, Jesper’s light is dimming as he tries to work out how much trouble he’s in. He probably wants to know whether Kaz knows he’s Grisha, and given the work he put in to conceal it for a year and how brutal Smirnov turned after he found out, it’s a distinct possibility he’ll run away from Ketterdam if he thinks he got made. And deprive Kaz of his reward. That he’ll definitely cash in. In a couple of days, because unlike Smirnov and his friend, he’s not going to assume that the Darkling wants his prize looking a few punches shy of becoming a corpse. Even if he wants to despoil his mythic Grisha, he probably wants to start from something pristine. They all do.
“I found your guns in the dining room,” Kaz rasps. “So I assumed those sadists carried you off into the kitchen to have their fun. You were passed out when I arrived; they were taking a break from inflicting torture, and I need a sharpshooter more than I need to skim from West Ravkan shipments, so I took them out. Who knew these lovely expensive walls conceal such depravity? They’re worse than we are.”
“They didn’t say anything?”
“About why they hurt you? I didn’t give them time. Personally, I think it was your crimes against fashion.”
Jesper attempts a relieved snort, but just groans in pain. Hopefully his ribs are bruised, not broken.
“It’s time to leave now. Get up. I didn’t spend my time constructing the scene of a tragic drunken brawl just for Smirnov’s family to come back early from their gala and catch us in their kitchen.”
Kaz doesn’t offer a hand to help Jesper up, but then, he doesn’t need to. They left his legs and arms alone, apparently, focusing their attacks on his torso and his face for reasons now unknown to all living beings, which means Jesper looks horrifying, ruined, half-dead, but he can still walk unaided. That makes it easier: if there was no choice Kaz could hold him up, but Jesper’s dangerously over-familiar with him as it is, and doesn’t need the encouragement. He keeps Jesper slightly in front, since he’s shaking wildly and his balance is shot from being bashed to unconsciousness twice, but he makes it without incident to the shadowed spot where Inej and Anika wait.
“Jesper kindly volunteered himself to distract the men who stayed inside the mansion,” Kaz tells them, and the look that Jesper shoots him is weirdly—grateful? But then, Kaz just saved his life. “Anika, get a medik to the Slat. No Grisha, no Ravkans, just in case. I know Smirnov was involved in his community, and we should not arouse any unnecessary suspicion.”
“Yes, boss,” Anika says, glaring at him before jogging off.
Inej, too, looks deeply unhappy while they walk back. Almost like… almost like they’re assuming Kazbeat Jesper up in response to his tardiness. Well. That may even be of use to his public image, so he shan’t make a move to dispel the idea, but—
“Thanks, Kaz,” Jesper mumbles the second they meet up with Anika and a young freckled medik at the Slat, “They’d never have stopped if you hadn’t saved me.” Obnoxious, obstinate Jesper, who’s definitely seen the same worried glances. And took it upon himself to wreck any of Kaz’ attempts at reputation management.
Kaz collects the now worthless copied schedules from Anika. He’ll have to grovel before Haskell for this failure. He ignores the eyes burning holes into his back.
+
Jesper doesn’t stay inside his room for even a day. His face makes him look like he lost several boxing matches in a row, and Kaz assumes the medik sewed shut the cuts on his chest and belly but Jesper’s still wincing, as soon as he thinks he’s unobserved, whenever anyone hugs or touches him during breakfast. His neck is ringed with bruising so severe it looks almost black, and his damaged throat makes him sound, for the moment, uncannily like Kaz himself does. Jesper, being an asshole, of course exploits that fact to recount the sad tale of what happened to him: again and again, then in some flowery monologue he's pretending is from Kaz' perspective, changing details, changing everything, until there's nothing left of the terrified boy who knew the only way out of getting punched and cut because of his imagined crimes against a sadist was the sale to a more mysterious sadist. Until Jesper's story is so funny even Kaz, who was there, can't help but laugh.
Kaz would have preferred him to sleep, rest, or failing that, clean his guns or whatever, since Jesper’s left eye is swollen completely shut and he needs to heal up before he’s anything approaching useful again—that’s why Kaz ordered Jesper to stay in bed for three days—but then, this is Jesper. Jesper does not do bedrest. After that first breakfast, Kaz is careful not to cross Jesper’s path for those three days, so he does not technically know that Jesper’s being stupid and insubordinate. So he doesn’t have to endure, again, Jesper pointing out, with stubborn adoration, that Kaz saved his life. He’s approached Rotty for lessons in unarmed combat, and prepared exercises of his own, but these can wait. As long as Jesper stays inside the Slat, and that, at least, seems likely.
Inej, whenever she’s not working, stops by Jesper’s bed or his table or wherever Jesper is now, listening to Jesper recount his usual Jesper bullshit. Anika comes by, and Roeder and Rotty and Pim and Specht and Big Bol and Luig and whoever else does, too, sometimes enough to gamble Jesper out of yet more kruge and sometimes pretending to feel pity for the current invalid. Kaz can hear their laughter when he limps down from his office to talk to Haskell, and when he returns from the Crow Club to climb up again. He can hear their laughter, far more often than necessary, because he’s passing by far more often than necessary. Taking trips he doesn’t need to, and his leg protests, but it’s simple precaution to watch his future asset.
As long as Jesper’s happy with the Dregs, he’s not running; and as long as he’s not running Kaz can still claim his reward.
+
It’s a year after Kaz found out that Jesper Fahey’s the mythical Sun Summoner with a three million kruge bounty on his head. A year in which he’s failed to make use of his knowledge. Presently, Kaz is attempting to puke out the last dregs of harbour water (successfully) and also to tune out Jesper’s prattling on about the expensive gorgeous, by which he means mindbendingly ugly coat he just ruined and the hours of maintenance his babies will need before they’re back to peak condition (no success yet, sadly. Jesper’s hard to ignore).
Although Jesper’s pretending to be unhappy, the second Kaz’ lame leg caught on a raised stone when he tried to evade the new sharpshooter the Razorgulls hired, and he tipped over right into the water—the second Kaz fell in, Jesper dove after him, and wrestled him back onto the pier despite Kaz’ mindless panic and despite whatever damage his precious outfit might have sustained. And now, Jesper’s nattering on and on about fripperies while he waits for Kaz to come back from his terror. His left eye’s swelling shut, and Kaz must have been the cause of it with his mindless desperation, but since Jesper doesn’t acknowledge it, neither does he. Whether he was angry at first or not, he probably forgave all when he noticed Kaz’ panic. Jesper’s always been prepared to cover for Kaz’ weaknesses. He’s an integral part of the Dregs’ operations (of Kaz’ life) and his absence will wreck them.
The three million kruge for the Sun Summoner would pay off Inej’s indenture easily, but Inej loves Jesper, and if she ever found out where the money came from she’d never speak to Kaz again. Even if she didn’t find out it was Kaz: she would insist on rescuing Jesper, worse, Sankt Jesper she would call him, and then go off on her own. He’ll lose his sharpshooter and his spider.
Three million kruge will get Kaz much further in his plan to take down Pekka Rollins, but he does need loyal people in order to succeed.
Three million kruge is a lot of money, but Jesper’s so charismatic that all the Dregs adore him: when Kaz claims his bounty with the Little Palace, he’ll have to be as secretive as possible, because it’s hard enough wrangling his recruits now, let alone when they’re all devastated by the loss of Ketterdam’s most flirtatious gambler, and painting Kaz as the villain. Kaz doesn’t mind villainy—he is who he is—but there are reputations that aid his work and those that don’t, and if nothing else this reward would involve taking a genuine risk.
And drenched, swollen-eyed, inimitable secretive Sun Summoner Jesper is still stealing glances at Kaz, like he thinks Kaz won’t notice—and he probably didn’t notice, when he was drowning in corpses just a few seconds ago, before he managed to turn his mind to rewards and their downsides—he’s still looking at Kaz and then carrying on with his minuscule complaints. He’s making no move to get up. He’s looking away again, communicating something silent to Rotty while still talking at Kaz, and then he must see something in Kaz that makes him go, “I smell awful! Let’s get back to the Slat, I need a change of clothes. ‘Gulls are gone now anyway, boss.”
Kaz does not particularly enjoy being cared for, but if needs must then this style of pretend-apathetic easily denied help is certainly his preference, and Jesper his most frequent provider.
So then, if Kaz is going to leave the reward for the Sun Summoner as a back-up plan for when he is dearly in need of money… Kaz isn’t going to make of his knowledge any time soon, since he’s found excuse after excuse not to for the entire last year. Jesper is both an incredible shot and loyal. He does whatever Kaz asks, and even when he gets distracted half-way through, he still tends to deliver whatever Kaz wants. If Kaz is going to keep the Sun Summoner with the Dregs simply for his other uses, it’s time to start planning for a different set of eventualities. He doesn’t need to know exactly who to contact and how to drug Jesper and where to deliver him, anymore.
Jesper, though he’s managed so far, is not the most discreet of people. He’ll mess up at some point, and it’s Kaz’ task to ensure that no-one believes even the plainest, most obvious evidence of the Sun Summoner's presence. Whatever happens—Kaz doesn’t need the worry that someone else might discover Jesper and thereby ruin any heist that Kaz has sent his sharpshooter on.
If Kaz won’t give the Sun Summoner to the Darkling, he will make sure that no-one else can, either.
#jesper fahey#kaz brekker#sun summoner jesper au#dimtraces makes things#a lot of Kaz just starting to figure Jesper out early in their working relationship tbh#shadow & bone#six of crows#shadow and bone
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Secrets in the Dark
Shigadabi week day 1
Ao3 Link
Summary: After a job well done, the party starts their journey home. But the path is tricky and the past sneaky when memories start to show their ugly face.
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Memories / Fantasy / Bittersweet
"We'll rest here for the night," Tomura said as he watched the rest of his party drag their feet through the forest floor.
As Bounty-Hunters, their jobs were usually easy. They did what people didn't want to do. Nobody would search for a murderer or criminal and risk their life when you could hire them and let them do it for you. Nobody would go into a dungeon when they would go for the right amount of money. It didn't always go the way the client wanted, but that was their fault for trusting Bounty-Hunters.
This job was one of those examples. They had been hired to retrieve a dagger from a nearby hunted cave. The legend said it could reveal every secret someone had and, judging by the unhappy married life the lord who hired them had, he probably wanted to check if his wife had a lover. Too bad they wanted the dagger more. The quest took them two days, one to retrieve the weapon and another one to forge it.
It wouldn't be the first time they did something like this. Twice, an excellent alchemist and blacksmith, was the best at making doubles of things. The copies didn't last though, so once they were paid and started on their journey back home, the lord figured out their scheme. He sent a squadron after them, who chased them non-stop. When night fell, they had finally lost them but were too tired to continue.
"Wonderful idea, Tomura," Compress exclaims as he takes out a marble of his pocket and throws it to the ground. The marble explodes and reveals a giant tent, which they all enter.
"Ugh, I'm beat," Spinner moans and starts cracking his bones behind his scaley skin. "How far are we from Furesurbs?" he asks and collapses into the pile of cushions he slept on.
Furesurbs was the cannibal city of the continent. Only the bravest and most skilful of heroes had been able to go through it without ending dead. Or that was what the common people knew. Foresurbs was actually a lawless city. Thieves, killers, Bounty-Hunters, they all lived in peace with plenty full jobs to earn money. The hero who ever stepped foot inside was dead the moment he breathed.
"I'll track a course for tomorrow, for now just rest," he tells the others and takes out his map of the region. As a warlord, he was well-versed on many subjects. He was almost positive he was the only one who had had an education in some way. But then again, they didn't know much about Dabi or Compress.
Their group of Bounty-Hunters, The Vanguard Action, was not the usual group. If anything, their partnership shouldn't work. Why would it? A Warlord apprentice, an Alchemist with a personality disorder, a druid with a craving for blood, a known thief and con-man, a survivor from the Draco kingdom and ex-slave, a witch trapped in a man's body and a cursed runaway arsonist. Their teamwork should have been a disaster, a failure.
Yet, somehow, after half a year of travelling together, they had become such a tight group that Tomura was sure his Sensei would be disappointed of his attachment. But in an unlikely moment, the young warlock didn't care. His Sensei's approval and pride should be his drive, his greatest achievement. But his party -his friends- they meant the world to him, and he would make sure that when his time to rise came, they would get everything they wanted.
And bizarrely, he knew the feeling was mutual. From the hundreds of times they had had his back, to the quiet nights they spent comforting each other; Tomura knew his party would be there for him when it mattered. Magne, Toga and Twice repeatedly told him so, Compress, Spinner and Dabi showed it with their actions. They all said he had brought them together, that he had saved them in some way or another. That they were a family and they wouldn't let anybody come between them and their happiness.
Thought this journey would put that trust to the test.
"Stop playing with that, Crazy, it's not a toy!" Tomura was distracted from his routing by the disturbance. Toga and Twice were testing out the new dagger, passing it between them and asking questions, to which the dagger would burn if the one holding it lied. Magne was cooking while Compress and Spinner were sleeping, but were distracted by the mess.
Dabi, the one who scolded the two fools playing with the ancient and powerful tool, was up from his own nap and trying to get the dagger from the girl. "No! Wait for your turn! I'm using it now!" Toga threw her tantrum and tried to keep the artefact away from the older man.
"Yeah, don't be a party pooper, Dabi! You trying to hide something, cursed boy!? " Twice said as he helped Toga.
The three entered a tug war, with Dabi trying to get the dagger and Toga and Twice trying to keep it to continue their game. The rest of the party soon lost interest in the usual shenanigans. It was a daily occurrence that the three would argue like siblings, and they went back to what they were doing previously. That changed when Dabi screamed. The dagger clattered against the floor as the arsonist held his bleeding arm close and cursed out loud in pain. They tried to get close to him and aid him with his injury, but he stepped away and told them he was alright before stomping out of the tent. He was probably going to his horse, Licen.
"Good job, you morons," Spinner tells them once Dabi is not in the tent. "Now he is going to be even more cranky," the lizard-looking man complains.
"Don't worry, once Dabi gets some sleep and food, he'll be as happy as he can be," Magne tells Spinner and stirs the stew she is preparing. "But you two better apologize and stop playing with that thing. Dabi is right, it's not a toy," she turns to the two blondes and scolds them.
"Yes, Big Sis Mag... Why don't you make me, Old Hag!?" Twice says.
Toga, however, doesn't. She is staring at the dagger with rapt attention and holding the blade in her hand. "Hey Tomu, what does Blue blood mean?" the youngest member of their group asks him out of nowhere.
"Usually it means the person is part of a noble family," he answers her. Toga always asked him stuff out of nowhere. She had lived away from cities and society for most of her life, and she didn't understand most of the new world that surrounded her. "Why are you asking?"
"That's the blood that came out of Dabi," she tells him and shows him the blade of the dagger. It wasn't a lot, but the small amount of liquid the blade had was blue-purplish colour.
"That's impossible," Spinner comments about the implication of the blood. "Dabi hates royals and nobles more than any of us," he argues. And he was right. Even if rich families were the largest source of income for the lawless, there was no Hunter or Thief alive who didn't hate the higher society. Dabi did so with a passion and never stayed quiet about it. He could look past a lord or count that were in the rich inner circle of the kingdomes, but royals were a pest in his eyes. Tomura had noticed the small chain he had with stolen Royal rings the hunter had collected over the years. To think that somebody like that came from a noble family was ridiculous. Unthinkable even.
"Can't it be that since he is cursed, his blood is blue now?" Compress cuts in.
"No, cursed blood is purple," he tells them. "Maybe he is a bastard from a noble family, or the descendant from a dead royal house. But it is none of our business, now is it?" he asks the rest of the tent, with a clear hint of dropping the matter.
It works though, and they all go back to their tasks. Magne gets help with dinner by Twice, and Toga cleans the dagger and places it in a scabbard that doesn't fit it. When they get to Furesurbs, they can have one made. The tent is plagued with silence until Magne announces it's dinner time. Dabi still hasn't come back by that time. Tomura is not worried. If Dabi wants to be a gloom and be alone, that's his problem. He doesn't need the fire user. Even if he is a great source of heat in cold nights.
When they finish dinner and Dabi still hasn't appeared, Tomura has had enough. While the others build a fire to keep warm, he takes his hooded cape and goes looking for him. Their camp is hidden between the plants of the forest they were in. Licen was still here, but the mare also had the heart of an apple at its feet. Dabi spoiled his horse like no other, always giving her an apple even if it meant hunger for him. Licen in exchange was the most loyal horse there could be, even if she was a stubborn mare that only let a few ride on her. So if she was still here, Dabi couldn't have gone far.
Tomura found him a few feet away from the camp, near a stream. Dabi was a sight to behold. He had patches of healthy skin but most of his body was covered in deep purple scales. His curse was slowly turning him into a monster. When he lost control, the scales would start to take over his body, covering more skin, and he would become more animalistic. It scared the crap out of them the first time it happened.
They had come to a crossroad with another group. The party of teenagers because, yes, they were a bunch of teenagers along with an alchemist knight and they had unfortunately been after the same target. They were both looking for the golden scabbard of All Might's famous sword. They wanted it for the money, but the kids needed it to unlock something, they were in a quest with pointless ideals of heroism. They had ended up clashing, and Dabi lost control, though he wasn't the only one. He was in battle against The half cursed prince, Todoroki Shouto, and as the fight grew heated, both men turned into monsters. Both groups had to separate them by force before they killed one another. Dabi didn't speak for two days after that, and they didn't get the scabbard.
However, curse and all, Tomura couldn't help but find the hunter mesmerizing. It was like he was made to distract him. His strong jaw, his deep hoarse voice, his dry humour and his eyes. Oh Divus, his eyes. Tomura could drown in them. Deep, bright blue orbs that he could stare at and get lost in at any time. Even now, in a dark moonless night, he could still see them. It infuriated him.
"Did you come here to stare, creep?" Dabi asks him, turning to see him.
"You missed dinner," he tells him and sees the other roll his eyes at him. "Let me look at your wound," he orders him.
"It's fine, I cauterized with my magic," he says but still holds his hand to him.
The wound is not deep, but it's large, it starts at the bottom of his finger and ends in the middle of his forearm, cutting through the purple scales. With a simple chant, his hand lights up in a red hue, and he starts healing the hunter. He can feel Dabi's eyes on him. Those blue gems piercing his being and somehow looking into his soul. He didn't know how, but Dabi was one of the people who were able to read him like an open book.
"Stop that," he tells him as he heals him.
"Stop what?"
"You know what..."
His relationship with Dabi was weird. Sometimes he wanted to kill him. The hunter loved to rile him up. He was lazy and disrespectful. He would attract trouble wherever he went. He could count the times they had been persecuted out of an area because of the messes him, Spinner and Twice had gotten in. However, he trusted him with his life.
If something happened, he knew Dabi would be there. He was his right-hand man. He could leave the Vanguard Action with him without worrying things would collapse the moment he left. Dabi and him on some late nights, when neither of them could sleep, would be there for each other. Tomura had told the arsonist secrets he didn't even share with Kurogiri. And Dabi had told him things none of the other league members knew. They had bonded in some sort of way.
And sometimes, even when the raven was just a few centimetres apart from him, he wanted to be closer. Tomura was not afraid to say he finds the hunter attractive, scales and all. He was as hot as a fireplace and as a warlock, whose dark powers sucked all the warmth from inside him, he had many times cosied up to the fire-user to get warmed up. All of the party had. There were times he would see couples on the road and imagine it's him and Dabi. There was also the dream accident.
A few months ago Magne convinced him in trying her new sleeping potion. They had just come from a good-paying job, so using the free time they had, he accepted. The concoction was supposed to trap him in a dream for a few hours and rest his mind and body. Tomura tried it, following Magne's instruction and soon enough fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, he could tell he was not awake. The first indication was the changing background. The second hint was Dabi entering the room and kissing him without a hesitation. In that two hour nap, Tomura was caressed, worshipped and loved by Dabi. But even if it was a dream, it felt so real. When he woke up, he couldn't look at the hunter without remembering his dream. He avoided Dabi for an entire day. He still felt awkward about it.
"There, done," he tells him and quickly takes a step back from the raven. "Now come to the tent, we have a long journey tomorrow, and your food is getting cold," he turns, giving his back to his party-member, but stops when he hears the other speak.
"You're not going to say anything? About the blood?" he sounds... nervous, which is very offputting, since this is Dabi who's talking. He always talks in a monotone, leaving people guessing what he meant by his tone.
"It's none of my business," he responds. "We all have our secrets, Dabi. If you ever want to tell me, I'll listen," he heads back to the tent and hears Dabi silently walking behind him.
The rest of the party is already in their bedrolls when they arrive. They aren't asleep, just laying comfortably around the small fire. Dabi sits in between Toga and Compress and starts eating his bowl of stew. Shigaraki goes back to his maps and tracing a road, idle chatter fill the tent as they all get ready for bed, but Tomura interrupts all of that.
"We have a minor inconvenience," he announces, and they all turn their attention towards him. "If we take the easy road, it might take us a while to get to Furesurbs. But we can cut that time to three days if we don't avoid some of the more dangerous areas,"
"What areas?" Dabi asks.
"For the first day of the journey, we have options. We are surrounded by three of the most magic-hated cities, Servusurbs, Magumless and Torquecastra. If we want to avoid them, we need to go around them, but that is going to add three days to our travels. Though we could go through the Aurum Mountains, using the mines. Although I doubt we'll find a way past it without help, and that is going to cost us a lot of money," he explains.
The rest of the group is pensive for a moment. Torquecastra is a fortress, getting in they might be able to achieve, but getting out is going to be tricky. Servusurbs would be easier to get in and out, thanks to their slave business, but Spinner was not going to set foot in that place again. That left only Magumless, but the place was very strict with their magic laws. All those who possessed magical abilities had to be collared and sorted by colour, and they could only enter if they had an escort.
"I know a way we can get through Magumless," Compress says. "There are underground tunnels we can go through, used for smuggling magic-ingredients in. If Dabi doesn't show off his flames and Magne hides her potions, we would have enough escorts to get to them," he explains and looks at the ones who would have to get chained along with him, Toga and Shigaraki. They all nod, agreeing to the plan.
"What about the second day?" Magne asks.
"We have two options if we don't want to spend another three days travelling, Libidine forest or the Erat fields," Tomura explains and watches everyone groan.
Libidine forest was a death trap. The place was plagued with Succubuses and Incubusses and it was theorized to be sacred ground for them. If they caught you, you were either sacrificed or used as breeding stock. They would have to be on high alert if they went there, but that wouldn't mean they would make it out.
The Erat fields were the same. A spell was cast in the form of a mist on the place that created illusions to confuse travellers. Going alone was a sure death, but since they were a group, they might just make it. They would just have to keep each other grounded.
"What about the Nix mountain range? It would be a day more, but better than any of the other options," Dabi says.
"We are not prepared to spend two days in a frozen hell," he explains. "And it's wyvern season," Dabi grunts at his logic. "Erat is our safest option," they all nod, agreeing with him.
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The next day of their journey went well, luckily.
They arrived in pairs to the city, and once they were registered and inside, they would meet in an arranged location. Magne and Compress went first, then Toga and Twice and lastly, Tomura with Dabi and Spinner. The city of Magumless had a metal system to identified magic. Steel collars meant useful harmless magic, bronze was useful harmful magic, gold was useless harmless magic, silver was useless harmful magic, and black iron was dangerous magic. Tomura was collared with one of the laters.
They almost arrest him when he entered the city after the collaring. But Dabi, whose clothes covered his scales, stopped them, lying about a life debt he owed him. The guards luckily left them alone after that. Spinner, who was acting as his stead for the day, might have a lot to do with that. Nobody would come in between a man with a warlock and a giant lizard monster at his beck and call. Once they reunited, the trip went on smoothly. They weren't able to take out the chains until they reached the other end of the city, but below the city, they didn't have to be on constant alert.
By nightfall, they were all out of the town and camping by the side of the road. It took them another day to get to the Erat fields. They decided to wait for the next day to cross it and camped a few meters away from it. The next morning, they all woke up already dreading the journey before them.
"So what exactly are the fields going to do?" Spinner asks in his big lizard form asks as he carries Tomura, Twice and Magne. "I know it's supposed to be illusions, but what kind? Monsters? Or something like that?"
"The stories vary," Compress answers by his side, riding a magic-made horse Tomura conjured, Toga behind him. "Some say you see your past, your happiest moments, and you desire to go back keeps you in here. Others say you become delirious. You turn into a future of yourself that may never happen and get trapped inside the fantasy," As theatrical Mister Compress was, he was right. The stories were told by those who were able to survive the fields, and the only consistent theme in their tales was that they would never go back to it.
They soon got their answer, though. Magne suddenly let out a scream, scaring all of them and making some of them unsheath their swords. Luckily it was a false alarm. Magne just panicked because out of nowhere it looked as if she had been burned to death. When Shigaraki had met her, she was in Furesurbs running away from her family of witches. They didn't accept her as herself and gave her an ultimatum, be normal or die. She ran away and joined them.
One by one, they all changed. Twice suddenly looked like a teacher -(he was once offered to teach at the university of Libriratum, but he refused)-, Toga turned more druid-like (she had been raised by druids, but got kicked out when they didn't approve of her magic), chains and whip welts appeared on Spinner (he had been sold and bought as a slave until Tomura saved him), and Compress looked like he had been hanged (he had escaped from prison before they were able to do it). Tomura didn't change much. Instead of looking like a warlock in his black clothing and magical jewellery, he looked like a farmboy. His shirt turned rough and scratchy and his hair, which was a platinum and identified him as a Master of the Dark Arts, changed into its original black colour. Toga also complained about his smell, but she was the only one who noticed. Dabi was the last one to change. And boy, were they not ready...
The first hint they had that he changed was the metallic clangs and Twice's gasp. When they turned to look at Dabi, the person they knew was gone. Their cursed leather-wearing hunter with a hot temper and a cold stare was nowhere in sight. Instead of him, the dead prince of the Flame Kingdom rode beside them in his stead.
Golden armour on his legs, a white silk cape with golden trims flailing on his back, a blue regal vest with King Enji's emblem, his skin clear out of any scale, red hair sweeping with the wind and adorned with a golden crown encrusted with gems. Even his horse had a golden armour and a brand new leather seat. His crossbow was gone, as well as everything else and only his sword remained by his side. The only reason they knew it was Dabi was because of his eyes. The same blue as they ever been.
None of them dares to utter a word. They just stared at their friend as they walked. It was so weird to see the man so adorned and wearing so much expensive stuff. Especially since this was Dabi. The guy who had spent an entire job without a shirt because he wanted to cut expenses to afford some more food for his horse. He didn't cover up until Tomura bought him a new shirt.
"Stop. Staring." said guy says after a while, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. His request fell on deaf ears though. He sighs frustrated at his peers gaze. "You can ask one question each. After that we don't speak of this. Ever. Again." he grunts.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead? A GHOST!?" Twice exclaims with his usual tact.
"I never died, I just faked it and ran away," Dabi tells them.
"Why? You were living in a castle, with servants, freshwater and food and everything you could ask for, why give that up?" Spinner ask.
"I don't need much to be happy," Dabi shrugs. "'Sides, being king wasn't worth the price,"
"Do you have one of those lovely royal rings?" Compress suddenly asks, staring at his new attire with interest.
"I do. You take it, and I will cut off your fingers and feed it to Toga," Dabi warns, and it's enough to ward off the old thief.
"My turn! My turn!" Toga exclaims happily. "Let's see... Oh, were you ever betrothed?" she smiles and Tomura feels his blood heating up.
"Twice," Dabi answer with a grimace. "First to a princess who died before I could ever see her and then to the daughter of my fathers' army general as a prize after their last campaign," Tomura doesn't like this question.
"Don't you miss your family?" Magne asks softly.
"Sometimes, but they seem to be alright without me..." he answers surely remembering the last time he was his brother.
'His brother... the half cursed prince...' Tomura remembers, and his gears start turning in his head. It couldn't be a coincidence that they both were cursed. The two princes of the same kingdom, of the same family, supposed to inherit the same land? It didn't sound natural. Curses were like a string they had a start and an end, but they were also personal. Only a person could be cursed. Objects or other things could be blessed or damned, but curses were the result of a human. But who could have done that?
He had lived in the Flame kingdom for a while, and even if he didn't, it was no secret how much the people loved the heirs of the Royal family. The four siblings were praised for their selflessness, kindness and compassion. Princess Fuyumi taught how to read outside the palace to whoever passed by. Prince Natsuo was a diplomat who had given the people of their kingdom lower taxes. Prince Shouto was a brave warrior and a gentle soul. And Prince Touya, Dabi, he had had the closest relationship with the people. He was known as the Free Prince before his death. Always running from his duties and spending time with the peasants outside the castle. The kingdom had mourned his death for months. They had expected a great ruler from him, even greater than... the current... king...
"Was the king the one who cursed you?" Tomura asks, hoping to be wrong.
"Yes, he did,"
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They all turned back to normal once they were out of the field. They took a moment to rest after it, the experience draining them all. None of them had a past worth going back to, so being reminded of everything they had run away from or escaped had hit them quite strongly.
They didn't stay there for long though, and soon enough they were at Furesurbs. Toga, Twice and Magne decided to go to Kurogiri's bar to unwind when they arrived while the rest of them went to their quarters. Being Sensei's apprentice, Tomura had been able to afford a big enough place for all of his party. They were near the bar where they got their jobs, and they were able to guard each other's back while in there. Their line of work gave them more enemies than friends, and they were stronger united than separated. Not to mention it was cheaper than any other inn or place they could rent.
Dabi was laying in his bed, unable to fall asleep when he heard a small knocking in his door. Believing it was one of his drunk partners, he ignored it. They would get tired soon enough and leave. He wasn't feeling up to being with anybody at the moment. But when the knocking came again, he figured whoever was doing it wouldn't stop until he opened the door. He gets up with a groan and opens the door, ready to send whoever it was away, but his words die in his mouth when he sees who it is. On his door is his leader, Shigaraki Tomura, with a crazed look in his eyes and a scratched up neck.
The guy doesn't even wait for him to let him in he just pushes him to the side and gets in. He is only wearing a loose pair of black pants and a black shirt with a simple pair of boots. His silver hair is messed up, and he is mumbling in a low voice.
"Tell me more about your curse," he demands once Dabi closes the door.
"...What?"
"Your curse, how does it work!?" he asks again.
"Why the sudden curiosity?" Tomura had never inquired about his curse. Ever. So what could have changed?
"How does it work, Dabi? Don't make this more difficult!" he goes off again, the scratching getting worse.
"No," Dabi crosses his arms. "Why do you want to know? Do you think once I'm cured you can use me to take over the kingdom? You want to use me for your world domination!?"
"JUST TELL ME, DAMNIT!" the warlock screams.
"TELL ME WHY!?"
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!" Tomura finally snaps at him, leaving Dabi speechless. "Curses usually end in death! You can't avoid it! You either finish it, or it finishes you! Now tell me everything you know about it so I can try to stop it!"
Dabi is quiet for a few minutes as Tomura hyperventilates after his rant. "... you can't," Dabi breathes. He had given up a long time ago. "The curse is the missing half of my brothers. One day we will turn into monsters and kill each other for the throne. Once my brother is crowned king, the curse should be broken-"
"It won't work," Tomura interrupts him. "Curses are conditional, if your brother wants to be king, he needs to fight you," the warlock tells him. Dabi feels as if he was shot through the heart when he says it. He falls to his bed defeated and stares at nothing.
"It won't happen," he hears Tomura mumble under his breath as he walks to the door. "You might have given up on it, but I won't. I will find you a cure, and I'm going to remove that curse from you," he tells him and flees the room, leaving an ex-prince behind with a heart that won't stop beating, as if trying to jump out of his chest.
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Alchemy Lullaby (9/?)
Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated.
When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal.
(AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)
Varian's growing up fast! So fast Eugene isn't sure how to handle it.
Read the rest on AO3
Me: the next chapter is gonna be something light, a collection of drabbles and headcanons
Varian servers: baby hugo
Me, opening up my laptop and throwing all my papers aside: BABY HUGO
Shoutout to @finnoky who makes an appearanceeeeee
“...Water is a pol….polar mole..cule… which means it… it has a slight charge,” Varian rambled, hands glossing over laminated words. He sat near a roaring fireplace, its heat seeping into tiny bones. Eugene laid sprawled out by his side, eyes shut. It was one of those cold, dreary days, so they were holed up in the library. Usually Eugene would read to Varian, happy to change his voice and act out fantastical stories. Varian hung onto his every word like gospel. Somedays, Varian would read for himself, happy to learn reading by entertaining Eugene. But today, Varian had grabbed a book the size of his head, lugged it over to their reading nook, opened it up, and began a mini lecture. Staying awake with a fireplace at your back was hard enough, but coupled with teaching? It was a losing battle, and Eugene accepted his defeat with grace.
Varian did not.
“Eugene!” Varian whined. The man gave a noncommittal hum, but that only angered his toddler more.
Thwack. “Pay!” Thwack. “Attention!” Thwack. “To!” Thwack. “MEEEEEEE!” Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
“Ok, ok!” Eugene shrieked, holding his arms up to protect his head from any more blows. “I’m awake! I’m listening!” He sighed fondly at the big pout Varian sported. “Aw, buddy, I’m sorry, it’s just so comfy!”
Varian didn’t take kindly to that excuse, judging by the crocodile tears. He flailed his legs. “Nooooo, no sleep! Only book!”
“No sleep ever? That’s gonna be a little tricky.”
“Noooooooooo!”
Eugene finally took pity on the kid. He pulled him close and rolled onto his back so Varian was laying on top of him. He nuzzled his face into soft black hair. It still smelled faintly of blueberry shampoo. Varian was learning fast, maybe too fast if Eugene was being honest. The kid ate through book after book, quickly surpassing simple storybooks and easy nonfiction. Now he was slowly chewing through bigger nonfiction. A quick glance told Eugene he was being taught middle school chemistry. Whenever Varian wasn’t playing in the garden, or shadowing one of his favorite adults, Varian was usually here, consuming the entirety of the kids section. Most of those times, Eugene would inevitably join him, and they’d spend hours reading side by side: Varian, stories, and Eugene, parenting books.
Rapunzel called them her little bookworms, but Varian had cried when she first called him that. He didn’t want Eugene to be a worm, Eugene called him bluebird, and birds eat worms!
It was so cute, Eugene secretly hoped Varian would never grow out of kid logic.
He closed his eyes, tuning out Varian’s complaints. This truly was the life, wasn’t it?
-
A few days later, and Eugene’s life was ending.
Well, that’s being overdramatic.
After their library day, Eugene brought up the incident to Rapunzel, who spoke to her parents, who pulled a couple strings, and now Varian was going to every parent’s worst nightmare. Varian would be pitted against other kids in a place where children lost their individuality, their fun logic, the little quirks that made each child unique and special.
Kindergarten.
Varian, for his part, didn’t seem all that scared of Kindergarten. But to be fair, no one told him what it was, either. He’d bounced around, happily carrying his Schultüte and accepting gifts from maids and guards alike who all wanted him to have “fun at school”. Pfft. Fun at school? Impossible! Eugene hated every second of school. He stopped paying attention and look how he turned out! Totally fine!
“You sure you want to go?” Eugene asked. He gripped Varian’s hand so tight his knuckles were nearly white. Varian didn’t seem to mind all that much, skipping as they walked. For his first day Rapunzel had gifted him with a new set of clothes, a pair of blue overalls with a little flower patch on the pant leg. He wore a simple green shirt underneath it, and a backpack filled to the brim with snacks, folders, pencils, and anything else a kid could need.
“Mhm!” Varian said, jumping over a puddle.
Eugene gulped. “You sure you’re sure?” Would anyone notice if he just took Varian out for a few hours, and pretended he’d gone to school? Everything Varian needed would be in the castle, why does he need to go to school anyway?
“Yup!”
They stopped in front of a small, unimposing schoolhouse. It was painted light yellow, its windows covered in drawings and posters, no doubt done by the nefarious children inside who were only full of cruel words against Eugene’s angel of a bluebird–
“Ok bye!” Varian let go of his hand and ran to the door.
“W-wait!” That’s it!? No hug goodbye? No “I’ll miss you”? No “Please don’t leave me!” “Ok we’ll go home”?
Varian stopped before entering, confused. Then, he lit up like a beacon. “Oh!” He raced back, wrapped his arms around Eugene’s legs in a hug, and then bolted back to the school. “Bye Eugene love you!” He cried, and just like that, he was gone.
Eugene gulped, running an anxious hand through his hair. He’s just overthinking it, right? Varian would be fine! Heck, this is good, now he can have a little me time! He’s been torn between teaching guards and raising Varian, he could use a few hours off, right?
-
Varian felt a little bad for his dad, he seemed so… upset? Betrayed? When Varian left, but he couldn’t help it! He’d spent 6 months watching school through windows, and now he was in one! With other kids who were just like him! Not trying to steal his food, or push him around, no, they’re here to learn too!
By the time he entered his classroom, he was practically vibrating with excitement. The walls were covered with fun little decorations, ways to memorize things. The alphabet lined the top of each wall, spanning across the whole room, illuminated by sunlight. In the corner was a plush red carpet, and seated on top were a bunch of kids! He sped over, happily sitting himself front and center, facing the teacher with eager eyes.
“Good morning class, how is everyone?”
“Good morning!” Everyone parroted back, startling Varian. He didn’t know the ritual, what to do! Did he look silly? He hoped not!
Thankfully, no one called it out. Instead, the teacher turned kind eyes to him. “Everyone, we have a special friend with us today! This is Varian, can we all say hi?”
Varian blushed as a dozen tiny eyes turned to him. All of a sudden, he wanted to hide in the back, where no one was staring him down and scrutinizing him. It was like he was still in the castle, with nobility looking down at him! Maybe school was a bad idea...
“Hi!” The children all chorused, just as friendly and happy as their teacher. Varian blinked in shock, confused at the prolonged silence, before he realized what they wanted. “Hi,” he said meekly, satisfying the teacher.
“Varian, I’m Mr. Finn, let me know if you need any help, alright kiddo?” Varian nodded vehemently.
The morning passed smoothly, with Mr. Finn reading a story and practicing basic writing and math. While Varian was now an excellent reader, and easily followed the story, writing proved more challenging. He stuck his tongue out in frustration, slowly dragging the pencil down his page.
“No,” A high pitched voice chimed next to him. He glanced over. The kid next to him was staring right back. He had long blonde hair, longer than Cassie’s but shorter than Rapunzel’s. Sea green eyes shimmered behind frames. “You gotta follow the lines. See?” He held up his paper, proudly displaying a series of “d”s.
“I am,” Varian complained, gazing down at his paper. He could ask Mr. Finn, right? He said so, after all. He went to raise his hand, when the kid grabbed his arm.
“See, you start here,” Though his movements were sloppy, he held onto Varian’s arm and helped him trace out a letter. Varian blinked. That easy? He’d been doing it all wrong! His face lit up in delight.
“Thanks!” In no time, the rest of the letters were filled in. Varian may not have gotten in right away, but he was a fast learner. It only took a few more letters before the rest of the page was no problem. “I’m Varian,” He held out an arm, like he’d seen the King do.
The boy in front of him grinned, showing off a missing tooth. “I’m Hugo!” He didn’t take Varian’s hand, so the boy put it down. Oh well, maybe it’s just a castle thing.
What was Eugene so nervous about? School was fun! He already had a friend!
-
Eugene cried into his third helping of mashed potatoes.
“Wow this is sad. How is this any different from days when we babysit?” Cassandra asked, unimpressed. When Lance burst into the castle, insisting that she and Rapunzel come to the Snuggly Duckling and help Eugene, she’d expected a bar fight, or at least something that wasn’t… this.
Lance shrugged, taking the plate away before Eugene could make himself sick. “Because he can’t go check up on Varian, I think.” That only upset Eugene more, and he let out a tiny whine. Rapunzel, who had been rubbing his back, sped up her soothing motions.
“There there, you’ll see him in a bit,” She said. “To think, a year ago you were Corona’s most wanted thief. Now you’re a dad making a difference!”
“I’m a dad without a son,” Eugene moaned. That got him an eyeroll from Cassandra.
“He’s been like this since he got here,” Lance added. It had been slightly terrifying. Eugene had burst in, waterworks in full effect. He’d draped himself on Lance’s shoulders, just like he used to when they were kids, acting as if his son was dead and not at school.
Honestly, it was confusing. Eugene seemed so adverse to getting Varian schooling, but one of his biggest arguments about adopting Varian had been his education! He’d gone on and on about how smart Varian was during those first few days, and how he needed proper schooling, not the poor excuse of an orphanage. But now that Varian was actually in school, it was as if a switch had flipped.
Rapunzel gained a fire in her eyes, and with a small grunt, pulled him out of his seat. “Come on, Eugene, let’s go cheer you up. How does a day in town sound? Or maybe a haircut?”
“Varian needs a haircut soon,” was his response.
The quartet spent much of the afternoon in town, taking in sights and sound. Even after she’d been living here for nearly a year, Rapunzel doubted she’d ever tire of Corona and all it had to offer. But each stop seemed to only remind Eugene more of his son. First was Monty’s where Rapunzel maintained juuuust enough civility to not throttle the man when he asked Rapunzel if she would adopt Varian one day.
(She fully planned to, but that’s beside the point.)
Then came Xavier’s. The blacksmith was always kind and understanding, and after a quick explanation, he’d been happy to ignore any and all mention of children. That was, until Eugene picked up a dagger with a sigh.
“Should I teach him how to fight?”
“Eugene he’s not even 5.” Cassandra spoke with a monotone voice.
Eugene nodded. “You’re right. I should’ve started him sooner.”
He left Xavier’s with a bruised gut.
“I don’t get it!” Rapunzel cried in frustration. They’d stopped for a break by the fountain, where Eugene sat, staring off in the direction of the schoolhouse. “We’ve taken him all over town, spent the day with him, yet he’s still sad! Is he going to be like this every day Varian’s in school?”
Lance nodded, agreeing. “I thought parents were supposed to be happy when school started.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Eugene called from his seat. At least his friends and girlfriend had the grace to look guilty. He sighed, redirecting his gaze down at the fountain water.
In all honesty, he wasn’t so sure either. He loved Varian from the bottom of his heart, but sometimes that kid truly was a handful. Not to mention it had all been so sudden, just like Rapunzel said... That’s when it hit him.
“Stability.”
The others blinked. Rapunzel tilted her head in confusion. So, he elaborated, “My entire life was just, one crazy thing after another. I didn’t stay in school, I became a thief, I ran from place to place. I never had stable housing, or income, or, or anything! And it sucked! A lot! I was constantly stressed out, even when I was in control, I kept waiting for the shoe to drop.
“I know I took Varian in because I wanted stability for him, but…” He glanced up and sheepishly smiled.
“I guess I want it for me, too.”
-
The school was built right next to a playground, so the children got 30 minutes outside every day. It was a simple thing, with all the basics and a large field for kids to run in. Mr. Finn stood by the school’s door, watching from afar as his class played with one another.
Hugo pulled Varian along, tugging him past the wooden playground and into the grass field. Varian had never had a friend before, was this how it worked? Regardless, he was happy to come along.
“Mr. Finn said you live in the castle, is that true?” Hugo asked, stopping in the middle of the field and squatting down into the grass. Varian followed suit, happily twirling a blade of grass between his fingers.
“Mhm! I live there with Eugene, and Cassie, and-”
“What’s the princess like?” Hugo buts in, staring with wide eyes. They were so close their noses nearly touched. Varian didn’t mind in the slightest.
“Punzel’s really nice, she lets me paint with her!” He giggled, and Hugo sat back in amazement.
“My mom says her hair is super long, is that true?”
“Suuuper long! I like to hide in it.”
“And she lets you!?”
“Yup! I always get tangled, though.” It was like clockwork: Eugene and Varian would play hide and seek, Varian would hide in her hair, Eugene would find him, he’d get stuck, and Rapunzel would shake him out. She never complained, even though Eugene always made him apologize.
“It doesn’t hurt,” She reassured them. “I would do the same!”
Hugo hums, thoroughly impressed. “My mom has really long hair too, and she lets me braid it sometimes!”
Varian gasped. “Really? She lets you?” Gosh, his momma would never let Varian let anywhere near her hair! Apparently he tugged on it as a baby. “That’s so cool!”
“Really?” Hugo’s face lit up like the sun.
“Yea! Maybe one day you can meet her!” Varian cheered, directing his gaze down to the grass. There, innocent and unassuming, a small flower grew. Its purple petals furled upwards, allowing Varian to stare right into the yellow center. The first flowers of the season!
Hugo looked up to find a flower right in front of his face, with a grinning Varian at the other end. “For you!” He said, and Hugo’s face lit up.
“Thanks!” With one fluid motion, Hugo grasped it and ate it whole. He didn’t even blink.
Varian blinked. It took a second for what just happened to register.
Then, he burst into giggles.
-
Eugene sighed and trudged up to the schoolhouse. As if on cue, a bell rang, and children poured out of the doors. Kids ran to their parents, who were more than happy to scoop their kids up and hear all about their day. Eugene was no exception. Varian exited, and upon seeing him, lit up and flew towards him.
Eugene caught him easily, spinning around so they were facing the others. “Hi, Varian!” Rapunzel chimed. “How was your day at school!”
“I liked it a lot!” Varian giggled. “We learned to write, and had pretzels, and, and-”
“Varian!”
They all turned to see a very nervous looking Hugo, with his cheeks flushed. “I-I just wanted to say… it was nice to meet you! And maybe we can hang out sometime soon and you can show me the castle ok bye!” He then promptly fled, back towards the arms of an exasperated older woman who was probably his mom.
“Bye Hugo!” Varian called, waving in their general direction. “That was Hugo, he’s really nice.”
“I’ll bet,” Cassandra muttered, mildly amused.
Eugene couldn’t help the beams of pride. One day in school and he’d already made a friend! That was more than he could say for his own time in school. “You’re growing up so fast,” Eugene whispered, pulling Varian close. He bounced his arms, Varian happy at the rhythm. “Don’t grow up too fast, ok? Otherwise I’d get all old and wrinkly.”
“Ah, your highness!”
Rapunzel turned to see a teacher headed their way. “I’m Mr. Finn, I was with Varian today.”
The princess beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful, thank you! How was it?”
“He was great, princess, a delight! I look forward to seeing him in September.” Mr. Finn leaned down to Varian’s height. “I’ll see you in a few months, Varian!”
“Bye bye!” Varian responded, frowning when Eugene stilled in his bouncing.
“Wait, September?” He asked, confused. Wouldn’t he be seeing Varian tomorrow? It was Wednesday, after all.
Cassandra laughed. “Oh, we didn’t tell you?” She leaned on his arm. “Varian’s too young for kindergarten. He can’t start till the new school year, when he’ll be 5.”
Eugene paled. “So, I have to go through this… all over?” Varian cocked his head in confusion when Lance barked out a laugh, and Rapunzel covered her mouth to hide a smile. The handmaiden patted Eugene’s back in mock sympathy.
That night, Eugene cried into another serving of potatoes while Varian practiced his letters.
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She's got a boyfriend anyway — Jason Todd x Reader
WARNINGS: some cussing words here and there, implied fighting and blood, allusions to depression? or at least anxiety, and sexual implications.
WORD COUNT: 2575.
10. “Friends don’t do this kind of shit!
He is frustrated, and has yelled so out of emotion – and yes, you know it, you know how impulsive and unstable he can get to be when he spirals down in strong human emotions. And well, you were the one correcting him the first time he said so about himself (like he wasn’t human, like they were foreign, which made you sad), but right now you strongly emphasize them because out of the two, you feel like a monster, and he is pure and raw emotion.
—No, I-I refuse!—. He stammers with his own words out of rage as he bolts up from the sofa you’ve been previously kissing on—. I can’t believe you-I won’t, (Y/N)! Fuck no, you don’t say or do that shit with friends! And don’t fuckin’ bring Chad into it.
Chad. He pronounces it like it burns, like it disgusts him, and he is in his own right to do so, but it makes you sigh. Briefly, you wonder, what would have happened if you had invited him over instead of accepting when Jason just called you with the tempting offer of just pizza, Netflix and Chill and some cuddles. Maybe you’d be sexting instead of shouting (and maybe you wouldn’t feel as guilty as you do now).
—Todd, I told you-
—Lose the Todd, sweetheart, we’ve been fucking for months now, is a bit late now, isn’t it?!
He won’t understand. He doesn’t want to understand. Nothing that comes out of his mouth will help, and it will only dig a grave deeper than it really needs to. And, even if right now it’s not the best example in your favor, you really care for him. And fuck yes, you only wanted to spend a sweet and careless night of making out in the sofa, moving it to bed and having some pancakes in the morning. But as of right now it seems out of the question, and there seems to be no possible scenario in the future where you get him to tone it down a notch and it all ends up with both of you okay. And you don’t want to cry, you don’t want to make him more upset, which is probably the only outcome you visualize at this point. So you stop him.
—Just go.
—No, fuck no, we are going to talk about it now, cuz’ I know-
—Jason, I’m not going to repeat myself. You came here for the fuck and stayed for the feelings, Christ, deal with it. I didn’t ask for it and I was perfectly clear the first time it had happened and you agreed to every single thing. So just… Go. We’ll talk in the morning.
You had nursured him. You had seen him broken (with eyes just like the ones he’s giving you now, but younger), beaten up – which is why you two failed as youngsters your first year in uni; why it was the worst because of that. Restless nights of wondering if he ever got home, if he would appear with new marks, bandages, in the hospital! No, you couldn’t deal with it, it was too distressing. And you didn’t actually mind much the fact that he stood you up a couple of times. Gotham was quite big, after all – and even with his resources, the Wayne resources he had been slowly accepting, it was still impossible to get that fast to places that were that far away. No, you didn’t care much about the tabloids and the gossip magazines that “caught him” in the company of one or two pretty girls, you weren’t actually the jealous type and really trusted him, but you couldn’t rest. Ever. He took your heart with him at every single mission, patrol, stakeout… And all you ever wondered was if he would come back okay. And you shouldn’t have deal with that alone for almost an entire year; not with your projects, your anxiety and the pressure of succeding in uni like every other familiar you have. You couldn’t fall back or rely on a comfortable trust fund, unlimited resources like he could, if he wanted to. And by no means you are saying, implying, that he is entitled, that he has it easy… You are with him every night he stays in, when he wakes up in cold sweat, heart in his neck beating like its going to explode and sometimes (they were becoming fortunately more and more rare) shouting. He once choked you – almost did so. He cried after, and you comforted him all night with sweet nothings and reassuring kisses.
But you did have enough. And the question had been quite easy, quite simple: “Would you be able to resist that dangerous lifestyle in the future? Would you able to drop it all?”, to which he had, obviously, hesitated. Jason had feel cornered, and you knew you were not fair, since you both knew all your vulnerabilities, your weak points, but he had pushed you to that limit the night he almost did not make it, the time that Dick had to come inform you after it had gone wrong. You couldn’t stop crying at his side, in his bed – it was truly a cumule of everything academically and emotionally speaking – as he rested in the Wayne Manor. You had skipped exams, you had given everything up, which is why you didn’t hesitate to ask the same thing perfectly knowing your own answer when he threw it back at you:
—In a heartbeat.
So you two had been at different places in the stages of love, but it didn’t mean he loved you any less, he didn’t care when he heard you got a new boyfriend on campus at the ending of the second year. He was brilliant: part of the Student Committe, came from an excellent family, had both the grades and the looks… It was like the only thing that he didn’t have he achieved without making much effort. He didn’t actually see you fall in love with him, but you shared friends, even when you two broke up they tried to keep it “normal” if there was ever a defintion like that applied to him. But he too had eyes, with which caught on the smallest things: the small presents; the occasional blush on your cheeks and faint smile when you received a certain text; the rush with which you picked up your phone when “someone” called you; the hangouts you passed on not because of him, but because of “Him”.
Year three had come, and Chad and her had been dating for some months, but something felt on, and Jason interceded. He reappered in your life with a blank slate, apparently – no resentment, no blaming, no love. Maybe that’s why it had been so easy to fall back into his arms that night Chad had presented you to his parents. They hated you, and you had a breakdown in a freaking Wayne gala in which the only thing he said was “Don’t worry about them; just go to a bathroom and get yourself pretty again. I like it when you smile” which you assume should have made you smiled, but it only made you cry harder as soon as you were out of sight.
Jason knew about the difficult relationship you had with your own family: having another one hating your guts wasn’t the best outcome, no. But Chad hadn’t asked; you didn’t bring the topic to the table, but you assumed he should have asked at some point, because he cared… Right? Full of doubts, feeling broken and pathetic, Jason Todd had come to the rescue. He had noticed you, had seen everything: he wasn’t the jealous type, but he knew that one wasn’t the right for you. And no, he wasn’t stating that he was but… He would treat you better. He would try, at least.
You both that night attacked the secret shelf which Batman, not Bruce Wayne, used to attack whenever his bad went kind of wrong (never fully, he was always proud like that) to get back up. The alcohol was strong and it made your nose burn, but it also made you giggle to the stupid shit Jason said, and you had comfortably (just numb enough) accepted his kiss. You were both in front of the fire, and he had been trying to take the bottle from your drunk ass who was stumbling in high-heels, complaining about dresses and galas and parents… And he had simply growled something (you can’t remember, didn’t care much) which made you almost drop your panties. Jason had a fucking sexy mouth and-
That was the only clear thing you remember from that night. Memories can’t be relied on, but on that one you can count on. He kissed you, and he backed you up to the wall, grinded into you: you had moan in his mouth, had sticked out your tongue for him to take, and just like that, it was spring again when he had kissed you for a second “first” time (the first had actually been on a game) and your fingers were laced on the grass, sun bathing his form, his beautiful white lock, his incredibly attractive jaw, his beautiful and gorgeous eyes-
You didn’t make it to bed. It sounds cliché, but he didn’t let you, as much as you almost crawled into your room; the sofa had been nice enough the first time. Not much better for the second. But at the third, you explained the situation, the rules: “no love, no drama, no strings or uncomfortable questions. Just lust”.
So for everyone’s surprise you were instantly friends again. First they thought you were just fucking, but soon after you had finally introduced Chad to them and all rumors died, which was the main purpose. Jason was just a comfortable fuck where no questions were asked and where you just felt… Good again. Your boyfriend was good to you, yes, but too perfect sometimes, too unberable for someone with anxiety and a constant pressure of being just like him. But the truth is, there’s no point of comparison: for him is just as easy as breathing to be that kind, that good – but it takes the life out of you to be like that, so docile, so good and so excellent all the time. And Jason knows, understands. He murmurs into your hair that you are perfect and you believe him.
He makes you feel pretty, enough; and you need when all Chad cares is his own family, his grandes, his status, his position. It’s him him him all the way. And this time you mind being stood up, you mind him being late, you can’t stand him flirting with other girls, even when you have no right to complain (having fucked Jason for three months kind of takess off the right).
Were you his charity case? The broken girl from the bad neighborhood who made it into uni who he had comforted “and saved”?
It’s been eight months, and even through your second anniversary, you are more and more sure of it. And you actually start cancelling more dates, being more passive with him and start fucking Jason more. It’s just that, it’s nothing more – and while you run from your “perfect” future by his side (you try to, knowing perfectly Chad is everything that would make your family happy, would keep you content and safe), Jason falls more and more in love with you.
The way you need him: your nails digging in his skin, your hands pulling his hair like you need something desperately to hold onto – him and only him being able to do so, bring you to your peak everytime before he can even come close… Your perfect legs that open with a kiss on your thigh, how you trust him to make you feel good without questioning. You love the way he makes you feel about yourself, which is probably selfish, but you couldn’t care less. He accepted, he was fine with the rules: and thus you exploit his love, he gets way into it, into you, even when alarms go all around his head telling him “no”, trying to stop.
But it’s too late, and you feel just a little bit cruel:
—You are great.
—Really now? Does it have anything to do with the pizza, or the fact that I eat you out like a champ?
—Why can I only choose one? God, Jason, it’s like you’ve never read Tolstoi. Things are not all black or white. Dumbass—. You giggle, getting closer to him in the sofa where your hair is spread, almost naked; Jason has put his boxers on, and he’s tracing lazy patterns in your skin.
—First you quote Tolstoi, paraphrase him rather, and then you say “dumbass”. Yer’ an idiot.
It makes you both laugh, and when it kind of dies down, you press your forehead against his and you search for his lips. He concedes, biting the inferior one, marking it.
—Oh, come on, you know you can’t leave marks on. He will see.
—Yeah, and we wouldn’t like that, would we? End this rendez-vous or affaire, however fancy way you want to call it because you love him soooo much—. You roll your eyes, and he smirks. You hate it when he feels he is right (he never is).
—Two things: one, I do like him, however i decided to manage our relationship it’s between him and me; and two, I don’t like to be marked because I’m not “a thing”, Jason. Definitively not yours.
His smile falters. You know you are on dangerous ground. Pizzas are about to get there, why couldn’t you just shut down your mouth?
—So you’re his?—. He gets all possesive. You know when he slightly puffs out his chest. It makes you get up, search for the cushions you both had dumped to the floor. It makes you not look at him directly, distract you—. Then who-no, what are we? Fuck buddies?
—Try friends?—You sarcastically try and throw, but it ends in the most of the miserable ways.
—Let me back up a bit, but I’m pretty sure Roy and I don’t do this at least once a week. Do you have any other special “friend” you do this with this ritually?
—I didn’t mean it like that…
—Well now I do, so answer, (Y/N). Do you?
You massage your nape, bite your lip.
—No, Jason, I don’t. And you know I don’t—. You answer and it kind of feels like he sighs in relief, which annoys you—. It wouldn’t matter anyways, because we would just be friends!
—Friends like what, you and I?
—Yes, Todd, just like you and I!
—Well newsflash (Y/N)! Friends don’t do this kind of shit!
The anger, his voice, had scared you, and it brings you to the present. His eyes beg at you to say something; any sense of regret and he will stay, he will make it work somehow, but you are too tired. So you just give him your back and turn around to face Gotham and its darkness: one that has taken you over the years, that has fucked you up and that will probably break two hearts in one night.
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#dcu x reader#reader insert#reader#dcu#jason todd angst#jason x reader#red hood x reader
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Fight the Darkness Pt. 2
Masterlist
Pairing: Gaius x MC
Summary: Amy reveals part of the reason why she sought out Gaius, and her internal struggle grows.
Word Count: 3,304
“We’ve been through this before, Amy. There was nothing you could have done to save Jax. Please stop torturing yourself over it. It’s only making your powers grow stronger.” Adrian pleaded with her, gripping her wrists a little too tight. Tears shone in his eyes, desperation clear in them.
Amy shook from the emotions flowing through her. “I can still do it. We can still bring him back.” She imagined Jax standing in the room with them, as though nothing had happened. Then she was back in the opera house. Jax jumped in front of her, the blade sinking into his flesh as Rheya aimed for her heart.
This wasn’t how it was meant to be. Their plan was supposed to flow smoothly. Gaius had been perfect, they all had been perfect. Rheya couldn’t have known that it was a setup.
“Amy. Stop.” Kamilah stepped beside Adrian, putting her hands over his. “Look at me. We’re here for you. We’ll always be here, but you need to let Jax go.”
She sobbed, sinking to the floor as a psychic blast burst through the office, destroying everything but leaving her three friends unharmed. “It isn’t fair. It’s not fair.”
“We’re here for you, Ames. All of us.” Lily was the first one to join her on the floor, keeping a distance as she spoke. “You’re in Adrian’s office. We defeated Rheya five years ago. Breathe, Amy. Breathe.”
Adrian and Kamilah stood behind Lily, both too afraid to move. The flashbacks had been getting worse. They exchanged a look, words not needed to communicate their worry.
Amy tried her best to stop hyperventilating, but it felt like the world was weighing down on her chest. Every breath was a struggle. Jax’s body turning to ash was all she saw, the grief crashing over her all over again.
It felt as though the world itself was about to end, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, just like she could do nothing to bring Jax back.
“Amy? Amy!”
Her eyes flew open, a gasp slipping past her lips when she saw the destruction all around her. It took a moment for her to realize that it wasn’t her doing. Instead, she was still in the crumbling house Gaius had taken her to the night before.
“What?” It had only been a dream. She had no reason to overthink it. That had been twenty years ago.
Gaius tightened the arm he had around her. “You were talking in your sleep.” He studied her face, reaching his free hand up to brush her hair aside. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Amy nodded, leaning down to give him a quick kiss before she struggled to her feet. Her muscles ached from the previous night. Trekking through a bunch of trees wasn’t one of her favorite pastimes. She glanced outside, sighing when she saw that the sun was still shining. Sunshine was one of the things she missed most about being human.
“We should talk about last night.” Gaius was still laying on the couch, watching her pace the floor.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “My being here, the fact that I still have some of Rheya’s powers, or the part where we had sex on a couch that’s probably older than I am?” There was less enthusiasm in her answer than she would’ve had last night.
To her surprise, he didn’t roll his eyes. “All of the above. But I’m most curious about your powers. Can you walk in the sun as she could?”
Amy laughed. “Of course not. The day I can walk in the sun is the day we’re all doomed.”
“This isn’t a time to make jokes.” She hated the way he was looking at her. As though he feared her. As though she was a monster. Amy turned away. “You can tell me if something is bothering you.”
“I told you. I’m fine, Gaius.” The air seemed to tremble, but she told herself it was just her imagination. Another storm must be on its way. “Do you want to talk about us now?”
He sighed, finally standing to make his way over to her. “What is there to discuss? You told me that you have feelings for me.”
“So, are you saying the feeling isn’t mutual?” She laughed when he rolled his eyes. “Did you know that you roll your eyes a lot? I mean a lot a lot.”
Gaius took a step closer to her. “That is because, as I said last night, you are insufferable.”
Amy hummed quietly, fixing his clothes before she looked up into his eyes. “You know you enjoy it.”
“Three thousand years, and I somehow managed to fall for the most irritating person in the world.” Still, despite the exasperated tone of his voice, he grinned.
“Do mine ears deceive me? Or hast thou confessed thy affections for me?” She smirked when he glared at her. “What? I loved Shakespeare in school. It’s kind of disappointing to me that you don’t talk like that.”
Gaius shook his head, closing the distance between them. She had a feeling it was mostly to get her to shut up. Still, she wasn’t going to complain. Thousands of years of experience made him a pretty excellent kisser.
The two of them fell back on the couch again, another puff of dust floating in the air. Amy ignored it this time, sliding one hand up the back of his neck into his hair. She had spent twenty-five years dreaming about a moment just like this. About a time where the two of them could be themselves and not have to worry about the judgement of any of the others. Kamilah would most definitely not approve, and neither, she assumed, would Adrian. Lily was in a bit of a gray area.
When they had been traveling to their almost certain dooms, on a boat that had seen better days, Amy had finally caught a glimpse of the true Gaius. He was just as broken as her, his complete and utter shock when she kissed him on the cheek making her want him more than before. Every rational part of her had screamed at her to stop that night, to not do anything that would disgust her friends and anyone in their right sense of mind. But she hadn’t cared.
A small part of her had worried that the others might suspect, and yet a larger part of her had almost wanted them to know. She had slept with the enemy, and she had absolutely no regrets about it. It had disappointed her when he left without saying goodbye after Rheya’s defeat. All night, she had waited for him. He never came.
As Amy had suspected, another storm rolled in half an hour later. Gaius ignored the rain that once more seeped in through the cracks in the ceiling, his lips traveling down her neck as she slipped a hand under his shirt and traced the length of his spine.
In this moment, she could momentarily forget about her friends searching for her back home and of the grief that still gripped her every time she spent too long thinking about Jax. He had been one of her best friends. She and Lily had both struggled to cope with his death, relying on each other for the first few years to make it through.
“As nice as this is, I think we should figure out what we’re doing next. You said you planned to move on from here in a few days.” Amy hated forcing Gaius to stop, but she had no intention of having sex on this filthy couch again.
Gaius sighed, pulling away. “I planned to travel to Greece. It has been a long time since I’ve been there.” He looked over at her. “I understand if you don’t want to come along. The journey will not be easy.”
Amy stood from the couch and walked over to the window, stepping into the place where sunlight had shone an hour earlier. “Stop trying to get rid of me. I told you that I’m coming with you.” She turned around to face him again, shivering from the cold that swept over her. “There’s nothing for me back home. The others want nothing to do with me.”
A flash of a blade. A blur of dark brown hair. Ashes. Screams.
She shut her eyes, trying to drown out the symphony of chaos building inside her head. Twenty-five years should make it easier. By some miracle, she had gone this long without embracing the darkness. All she had to do was hold out just a little bit longer. Day by day, month by month, year by year. It had worked so far.
“You need to tell me what the problem is.” Gaius was standing a few feet away when she opened her eyes again, worry etched into his features. “Amy, why did you search for me?”
How had last night not helped her? She’d thought that this reunion would help with the inexplicable struggle she’d been facing the past six months, but it seemed to have made things worse.
Amy shook her head, walking past him to grab Jax’s sword from its resting spot near the door. The packets of blood in her backpack made her stomach clench. Without bothering to ask Gaius if he wanted any, she ripped one open and drained the bag of its contents in seconds. A quiet moan of satisfaction slipped past her lips, and the world was righted.
“Now, what do you say we get a head start on our quest to Greece?” Amy grabbed another bag of blood and threw it over her shoulder at Gaius. She smiled when he caught it, watching her with a mixture of awe and fear.
“If you wish for us to go anywhere, you need to start answering my questions.” He drank the blood within a few minutes, licking the remnants off his lips.
She hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth. It seemed like he could help when she first set out in search of him, but now Amy was having second thoughts. They really didn’t know each other well. Their physical relationship didn’t ensure an emotional connection. He might see her as a threat instead.
But the only one who could truly understand what she was experiencing was Gaius. He had once been poisoned by Rheya’s influence, by the darkness that occupied her. If not him, then who?
“It’s growing stronger.” Although the answer was once again vague, she knew that no further explanation was needed.
Gaius took a sharp breath, eyeing the sword on her back. “What happened in New York?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” The truth was too horrifying to admit. All she wanted was a distraction. All she needed was to join Gaius for her own redemption.
The sun no longer shone outside, the storm ushering in clouds and nightfall. Amy packed up her bags, taking one last glance at the couch before she left the old house. For one brief moment the previous night, she’d been able to forget about everything. She could lose herself in Gaius. She could remind herself that light still existed somewhere inside of her, and that, somehow, he was the only one who could bring it out.
Her skin seemed to glow under the moonlight, the little bit of blood renewing what she had felt when first arriving in the town the night before. Amy grinned to herself, peering at Gaius, who walked alongside her with his face set in a stern glare.
Sounds echoed all around them, a few passersby pausing to take in Gaius’ clothing. Amy rolled her eyes and vowed to convince him to get a new outfit during their next stop. She’d had enough of the extremely outdated getup, complete with that absurd cloak.
“How do you know that it’s growing stronger?” Gaius mumbled once they’d passed another human, this one looking even more curious than the last.
They walked in silence a minute before she spoke. “What happened last night? That was a mild reaction compared to what happened before I left New York.”
“And you somehow believe that I hold the key to fixing your problems?”
“No, I just know that you’re the only one who’s been influenced by Rheya’s darkness that I trust enough to confide in.” Amy fought back a smile at the shock on his face from her admission. “It’s nice to see that I still manage to take you by surprise. Even after last night. I have a lot more where that came from.”
He rolled his eyes. Again. “Would it kill you to stay on topic? This is meant to be serious. Are you saying Rheya’s darkness is controlling you?”
Amy chewed on her bottom lip as they continued to walk away from the town. She opened her mouth to answer, when a lone howl pierced the air. “Please tell me that’s just a wolf,” she mumbled, turning back to face Gaius. “Why were you here in the first place?”
His mouth was set in a firm line. “There was a pack of werewolves tormenting this town when I first arrived thirteen days ago. One or two of them may have managed to get away, and I assume they aren’t very happy with me.”
Great. Dealing with pissed off werewolves was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now.
The bushes behind them rustled, and Amy unsheathed her blade as a massive figure leaped in front of her. On instinct, she thrust the sword forward, watching it disappear inside the werewolf’s chest. The creature dropped to the ground, and she staggered back, feeling a weight on her chest as she remembered how it felt to have a sword go through her flesh.
Amy bent over and placed her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. She shut her eyes in an attempt to block out the noise inside her head.
It wasn’t until she felt a hand on her back that Amy broke free from her thoughts. She looked up at Gaius, tears burning her eyes. No longer was there mild annoyance reflected in his face.
She hated this. The past six months, she barely felt like herself. Entire hours were missing from her memory. Some nights, she had walked the streets of New York completely unaware, only gaining her focus when the sun was high in the sky, and she had to hurry to find somewhere to wait until nightfall before she succumbed to the sunlight.
“Good job,” she said, nodding to the second werewolf body that lay near the first one she’d killed. “I knew you could do it.”
Gaius stared at her. “Same to you.” His smile looked forced, but she wasn’t in the mood to dwell on the topic of her internal struggle. All she needed was to take some time to calm down. Whatever she was going through, it would pass.
Amy walked over to the first werewolf body and grabbed the handle of her katana, planting her foot on the creature’s chest as she pulled the weapon free. Something moved further within the trees, and she tried to steady her breathing.
“Do you think we could find somewhere less…haunted for our next hideout?” She cleaned the blade before sheathing it, praying there weren’t any more vicious beasts lingering nearby.
“You complain now, but were you not the one who insisted the couch was perfectly fine last night?”
His response surprised her, and she started to laugh, delighting in the warmth that spread over her. She clung to it with every fiber of her being.
“I needed my fix. Do you know how long it had been since I had sex?” She started to step closer to him, but hesitated.
Gaius noticed her hesitation and some of the awkwardness between them returned. It took a moment before he finally stepped closer, his breath visible in the cool spring air. “Amy…may I kiss you?”
“As if you even need to ask.” Relief washed over her, and she grabbed him and pulled him closer. They both seemed to feed off the adrenaline slaying the werewolves had given, their lips moving urgently against each other.
It wasn’t until the sounds of the spooky forest grew too loud to ignore that they separated. Amy reached up to run her fingers across his cheeks, stopping when she reached his jaw. She gulped, terrified of the way she felt about him. She had dreamt of him far more than she cared to admit.
“We should get moving.” Gaius held her face in his hands for a few seconds more before moving away, looking like he didn’t want to leave this spot. “I’ll try to find us a more comfortable place to stay.”
“All I ask if that we get a proper bed.”
The chances of them finding an abandoned place to stay that had a bed were slim. Still, Amy held onto that hope as they walked long into the night. There was nothing but empty field as far as the eye could see. When the sky started to grow lighter, her worry increased.
Amy watched the sky, searching for an indication that the sun was going to rise. “Remind me again why we’re walking across Europe? All it took was a short ride for me to get to the town.”
“Believe it or not, I enjoy the scenery. And we aren’t walking across the whole continent. Just until we reach a city and then we can take a plane from there.” Gaius sounded serious, but she had a hard time believing him.
Much to her despair, the only place they managed to find before sunrise was a tiny cabin beside a swamp. It would be hilarious were it not for the fact that she had to spend the rest of the day there.
“Somehow, this is even worse than the last place.” Amy plucked an old rag from the kitchen counter and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She threw it back down and turned to explore the rest of the two-room hovel.
At least there was a bed.
“Must you complain about the accommodations all the time?” Gaius dropped his bag on the floor and took in his surroundings. “There’s a bed, just like you requested.”
Amy glared at him, not impressed with the situation. The bed looked like it had been unused for several years, but it would have to do. If this was how her life would be for the foreseeable future, then so be it.
As soon as she dropped on the mattress, a cloud of dust erupted from the sheets. Amy coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. She turned her head to the window near the bed and saw the sun beginning to rise.
“What should we do to pass the time?” She sat up on her elbows to look at Gaius, who stood watching her from across the room.
“I have a few ideas.” He eyed her in the same way he had on that boat so many years ago. The desire for her reflected in his face made her instantly forget about everything else. New York, Rheya’s darkness, the horrible living conditions…they all faded away.
Amy sat up further, patting the spot beside her. “Why don’t you come over here and we can discuss those ideas further?”
Gaius did as she said, taking a seat on the bed. He’d barely sat down before she tugged him to her. They had a long day of waiting ahead of them, and nothing but each other to keep themselves entertained.
Perhaps she could put up with the bad living spaces if it ended like this. Only time would tell.
#choices: stories you play#choices fanfiction#gaius augustine#gaius augustine x mc#gaius x mc#bloodbound#bloodbound 3
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V Prompt: Role Reversal
Title: The djinni, the thief and the magician
[This was hard. It was very very difficult... but fun! Kudos to who guesses from where I’ve taken Kitty’s name and surname as a magician.]
Agnes Pole had a secret, a secret that could have her killed. The fact was, she didn’t choose to keep this secret; it had just happened.
They made it easy, telling you to forget your birth name; but for Agnes it had been impossible. It wasn’t that she didn’t try: at night, when she was still a child, she used to close her eyes, squeezing them hard, and she tried with all her force to expel that memory: her mother’s voice calling ‘Kitty’.
Obviously, she couldn’t do it; and, as much obviously, no one knew it, less of all her master. After all, she was the one to issue Agnes, as her first lesson, to not trust anyone; and, implied, her too. So, Agnes had kept her mouth sealed; she hadn’t even dared to say out loud that forbidden name.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Agnes Pole: a young woman with short, soft dark hair, her mouth constantly bending in a pleasing smile. She didn’t know how Kitty looked like, except for a lost five-year-old child.
Her sensor net started ringing in her ear; a moment later, at her window a pigeon materialized. Agnes made it come in and immediately it took the shape of a pale-faced young man in a grey suit.
«Mistress» he said, bowing slightly «I think I’ve found him».
Nathanael was her regular demon for a few years, now; it was one of the first djinn with a considerable power that she had summoned, and, in the beginning, she had found it irritating without an exact reason. Really there wasn’t a reason, because the demon was precise, quiet and impeccable. Every magician’s dream.
But it was fussy, fastidious too, and with a hidden slyness capable to turn any order inside out, Agnes knew it. However, it was efficient; and, as Whitwell always said, finding efficient servants, and silent in addition, was extremely rare. So, Agnes had kept it and, in the end, there had been vantages: just to start, learning to give orders precise and crystal-clear. Then, she had found out Nathanael was a real font of knowledge and, if you made it the right questions, you would have obtained all the answers you wanted. If she had to describe her servant with a word, Agnes would have used ‘competent’.
And it really was (take that, Farrar), because it had been successful in individuate one of the thieves of artefacts that were driving all Tallow’s department and police mad.
Agnes, as the Chief of Security’s apprentice, had been placed to investigate on the series of thefts; in the beginning, she had to admit that, as a job, didn’t please her much: she hated work office, she’d have liked more to be thrown in action. Whitwell, in front of her complains, had barely risen an eyebrow. «You’re still an apprentice, Agnes» she had replied. «Be careful to not fool yourself. You’re clever and you have talent, but use your brain before talking. A work office, as you call it, could do you well».
Agnes had bitten her tongue. As she had to do every time she had met Farrar and had to endure a barrage of gibes.
And now, instead… «A very good job. Nathanael» she commented, leant on the car seat.
The young man near her tilted his head. «Thank you, mistress» he murmured, but Agnes could catch all the surprise behind the courteous tone. It wasn’t very usual that Agnes deemed her demon worthy of more than orders, but it was a particular occasion. «If everything goes well tonight, I’ll dismiss you for a while».
«Now let’s not exaggerate, mistress» the demon’s face was always pale and serious, but Agnes thought she could catch an… amused? glint behind the icy eyes.
Oh, why not? It had deserved it, at least. Of course, she would have to do without her most trusted servant, but it would have been a little time. She was perfectly capable to look after herself. It would have been weird, though, not having the tall, lanky shape behind her shoulders, silent as a shadow and as much as loyal…
«We are here» Nathanael murmured. «Do you see that corner over there? He passes over there every night to go to his… hideout. I think he has some hiding place under the bricks, because he always takes some minute there. And in that minute, he’s distracted».
Agnes nodded, without tearing her eyes away from the road. She made a gesture towards the djinni, and it slithered out the half-closed window as a curl of smoke.
They didn’t have to wait long: a figure was coming close with quick, measured steps. It stopped at the corner as expected.
And then there was a noise of struggle, a furious shout suffocated, then the boot opened up and something was thrown in.
Nathanael didn’t like very much kidnapping kids; but he didn’t like disobeying orders either and being punished, so there wasn’t a lot of alternatives. Moreover, the kid in question had trashed like an eel and he was able to kick his shin with a boot that must have something of iron, because it stung a lot.
He and his mistress had taken him to an old abandoned library that they had used many times during various occasions. Miss Pole looked at the boy still passed out at her feet. To be truthful, there wasn’t real age difference between the magician and the commoner, but her posture, her clothes and everything made Agnes Pole always look older.
Nathanael looked at her at the corner of his eye while she seemed to review mentally what ask to the commoner. And probably, repeating herself to be calm and rational, a thing that wasn’t always Agnes Pole’s forte, despite her excellent teacher. Nathanael wrinkled slightly his nose thinking about Whitwell. Old vulture.
The boy made a sudden moan and his eyes opened wide. Nathanael saw them searching the room for a way out, then they rested on the two of them.
«Move and my demon will tear you apart».
The boy didn’t move. Then, unexpectedly he made a dazzling grin, shining on his dark face.
«Hello» he said.
Well, that wasn’t the reaction Nathanael was expecting, frankly. And neither did his mistress, holding her lips tight while the commoner kept watching them from below.
«What could have I done to deserve such an honour? Kidnapped by a magician?» he winked with a mischievous expression, that little did suit a dirty boy, curled on the floor.
Nathanael saw clearly his mistress’ patience decrease; were they alone, he would have whispered to her to stay calm, tranquil: she was in charge, as usual.
But Agnes tightened her fists lightly and took a deep breath. «I want you to answer my questions, quickly» she said. «And maybe I could think even to let you go».
The boy sneered. «Of course, miss magician. And you give me a lift home, don’t you? No one believes it, not even your demon. You caught me, you won. I don’t know what else you want».
«The Resistance. I want your accomplices».
Fell a… curious silence. The boy grew quiet, then he spoke directly to Nathanael. «Did you tell her I’m from the Resistance? Because I stole some scrap metal? Oh dear!» And he burst out laughing so loud that the walls resounded. «I’m sorry, o most powerful magician» he could stammer out «but your demon dropped a clanger here. I work in my own».
«So do you steal artefacts just for an hobby of yours?» Agnes asked, her voice dangerously sweet. «And only magical objects, not simple jewels?»
«Ah, that is a little secret of mine, sorry. Anyway, of course I sell them. At the black market, but that surely you know. And surely you know that they’ll go to the Resistance or whatever. But I don’t want anything to do with them. I work on my own, told you».
Agnes smiled. «So those two… the kid following you anywhere and that girl so pretty… aren’t they your accomplices?»
A shadow passed on the boy’s cheeky face. Here we are, Nathanael thought.
«No» he spelt put. «They…»
«Don’t you think they’ll live better out that hole of yours? Maybe that kid would stop coughing so much».
The boy gulped and stared both in the eyes. «Look. I am a thief, it’s true. But I am not from the Resistance. You can promise me all you want, magician, but I can’t give you what I haven’t, and I haven’t any names nor addresses. If you want to throw me in jail for theft or say that I’m a terrorist, do it. It’s my word against yours, isn’t it?» His dark eyes lingered on Nathanael. «Oh, the demon, sure. You could have me tortured by it. Surely I could sing then, but I wouldn’t trust me too much. Always had a low pain tolerance level».
«Mistress» Nathanael whispered. «A word».
Agnes stepped back and tilted her head toward him. The boy’s sharp eyes kept watching them.
«I think he’s honest, partly. But if he sell magical artefacts…»
«He has some communication channel, yes» Agnes sighed and, for a moment, it seemed that her mask was slipping. «I was so close…»
«I think» murmured Nathanael «that he could be bought. Making leverage on… his two friends. Bought, not threatened».
Agnes narrowed her eyes. «What should I do? Buy them a house?»
«No» the boy’s voice came suddenly. He must have an exceptional hearing. «No. But there is something I want».
#bartprompts20#bart prompts week#day 5: role reversal#just fyi#bart's commoner name is tim#because bar-tim-aeus#yeah#he hates me now#kid and pretty girl are ofc ptol and queezle#yeah bart know the resistance (faquarl) but i figured he wouldn't want to be involved#nat and kitty have an... interesting relationship#let's say that ;)#bartimaeus#nathaniel#kitty jones#role reversal au#bartimaeus trilogy#my fic#fanfiction
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a/n it’s finally here... the tennis fic (let me know if you want a smutty bonus chapter)
word count: 2073
Adam Parrish doesn’t lie to himself. He doesn’t make a situation better than it is so he feels better in a false sense of comfort. He doesn’t lie to himself about his past, not about the decreasing number of saving money stashed away in a little box beneath one of the old floorboards of St. Agnes, not about the things he wants and what he is willing to do to get them.
Adam Parrish doesn’t lie to himself about his attraction to Ronan Niall Lynch.
It’s a dangerous attraction, one that is threatening to consume him violently, but also one Adam can’t let go of. It has been there since he met Ronan, when they were younger and Ronan was sharper, angrier. Ronan was a reckless beauty, one that predicted nothing but destruction and agony.
Adam was addicted.
That fateful day they met and the months after, Adam figured that, yes, he did notice Ronan’s rugged handsomeness, but that didn’t mean he was attracted to him. Everybody saw Ronan and there was no denying that his beauty was incomparable.
It took him months before Adam realised that shit I actually am attracted to him in a "please fucking kiss me" type of way.
If he hadn’t realised it before, he definitely would realise it now. The skin-tight, white tennis shorts were positively sinful and Ronan was starting to sweat through his white t-shirt, making the material cling to his skin.
It was indecent.
Not for the first time, Adam wondered what had possessed him to watch Ronan’s tennis practise. He should have just walked home instead. If it wasn’t for his flat tire, that he couldn’t afford to replace, and Gansey having a row club meeting, Adam wouldn’t have had to expose himself to the most erotic thing he had witnessed in his short life.
“Ronan can take you home,” Gansey had said apologetically. He hadn’t quite mastered the sad puppy dog look like Noah had but it was good enough to make Adam feel bad.
“It’s fine, Gansey,” Adam had replied with a small smile. “I can just walk home.”
Gansey had shook his head vigorously. “No, I made a promise I didn’t keep so let Ronan take you home today. I’ll come pick you up from St. Agnes tomorrow.”
Adam hadn’t felt like arguing, so he agreed and asked Gansey were Ronan was right now. He hadn’t seen him since he walked out of the classroom last period. Adam had assumed Ronan already left.
“Tennis practise,” Gansey told him with a quick look at his watch. “I really have to go. Sorry, Adam.”
And off he was.
Now, Adam was seated on a little bench, right next to the tennis court with an excellent view on Ronan and his opponent. It was Ronan’s serve and he bounced the ball on the floor a couple of times.
The wrist of the hand he bounced the tennis ball with a with was usually bound in leather bracelets, but Ronan had taken them off for practice. Adam could reason that it was probably annoying to have them constantly sliding up and down your arm every time you moved, but he still cursed Ronan for it as he could not concentrate on anything but the pale white of the inside of his wrist. The scars were barely visible from where Adam was sitting but he knew they were there and he wanted to kiss them softly, which was definitely the purest thought he had so far.
The poor guy looked terrified as Ronan seized him up before he reached up to serve.
I don’t blame him, Adam thought as he watched Ronan’s biceps bulge, showing off the muscles he’d gained from sleepless nights filled with training and his need for fighting every person he encountered.
A little strip of skin showed as Ronan’s shirt rode up as he jumped, part of the v leading down his abdomen visible. Adam felt his breath halter and his skin flush, desperately praying nobody would notice.
Who the fuck gave Ronan the right to look like this?
The ball shot from Ronan’s racket like a bullet, flying past his opponents own racket, despite him jumping to reach for it.
This time, it was the opponent who was given a chance to serve by an uninterested coach who spend more time on his cellphone than actually watching the game. If it wasn’t for the guy complaining that he didn’t have a chance to practice because, “Lynch keeps serving and it’s not fair!” he probably would never had the ball the entire match.
Adam couldn’t help but feel proud.
As Ronan’s opponent got ready to serve, Ronan himself bent through his knees a little, leaning forward more than Adam was capable of handling. As if Ronan knew he was staring at him, he glanced at Adam quickly and gave him a smirk that momentarily made Adam’s heart stop beating.
Adam’s hands clenched into fists as he watched the quick back and forth, each slam of Ronan’s racket deadly precise and harder than Adam now was. It took merely seconds before he made the point.
As the walked back to their place Ronan slowly lifted the edge of his white t-shirt. Adam was sure he was going to black out when more and more of his abdomen was revealed, his muscles shifting as his hand lifted the shirt farther up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt and dared to wink at him after.
Ronan ruined him from everyone else, Adam decided. There was really no coming back from this.
The match lasted both too long and not long enough. Adam could have watched him play forever, but he was in a desperate need for a cold shower. Maybe he should ask Ronan how confessionals work.
“Didn’t know you were a tennis guy.”
Well, I fucking am now.
“Ehm- yeah, I mean, I guess.” Adam was blabbering. Why was he blabbering? He felt a hot rush of warmth shot up to his cheeks which were undoubtedly even brighter red than they had been before. His embarrassment grew further at Ronan’s sharp smile, eyeing him up and down like he had him figured out entirely. Adam hated how well Ronan knew him, how easy to read he was despite trying his best to remain unknowable.
“Have you ever played tennis, Parrish?”
Adam briefly wondered if that was an implication of something else but reprimanded himself immediately.
Get your shit together.
Please.
“No,” Adam admitted. “But I’d like to learn.”
No, he really didn’t. He thought tennis was a sport meant for preppy rich people and he was certainly not one of them. Ronan stared at him, probably knowing what Adam was thinking but Adam held his stare, steady. Or, well, as steady as he could be in this situation.
“Come on then,” Ronan smirked, walking back to the edge of the tennis court. Adam remained frozen in his seat. Ronan made a beckoning motion and Adam moved towards him without remembering getting up.
“Here,” Ronan said, handing Adam his own racket. Adam gripped the handle tightly, his hands shaking. “I’m gonna throw you a ball and see how you handle it, okay?”
Adam nodded dumbly. He moved into a poor imitation of Ronan’s stance he had more than analysed a few minutes before. Ronan stood not too far from him, backlit by the sun. His body glistened in the reclining rays of sunlight dancing off his skin.
He’s a god.
Adam was too busy staring at the way Ronan’s glorious body moved when he threw the ball to even move his racket up in a poor attempt of hitting it. Ronan raised an eyebrow.
“You’re supposed to hit it.”
“I know that,” Adam bit out, picking the ball off the ground. He closed the distance between them and pushed the ball into Ronan’s chest, ignoring the muscles he felt through his thin shirt.
“You sure you’re ready?” Ronan asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
Not even remotely.
“Yes.”
This time he managed to concentrate enough to actually hit the ball. It didn’t go far, though. Ronan shook his head as if this was the biggest disappointment in his life.
“You’re hitting it all wrong,” he told Adam moving closer. Ronan came to a halt behind Adam, stopping him with two hands on his shoulders when he tried to turn around. “Let me show you.”
Adam bit his lip and quietly thanked every god he knew that Ronan didn’t see his face right now.
Ronan’s body aligned with his, standing closer than was necessary but Adam wasn’t complaining. He tried not to lean into the touch when one of Ronan’s hands moved down his arms and gripped his wrist firmly. His touch was searing through every vessel in Adam’s body and it took everything to not turn around and jump Ronan right then and there.
“This is called the forehand stroke,” Ronan whispered in his good ear right before he swung his arm outwards and upwards in one swift motion.
“Got it?” Ronan asked softly. Adam nodded despite not remembering anything but the feel of Ronan’s skin against his.
“Good,” Ronan said normally now. He stepped back and Adam immediately felt the loss, though he was thankful for the opportunity to finally breathe.
“Now, show me.”
“What?” Adam asked, staring at Ronan who just smiled at him savagely.
“Show me the forehand stroke,” Ronan repeated, his voice dropping an octave. Adam felt his mouth open slightly. He took in Ronan’s relaxed stance, his hands buried in the pockets of those ridiculous shorts that clung to his thighs in a way that should be illegal, the way his arms nearly ripped the sleeves of his drenched t-shirt to shreds, the wicked glare in his eyes that dared Adam to take the jump.
So he did.
With a few long strides, he positively threw himself at Ronan, his hands pulling Ronan’s head down desperately. Ronan let out a soft laugh against his mouth but Adam had enough. He had been teasing him the entire afternoon and Adam needed to kiss him now or he’d lose his mind.
Adam bit Ronan’s lip in warning and relished in the moan Ronan let out. Adam took the opportunity to slot their lips together and finally get the kiss he deeply craved.
Ronan curled his arms around Adam’s lower back, pulling him flush against himself. Their kiss deepened and Adam hung on for dear life. Ronan’s lips against his sent a wave of heat through his body. The contrast of Ronan’s soft lips and the hard lines of his body left Adam trembling in his arms.
All thoughts were drown out besides fuck and more.
He broke the kiss to take a breath and took his time to angrily glare at Ronan.
“You planned this!” he said accusingly, poking his finger in Ronan’s hard chest who laughed breathlessly.
“I took an opportunity, Parrish,” Ronan had such a triumphant smirk on his lips, Adam had to kiss it off them. It was Adam’s turn to smirk when he licked into Ronan’s mouth and felt him tremble under his hands.
“Didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” Ronan said, his voice gravelly. Adam felt his knees weaken.
“Didn’t think you knew a word as long as that one,” Adam retorted and brushed a hand through his hair. Ronan let out a surprised laugh at Adam’s snark, one he heard often when he commented on other Aglionby students. It always made Adam feel warm and proud he could make someone like Ronan Lynch laugh.
“I don’t do casual,” Ronan needlessly pointed out. Adam rolled his eyes.
“Nothing between us has ever been casual,” he replied.
This had been building for a long time and Adam knew they would ultimately come to a crashing point. This was that one point they could never return from, no matter how hard they tried and Adam was ready to let himself fall head first into this.
Ronan smiled at him, a soft smile that made Adam’s heart beat faster than it already was. It must have shown on his face because Ronan stepped closer again, letting a hand linger on the side of his face. He leaned in and whispered, “let’s get out of here”.
Adam reached for his hand and pulled him towards his car.
No holding back.
#pynch#pynch fic#pynch fanfic#pynch fanfiction#adam parrish#ronan lynch#adam x ronan#ronan x adam#trc#trc fic#trc fanfic#trc fanfiction#the raven cycle fanfic#the raven cycle fic#the raven cycle fanfiction#the raven cycle#mine
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Rebirth.mp3
The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction
Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)
Radio/Broadcast AU
Inspired by Welcome to Night Vale
Happy Halloween/Wei Ying’s Birthday ❤
Read on AO3
No one knows how he does it. He drives occult enthusiasts mad, while young adults breathe his every word with the passion only lost souls who are desperate for escapism are capable of. His shadow and name have been a passing figure in mystery, horror and cheap literature for years already, and grandparents speak of him in low voices when the power goes out and the children are scared of the dark but paradoxically hungry for fear.
“Good evening, citizens of Yiling.”
The voice reaches the earbuds of the willing, no proper channel, no hyperlink to follow. But he’s there, he’s always there when the moon is bright, maybe not even full, and the air is crisp with the smell of rust. Everyone knows it comes from the Burial Mounds up north, where nothing lives but leafless trees and the decrepit building of an old radio station.
And him.
“This is the Yiling Patriarch with news from the Cultivation World.”
The skeptic are firm believers that he’s just a teenager with moderate to decent hacking abilities and too much time on his hands, yet they can’t help but listen in, waiting deep into the cloudless nights.
“At this month’s grand conference, the great five sects discussed the recent disappearances in Yunping city. Heavy was the burden on Yunmeng Jiang, whose brash Sect Leader has yet to succeed in defeating ghosts with the power of his temper.”
The listeners chuckle at the fictional antihero, a constant pariah in the Yiling Patriarch’s episodes. It never fails to disturb them, however, that the man is willing to dwell into recent occurrences without respect for the living. The authorities have no lead to follow on the case in Yunping but there he is, spinning tales about immortals who exorcise evil and save the world. How convenient it would be. How wonderful.
“The young Lanling Jin sect leader, ever eager, suggested flaunting his fortune in spiritual traps, which almost earned him a whipping from the legendary Zidian and ended the conference right there, as in previous occasions. But even though he means to solve the case on his own and recover some face before the Cultivation World, sect leader Jiang still brings no new clues to the table, which begs the question: how capable are the great sects in this age anyway?”
The Yiling Patriarch laughs away from the microphone, and his voice appears to echo, which is irrational, for how could he be in a place that echoes and still broadcast such a clear stream? His listeners lean forward, as if they’re his confidantes, listening in to a secret.
“Do they not wonder why the lotuses of Yunmeng look so pink this time of the year?”
His voice is closer, much closer, as if his lips are about to touch the microphone, their ears. The message makes them shiver, something crawling up their skin, not the sultry voice of the urban legend, but something else, unpleasant, sticky.
“Masters of Gusu Lan, play your songs to the lake closest to Yunping and rise them, rise them up, so Qishan Wen can shoot their arrows and immobilize these lost souls, and finally Qinghe Nie shall pluck the biggest lotus of the lake and carve their saber through her broken, resentful heart.”
They can practically see his smile, wide and feral, when he says, “Now, was that so hard?”
Oh, if they were real, they’d hate him. How easily he always cut through their conundrums, how he always spoke the solution like a detective who could so easily see the culprit through his myopia, with his hands taped to his back. Of course he can, he’s the puppeteer of the show, and there are no sects, no resentful ghosts.
But if there are also no wizards and no fights for glory in our present either, just the cold, harsh reality of days following one another and the crushing weight of responsibility upon our shoulders, how hurtful it is to imagine the honorable sects and their immaculate robes with a black-clad jester who mocks them for an audience?
There’s a tap against their ears, the Yiling Patriarch demanding attention.
“But dear citizens of Yiling, who can blame the sects for their confusion in this modern world? Thousands of years ago, times were simpler, resentment was simpler, death was simpler. Now there are so many small deaths, the death of character, the death of trust, the death of connection, each building resentment into a kind of core. Can you feel it? Did you feel it recently?”
His listeners nod, you nod, thinking of that colleague who spoke behind your back, your partner who complained about one of your habits, that relative you can’t stand but that you’re forced to smile at during family reunions. The Yiling Patriarch hums and the listeners close their eyes, readying themselves.
“The elders of Gusu Lan believe in purifying their bodies and mind, they believe in cleansing and rest, and they have tomes upon tomes of songs to deal with the illnesses of the soul. I believe they’re just as full of shit as the other sects and that there’s not one of us who’s free from resentment. But the songs... After millennia fighting blood with blood, they help me remember different times.”
The Yiling Patriarch inhales next to the microphone, and the next second, the notes of his flute flow through the stream, soft like a breeze, calming like a mother’s touch. The legend says that his flute Chenqing could raise the dead to fight against the corrupted, and even now, in our modern world, when we listen to his lullaby with our smartphones, the moon shines a little red, inviting, so inviting to the beasts inside us. His tune pierces through resentment and pulls us forward, as though physically, with his very hands. It’s an elegant melody. Romantic, even.
Ah. Is that where his heart is today?
“It’s been a year since the young master has been hot on my trail, Yiling.” His laugh is young, joyful. “He almost caught me in Yunping during the conference when I was distracted. Our tirade has been going for how many years now? I admit I’ve grown tired of it already. Tell me, second young master Lan, don’t you get tired of following me? Have we not chased each other across the globe enough, yet you still want me to pay for my crimes? It’s a new era, and I’m still way ahead of you all. Shall we not see eye to eye and go on night hunts together? Do you hear me, Lan Zhan?”
The Yiling Patriarch breathes against the microphone, close, so close, voice low against one’s ear, seductive like a kiss. And after beating resentment, what could take its place, if not romance?
“Beautiful, honorable Light-Bearer. The moon looks auspicious for us tonight. Don’t you want to come with me?”
A series of knocks sound in the background, instantly followed by the Yiling Patriarch’s intake of breath. His listeners hold still, having never heard an interruption to the broadcast before. It was always a piece about a conference, then a piece about the human condition, followed by a song and a personal anecdote. The young master Lan was mentioned plenty of times as an example of excellence where the other cultivators fail, although, by the old tales, he’s his very nemesis, the light to his shadow, the bringer of his destruction.
But there are knocks, and the Yiling Patriarch’s gleeful surprise.
“He’s here? Though I’ve secured myself behind a wall of charms and spells, he’s reached me?”
He sounds exhilarated, as though he finds happiness at the prospect of dying.
The listeners know. We can hear the longing at the edge of his sentences, read between the lines of his faux poetry. If the Yiling Patriarch has lived for thousands of years, then the Light-Bearer has lived just as long, for the sole purpose of him.
Of course it’s impossible, as there are no such a thing as immortals. They must be lovers role-playing to a wide audience, capturing us like a cheap romance book, ready to fall into the saucy bits.
“Yiling, remember to let spirits rest and to cultivate a kind heart. And if we never speak again, be patient with the cultivators of today, who have their hands full of young minds who have lost themselves. To all the sect leaders, stop relying on my broadcasts to solve your problems and cooperate with one another instead of measuring your egos in your conferences. And sect leader Jiang, stop frowning so much or your face is getting stuck that way.
I don’t know what awaits me on the other side of that door, but the moon is high and the spirits are abound, and my hands tremble with the wish to play a duet.
Above all, Yiling, remember...”
You can hear his smile.
“No dogs are allowed at the Burial Mounds.
Good night.”
He doesn’t cut off the broadcast. You can hear his steps fading away, and the sound of a door creaking open. There’s a new voice, the calling of a name, long known and long treasured, and echoes of movement, of breathing. You think it’s a struggle, that the Yiling Patriarch has finally met his demise, until he lets out a drawn-out moan.
Some listeners cringe, others hold their headphones tighter against their ears. Either way, you think you’re listening in to something personal, something you’re not supposed to. But the Yiling Patriarch is an exhibitionist, and the broadcast marches on.
There’s no such things as cultivators or immortals or ghosts.
But the crimson moon is high in the sky, and it’s the kind of night where the spirits are out and eager to play.
>Repeat 10_31_2019_-_Rebirth.mp3?
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