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acourtofwhatthefuck · 11 months

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Shrinking Violet - Part II (Rhysand x Reader)

Here's Part II of this (finally)! Took me a while but I got there. I really hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: SMUT ✨🌶️

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

There was a female in Rhysand’s lap.

A pretty female, with long, cascading blonde hair and eyes like a cerulean sky.

You didn’t care.

You’d seen her around the Hewn City before; males and females alike tended to turn her way when she passed. Tended to gape at the beauty in their midst.

You didn’t care.

And now she’d found her way into the High Lord’s arms.

You did not care.

Except that you obviously did.

You hadn’t seen Rhys since his last visit two months before. And that was fine — that was normal. The whole time you’d known him, he’d always dipped in and out, sometimes absent for months and months at a time. Sometimes visiting every few weeks. It had always been the case, and it had never bothered you before.

But it was his words from the last time that had stuck with you. Like a damn thorn in your side.

Come back to Velaris with me.

No.

Come back to Velaris with me.

No.

Come back to Velaris with me.

No.

He’d never said anything like that before. And, of course, you’d saved face — had joked and jested to brush off the weight of those words.

But they’d left you in a strange headspace. Left you wondering, for two months, if he’d meant them. Why he’d suddenly said them after years of the two of you fooling around.

So you hadn’t had even nearly as much confidence tonight as the night you’d worn a dress to match the shade of his eyes. You’d found yourself unsure, nervous.

You didn’t like being unsure and nervous.

And then you’d spotted Rhysand on his throne. And the female — Nyrinn, her name was — on his lap. And your nerves twisted into…something else.

The night wore on, your tolerance for being there dwindling by the second. Especially as Nyrinn’s giggles seemed to grow louder and more shrill as time rolled on, and no amount of wine could drown them out.

After two hours, you decided you’d had enough.

You drained your glass and set it aside, gathering up the skirts of your gown. You only attended these things because your father was a high-standing member of the Hewn City council.

But you’d shown your face — there was no rule that said you had to linger.

So you’d hastily exited the throne room, ignoring the feeling of gazes burning into your back. You didn’t care who noticed as you began to make your way back to your residence.

It was only when you were back within the walls of your opulent home that you realised how truly restless you were. You’d torn off your gloves and called to your maidservant that you didn’t wish to be disturbed, before skulking up to your bedroom with an ever-growing twist in your gut.

You didn’t want to read, or journal, or play an instrument, or think. You didn’t want to sleep or to be awake. You wanted…

You wanted to scream.

Ridiculous, for Rhysand to have such a profound effect on you. You were not a person who got churned up over males. You were not a female who simpered and sulked in her bedroom after being ignored.

But it wasn’t just that he’d ignored you, no. It was the point he’d blatantly made, by seating that female on his lap.

Come back to Velaris with me. Such pretty, useless words.

It was in pure, unwanted frustration that you tore your dress off and strode into your bathroom. You ran your bath far too hot, simply wanting the burn to take your mind off the High Lord. Pouring a concoction of oils into the water, you lowered yourself in, hissing in satisfaction at both the heat and the scent. You were relaxing blissfully in the luxury of a sunken tub whilst Rhysand sat with a frilly, giggling female on his lap—

No. You would not think about him any longer.

You closed your eyes, resting your head back against the tub and savouring the feeling of the hot water blanketing your skin. You took slow, deep breaths, allowing your body to loosen up, your muscles to relax—

Come back to Velaris with me.

Block it out, block it out, block it out.

My father used to tell me to stay far away from you.

Breathe. Breathe.

I think about you, you know.

Come back to Velaris with me.

You launched up in the bath, water spraying as you growled in frustration and grabbed the closest object — a soap bottle — and hurled it across the room.

You hated this. Being mixed up and restless. Being unsure of where you stood. How dare Rhysand plant such thoughts in your head. How dare he make you feel like this.

It wasn’t part of your game. It was always supposed to have been a game.

Sick of your bath already, you climbed out of the tub and towelled yourself off. Your skin felt too tight on your bones, too restricting. You threw your hair up, grabbed your pretty little robe from where it hung on the back of the door, and tied it around yourself, wandering back through to your bedroom.

“Do you always spend your bath time launching things across the room?”

You started, a yelp leaving you as you whipped around—

And found Rhysand lounging on your bed like it was his. One leg crossed over the other. Arms propped behind his head.

He surveyed you — the thin, silk robe that barely covered you — and his full lips twitched into a smirk. “Oh, that’s positively indecent.”

You clenched your jaw, pulling the robe tighter around yourself. “What are you doing?”

He tilted his head up to the ceiling. “I was trying to write a poem, but I don’t think I have a calling for it. I’m trying to rhyme with gyrating—”

“No, Rhysand. What are you doing in my room? Or my house?”

“As I said — trying my hand at poetry. Vibrating? High rating?”

“I did not invite you.” You marched over to the door. “Get out.”

Only then did he meet your gaze, and he finally sat up on your bed—but made no further move. He propped himself up casually. “I’m your High Lord. I invited myself.”

“Well uninvite yourself. Leave.”

You didn’t like the assessing gaze with which he looked at you. Like your tone and demeanour intrigued him, and he was trying to puzzle out its source. His eyes narrowed, head falling into a tilt, and he stated rather pointlessly, “You’re annoyed.”

Yes. “Why should I be annoyed?”

“You tell me. You couldn’t have left the throne room quick enough.”

“I didn’t realise that you’d noticed my presence.”

Rhysand’s eyes flashed at your response, the swimming violet shifting into a churning sea of something deeper — and you could have cursed yourself. You knew you’d shown your hand and exposed the bitter thoughts that were pawing at your mind.

His lips kicked up into a smirk. “I’m sorry. Did I not pay you enough attention?”

You turned to your dressing table, taking a seat in front of the mirror. “I don’t care what you do, Rhysand, unless it involves you leaving.”

“I don’t think that’s strictly true, is it?”

You didn’t deign to respond. You stared at your flushed reflection, wishing you could wipe away your terse expression as easily as the makeup you’d painted on earlier that evening. You didn’t want to be this affected by him. You wanted the ease of your game.

But your mind kept dredging up that image of Nyrinn on Rhys’s lap. And the rage that filled you was certainly not in keeping with the games that you played.

When it was clear to Rhys that you had nothing more to say to him, he finally rose from your bed. You waited to hear the click of the door, or feel the telltale sensation of him winnowing out of the room, but he instead traipsed around the bed until he was hovering behind you, close enough that the heat of his body seemed to permeate your thin robe.

“I’ve never seen your home before.” He stated unexpectedly, his fingers beginning to toy with a pin in your hair.

You shrugged, the movement causing your robe to slip down your shoulder. “Why would you have done? You don’t need to see my home to fuck me. Empty corridors were enough. I wonder if Nyrinn would echo that sentiment.”

Rhys’s hand paused, hovering in your hair. “I’m starting to think you’re jealous.”

You wanted to scowl. Were you jealous? Yes. No. You didn’t know.

You knew you didn’t want to be. You knew that you didn’t like what that must mean. That Rhysand had power over you that went beyond that of a High Lord and his subject. Power over your heart.

It was just…the words he had spoken the last time you’d seen him. They had been weighty and thrilling and terrifying. You’d turned them over in your mind every night since.

And Rhysand boldly sitting with another female on his lap was a message to you and you only. One that screamed, I didn’t mean what I said.

But that was fine, wasn’t it? You’d never promised each other anything beyond finding pleasure in each other’s bodies. Rhys owed you nothing. You owed him nothing.

You straightened yourself up in the mirror, schooling your expression into neutrality. “Of course I’m not jealous.”

Rhys studied you in the mirror for a moment. And then his fingers drifted from your hair, down to that shoulder that had been exposed by your robe. The pads of his fingers brushed your skin gently, and you gritted your teeth, trying not to enjoy the feeling.

“No?” Rhys hummed deeply. “I’m sensing some anger.”

“I’m not angry.”

His head dipped. His lips replaced his fingers, skating over your shoulder. “How about you show me how utterly not angry you are?”

Brat. He was such a fucking brat. Such a swaggering, entitled High Lord who had the world at his feet and damn well knew it. It only enraged you more.

And what you should have done with that rage was turf him out of your home and throw him on his ass, High Lord or no. You should have put your foot down and not allowed him to seduce his way out of this, whether he owed you nothing or not.

But this…the honeyed, suggestive remarks…this was territory you were familiar with. This was yours and Rhys’s thing. This was where you felt comfortable.

And so you would curse yourself for it later. But you turned your head to the side, your face now inches from Rhys’s.

He paused at the close proximity — the promise of your lips brushing. His breath hitched in his throat, and he applied the slightest bit of pressure, his mouth on yours—

You stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Get on the bed.”

You felt his body still beneath your hand. And you heard his throat bob as he swallowed. And when he pulled away, you could have sworn you glimpsed his hands trembling.

You didn’t care to think too much about it. You rose from your dressing stool, toying with the tie on your robe. Rhys watched you, slowly walking backwards as he did. When his legs hit the back of the bed, he let himself fall.

“Lie back.” You ordered.

He glanced at you once. And then scooted back, settling into the pillows. And despite the fact that he was High Lord…the most powerful High Lord, and the most important person within this mountain…he just looked like the same old Rhysand that you had always known. Beautiful. Dark. Resplendent amongst the pretty drapes of your huge bed.

And he looked strangely vulnerable as you climbed over him. Straddled him. His hands seem to inch towards your hips, but you shook your head once.

“Place them above your head.” You said.

Rhys blinked, a shudder of breath escaping him. The two of you had fucked in all sorts of places in the Hewn City, on all sorts of surfaces. You’d exchanged filthy words and pushed a little further with every round of your game you played.

But this was different. And judging by the heat that quickly filled Rhysand’s eyes…he was ravenous for it.

You were deliberately slow as you tugged the tie from your robe. Rhys tracked every tiny movement, and his throat bobbed as you grabbed both of his wrists in one hand, and used the tie to fasten them to the bed.

“I am not jealous or angry, Rhysand.” Such a gods-damned liar you were. “But my evening did not play out how I hoped it would. And I don’t like not being in control.”

His eyes watched you. Watched as you checked the knot you’d tied, before your hands slowly moved to rest on his chest. “And how did you wish for the evening to play out?”

“I would have liked another round of our game.” Your fingers toyed with the top button on his shirt. “But perhaps you’ve tired of me. Perhaps you’d rather play with Nyrinn.”

“I could never tire of you. You want control? Take it. It’s yours.”

There was a mild taunting in his tone that suggested he perhaps didn’t believe you to have the nerve. He was High Lord, after all, and you just the daughter of a reputable male in his court. You had an easy, luxurious life, void of risks, perhaps even of excitement.

But if he suspected you lacked nerve, well — he was seriously, gravely mistaken.

Without the tie, your robe had parted. You were done with it completely.

You whipped it off, tossing it behind you without a glance. Rhysand’s eyes fell to your now naked body, his pupils blown. He swallowed, and his wrists gave a jerk against the restraints you’d tied. They didn’t budge an inch.

He let out a frustrated huff. “I want to touch you—”

“Uh-uh.” You pressed a finger against his lips. “You said the control was all mine.”

“It is.” His teeth gritted. “It is.”

With a smile, you applied a small amount of pressure to his lips. Just enough for them to naturally part. Rhys’s eyes were firmly on yours as you slipped your finger into his mouth. He immediately sucked, his tongue flicking against your skin.

“Here’s how this is going to go, Rhysand.” You tugged your finger back, smiling at the whine he emitted. “Honesty will be rewarded. I’ll ask you questions, and I expect truthful answers. If you’re honest, you’ll get a prize.”

His throat bobbed. “What kind of prize?”

“The best kind.”

“And how will you know whether or not I’m being honest?”

“Well,” your lips twitched. You dragged your hand down your chest, skirting the turgid peaks of your breasts. “I have to trust that you’ll be smart enough to be honest. Because a single lie comes with a penalty you would not appreciate.”

Torturously slow, his heated violet gaze followed the direction of your hand, still descending the length of your body. His voice was rough, blunt, as he bit out, “What’s the penalty.”

“The penalty,” your fingers finally reached that sweet spot between your thighs, and you dragged a finger through your wetness, biting your lip, “is me leaving you tied up here, while I go and find another male to sate my needs. Perhaps one of your handsome friends. Cassian, or Azriel—”

He jerked against the restraints, a snarl rumbling deep in his chest. His eyes flashed a shade darker.

“Easy, High Lord.” You smirked. Dragged that finger back up. “All you have to do is swear your honesty. Do you swear it?”

His gaze was fully clasped on your finger now coated in your juices. He jerked again. “Let me taste you.”

“Do. You. Swear—”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. You have my word. I will be completely, hideously honest, even if it’s humiliating for me—”

His words were cut short as you shoved your slicked finger between his lips. They immediately fastened around it, and he sucked your wetness greedily, a satisfied moan breaking from him.

“Such a good High Lord.” You hummed. Your lips twitched as his hips bucked, his arousal pressing against you. “Let’s start with an easy question, shall we?”

His only response was to meet your gaze head-on, and suck your finger harder. There couldn’t possibly be anything left for him to taste, and yet he suckled and licked like a male parched.

“Question one.” Your fingers returned to the buttons on his shirt, poised to pop them open. “What is your favourite colour?”

Rhys seemed genuinely perturbed by having to part his lips. You quickly snatched your hand back, stroking a wet trail down his chin, his neck.

He answered without hesitation, “The colour of your eyes, of course.”

So he was going to play nice. Good. Your smile widening, you began to dutifully pop open those buttons on his shirt. Rhys’s chest seemed to heave with every touch.

He watched you closely as you reached the bottom, parting his shirt to expose his tan, muscled torso. He tugged at the restraints again, as though silently asking you to remove the shirt entirely. Your reprimanding glance had him promptly falling still.

You kept your gaze on his. “Question two. Another easy one. What were you thinking when you first glimpsed me in that violet dress?”

You could see the desire that crossed his face, his thoughts flitting back to that very night. That very dress. “I was thinking that the Mother had gifted me all my Winter Solstices at once, and that I am a very lucky male.”

So silver-tongued. But you rewarded him, all the same, by brushing your lips through that alley between his pectorals. And down the planes of his stomach. And down. Rhys grunted just as you pulled away.

“Next question.” You hummed, moving down his body still. Your own entirely naked body was on fire, begging to be touched, and you knew Rhys could scent how dripping you were between your legs.

But he couldn’t do anything about it. His nostrils flared, his throat bobbing.

“The last time you were here,” you said, “you told me that you think about me. Is that true?”

His eyes fluttered shut, yet he said nothing. You didn’t take your gaze away from his face as you skirted your fingertips over the hard bulge pressing through his breeches in a barely-there caress. Rhys immediately grunted.

“Is it true, Rhysand?”

“Yes.” He breathed. “It’s true.”

The words…they seemed to ignite something in your body; a scorching, desirous flame. You tried to shove it down, to snuff it out. To focus on the game.

Your hands reached the laces and buttons of his breeches. You tugged on one, two, and then stopped. “What is it you think about?”

“I think about your pretty little cunt.” He was like an animal with its prey as he watched you tug at another lace. “About the way it squeezes my cock right before you come.” Another. “I think—”

He cut himself off abruptly — as though he’d been about to blurt a thought he wasn’t quite ready to verbalise. It stroked at your curiosity, your ears pricking up.

“Honesty is rewarded, Rhysand.” You’d reached that final lace, pinching it between your fingers. Your other hand teased the sliver of skin exposed by the parting flap on his breeches.

A noise sounded deep in Rhys’s throat, and his head fell back. “I think about it being you who sits on my lap in that throne room. In front of everybody. Everybody knowing that I’m the one who gets to bury my cock in you. That nobody gets to touch what’s mine.”

A shiver coursed right through you. Save face, your self-preserving mind screamed at you, don’t let him see what his words do to you.

But gods above, they did a great many things to you. Your skin felt tight, hot. You wanted to drag your hands down your body, to touch yourself and abate the roaring need between your thighs.

The laces undone, only three buttons were what was keeping Rhys’s breeches on his hips. You popped the first button open.

“That seems awfully selfish.” You responded to his confession. “Did no one ever teach you how to share, High Lord?”

His teeth gritted. “I can share.” He hissed. “But I won’t share you. Never you.”

Heavy, weighty words.

The impact of them could have bowled you over. Could have sent you running from this room, from him—

But you didn’t want to share, either. And that was what this was about, wasn’t it? Beneath the need, the arousal, it was jealousy that drove you. Jealousy that encouraged your fingers to undo those final two buttons and part Rhysand’s breeches completely.

His cock was pressing hard against his underwear, and you inhaled his pleasant scent. Always citrusy. Always intoxicating.

Did you dare ask the next question on your tongue? Why won’t you share me? It was the most logical inquisition to follow, and yet—

And yet you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer.

So you focused on his body instead. Your fingers danced over that soft, cotton underwear, feeling out his hardened length.

Rhys’s head lolled back, his breath hitching. And he whined. “Please.”

Your lips flicked up at the corners. “Please?” You repeated. “Please what?”

“Touch me. With your hands, your mouth, just—touch me.”

“Answer another question,” you tugged his breeches down; he lifted his hips to assist you, “and I’ll touch you.”

He gritted his teeth. “What’s the question.”

One you had pored over in your mind again and again since your last encounter with Rhys. Even when you’d tried not to think about it, curiosity had been a bitch. You couldn’t help it. His silver tongue had left you wondering too many things.

“You told me that your father used to warn you to stay away from me.” Your fingers skirted the waistband on his underwear, dipping just beneath and stopping. “I want to know why.”

“Fuck,” Rhys swore quietly. “You’re going to destroy me, Y/N.”

“Perhaps.” You snapped the waistband. “But you’d probably enjoy it. You either answer the question and I slide my mouth over your cock, or I can untie you and we can leave things well alone.”

Both of you knew there was no competition between those two options. But Rhys still groaned quietly, his heart thumping in his chest.

You made to slide your hand away—

“He used to warn me to stay away from you,” he clenched his jaw, “because he knew that I couldn’t. Because he knew that you…that you’re different.”

Your entire body paused. These words weren’t the flirtatious, teasing ones you’d been expecting.

These words were real. They were powerful. Perhaps altering.

And you dealt with them in the same way you dealt with anything that made you feel too much.

You drove them away with desire.

You’d asked for honesty, and he’d offered it up on a silver platter. You couldn’t deny that.

Your fingers gripped his underwear, and you pulled them down until they were joining his discarded breeches on the floor. And his cock was springing up — painfully hard and already leaking. You took in the sight, humming in appreciation.

“Please.” Rhys said again, his hips bucking. “Fuck—please.”

“For being an honest High Lord.” You met his violet stare. Wrapped your hand around his rigid length. “You did so well.”

Rhysand’s answering groan as you slowly began to pump him told you precisely how desperately he wanted this. His head fell back once more, eyes screwing shut and lips parting. The sight only had you growing wetter.

You started slow and languid, taking your time to appreciate every little twitch and jerk. Most of yours and Rhys’s fucks had been quick and heated, a case of shoving your clothes off and carrying each other to release. And you’d sucked his cock before, yes, but mostly in darkened corridors where you’d not had the luxury of light nor of time.

Now, you had both. Now, you could see it all.

Rhys lifted his hips, bucking up into your hands as a desperate moan left him. You knew what he wanted. You wanted it, too.

Using your free hand to cup his balls, your other still gripped his cock as you leaned in and swiped your tongue over the head, tasting the pleasant saltiness there.

“Shit.” Rhys immediately hissed, his eyes returning to you once more. They were so much darker than usual, the violet heated and sinful as he watched you take the head of his cock into your mouth, and he bit his lip. “Holy fucking gods.”

You chuckled around him. His enjoyment, his noises — they were as pleasurable as him outright fucking you. You slid your hand between your legs, dipping your fingers into your dripping cunt as you dragged your tongue down the length of Rhys’s cock. His eyes immediately shot to your fingers that you’d begun to pump in and out of yourself, and a snarl left him as he jerked at the restraints.

“I want to touch you.” He begged. “Just a touch.”

“I’m in control, Rhysand.” You reminded him. Your hand was still pumping him, twisting around the head in a way you knew was torturous for him. You slid your lips over him and hollowed your cheeks as you sucked.

He was whining, groaning, hips bucking and stomach caving. But you pushed and pushed, sliding your mouth further onto him, sucking and licking and paying special attention to the underside — the vein that was pulsing there.

“Fuck—stop!” Rhys jerked. “I don’t want to come yet. Please.”

Gods, you loved the sound of him begging. A sound you would happily listen to forever. One that could sing you to sleep at night.

But you didn’t want him to come yet, either. And that was the only reason you appeased him and pulled him from your mouth with a resounding pop.

You slid your fingers out of yourself, your juices glistening on your skin. And when you used them to slick Rhys’s cock even more, his eyes damn near rolled into the back of his head.

“You want to taste me?” You smiled, your fingers idly running up and down his cock.

“No.” Rhys gasped. “I need to taste you.”

And quite frankly, you needed him to taste you. Your fingers hadn’t been enough, hadn’t taken the edge off even slightly.

“For playing so nice, Rhysand,” you rose, moving up the bed, “you can taste me.”

He watched, a male utterly entranced as you stood before him. And when you planted your feet either side of him, inches from his face, his eyes drank in the sight of your cunt greedily.

“Taste.” You commanded, lowering your centre to his face.

Rhys growled, his tongue swiping out to lick an agonising, heated stripe right up you, from your entrance to your clit. He grazed his teeth there, and a moan tumbled from your lips, your fingers sinking into the strands of his hair as you ground yourself against his face.

He lapped and laved at you, taking everything you gave him. And you knew that had his hands been untied, he would have sunk his fingers into you, fucked you with him.

But they weren’t untied.

So he used his tongue instead.

The moment his tongue slid inside you, your head was falling back. The feeling was too much — too good. You were gripping onto his hair and onto the headboard and trying desperately not to collapse from the way your body was already beginning to tremble.

Rhys made an affirming, encouraging noise. And you knew him well enough to know what he was asking of you. Ride my face. Fuck my tongue.

You did just that.

You didn’t know how you managed to stay upright as you writhed against him, every inch of you trembling. And when you moved your fingers to your clit and began to circle there, his tongue moving in and out of you, you exploded.

You screamed as release spread through you, not caring one tiny bit about who heard. You hoped people heard. Hoped people knew you were coming on their High Lord’s tongue.

Rhys groaned, swallowing every last drop of you and enjoying every second.

You didn’t know how you were able to steady yourself enough to pull back. But as you did, the mere sight of Rhysand almost sent you hurtling to release all over again.

He panted, stared at you, his face glistening with your come. His tongue swiped out, lapping up every last bit he could reach.

You needed him inside you. Now.

Your hands coasted his body as you moved down. Questions and games and teasing were far, far behind you. This was pure, carnal need.

But as you straddled Rhys, gripping his cock to steady him, he was stopping you—

“Y/N.” Your name was soft on his lips. “Untie me. Please. Let me touch you.”

You paused. It wasn’t a needy, whining plea — but an earnest one. An emotional one.

And it was that which made you comply.

You sank down onto his cock first. The two of you both sucked in a breath with every inch of him that slowly entered you. He filled you so perfectly, so exquisitely—

Only when he was fully seated inside you, your hips beginning a slow, steady rhythm of riding him, did you reach out and unfasten the restraints.

“Touch me.” You whispered, tossing the tie aside.

You expected Rhys to cup your breasts as he had done countless times before. Or perhaps to return to your clit, to use his fingers there while you rode him.

You hadn’t anticipated the way his hands instead gripped your face — gentle, tender.

His palms cupped your cheeks, and he leaned in, slanting his lips over yours.

You’d kissed countless times before. But those kisses had been needy, hungry, a ravenous build-up to your bodies meeting.

This kiss was slow and deep. Rhys’s tongue traced the seam of your lips, and as he slid it into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him, he stroked his thumb across your cheek.

You couldn’t bear it.

It was too…gentle. Too meaningful.

You planted your hands on his shoulders, picking up the pace of your hips, rolling them and grinding them against him. You moaned breathlessly, savouring the feel of his cock thrusting into you. You knew he couldn’t last much longer.

“Slow.” He panted, pressing peppered kisses to your mouth. “Slowly.”

“No.” You moaned. You tore your lips from his, leaning down to nip at his neck. “I want you to come.”

“Fuck.” His hands fell down to grip at your ass, and he seemed unable to hold himself back any longer. He lifted you slightly, his cock slamming into you, the resounding slap of skin on skin filling the room.

You screamed, your fingers digging into Rhys’s shoulders as a second orgasm hit you, overpowering your entire body. You felt utterly boneless as you shook against him.

“Oh gods.” Rhys gasped. “Gods—Y/N.”

He slammed in to the hilt — and spilled into you with your name on his tongue, melting into an incoherent, desperate groan.

You felt every twitch and spurt of his cock inside you. It was all you could do to hold onto him, to keep yourself upright, as your sweat-slick bodies trembled against each other.

And then there was silence; aside of your heavy breathing, utter silence.

Your eyes were still screwed shut, and yet you could feel Rhysand looking at you as he held you. His forehead pressed against yours, and he stroked a hand down your back.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He murmured.

Those words again. They chased you. Haunted you.

“No.” You whispered.

For a moment, there was no reaction. And then Rhys was pulling back. He tugged your chin up. “Look at me.”

You did — if only to avoid feeling like a coward. But staring into his eyes was a grave mistake.

Such strong emotion swam there. And he wore it openly.

“Come back with me.” He said again. “What do you have here?”

“I have my life—”

“Your life that you spend running from feeling things?”

Your face sobered. “Fuck you, Rhys.”

He grimaced — knew he’d said the wrong thing. His arms tightened around you. “Look, just…just talk to me. Tell me why you won’t come back with me.”

For a multitude of reasons. Because I’m not in control when I’m with you, and that scares me. Because I’m worried you’ll eventually grow bored of me and wish I’d never come. Because you’re capable of utterly shattering my heart—

“I’ve never left this mountain.” You said simply. “What would I do in Velaris?”

“I think you’d be amazed by the amount of things you could do.” He reached out, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “You are wasted in this place, Y/N. You should be out in the world — with me.”

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. He sold it well; you couldn’t deny you were tempted. But you were scared.

“Why don’t you just…come for a week?” He then said. “No strings attached, no commitments. Come and spend a week in Velaris. See what it has to offer. See how you like it. Meet my friends properly — get to know them.”

You shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Then they’d be fools. But I know they’ll like you as much as I do.”

You stared at him, and he stared back. As much as I do. He’d never been so…on the nose about it.

“…I don’t know…”

“Just a week.” He stroked your cheek again. “You don’t even have to spend it with me, if you don’t want to.”

It seemed ludicrous to even bring it into question, but…you knew he meant it. He would leave you alone if you asked.

But you’d never ask. It was quite clear to you how much you didn’t want him to leave you alone.

“One week?” You said. Even lingering on the cusp of agreeing sent a thrill through you. This was new. Exciting. Nerve-wracking.

Rhys leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. “One week.”

“Ask me again, then, Rhysand.”

He drew back. Met your gaze. “Come back to Velaris with me.”

And although every self-preserving instinct screamed at you to refuse yet again, you dipped your chin in acceptance. Even if the mere prospect was fraught with nervous anticipation.

“Okay.” You said. “You can have me for one week.”

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nevertheless-moving · 12 days

Text

Stormlight AU Number Three Chapter One, Part One

"Captain? May I speak with you? I had one more thing that I was hoping to discuss. At your convenience, sir."

He turned to see Renarin, still lingering at the edge of the now mostly quiet campfire, stack of clean bowls beside him.

Kaladin barely restrained a sigh of annoyance. He had been planning on checking on the other barrack fires, then maybe getting some actual sleep.

"Of course, Brightlord," he said, stuffing down any irritation.

The prince jumped to his feet, looking nervously at the handful of men, some of whom had pulled out a deck of cards and were either genuinely no longer paying attention to the Brightlord among them, or were doing a very good impression of nonchalance.

Seriously? Kaladin thought, curious despite himself. He just begged to join a darkeyed spear crew, practically in public. Called a shashbranded man 'Sir' in front of a dozen witnesses and the open air. I didn't think he even knew what discretion was.

Kaladin tilted his head to the side, and they moved away from the group, well out of earshot, but Renarin still glanced at the other men in fear.

Talat's sword, the kid was tense as a bowstring again, hands shaking even as they clenched his sides, though they still didn't go for that box of his. A few twisting black spren trailed him. If Kaladin had thought he had been anxious before, then this was a whole other level.

"What do you think it is?" Syl asked, passing overhead, ruffling black and yellow hair. Renarin twitched at the breeze.

"I know some of the other bridgemen were whispering mean stuff about him," she said, examining the prince, "But I don't think he heard, and you said soldiers don't come to their commanding officers about that sort of thing, right? And he looks too scared for that, anyway. Unless they were really being cruel."

With another narrowly repressed sigh, Kaladin led them further away, to an alley between a storage building and an unused barrack, out of both sight and sound.

Something more about his Epilepsy, maybe?

Renarin pulled a sapphire mark out as they left the glow of firelight behind, blue light making the visible tremble of his fingers more obvious. The prince went even further, to the dead center of the alleyway. Even if someone skulking around the corner abandoned all pretenses and pressed an ear to the wall, they would be hard pressed to hear a quiet conversation.

And still, Renarin looked nervously to both of the alley's exits.

Kaladin's heart started to pick up in sympathetic dread. "Soldier?" he finally asked. "You wanted to speak with me?"

The youth flinched, before bowing his head and leaning forward.

"I need your help," he said, staring at the ground.

Kaladin furrowed his brow. "With...?"

"I need your help with—" he cut himself off, seeming to choke on the words. He let out a frustrated sounding grunt.

"We..." The prince opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands also opened and closed at his sides. "You..."

"How— his jaw snapped shut again and even in the low light, Kaladin could see him swallowing several times, before taking a deep breath and setting his jaw.

"You... survived a highstorm. You... healed from that."

Kaladin started at the unexpected line of conversation. Syl crossed her arms in the air, staring Renarin down.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "Not a pleasant experience."

"And you fought off the Parshendi army. When you charged the tower. By yourself."

"My whole bridge fought," Kaladin retorted, slightly offended on their behalf.

Renarin shook his head. "Yes, but you cleared the landing for them. You went ahead. And you won."

Kaladin's heart picked up a bit more.

"Briefly," he said with forced calm. "My men—"

"And you saved my father. From the Parshendi Shardbarer. By yourself... Adolin is still resentful of that, I think."

This time Kaladin said nothing. He hadn't done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Nothing to give away his advantages. His achievements had been unusual, yes. But that was common knowledge. Nothing to panic about when confronted, even by a prince with an unnerving tendency to watch people.

"I wondered... I suspected. But then I saw..."

Renarin looked up, but not at Kaladin. He stared into space, eyes unfocused, then shook his head.

"I saw you breathing in Stormlight," he whispered.

"Oh!" Syl said. "Oh!" She looked at Kaladin, but he wasn't listening to her right now.

A chill ran down Kaladin's spine, and it took everything he had not to move back in the narrow space.

"Breathing in stormlight?" he repeated after a moment, trying to sound confused. Trying, at least, not to sound afraid.

Brightlord Renarin's eyes snapped to his and now he found it very easy to hold himself in place. He didn't think he could move, chill down his back having hardened to ice.

"I saw you. And then I saw it — and I saw it again. A faint glow...you're a surgebinder. I know it. I saw it." The Brightlord's stare, somehow, grew even more intense.

Oh. It's over. It's all over.

"Kaladin! Kaladin!" Syl floated before his face, between Renarin and himself. "It's going to be okay! We like Renarin, remember? Try and calm down — just, just listen to him, alright? I have a good feeling about this."

"I..." Kaladin cleared the sudden dryness from his throat, clenching his hands into fists to try and control his abrupt, almost painful shivers. When had the night grown so storming cold? Why was the cold making it hard to breathe? "Who else knows?"

"No one!" the prince assured him quickly. "I wouldn't — I know it's a secret."

That softened a fraction of the crushing tightness in his chest. But only a small amount.

"What do you want?" Kaladin managed to get out. "What do you want from me?"

"I need help," Brightlord Renarin said, hands coming together in front of him, thumbs shifting end over end. "Please... I. Please. You have a spren. The assassin didn't, but you do. She looks like a windspren, but she's something else, right? Something more."

The weight, impossibly, redoubled on his chest. He sucked down a breath, then struggled to take in another.

I knew it. I knew it.

"Kaladin! Kaladin can you hear me?" Syl said, from very far away.

I knew they'd try and take her from me.

He saw the Brightlord 's terrible blue eyes as if from the end of a tunnel, looming above him. At some point he had stumbled back, the soulcast stone wall frigid behind him.

He couldn't fight. If he killed a third dahn, even if he could bring himself to kill Dalinar's son, he'd never know peace again. Bridge four would never know peace. He couldn't attack the prince, who was under Kaladin's protection, possibly twice.

He couldn't run. His men were here. He wouldn't be able to get to them all, not before they came after him.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run.

He couldn't — he couldn't — he looked desperately for Syl.

She hovered over him, tears in her eyes, mouth moving silently.

He couldn't protect her.

The tunnel closed in around him.

...

"...says this weird shade of orange is the next big color—"

Kaladin blinked in bewilderment. He turned to see Prince Renarin next to him, talking nonsense.

"—but honestly the fabric swatches give me a headache..."

He glanced towards Syl, searching for an explanation, but she seemed enthralled, laying on her front in the air, heels kicked up behind her.

"I hope he moves on as fast from this as he did yellow. He still can't make up his mind about Takamas, though he pretends that..."

There was about two week's worth of pay between them. Two weeks worth of pay for him now, as head of the cobalt guard. A small fortune. Pocket change to a prince.

"Why," Kaladin said, too confused to be anything but blunt, "are you sitting on the ground next to me, talking about fashion?"

The prince startled, scrambling halfway up before kneeling back down, level with Kaladin.

They were on the ground. Why were they on the ground...in an alley?

"I'm sorry!" the youth said. "It's what Adolin does when I... when the world is too much and I leave my head. I wasn't sure what else to do."

Kaladin felt slightly dizzy. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself involuntarily. Hazy dread started creeping back towards him, like fronds after a storm.

"I'm sorry," Renarin whispered again. "I've done this all wrong. I should have started by showing you, but I was too scared. I'll show you now."

He fumbled with the sphere, in his hand, bringing it close to his face. Then he took a deep breath.

And the light from the sphere went alongside.

Kaladin gaped as the prince glowed in the dark alley.

"I'm a surgebinder too," he said, light escaping quickly as he spoke. "I'm not trying to take your spren, I swear. I'm came to ask your help with mine, and for your help controlling my abilities." He glanced down, and it occurred to Kaladin he might be looking at something, someone, Kaladin couldn't see.

"Glys says that he thinks there's something wrong with him, that my powers are manifesting differently then he thinks he was expecting. I've told him that it's probably me, that I tend to mess things up, but he seemed sure that something happened to him, even if he can't quite remember...and I realized that you..."

He turned watery blue eyes towards Kaladin. "I'm sorry to bother you. There's not a lot of people I can ask for help with this. Please...if you can help him. Help us."

"Oh," Kaladin said, feeling strange. "You're like me."

Renarin blushed, staring at his lap, face illuminated by the last wisps of light escaping his skin. "I'm really not. I'm not a warrior, I can't even wield a Shardblade without..."

Syl hissed beside him.

"I don't like Shardblades," Kaladin said innanely. "I mean, I thought it was because of the death I had seen them deal, but Syl hates them worse than anything."

"I... hear something when I hold mine. Screaming. It hurts. It hurts Glys too, I'm pretty sure, though he won't admit it. I thought it was hallucinations at first, but..."

"I don't — Hm. Actually, I couldn't actually bring myself to touch one, when I had a chance," Kaladin said quietly. "If you want, I suppose, you could summon yours, and I could try to touch it, and if I hear something too, then..."

He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it but...there was someone like him. A lighteyes, but still.

Renarin sat back, closing his eyes. He reached his hand out to the side, turning away as if braced for blow. He winced when the blade finally dropped into his hands, gritting his teeth.

"It's terrible," Syl whispered. "It's...it makes me angry, so angry, but also...sad?"

Kaladin forced himself to reach forward, not wanting to prolong Renarin's obvious pain. He felt the same as he did every time he saw one of the things, no matter from how far away — that same sense of wrongness, of concentrated injustice. He carefully touched the flat of the blade, and...

Screaming.

He could hear screaming. Inside his head. Syl! She was dying!

It reverberated through Kaladin. His muscles spasmed as that horrible, awful screech shook through him. He pulled back, gasping, looking frantically for Syl. She was crying, and he reached for her with trembling hands, even though he knew they wouldn't be able to touch. She stumbled towards him.

Renarin dismissed the blade, slumping in relief. "So you hear it too."

"Storms! What was that? How did you stand bonding with it?" He cradled Syl in both hands, almost able to feel her, soft as a breeze on his palms.

"It...was a really bad week."

Kaladin barked out a laugh, then pulled himself together.

"Well, either we're both crazy, or...it's a Radiant thing. Something to do with the Recreance, I'd guess."

The corners of Renarin's lips twitched up slightly as he nodded. "That's...I'm truly sorry, I know that was terrible, but it's such a relief —"

"No, I get it —" The cold, the earlier misplaced terror was ebbing in away. Even that horrible scream. In its place, was a feeling that he could best describe as relief. "It's — it feels good to not be alone."

Renarin hummed softly, nodding vigorously in agreement, then tucked his chin to his chest.

If he had to pick a lighteyes to become a surgebinder... well, Renarin was probably the best choice, the least likely to misuse his power of anyone of his class that Kaladin had met. Bizarrely humble, despite his proximity to the throne. It could be a lie of, course, but he didn't seem to have the...entitlement that led other lighteyes into casually committing horrors.

Kaladin studied the prince. At some point he had pulled out that box of his, and was turning it end over end in shifting patterns. Renarin looked up, met Kaladin's eyes, then quickly looked back down, blushing.

Storms, had he really been scared off this man?

Dalinar, an honorable lighteyes if one existed, could be frightening, exuding the sense that he expected the world to move to suit his needs. Zahel may have had a point about Renarin's character, not to mention his willingness to come here the way he did, rather than demand answers on his own turf...

And a radiant Spren chose him, too. Surely, that had to be a good sign, if nothing else? Then again, Syl chose me, so who knows.

"I also forgot a lot," Syl said, and Renarin turned to look at her, eyes wide.

"Oh! You're —"

"Slyphrena," she said, smiling, standing proud on Kaladin's hand. "Honorspren, though I didn't remember that part until kind of recently. I just thought I was a weird windspren, that is when I could string two thoughts together!"

She turned into mist, sneaking up Renarin's arm like clouds over a mountain range.

"Where's your spren? What type are they anyway? They're not a cryptic, are they? Come on, it's been ages since I had someone intelligent to talk to who wasn't a windspren."

Kaladin rolled his eyes.

"Glys?" Renarin asked softly. There was a long pause. "He — uh. He's too nervous to come out right now."

The syl cloud paused at Renarin's shoulder, then shifted back into her female form.

"Huh!" she said. "So he's like you!"

Renarin let out a bemused huff of air. "Yes, yes he is. I thought that might also be a radiant thing, since we're bonded, but..." He looked out of the side of his eyes at Syl who was sitting on nothing, swinging her legs, then back at Kaladin, who quickly tried to school his resting features into something not a scowl.

"This... this is exactly the type of thing I wanted to talk to you about," Renarin said. "There's books on Radiants, but I don't think I could have them all read to me without word spreading. I've been mixing them in with other random subjects, but I don't know what would happen if this got out. The ardents already mutter about my cousin and my father committing heresy, and I'm not nearly as, uh, established as them."

Kaladin nodded, eagerness surprising himself. But damn it, Renarin had asked for his help, and it would be good to talk with someone who knew how Stormlight felt in their veins, maybe spar, if he could get Renarin a different weapon.

Renarin might not be as stocky as his brother and father, but he must exercise, as he clearly had some amount of lithe muscle, now that Kaladin looked closer. He wasn't as young as Kaladin had first thought, and his height would give him reach. How much of his perceived frailness was just because of his family's shadow? How much of his martial ability had been held back by his Epilepsy, now no longer a problem? How much had that sword held him back, once he had the chance to actually fight?

"I train with stormlight sometimes, in the chasms," Kaladin said. "When I can get away. Sigzil, Rock, and Lopen help. If you can convince your father to actually serve on a spear crew, then next time I'll have you join us — the other men might mutter about you getting special training, but well..."

"I'll live. Though I was being honest when I said I wanted to be a soldier, or something close to one."

"I believe you. We'll figure something out — it's not as though my duties allow me to get away often. Most of the time you'll be cleaning boots and drilling spear forms, don't worry."

Renarin nodded, hands turning the box over. "So... those three, they know about you? Who else?"

"All of bridge four," Kaladin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or the ones who were there when I charged the tower, anyway...there wasn't really away to keep it secret after that. I was terrified that someone in your army would see. Plus Shen, he was there when I talked more about more powers around the first stew in this camp. Not any of Lopen's cousin's, I don't think. Or the injured recruits. Just the original bridge four, and... now you."

"Oh..."

They sat in silence, Renarin twisting his box around. Kaladin grew briefly distracted following the lines.

"I'm sorry," the prince finally said. "I know you wouldn't have wanted any lighteyes to know. It's one of the reasons I didn't say anything to you when I just had suspicions. I'm truly sorry to have alarmed you like that, I wasn't expecting..." Renarin continued twisting pieces about in an oddly soothing way. "But if I thought someone was coming after Glys... Brightlords have taken a lot from you, haven't they?"

Kaladin grimaced but didn't say anything. He forced himself to look away from the box, he didn't want Renarin to think he was staring. The prince was very perceptive, sometimes.

They sat in silence for a longer time.

"Should I tell bridge four about me?" Renerin asked eventually.

"It's up to you. They're good men, but I understand if its a bit soon for you."

Another long silence. The men were probably wondering what had happened to them, the ones who hadn't gone out for drinks, anyway.

"I don't think I want to, not yet. My abilities... they frighten me." The prince's fingers tightened around the metal cube, knuckles growing white.

"What... what are your abilities? I know there were different orders, which could do different things..."

"Truthwatcher," Renarin whispered. "Or so Glys tells me."

"Windrunner."

A small red light pulsed beneath Renarin's shirt, quickly winking out, and the prince wrinkled his brow. "Huh. Glys is surprised by that for some reason."

"I'm the only Honorspren," Syl said quietly. "The only one who would come. The rest — I can't remember, but they're not here. There were...others. Other types of spren who came through, but not ones like me." She ran her fingers through her hair in an oddly human gesture of frustration.

Renarin forced his shoulders back, tension returning. Kaladin waited while he arranged his thoughts, in the mean time letting himself enjoy watching the shapes that Renarin unconsciously formed and dissolved out of the box's rows.

"I'm not completely sure what I can do. I can grow things. There were some seeds in one of my meals and — they grew, as if a weeping passed in a minute. Some rockbuds outside my window did too. Glys thinks I might be able to do that for people, but I haven't really had the chance to try."

Kaladin's jaw dropped and he couldn't help but reach for the prince, stopping himself just before he grabbed the man's shoulder's. "That's incredible! With stormlight — you could prevent famines with that! And people — you mean you think you could heal?"

Renarin nodded, a few shockspren breaking around him.

"That's incredible," he said, giving into the urge to shake the man's shoulders. "Renarin, that's amazing!"

The prince blinked rapidly, cheeks and ears darkening. "Really? I mean can't Windrunners — you can fly can't you?"

"I haven't... figured out flying. I assumed it was impossible, before I saw the Assassin. But I did figure out wall walking, just earlier today, and I think I can see how that would turn into — it wouldn't really be flying, just sort of...falling sideways. I think I could do it, with practice."

"Wow."

Kaladin shook his head. "People don't appreciate healing as much as they should. My father trained me as a surgeon —"

A wave of melancholy hit him, as it often did when he thought of home.

"That makes a lot more sense then field medicine training that would cover epilepsy."

Kaladin smiled. "Anyway. If you could heal like the Radiants from myths could...I can't express how incredible that would be. The growing crops by itself is..."

Renarin smiled shyly, looking pleased, and Kaladin pressed one last time on both shoulders before drawing back.

"That's not... the only thing I do." The prince looked down. "The other thing I do — well. It feels more like it happens to me, actually. I've been pretending it's my epileptic fits but those actually stopped around when I bonded with Glys."

"I stick rocks together," Kaladin offered. Renarin cocked his head, peeking up through his lashes, and Kaladin sighed. He breathed in a small amount of light, picking up a pebble, then pressed it to the wall.

"Oh!" Renarin said, scrambling to look. "Wow!" He reached for it, but the pebble fell almost immediately.

"Eh. I've tried using it sparring, and honestly its easier just to fight normally."

"But maybe with practice..."

"Maybe. I've gotten some use out of it, but it's not quite as exciting as walking on walls, or as useful as growing crops."

Renarin scrubbed a hand across his face. "My other thing. It's not boring... it's bad. It's. Pretty bad." He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes, and drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Do you ever... get highstorm visions? Like my father?" the prince asked, not opening his eyes.

"A few times," Kaladin said, just as quietly. "You?"

Renarin nodded, than shook his head. "Mine are...different," he said grimly. "And they don't always happen during storms." His hands picked at the cuffs of his pants, then worked to follow the seams of his shining leather boots.

Kaladin waited, but it didn't seem like the prince was going to keep going without Kaladin giving something.

"Mine aren't like your father's either. I understand those are of the past, mine...it's like I was the high storm, I could see the continent moving beneath me. The last was when the assassin came. I...the Stormfather, I think it was him, said 'he was coming.'

Renarin jerked to face him, his eyes opening wide, alight with...hope? "You mean you saw the future?"

Kaladin recoiled on instinct, and he could see the spark die in Renarin's eyes.

Oh. Oh.

"You could call it that," Kaladin said carefully. "Though I feel the Assassin was already, uh, fairly present. More like a warning from an ally, although I don't think the stormfather actually likes me."

He didn't want to talk about the Stormfather's accusations about killing Syl. He hadn't even talked to Syl about that.

"He said he was sorry about 'him' coming," Kaladin explained. "And I didn't see the assassin but – Um. Do you..."

Renarin nodded, shoulders slumping and head curling down. It was hard to see, shadowed as he was, but his eyes looked open now, watery and looking into nothingness.

"The images don't always make sense in the moment. At first I thought it was just...madness. The things I see...it would be better if it was just madness. But they always come true. Always."

An agony spren appeared from the ground, reaching for the hem of the prince's pants. Another followed close behind.

Kaladin sat thinking, not wanting to reply hastily and make things worse again.

"Can you guess what my men said, after they found out what I could do?" Kaladin asked slowly.

Renerin shook his head, but the agonyspren at least faded.

"I was terrified that they would think it was alarming. Unnatural. I thought I was cursed for a while...and Skar said, "If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it." And...that was that."

Renarin clutched his knees closer, starting to rock slightly. "I don't know if my powers can do that," he whispered. "It feels like the visions can't be changed. I don't know how to change them, I barely understand what half of them mean, not until it's too late."

"Maybe...that's part of why there are so many warnings about being wary of telling the future?" Kaladin said. "It would be easy to think they're guarantees, and set yourself up for failure, but if they're more like highstorm predictions..."

"You think?"

Kaladin shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know. But I realized that this — what I can do, what we can do — it's not evil, and its not a curse. So... maybe the legends of telling the future are like the stories of the radiants turning against mankind. Too much time has passed, and everything we know now is confused."

"Hm. I don't know," Syl said doubtfully. "I still feel like predicting the future is weird and dangerous."

"Syl!" Kaladin hissed, while Renarin curled in tighter, rocking staying the same speed.

"But," she said, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes, "I like you Renarin, and I'm a tiny piece of God with impeccable taste, so you can't be evil."

Kaladin slapped a hand to his face, but Renarin seemed to unfold at that, blinking rapidly.

"Really? Glys says as far a spren go, you're the ones that are pure Honor."

"Obviously," she said, sounding for all the world like a stuck up lighteyes.

"And you — you like me? You... think I have honor?"

She squinted at him, and he straightened like a soldier awaiting inspection.

"Yep!" She said finally. "You're not as good as my human obviously —"

"Syl," Kaladin hissed again, flushing, but Renarin just nodded.

"—But I like you, so you must be honorable. And my Kaladin can be weird and dangerous, too, so it's probably fine."

"That's—" Kaladin started to protest, but saw how inexplicably cheered Renarin looked and decided to let it go.

"We should probably get back to the others," Kaladin said finally. A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he stumbled to his feet. Storms, he felt like he had just run a marathon. He brushed off flakes of dried crem from the back of his uniform.

Renarin clambered up after him, and he looked...lighter. His hands twisted over the box, but they weren't shaking. He smiled widely at Kaladin, teeth showing, genuine relief and joy and hope crinkling the corners of his eyes. Kaladin couldn't help but pause and smile back.

"You — you won't tell anyone? About me?" Kaladin blurted out, before they fully left the alley. He just — he had to be sure.

Renarin nodded furiously.

"And I won't tell bridge four about you," Kaladin promised in return. "Not until you ready, but... they might guess, if we keep meeting."

"I understand," Renarin said, expression earnest. "And...I really want to talk more. This...just this meant a lot."

"And maybe..." Renarin looked at Syl, then his voice dropped to a hopeful whisper. "If Glys is willing to talk to Syl, they could try and work on the gaps in their memory together, about where they came from."

Kaladin nodded slowly. Storms, I didn't even think... if it could help Syl... maybe I can move the schedule around so I guard Renarin in the evenings, so we can have more time for them to figure it out.

"Thank you," Kaladin said, reaching out a hand and grasping Renarin's shoulder. "I know it wasn't easy coming to me like this."

Renarin ducked his head, tips of his ears red. "Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I... startled you."

Kaladin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Startled. That was one word for it. A few shamespren fell. Almighty, what would have happened if he had frozen up like that in a fight? He shook away the thought, he couldn't remember ever losing himself like that, it was likely a bizarre and unpleasant fluke.

Though some of his memories of being the wretch were a haze... Regardless, it was probably why he felt so tired now. That and perhaps the lack of sleep.

They left the alley to find Torfin waiting around the corner; Renarin and Kaladin both froze on seeing him.

He saluted, looking guilty. "Sir! Apologies for eavesdropping, Drehy and I were assigned to guard Prince Renarin tonight, and when you and he didn't return, we grew concerned. I moved away as soon as I could tell that...uh. A guard was not needed."

Kaladin crossed his arms, scowling, and Torfin fidgeted, not meeting his eyes.

"...What did you hear?"

"Very little Captain, I swear! The prince wanted to talk more, then mumbles, then you thanked him, then I left, I promise!"

Kaladin relaxed. "I believe you Torfin, and I'm not upset, you were doing your job."

"Of course, sir!"

"I can—" a wave of exhaustionspren fluttered up around him and he staggered; Renarin reached out to steady him.

"You've been working two, possibly three shifts in a row?" Renarin murmured. "Torfin and Drehy can escort me back. We can, uh —" He glanced nervously at Torfin, still standing at attention. "We can talk more another time."

Kaladin nodded, and Renarin let him go.

Getting to his bed was a blur; he was fairly sure he at least mumbled goodnight to the men still by the fire, but couldn't be certain.

"There's someone like me," he whispered to Syl, pulling his boots (not as nice as his old ones) off, barely mustering up the energy to trade his uniform for more comfortable sleep trousers. Storms, it felt good to change clothes at the end of the day. The little things bridgecrew makes you appreciate.

"And there's someone like me!" Syl said, twirling happily. He smiled at her, then was out before his head hit the pillow.

#stormlight archive #stormlight fanfic #kaladin stormblessed #renarin kholin #kalarin #stormlight au no 3 #my au #BE WARNED:#i know this says part 1 chapter 1 and while i made an outline to organize thoughts the parts i have written are all over the place #there is a very good chance i will just skip over chapters that do not reach a certain vibe threshold #expect future scenes in random order if you must expect anything at all #this au really went around the bend considering tis a silly silly premise

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eksvaized · 3 months

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[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 5, MDNI

Although tonight isn't your turn to take the first watch of the night, you volunteer. You are not tired, having spent half the day napping. Simon, however, is visibly exhausted. As he sits next to you, his weariness is palpable. You can tell by his drooping eyelids that are fighting a losing battle to stay open. His replies to your comments are sluggish. Most of the time after you say something, he just murmurs 'what', forcing you to repeat yourself since he didn't hear what you have said.

As you coax him into the bedroom, his gaze bores into you. A stern look fills his eyes, brimming with a concern that's hard to miss. "Just... just don't do anything stupid," he implores. His voice is weary yet laced with an unmistakable tinge of worry.

"You always tell me that," you roll your eyes and lean against the doorway. You watch as he unlaces his boots and places them under the bed.

Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he turns to look at you. His gaze is steady and unwavering, despite his indisputable fatigue.

"I simply want you to be careful," he says, his words a mere soft murmur.

You find yourself utterly captivated by the depths of his brown eyes. They possess an alluring, almost dreamy quality as he blinks slowly, trying to fight off a sleep that's threatening to claim him. You see, as his gaze drifts downwards, drawn to your lips, and lingers there. This causes your mind to wander back to the kiss-that-almost-happened-but-didn't. Neither of you dare to bring up the incident. As the days continue to pass, you both keep acting as if it's a figment of your shared imagination.

After he diverts his attention, a shaky breath eludes you. Only then do you notice the tightness in your chest and the tension you feel in every muscle of your body.

"I promise, I won't do anything stupid, and I'll be incredibly careful," you reassure him and smile. He responds with a nod and lays down. Before leaving, you click your teeth in a playful manner, tilting your head to the side. A few loose hair strands fall in your eyes but brush them away with a swift flick of your fingers. "But... can I get one cigarette?"

"Take it. They're in my duffel bag," he says, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But leave half of it for me. There's only one left, and I'll want to smoke it in the morning."

Despite your initial reservations about smoking, you found yourself gradually drawn towards it. It brings a certain novelty to your otherwise monotonous routine. Every time you and Simon ventured out to scavenge for supplies and food, you would occasionally stumble upon forgotten a pack of cigarettes. These rare treasures were akin to finding precious gems in a coal mine, providing a brief, fleeting taste of luxury amidst the stark reality. After your last expedition, Simon found a full pack. But, with the two of you sharing, the cigarettes were depleting at a rapid pace.

As you sit in the kitchen, now and then cautiously peeking through the slats of closed blinds, the night stretches out before you like a vast sea of black ink. It feels as if dawn is an eternity away. Each minute ticks by at an agonisingly slow pace. Occasionally, to break the monotony of your vigil, you wander around the dark house. Clutching the knife in your hand, you scrutinise each room. Tiptoeing from one corner to another. Ensuring that no uninvited guests have sneaked inside.

You even muster the courage to glance through the peephole in the front door. Yet, aside from a stray dog that seems to have taken to circling the house in an anxious pattern, while a few loose biters skulk around the deserted, moonlit street, there isn't much to hold your attention. The world outside is still. The silence is broken only by the distant hoot of an owl or the rustling of leaves in the wind, adding to the eerie calm of the seemingly endless night.

You saunter back into the kitchen and sit on the sturdy wooden table that is placed near the window. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull out an old pack of matches. As you ignite the end of the stick, for some time, the nicotine distracts you from the quiet solitude. But then something outside captures your gaze. At first, you dismiss it as a mere illusion - a cruel trick conjured by your weary eyes. You've been awake for too long, you reason, which is why you should wake Simon before you unwillingly succumb to sleep.

But, after the third time, your eyes catch a flicker of something in the distance, you grow certain that you've indeed spotted a light. The unexpected sight of it amid the encompassing darkness startles you. As the pattern repeats, you identify the silhouette of someone meandering down the street. Squinting into the darkness, you discern two figures. One of whom keeps switching on and off the flashlight.

As they edge closer, the details become more distinct. You notice the presence of a dog dutifully trailing by their side. It's the same dog that you've seen before, the one that had taken a peculiar interest in your front yard, sniffing around with an intensity that suggested it was on the hunt for something. The sight of them approaching your house sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

In a sudden burst of adrenaline, you leap to your feet. As you do so, the half-smoked cigarette clutched in your trembling fingers slips from your grasp. It tumbles down, leaving a searing trail of pain on your exposed skin as the lit end grazes you. You hiss in response to the unexpected sting, but your attention is yanked back to the window.

A wave of anxiety sweeps over you as you question whether it could be your mother. Or could it possibly be your brother? You're uncertain, but what you do know is that you need to find out. You need to get out of the house and figure out who those two enigmatic figures lurking in the shadows are.

Before you can make a move towards the door, a firm hand seizes you from behind. This sudden intrusion freezes you in place, like a deer caught in the headlights. The same hand then moves to cover your mouth, stifling any potential screams. A tide of panic crashes over you, chilling your blood and causing your heart to pound against your rib cage. In a desperate, feral attempt to break free, you bite down hard on the fingers that are clutching your face. But despite your efforts, the person behind you remains as unyielding as a stone wall. They respond by squeezing you even harder. Their fingers dig into your skin like iron claws.

"Stop. I told you not to do anything stupid." Simon's voice is low, a commanding growl that sends vibrations echoing into your ear. His breath, warm and steady, tickles the back of your neck, causing each hair to stand on end as prickles of goosebumps race like wildfire across your body.

Gradually, you relax. The tension drains from your muscles, like water seeping out from a squeezed sponge. You realise it's Simon holding you. He only releases you once he's certain you won't panic or raise your voice. Then he pushes you aside and blocks the front door with his broad shoulders. You are confused, unable to comprehend why he is behaving this way. But you don't have time to question it or explain what you saw. You make a desperate attempt to shove him away, but he remains resolute, refusing to budge an inch.

"You aren't going anywhere!" He hisses, shaking his head and glaring at you. His paranoid gaze scans the hallway and the darkness behind you.

This is the first time you've seen him act like this. You notice the sharp knife tucked behind his belt. In his right hand, he grasps a gun. You knew he owned a pistol, but he had never shown it to you before.

"I am going," you argue, desperation palpable in your voice. "What if it's my brother? My mo—"

Before you can finish, Simon abruptly interrupts, "It's not." He spins around to scrutinise the peephole once more.

"You don't know that. Move!"

Your anger intensifies, mirroring the increasing volume of your voice, now at a fevered pitch. Simon's eyes widen as he turns to face you. His hand flies to your mouth, effectively silencing you. He pulls you into his arms, trapping you in a vice-like grip that leaves no room for escape. He refuses to let go again, almost as if he is afraid of losing you. His behaviour perplexes you. You resume your struggle, kicking and squirming in a futile attempt to free yourself, but to no avail. His hold on you gets tighter, a stark reminder of his superior strength. A sinking feeling washes over you as you realise the slim chances of winning this fight.

"Whoever it is that you saw walking down the street, they are neither your mother nor your brother. They're on the lookout for me," Simon whispers into your ear, while dragging you away from the front door and into the living room. "If you keep screaming and making noise, they'll hear us. When they come, if... If you let them find us, I promise you, it won't end well for either of us."

Your mind is a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, struggling to understand what Simon is talking about. None of this makes any sense to your bewildered head. Yet, there’s something in the tone of his voice, a certain urgency, a hint of fear, that commands your attention and makes you stay silent.

"I'm going to let you go now," he says, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His tight grasp on your waist lessens, and he takes a step back, leaving you to curl up on the couch.

Simon moves towards the window. His fingers pull back the curtain enough for him to peek outside. "If you want to stay alive, if you want to have any chance of continuing to look for your family, you will keep your mouth shut."

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset If you want to be added, let me know!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod #writing #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost cod #AP2 #ghost call of duty #ghost #cod ghost #fem!reader #cod x reader #simon ghost x reader

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 1 year

Text

An Innocent Mistake (Part 5)

"And what, exactly, do you think you are doing?"

MC yelped, leaping off the coffee table in a perfect imitation of a cat seeing a cucumber.

Levi, Satan and Mammon sat bolt upright on the sofa, the third eldest hurriedly hiding his DDD behind his back.

Lucifer arched a brow, catching sight of a scaly tail skulking behind the sofa in a hurry.

"W-hey! Big brother!" Mammon cried nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Fancy seeing you here!"

Lucifer smiled dangerously. "I live here too, remember, little brother?"

"Yikes!" Leviathan squeaked, pushing back into the sofa as if he could disappear into it.

"Levi, the phone, if you please."

The otaku vehemently shook his head, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "You'll never take me alive, villain!"

Satan rolled his eyes, unbothered by Lucifer's scathing glare. "Good grief, could you two act any guiltier. And as for you, MC-"

The dragon let out an indignant growl, now firmly tucked in under the sofa, he was almost surprised they still fit.

Lucifer contemplated his next move carefully. It was no use pushing Satan or MC, the human is impervious to him at this point, and Levi may short-circuit if he pushed too hard.

Therefore...

"Mammon?"

The second born yelped, and predictably, cracked like a fresh egg.

"Levi was usin' MC to spy on that movie bein' filmed at the café downtown! I was gonna sell the footage for a pretty grimm and Satan wanted to see if he could use 'em to spy on you!"

"Baka."

"Idiot."

Lucifer smiled in satisfaction. "I'll deal with your punishment later. For now, MC, come here."

The dragon slid out from under the sofa, the camera and harness still strapped to them.

They stared up at him defiantly, as if daring him to punish them. Lucifer is only too happy to oblige, and holds out his arm expectantly.

The dragon rolled their eyes, sharing a look with Satan before obediently flying onto Lucifer's arm, allowing him to remove the camera from their chest, which he of course, confiscated.

"Wait for me in my office, understand?"

MC whined, but one look from the oldest had them reluctantly flying off, leaving the three demon's to Lucifer's lecture.

Lucifer knew he could go on for a while, still, he didn't expect what he came back to in his office.

He loosened his tie as he stepped in, the day's stress began to feel heavy. MC being trapped as a dragon didn't help matters, even when they did their best to stay out of trouble, they just can't help it.

As amusing as it is to have them clawing up the faces of demons that poke fun at those they love, he wants his smiling human back, and soon.

He looks at the fireplace, expecting to see MC curled up in the armchair in front of it, but they aren't there. His eyes dart to his desk, and soften, as he found the little dragon sound asleep, spread out over his paperwork.

They're on their back, legs in the air, wings spread across the width of their desk. Mammon was right, they really had grown.

MC started off the size of your average housecat, with a wingspan about the length of one of his arms, but now, about a week into their winged experience, that wingspan has doubled.

Solomon claimed not to know how to reverse the transformation, let alone how to translate the after effects of such a thing, for all he knew, MC wouldn't stop growing until they turned back, or they could turn back all on their own.

Lucifer reminds himself that this is Solomon, an infuriatingly persistent man.

Distracting himself, he admires the pattern of scales down MC's belly, the curve of their claws, how they slightly reflect candle-light.

Even as a dragon, his MC finds a way to be captivating.

Still, they are sleeping on his work, and their tail is perilously close to his ink well.

With a reluctant sigh, he brushed a finger over the arch of their horn, coaxing open those familiar eyes. "Comfortable, are we?"

MC blinks up at him, and for just a moment, he swore he could see his human smiling up at him, before the dragon nibbled gently at his gloved fingertip.

"Come, if you're going to sleep, at least do it out of the way."

He sat at his desk, softly patting his thigh.

"No matter what you look like, this is always your place, menace."

MC purred, playfully swatting him with their tail before curling up in his lap, resting their chin in the crook of his arm as he muttered a spell to start his record player, and worked in peaceful comfort with them in his arms.

Part 6

#obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me satan #an innocent mistake #dragon mc

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

Note

Steddie and #12 on the prompt list pleaseeeee 😭

Hello! Thank you for the prompt, I had fun writing this one!

Prompt from this list: 12. Things you said when you thought I was asleep

When Eddie wakes, he’s comfortable and warm. These are the second and third best qualities of Steve Harrington’s bed. The best quality of Steve Harrington’s bed, however, appears to be missing.

Eddie rolls over, checking the spot beside him, and finds that, yes, it’s definitely missing. Steve is not there.

If he listens, though, he can hear signs of life coming from downstairs, echoing through the quiet house. The rush of a sink running, the clatter of dishes, the soft murmur of a radio – sounds like Steve is making breakfast.

Eddie sighs and slithers reluctantly out from under the covers, hunting for his t-shirt on the floor, where he’d tossed it last night before getting into bed.

It’s not– it’s not like that, of course, between him and Steve. The shirt had gone, but the boxers and sweatpants had definitely stayed. They share the bed in an entirely platonic manner, just as a way to deal with nightmares and trauma and that sort of fun shit. But sleeping next to Steve is like sleeping with a furnace, and he’s said he doesn’t mind if Eddie loses his shirt; he doesn’t wear one himself half the time.

God, Eddie wishes this could be as gay as it sounds.

He’s not gonna knock what he does have, though. He’s not. Whatever his relationship is with Steve, it’s special, and Eddie’s not going to let his dick (or worse, his feelings) ruin it.

Quietly, he slips out of Steve’s room (the hinges on the door don’t creak. The floor barely creaks. Steve’s house is spooky as shit sometimes, silent and airless; Eddie gets why he doesn’t like being there alone) and heads down towards the kitchen.

Whatever’s playing on the radio becomes clearer as Eddie approaches, and he can hear Elton John singing about sitting on a roof and kicking off the moss. Even closer, Eddie can hear Steve singing along.

There’s already a smile forming on Eddie’s face when he gets to the door, and that’s before he’s treated to the sight of Steve standing in front of a waffle iron, bopping to the gentle beat of “Your Song.”

“Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean,” Steve murmurs, distracted as he cracks the waffle iron open and tilts his head to take a look inside, “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen…”

Eddie might melt a little bit. That’s his own business.

“Okay, no, this is pathetic,” Steve says, startling Eddie as he breaks from the lyrics. “I mean, this is really sad.”

For one heart-stopping moment, Eddie thinks Steve is speaking to him, but Steve never looks up, instead using a fork to pop the waffle out of the maker and add it to the nearby stack.

“I hate making waffles. Waffles are a pain in the ass,” Steve mutters, contradicting himself entirely by grabbing the bowl of batter and pouring more into the iron. “But Eddie likes waffles and now I’m up at too early in the goddamn morning making waffles.”

Eddie jolts again to hear his name, but Steve still hasn’t seen him in the doorway (or maybe skulking sort of at the edge of the doorway – not eavesdropping! Just… satiating his curiosity). He’s noticed Steve’s tendency to talk to himself when he thinks no one else is listening, but it’s usually just little reminders, or running commentary on what he’s doing.

This – this is interesting.

“Of course I’m making him waffles, what else am I going to do? Not make him waffles? Not let him in and not let him sleep in my bed and not… really like it? Stupid.” Whatever Steve says next is drowned out by the sound of the faucet as he fills the empty batter bowl with water and leaves it to soak, but when he shuts the water off Eddie manages to tune back in. “…because I’m an asshole who can’t just tell him that I think he’s smart and fun to be around and really hot and that I really like him. No, he’s gonna come downstairs and say good morning and I’m just gonna say– holy shit.”

Now Steve’s spotted Eddie.

They’re both frozen in place, and all Eddie can really think to do is give a little wave and say, “Good morning.”

Steve continues staring at him. “I… thought you were asleep. Still.”

“I am not,” Eddie says, and then immediately wishes he’d said literally almost anything else and avoided sounding like an idiot.

“I can see that,” Steve replies, slightly strangled.

There’s another frozen beat of silence.

“I think the waffle is burning,” Eddie says, glad for the momentary distraction as Steve swears and rushes to save their breakfast.

While Steve is wrestling with the waffles, Eddie decides that some kind of action is warranted. You don’t just hear the guy you’ve been crushing on admit that he thinks you’re smart and fun and hot every day.

Eddie enters the kitchen.

“Not burned,” Steve announces, flipping the waffle onto the plate, “just crispy.”

“Crispy is fine,” Eddie says, approaching the counter where Steve has been cooking. “Anything is fine. Waffles in general are great, I like… waffles.” Stop talking about waffles, holy shit. “I like you.”

That is not better.

In spite of the level of awkward Eddie is currently rocking, Steve turns to look up at him with a small smile ticking at the corners of his lips, uncertain hope behind his eyes.

“Yeah?”

Eddie nearly has him cornered against the counter now, close enough to reach out and touch. “Yeah.”

“More or less than waffles?” Steve asks.

“Tough call,” Eddie murmurs, raising a hand to rest on Steve’s shoulder, sliding it over to brush at the crook of his neck, the side of his throat, the edge of his jaw. “Lemme think.”

It’s at that point that Steve closes a fist in the front of Eddie’s shirt, drags him across the minute distance between them, and leans up to press his lips to Eddie’s.

After that, Eddie finds he can’t think about much of anything at all.

(He doesn’t have to, though. He’s pretty sure the way he leans heavily into Steve’s space, the way his hands curl around Steve’s hips and the way his mouth slides eagerly against Steve’s own lets him know where he ranks in relation to waffles.)

#mxnson13 #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #listen steve's little mumbly monologue as he prepares to apologize to nancy in s2 is my favorite #and I need more of steve talking to himself #eddiesteve #solar wrote #answers from solar

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possibilistfanfiction · 8 months

Note

hello :) feel free to ignore if you're not taking prompts anymore but I can't stop thinking about bea and 'now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good'

[whoever sent this prompt a bazillion years ago, know i've been thinking abt it forever. sry it took this long but a sweet little cam pov, butch bea universe, post-canon]

'hey.' you're careful to make sure your footsteps, while soft, are audible, and that you don't move too quickly; beatrice hasn't been a nun for years now, but you're certain that, if you scared her in the middle of the night, she could have you on your back with a broken collarbone quicker than you can even blink.

as it is, though, she turns to you with a soft smile and then gazes out at the waves again, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms tight around them, chin resting atop. you're wrapped up in a thick blanket you'd taken from the foot of your bed — you know ava always makes sure it's in your favorite of their guest bedrooms whenever you plan to visit — and beatrice is in a soft sweater, a beanie pulled down to sit just above her ears.

it's the middle of the night and dark by the sea, but the lights from the city, perpetual and unrelenting and hopeful, create an ambient haze.

'all right?' she asks quietly.

'oh, yeah,' you say. 'just jetlagged.'

she hums, not uncurling, still not looking at you. her posture is easy, albeit a little sad, a little small, but she's not tense; you know your company is welcome.

'are you okay?'

she seems to weigh her answer. 'i couldn't sleep.'

you don't have to ask more to understand: you're the one who found her at the arc, sitting stone-still; you're the one who held her, hours later, as she had a panic attack that seemed to roll on and on in waves; you're the one who quietly kept tabs on her in the eight months ava was missing as she waded through the world steeped in tangible grief. you know every detail of her recent injuries, her recovery progress months later. you have your own nightmares too.

'ava's okay?'

you know he is; beatrice wouldn't be skulking away at 3 am on the beach outside of their house if he wasn't. still, it gets her to smile. 'fast asleep, taking up three quarters of the bed. korra is taking up the rest of it.'

you smile; korra has a habit of cuddling with you when she's off-duty and you're visiting, but you know if beatrice leaves ava's side, korra is immediately there, even if it's just to sleep.

'is your leg bothering you?'

it gets beatrice to unfurl, just a little, and stretch her left leg out along the sand. you'd gone running with her the day before, easy along the water, and she hadn't shown any signs of soreness, but you know sometimes, especially if there's going to be rain, her hip aches. 'no,' she says, 'it's okay.' she lets out a deep breath. 'i'm okay.'

you nod; you know well enough by now to not press the issue. you've seen so many people you love — ava and beatrice included — injured, in pain; some people you have loved have died, and there was nothing you could do to save them. it is not an easy life, to save the world.

you let the waves roll in and out peacefully. beatrice is your big sister, has been for years and years now. eventually, she sighs and turns to you, fiddling with the engagement band on her left ring finger, a marker of one of your favorite joys. 'do you really think i'm — ava wants to marry me.'

ava, since, like, four days into knowing beatrice, has been in love with her, you're pretty sure, and they've been together for years, have built a life and won a holy war and built a life again — so of course ava wants to marry her. but, still, 'yeah,' you say. 'she does.'

beatrice shakes her head, like she can't quite believe it. on bad nights, maybe she can't.

'bea.'

she twists the band around her finger, then takes her beanie off and runs a hand through her short hair. you scoot closer to her and bump her shoulder with yours and wait for her to look at you. 'ava is just — he's been through so much. he's hurt, so much. and he deserves to have the most beautiful life.'

'that's true,' you say, because it is, in every way. but, 'in what world is that life not spent loving you?' you're sure beatrice has made up a million reasons why it isn't true, some nonsense about her not being patient enough, not being kind enough, not being sure enough about who she is, not being free enough to want things, not being excellent or extraordinary enough. 'listen, i was rooting for you ages and ages ago, okay? i meddled as best i could.'

it takes a second, and it's watery with unshed tears, but beatrice laughs quietly. 'i do remember that.'

'bea, you have to know by now, right?'

you watch her jaw clench; sometimes love, especially ava's love, so generous and so bright, is hard to swallow, is even harder to stomach.

'you don't have to be perfect. you just have to be good.' you touch the ring on her finger and than lace yours with hers. 'and you are so, so good.'

you're definitely not surprised to see her sniffle and wipe below her eyes. she steadies herself after a few seconds, but not in a way that makes you ache. instead, she puts her beanie back on and finally turns to you with a smile. 'thank you, camila.'

'no need,' you say. 'you love us all so well, every day.'

her eyes are soft. 'i try.'

you squeeze her hand.

'tomorrow morning,' she says, 'you have to act surprised, because ava has this big brunch planned so we can ask you extravagantly.'

'go on, i'm loving the concept so far.'

'will you officiate our wedding?'

it's maybe, or, like, definitely, the best question anyone has ever asked you. 'are you kidding? of course.'

'you're sure? it's — it's a gay wedding, and you're technically still clergy, and —'

you roll your eyes and, for good measure, elbow her in the ribs. 'you're out of your mind if you think i care about any of that, let alone believe it. you're my favorite couple. also, we've been to like twelve drag brunches together? i've told you multiple times i think ayo edebiri is hot.'

'well, i just —'

'it would be the greatest honor of my life, beatrice.'

she hugs you, tight, and the next morning you do let ava order an extravagant amount of food and then ask you again; you pretend to be surprised and he sees right through you, playfully huffs at beatrice but then just whoops and hugs you anyway when you obviously agree. it's easy, to bask in her light, in their love. at their wedding, in front of the same ocean, on the same sand, as you hold beatrice's childhood bible with its careful notes and occasional doodles and recite love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres; love never fails; as bea cries the entire time in a perfectly tailored suit and ava, in her wispy dress, gossamer and lace, laughs and wipes her tears — it's easy to know that this is what god meant. a union, steadfast, devoted, faithful, you say; a holiness worthy of the divine.

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #butch bea 🥺🫡#a) thinking abt how can rly did ship them FOREVER lol she’s such a real one for that #b) when i tell u. i am so feral over a house in nebraska by ethel cain rn.#i am Not Free From It #it’s just. so much. thinking of the vibes !

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yumecel · 4 months

Text

the slowest death 💙

yandere!dabi/reader | 1.6k

summary: you didn’t even think the PLF would bother tracking you down. one member proves you wrong

character specifics: slightly ooc for fic purposes i suppose

reader specifics: gn reader

world specifics: probably a far longer gap from dabis video to the war arc than is canon? sorry for any inaccuracies of living under the PLF i wasnt paying attention

tws: stalking, mention of murder via burning, dabi being a creep

a/n: christening this blog with the man thats been driving me wild recently. im so rusty! please forgive me

——💙——

i promise i’m 18+, i promise i’m okay with seeing dark content, i know this will haunt me in the world to come should i lie [yes⬇️] [no↩️]

You can’t stop seeing him.

Skulking into street corners, under flickering lamps, your peripheral vision, all permeated with the silhouette of a man you only expect to see on screens. When you close your eyes, he persists as an afterimage. Blue eyes burn into yours.

You’ve been having trouble sleeping.

Sometimes you lock yourself in your bathroom to watch that video of him, Dabi- now confirmed as Touya Todoroki. You drag your laptop with you and you search up information about him, trying to keep track of his current movements to confirm your suspicions. It feels like there’s eyes everywhere. It feels like he’s everywhere.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him up close before. You think that’s why this is probably happening. Months prior, under the direction of the Paranormal Liberation Front, you’d used your quirk on him- you’d cupped his cheek gently and allowed the soothing water to roll over it, clearing away a minor burn that was nothing compared to the rest of his scars. You remember it vividly because he closed his eyes. That’s not the issue, many people do, but you almost couldn’t believe the expression of tranquility that crossed his face. On the screens, in leaked footage, Dabi often presents himself with a chilling calmness or a maniacal grin. The total relaxation of his features and the removal of defences was foreign. And when it happened, you’d observed closely. Every piercing, every staple, every mark. You just happen to like observing the effects of your quirk on other people, and Dabi was no exception. When it was over, he’d murmured something barely discernible as a “thanks” and walked off. You thought his back would be the last you’d see of him in person, save for a few brief appearances with other PLF members. But he kept coming back to you, minor burn after minor burn, cut, scrape, bruise. He hardly ever talked, but he was so bold. He laid his head in your lap and there was an unspoken understanding that taking advantage of this vulnerability would result in dire consequences for you. Dabi always ensured his absolute privacy before settling down, and you believe you became something of a refuge for him. But you didn’t think there was anything special about you save for convenience, and you certainly had more “regulars” than just him. Dabi didn’t appear to be particularly attached to you as a person so much as your quirk.

Your clientele eventually died, perhaps literally, perhaps they just stopped coming after finding another healer, leaving only Dabi asking for your services. To make money and a future, you had to move, and you did so quickly and without fanfare. You were planning to leave that chapter of your life behind entirely.

But Dabi keeps haunting you.

You think you’re wrong. You should be wrong. You don’t know if you’re wrong.

It’s true that you’re technically on the run from the PLF, but you didn’t believe they would be particularly keen to expend effort on tracking you down. You are after all, only a healer, and have no specific abilities to boost other quirks. Quirks that soothe others can be found everywhere and you doubt they’d struggle tracking down more like them, and there’s already an abundance of regular doctors at their fingertips. Your ability to both soothe and heal is something that can be replaced easily enough.

Put simply, the costs of capturing you far outweigh the costs of letting you run free. The PLF knows they manage secrecy fairly well. They have nothing to worry about.

So when Dabi started lurking around the edges of your vision, you thought-

“They’re going to make an example of me.”

That could be the only reason. Being killed by Dabi is complete overkill. Your quirk may involve water but you don’t stand a chance against quelling his flames. There would be no epic fight, and you’re fully aware that engaging with him would lead to your death within five minutes. That’s if he grants you the mercy of a quick death. There’s nothing holding him back from prolonging your suffering for hours, even days. You shudder every time you think about it, a million ways he could kill you flashing before your eyes.

He doesn’t kill you quite yet. He’s toying with you.

The inside of your shabby apartment starts looking substantially shabbier. He must be letting himself in regularly. Somehow, somehow he has obtained a key, and now he’s snooping around. You accept that death awaits… for the first week, at least. Perhaps he’ll find you have nothing of interest to the PLF and leave. All you do is keep living as normal, praying some great distraction for him will arise and this will pass. Every day, you show up to work- a small, urban spa where you’re free to offer your services of pain relief under the guise of massage, never disclosing openly that you’re using your quirk. It’s custom to do so if you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, but clients generally know through word-of-mouth that quirks are used. The additional layer of protection was meant to shield you from the PLF, but it all seems useless now.

You can hear your phone buzz as you massage a client’s back. You try to pretend it never happened, and she seems undisturbed. You wonder what it could be, since after clearing your phone very few people have your new contact details. You manage to check it once the client shuffles out the door, thanking you airily.

It’s an email. The subject matter reads, “Hi Sweetheart!”

Spam.

But you still open it.

——————

Subject: Hi Sweetheart!

I really couldn’t resist digging around your laptop today. Imagine how flattered I felt when I saw all your previous searches had to do with me. Curious, are we? I can just imagine your scared little face as you scroll through videos of me, wondering when you’ll see me again. I guess what I found cute is that you have my confession video bookmarked. Did you save it for… personal reasons? You had plenty of time to look at me without a shirt on when you were working. I guess you can’t get enough of me.

But I can’t act like I wouldn’t do the same if you were someone I could just look up online- but I’m a good researcher without the internet. I tracked you down without a lot of effort. And I’ve been learning so much about you recently. So much that I’ve reached a dead end. There are things I need to know about you that wouldn’t be found on your laptop or in your apartment…

Maybe I’ll see you when you get home.

You know who I am.

——————

Feeling sick to your stomach, you scroll up, thumb trembling.

It’s sent from your own email address.

——💙——

You don’t have anywhere to go but your apartment, yet returning to it feels like such a stupid move. The police, let alone pro heroes, hardly go to that part of town. You stay an hour longer at the spa. You hope this will throw off Dabi, allowing you to dive in, grab your stuff, and equip yourself to leave forever. The passiveness that came with being a sitting duck has left your body. Confronted with death, you know it’s time to fight for survival.

Your phone buzzes again.

Another email.

——————

Subject: I won’t hurt you

You think I don’t know where you work? I can just as easily come to you and torch the place. I’m willing to play nice, so don’t insist on being difficult.

——————

A coworker remarks that you look sickly and insists you go home. You nod slowly, not saying much as you start to get ready to leave. When you stumble out of the door, the bell above you sounds like it’s ringing several rooms away. Nothing feels real.

Buzz.

——————

Subject: You can email me too

You know that right?

Still holing yourself up in that spa? Need me to walk you home? Coming home?

——————

You send one to yourself.

——————

Subject: Im on my way

[No body text]

——————

Buzz.

——————

Subject: Good.

[No body text]

——————

——💙——

You don’t bother putting your keys in the door. It opens regardless. With a dry mouth, you swallow, looking around and taking tentative steps further into your apartment.

He deliberately approaches from behind, which you were expecting, but you still yelp out when his warm presence meets your back, arms wrapping around you.

“No ‘Honey, I’m home’?” He snickers. You don’t struggle. You freeze, breath caught in your throat. When he holds you a little tighter, it’s like he pushes you over the edge.

“I’m sorry,” You begin. “I can come back. Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me. I can tell you anything you need. I don’t know what I can offer you, if, if you want to stay here, I can-“

He squeezes tighter, making a gentle shushing sound. Your body starts to feel like dead weight. You look down, eyeing the scars on his hands and counting staples in an attempt to ground yourself back in reality.

“It’s not about leaving the PLF, doll. Y’understand?”

You nod frantically, shoulders raising, even if you don’t fully understand. He loosens his hold on you on a little, before coming so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath.

“It’s about leaving me.”

“Leaving you?” You say, voice barely managing to come out.

“You think I wouldn’t miss my favourite healer?” He croons.

“I…” You begin. “… everyone left. I couldn’t make money and I didn’t have prospects.”

“You’re welcome,” He says, inhaling slightly. “I took care of everyone else.”

“That’s…”

Ominous.

“But you just had to leave, right? Before I snapped you up for myself permanently? Before I got to know you better?”

“I’m- I’m not-“

“Shh, doll. I don’t want those hands on anyone but me from now on. Start packing your necessities and get ready to come home.”

He releases you, causing you to fall to your knees with a dull thud. You were at the mercy of the man behind you.

This, you realised, was the slowest death you could die.

#yandere dabi #yandere!dabi #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere!dabi/reader #yandere!dabi x reader #post ID: yumecel1

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chiropter36 · 2 months

Text

Three or More Foxes Form a 'Skulk'

Read on Ao3

AN: Oh my god it has been so long since I've actually finished a fic, I'm just going to post this before I overthink it too much.

So... watched Sonic Prime, wanted to give my boy Nine some interactions with Mangey and Sails, plus explore the immediate aftermath of where things were left with him and the other Shatterspace folks, and... here we are.

(There's a reference in here to a headcanon from @the-knucklesverse, specifically one regarding Gnarly. He doesn't feature much in this and it's not the focus, but I like the headcannon and felt it worked with something I wanted to have happen here, so I included it. I'm not involved with that blog, but check out their stuff for fun multiversal Knuckles shenanigans!)

---

Nine wasn’t sure exactly when he’d closed his eyes, but he really didn’t want to open them right now.

A small groan escaped his lips as he halfheartedly fought against whatever stupid self-loathing part of his brain kept trying to drag him back to full consciousness.

What had… happened? Disjointed images whirled through his head, and he weakly struggled to force them into a coherent order.

The Grim…

The Prism, gone…

Sonic… Sonic fading away, because of him...

The pink jungle hedgehog taking him on her bird mount, then her two counterparts leaving with Shadow on the Kraken…

They all got too far away to see…

A blinding flash of light from the distant Green Hill portal…

And then…

Nine didn’t remember passing out, but that was the only explanation he could think of. (Urgh, thinking, why did thinking hurt?) With no more imminent threat to deal with or time-sensitive problems to solve, everything he had been through over the past… had it even been a full day?...must have just hit all at once.

Another groan – this one almost more of a whimper – slid involuntarily out of his throat.

With consciousness returning came the awareness of just how exhausted he felt in every way imaginable. His head still ached from the strain he had put on himself using so much Prism energy so indiscriminately. (Idiot, you idiot, you should have known there would be consequences for that, but you just couldn’t stop, could you.) He doubted he could lift himself a centimeter off the ground right now with how sore his flesh-and-blood tails felt. His right cheek was still throbbing horribly from the sucker punch that damn echidna had got in, which had felt more like being smacked with a concrete block – judging by the taste of blood still in his mouth, Nine was pretty sure he could count himself lucky if just one of his remaining baby teeth had been knocked loose.

And then there was the awful ache in his chest that had nothing to do with any physical injury he’d sustained.

Not having to think or feel was such an enticing prospect right now…

At least, for some reason, one thing Nine wasn’t feeling was the hard floor of his base. Logically, that should have been what he’d collapsed on, but instead he felt almost like he was floating on air without moving his tails; his body gently swaying from side to side, trying to lull him back to sleep. It made no sense, but it felt so nice that he didn’t feel like questioning it.

Conversely, it seemed strangely as though gravity was pressing harder than usual against his body, but in an oddly pleasant, comforting way. Like a heavy blanket, sort of; warm and soft and–

Wait.

Gravity seemed to be breathing.

Nine forced his eyes open.

The first things he saw were the leaves of his two palm trees, their trunks stretching directly above him. So he was still in the Grim then; that made sense, but… wait, was he in the hammock? Had he climbed into it before blacking out…?

Before he could ponder that too much, his gaze turned down to where the soft, snuffling breathing sounds were coming from… and his brain froze in confused disbelief at the sight that greeted him.

One of the fakers. The one from the jungle world. Fur slightly more orange-ish with red-brown stripes and clearly having never once seen a brush; no cybernetic tails; gloves and shoes made of leaves and vines; but otherwise so nearly identical to himself in appearance that he could have been looking in a very distorted mirror.

And it was laying on his chest.

“What the- Hey! Get off me, you flea-ridden--”

The other fox let out a surprised yowl as Nine shoved him, leaping off and landing on all fours. The sudden movement sent the hammock swaying, and Nine overbalanced and tumbled off the other side. His tails instinctively extended out to catch him before he hit the ground; he set himself on his feet and immediately ducked into a defensive crouch, glaring at the offender and preparing for a counterattack–

“Oi, you’re awake!”

The sudden adrenaline rush throwing his self-defense instincts into overdrive cut off as abruptly as it had hit, replaced with a surge in the throbbing pain in his head. Nine put a hand to his head, groaning miserably as he waited for the hammer apparently inside of his skull to stop bashing his brain over and over.

A few moments and the pain faded to more-or-less the background level Nine had woken up to; able to think slightly more clearly, he turned to focus on the new speaker.

Ah, of course, the other one. Pirate-him. That ridiculous bandanna over one ear, cutlass hanging from his belt, the odd mechanism extending from his back that Nine supposed made a passable prosthetic tail, though nothing as sophisticated as his own of course. He stood next to where the feral one was still crouched and watching Nine warily, but in contrast was sporting an easy grin that instantly put Nine on guard. Meeting Nine’s eyes, he raised a hand in a hesitant wave.

“What did you…?” Nine stammered, his brain still struggling to catch up with the events of the past minute. “What… how did I…?”

“Oh, er, we put ye up in yer hammock there after ye conked out a bit ago.” The young pirate shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “I’ve taken me fair share of naps on a hard deck floor, an’ I figured ye’d prefer somethin’ a mite more comfy.”

“You…?” Nine did not know what he was supposed to do with that, so he pushed it aside in favor of addressing his other point of confusion.

“And why was that one sitting on me?”

The pirate fox shrugged again, patting his jungle-dwelling duplicate on the shoulder. “I guess he just thought ye could use some company after… everythin’.”

Nine frowned, glaring suspiciously at the two of them. Did they really expect him to buy that? More likely the rebels just had the idea to place one of their allies in position to hold him down in case he was faking sleep to lull them into a sense of security.

Wait, where were all the others?

Making sure to keep the other two foxes in his peripheral vision, he took a quick look around. They seemed to be mostly alone in the main room of his base, save for one other: the echidna pirate (“Dread”, he vaguely remembered Sonic referring to him as), who was leaning casually against the wall just inside the hole that had been blasted through the crystal pillars. He raised his eyebrows slightly in acknowledgment when Nine met his gaze, but otherwise seemed to be off in his own world, not paying him or the other two much mind.

Out past the echidna, on the other side of the hole at the start of the vast, featureless plain of the Grim, Nine could see a large gathering of all of Sonic’s friends and allies from across the Shatterspaces. Among the various rebels and pirates milling about, he picked out the other two echidnas, the three bats, the cyborg Rusty Rose and her two pink hedgehog counterparts...

Wait, if those three were back…!

Nine jerked his head back to the other hims, this time ignoring how the sudden movement aggravated his headache.

“Did… did he make it? Sonic…?”

The pirate and the wild child both pulled their ears back and exchanged a look.

“Well… can’t say for sure either way. Black Rose- that is, Cap’n Rose, she said that Thorn Rose’s Birdie got injured not ‘alfway there, so the Kraken picked ‘em up and took ‘em further. Then the ship got damaged too, so Shadow said he’d take ‘im the rest o’ the way. Rusty Rose says she saw Shadow make it to the portal; ‘twas too far for her t’ see for certain, ‘specially with how, well... faded Sonic was by then, and then there was that flash o’ light, and…” He shrugged helplessly. “She didn’t see either of ‘em after that.”

Nine swallowed, trying to hold back whatever emotion was trying to claw its way out his throat.

Pirate-him looked at him with... concern?... in his eyes, then put on a reassuring smile that somehow managed to look mostly genuine.

“If’n ye ask me, though, I’d say there be no doubtin’ he made it home. That hedgehog be tougher ‘n gristle an’ barnacle grit! No matter what any of our worlds – or any of us, truth be told – threw at ‘im, he always took it, got back up an’ kept runnin’ – heck, even when there weren’t any ground t’ run on!” He shared a grin with the jungle fox. “Not bad for a landlubber. Aye, an’ with that Shadow fella backin’ him, the Devil himself couldn’t stop ‘em! He made it home, we’re all sure of it.”

The jungle fox nodded emphatically.

Nine just stared as the other fox made this declaration. It was not escaping him the similarity between the pirate’s words and ones he himself had spoken to Mr. Dr. Eggman back at the Yolk, and he didn’t like it.

Grimacing through his headache, he tried to parse through his whirling too-many-thoughts and focus on the factual data that pirate-him had provided. Silly optimism that blatantly ignored the realities of the hedgehog’s deteriorating physical state aside, it sounded like there was a decent chance that Shadow had successfully gotten Sonic back to Green Hill before he faded completely. That… that was something, at least. He just wished there was a way to know for sure...

“Um, so…” the pirate broke the silence, shyly scratching the back of his head when Nine looked up at him again. “Don’t think we ever got rightly introduced. The name’s Sails, formerly of the Angel’s Voyage, from No-Place, and this here’s Mangey, from Boscage Maze. No ship, but we don’t hold that against ‘im.”

The jungle fox chittered happily and gave Nine a wave.

Nine stared at them blankly. “Okay,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

An awkward silence ensued, and both other foxes’ smiles dimmed slightly as Nine held their gaze, stubbornly refusing to engage them any further.

“And, erm, ye be called Nine, aye?” Sails finally broke the silence.

Nine rolled his eyes. He glanced over at the pirate echidna again, then back to the other foxes.

“Look,” he said with a tired sigh, “I get it. You three got put on watchdog duty – keep an eye on the traitor to make sure he doesn’t go all crazy again…” Not that he could really blame them for that. “But frankly I really just want to be alone right now. So if you could go tell your friends” – he gestured to the crowd outside – “to get off my world and go back to theirs already, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Wha- no, that ain’t–” Sails stammered. “Well, aye, some o’ the others thought that maybe… but that ain’t why…”

The pain in his head flared up again, and Nine couldn’t help the pathetic whine that came from him as he shut his eyes tight and gripped his head in both hands.

“Are ye okay?” Sails’ concerned voice cut through the pain. “Do ye need…?”

“I’m fine,” Nine growled out. He extended two of his tails threateningly in the direction the voice came from, just in case either doppelganger got any ideas about trying to approach him in his moment of weakness. “Just a headache. It’ll pass.”

And it did, or at least died down to a more tolerable level, though the process could have gone much faster in Nine’s apparently inconsequential opinion. When he could think clearly again he opened his eyes, only to see the same two uncomfortably-identical foxes still in the same spot where he’d left them, looking at him with twin looks of concern and… and sympathy, and still there even though they had no reason to be.

Nine scowled, trying to ignore the more confusing emotions in favor of one more familiar to him: annoyance. Why hadn’t these people left yet? They had promised Sonic they’d leave him alone, yet here they all were still invading his space, and the two he least wanted to interact with seemed inexplicably invested in doing so.

Sails cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking again, keeping his voice soft as if trying to be… considerate of Nine’s headache or something.

“No one told us to stay with ye. Th’ fight’s over, we know that. It’s just that… well…” He shrugged awkwardly. ��You’re… and we’re…” He gestured somewhat helplessly between himself and Mangey as though that would articulate his thoughts better, smiling apologetically.

Nine didn’t smile back. “We’re what?” he asked coldly.

Sails wilted slightly at his tone.

“I mean, there’s differences, t’ be sure,” he continued hesitantly, “but... well, we all three of us got the tails” – he gave his own a demonstrative helicopter twirl – “an’ the brains, an’–”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nine muttered, looking pointedly at Mangey, who had chosen that moment to sit on his haunches and scratch at his ear with a hind leg. “Not sure your little pet there knows how to use a toilet, let alone basic mechanics.” He allowed himself a small smirk. “Unless you mean he knows some hacking, but I think that’d be more the hairball variety than computer, you know?”

For the first time since they’d started talking, Sails’ expression turned angry. He scowled and took a protective step in front of the jungle fox, glaring at Nine.

“Mangey figured out your fancy-pants gizmos just as quick as me,” he snapped. “Fresh out o’ the jungle and an’ ne’er seen any contraption more complicated ‘n a vine bridge before, an’ he was pickin’ out the right bits from yer bots to build the bomb what took out a whole platoon of ‘em like he’d been at it all his life. An’ then ‘twere a two-man job pilotin’ that Catfish bot o’ yers, and I’m fair sure yer metal Birdies could tell ye how the both of us handled that… if’n they weren’t piles o’ scrap at the moment.”

Taken slightly aback by the vehemence in the pirate’s retort, Nine averted his eyes… and caught Mangey’s downturned gaze instead.

The upset frown and, well, puppy eyes the other fox was giving him made Nine instantly certain of two things: he had understood the insult, and was hurt by it.

A sickening guilt suddenly bloomed in his chest and began clogging his throat, suffocating him, as he stared at that pitiful face.

His face. The face Nine must have had in the early days, before he’d hardened himself, before he’d built his defenses; when the older foxes had thrown names before graduating to throwing punches, a variety of epithets but all telling him essentially the same thing: your existence is wrong, you are less than a person so it’s okay for us to hurt you. And him just curling up and waiting for it to stop and wishing he knew what he could do to be acceptable to them, but not wishing for someone to come to his defense (like Sails was right now for Mangey) (like Sonic had for Tails but not him) because even then that notion had been so outside the realm of possibility that it had never entered his mind…

He wrenched his eyes away from Mangey’s face. He felt like he was going to throw up. Is that what I’ve let myself become now?

To distract himself, he latched onto the last thing Sails had said. “How… how did you even manage to take over the Grim Big?” His voice trembled despite his efforts to sound composed and unaffected. “There should have been built-in safeguards against anyone but me taking control.”

Sails shrugged, scowl lightening only slightly. “Aye, that there were, but really ‘twere a simple matter o’ rewirin’ the computin’ base with an improvised Prism-energy redirector. All yer bots seemed to work on th’ same system, so while ye thought we were out o’ the action we took a closer look at th’ broken ones t’ figure ‘ow they worked, then scavenged enough scrap t’ put together a rudiment’ry adapter that could block out yer programmin’ long ‘nough for us to hack into th’ system an’ take control – an’ with no hairballs involved from either of us,” he finished with a smirk, crossing his arms defiantly.

It took a moment for Nine to realize his mouth was hanging open dumbly, and he quickly clamped it shut.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess… that would do it. Um… that’s impressive. I guess. Of you. Both. I mean, I wouldn’t have expected…” He felt his face heating up, and cut off before he could embarrass himself more with his stammering. “That, well, that was smart. What I would’ve done in that position.”

He hesitantly made himself meet Mangey’s eyes again. The other fox met his gaze, and his upset expression turned into a small, almost bashful smile. Nine had to clamp down on a sudden urge to return it. The nausea in his throat faded slightly.

Another awkward silence filled the space, and Nine looked back at the rest of Sonic’s rescue party. He noted in particular the bat and echidna from New Yolk – Rebel and Knucks, he remembered vaguely – in the middle of what looked like an intense conversation. At something Rebel said, Knucks shot a look at Nine; his scarred face melted into a scowl as he met Nine’s eyes, before turning back to grumble something to his companion.

“But anyway, as I were sayin’…” Sails’ voice – less testy now – drew Nine’s attention back. “Ever since we first saw t’other in No-Place, I’ve… well, I’ve had ye on me mind. Wonderin’ what yer life be like, if it be anythin’ like me own…”

Truth be told, Nine had also been thinking about these foxes since their initial brief encounters, speeding through the Shatterspaces with Sonic on the way to Ghost Hill (where one other fox had also butted into his headspace). Putting together what their existence implied about his own; what had happened when the Prism had shattered; the reality of what the Shatterspaces were truly hitting him for the first time…

“...An’ then I met Mangey here in the egg-heads’ city, an’ we started gettin’ on, an’, well… Didn’t have much time ‘fore things got all…” He started awkwardly fiddling his thumbs, not meeting Nine’s eyes. “An’ then everyone was focused on goin’ after Sonic, an’ people’s blood was runnin’ a bit hot for a while there, but… now that things’ve calmed down a bit, I thought that maybe…”

He bit his lip nervously.

“Well, t’others all have three of ‘em.”

Mangey, who had been looking back and forth between Sails and Nine, now flicked his gaze over to the crowd gathered outside. Nine followed his eyes, and noted that he seemed focused specifically on the three Roses. The pink hedgehogs were huddled close together, the pirate’s hands on each of her duplicates’ shoulders. Presently, she was making some remark that had the bird-tamer laughing out loud and even brought a small smile to Rusty Rose’s normally impassive face.

Nine looked back at his own duplicates, the anger he had felt at their presence not moments earlier now fading in place of confusion and… something else, something he didn’t want to couldn’t give a name to, but seemed to be coming from the same place as the steady ache in his chest that he had woken up to and, unlike his headache, hadn’t been fading at all since.

When he managed to make himself respond to Sails, he couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I literally tried to kill both of you just like an hour ago.” Another wave of guilt crashed over him, and he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Tried to kill them, yeah, and thought he had succeeded – even if the bomb had been their own, he had specifically targeted them with the robot assault that had forced them to use it at such close range – and had felt nothing but spiteful satisfaction at the notion of their deaths hurting Sonic.

Or at least, told himself that was all he felt. Anything else, any shock or sickening horror at the notion that he was responsible for ending the lives of two actual real living people, had been easily drowned out at the time with yet another channeling of Prism energy to send his brain into a manic power high.

After all, there was only one him.

(He’d yelled at Sonic that he was just as real as Tails, but he’d looked at these two and from the start seen only feeble, insulting copies of himself.)

“Aye, ‘tis a fact,” Sails said with a careless shrug, seemingly oblivious to Nine’s inner turmoil, “but we’re no worse for wear now!” He shot Nine a devil-may-care grin, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his fluffy chest. “Ain’t th’ first time I’ve cheated Davy Jones’ locker, an’ I’m fair sure it won’t be th’ last! S’no reason to be holdin’ a grudge.”

Nine had been fairly dismissive, back on Ghost Hill, in his first impression of “Tails”; the friend Sonic had shared so many happy adventures with may have shared his face, but his bearing was too sunny, his eyes too bright, his whole demeanor just too… obviously cared-for, to have anything in common with him outside the superficial. Granted, all Nine had seen was a faded reflection of Tails repeating just one moment over and over, but even just that had made it clear that having had Sonic in his life from early on had made all the difference.

Except... here was this other two-tailed fox, also his own person separate from Tails and with no blue hedgehog in his past, but clearly nowhere near as beaten-down and cynical as Nine.

“How are you so… perky?” he finally asked, shaking his head. “You didn’t have a Sonic to… to protect you on your world either, right?”

Sails blinked, looking surprised at the question.

“Well, no… but I had me crew.” A small, nostalgic smile came to his face as he spoke. “They found me when I was just a kit, all alone on an island, strugglin’ just to find food every day without it bein’ stolen by the birds... They took me in, gave me a place, a home. A name.” There was something more vulnerable in the fox’s voice at that last admission than Nine had heard from him to this point. “Adventure on the high seas, an’ a share o’ the salvage to build me contraptions. Wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for them. Prob’ly wouldn’t be here today.”

He frowned, his ears drooping a bit as he looked at Nine. “Ye… ye never had a crew, aye?”

Nine swallowed a lump in his throat, not meeting the other fox’s eyes, and just shook his head.

“Well… maybe that can change now!” Sails exclaimed, his ears popping up again hopefully. He gestured over to the pink hedgehog trio still chatting happily outside. “Look at the Roses! Th’ worlds they all come from couldn’t be more different, an’ I heard ‘em callin’ each other ‘sisters’ earlier.” He put a companionable arm around Mangey’s shoulders. “Why, I’ve hardly known me mate Mangey here for more’n a day, but we’re already thick as thieves!”

Mangey yowled a happy affirmative, leaning against his double’s side affectionately.

“What d’ya say, Nine? The three of us… could we be friends?”

Mangey nodded in agreement, bright blue eyes wide and earnest… then to Nine’s shock, opened his mouth and echoed:

“Fuh-rends.”

His voice was rough and growly, clearly not used to forming words, but that he made the effort to use it at all implied a deep sincerity that Nine couldn’t convince himself was faked.

A snide remark informing them exactly what they could do with their “friendship” immediately jumped to the tip of Nine’s tongue… but when he opened his mouth, it didn’t come out. Maybe it was Sonic’s influence getting to him once again, maybe he was just still so exhausted that he didn’t have the energy to keep being hostile, but all that he could manage was a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping despondently.

He hadn’t been able to handle this kind of openness from Sonic when he had offered it so freely; how could this new scenario possibly come to any better end?

“I-I’m… I’m not really good at… friends.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’,” a harsh voice scoffed.

Nine’s neck smarted as he whipped his head to face the voice, an adrenaline spike instinctively snapping his tails into a threatening defensive configuration as his heart suddenly burst into frenzied hammering in his chest.

The speaker – Knucks – was already raising his fists in response, glaring at Nine from behind them. Nine tried to glare back, but between his ragged, agitated breathing and his limbs trembling from a combination of frayed nerves and exhaustion he doubted he managed to look very intimidating.

“Woah, hey, hey, it’s okay!” Sails exclaimed, waving his hands and moving forward as though to interject himself between the fox and echidna. “Nine, ye be fine, they just want t’ talk to ye!”

At the same time a hand was placed on Knucks’ shoulder, and Nine became aware of the other person who had entered the space without him noticing: the bat resistance fighter, Rebel. She gave the echidna a pointed look, and he scowled but lowered his fists, though clearly with great reluctance, and not taking his eyes off Nine.

“Sails is right,” she said, stepping forward to stand slightly in front of Knucks. Behind her, Nine could see that the rest of the crowd was now watching them, though they remained outside. Dread was still in the same place Nine had last seen him, looking completely unperturbed.

His cheek throbbed even worse as he continued staring down the echidna, and he was more aware than ever of the coppery taste on his tongue. For a second he was back on the top of his tower, cowering behind his forcefield as punch after punch tried to batter through to get at him, which had itself sent him back even further to a time where he had no forcefield to protect him, trying in vain to shield himself from blows and words that just wouldn’t stop–

He shook his head sharply, actually welcoming the throbbing pain as a distraction. Trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity, he forced his tails to relax and focused on getting his breathing under control. He looked up and met Rebel’s eyes, already resigning himself to whatever this group had decided his fate would be.

“And here it comes. Without Sonic around to make everyone play nice, all that talk about leaving each other alone goes out the window.” He tried to sound droll and unconcerned, but all the eyes on him were just reinforcing how utterly helpless he was now, and his false bravado faded almost as soon as he could summon it. Dropping his gaze down to the floor, he muttered gloomily, “Just do whatever you want to me. I don’t care anymore.”

“Nine, that ain’t what…” Sails began, his ears drooping sadly.

“We promised Sonic we would leave you be, and I for one intend to stick to that,” Rebel spoke up, her voice calm and level. “Unless you plan to break your side of the deal?”

Nine looked back up at the bat. She was looking down at him with her arms crossed but her expression didn’t appear actively hostile. He sighed and shook his head.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t anymore.” He looked over at the still-empty platform that had once held the Paradox Prism. A harsh fact that he had been trying not to think about since he woke up shoved its way to the forefront of his mind. “The Prism is gone; without it, I can’t reshape the Grim. It’s a clean slate, but now that’s all it’ll ever be.” He sighed morosely. “Probably for the best. No one should be trusted with that kind of power. It messes with your head. Makes you think you’re invincible. You’ve got so much power you can do whatever you want, so you should do whatever you want. And if you cause any harm it doesn’t matter ‘cause you can just fix it later once you have just a little more power…”

Nine almost didn’t realize he had been muttering all that out loud until out of the corner of his eye he noted Dread’s ears suddenly perk up.

“That’s actually something we wanted to discuss with you,” Rebel said, pulling Nine’s wandering thoughts back to the present. “When we all made that agreement with Sonic, it was under the assumption that you would continue to have access to the stabilized Prism. Without it… will you even be able to survive here?”

“I…” He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “I have some food and water stored. Once I go through that… I’ll figure something else out.”

Except, there wasn’t really anything else to figure, was there? The Grim only reacted to Prism energy. Without the Prism itself to harvest from, he wouldn’t be able to alter it to create supplies and sustenance.

He found his eyes migrating from the empty platform to the palm trees, the empty hammock strung up between them – out of the Grim’s endless potential, the first things he had chosen to make.

What did it matter if he was doomed to waste away here once he ran out of supplies? Even if he could figure out a new way without the Prism to turn this place into a paradise, it would still be empty.

“Well. Several of us have been talking, and taking the changed situation into account, we would like to propose an alternative.”

“For the record, this is a very generous interpretation of the word ‘like’ for some of us,” Knucks added.

Rebel elbowed him sharply. Knucks rolled his eyes, but stepped back to give her the floor.

“It’s honestly hard to believe that the Chaos Council is finally defeated for good – or at least, they’ll be out of the picture for a long while. Thanks for your help with that, by the way; seeing them float away into the void was immensely satisfying.”

The bat’s lips briefly twitched up in a small smirk as though replaying the scene in her head.

“But now we have the responsibility to take charge of our own world and heal what they broke. Once we return, we plan to start working on dismantling however much of the city we can manage safely at this point, and restore the natural environment. And… much as I hate to admit it, the Chaos Council’s tech would probably be useful for a lot of that, if we can repurpose it. Plus it would be prudent to build some sort of defense in case they ever do return. And while I’m sure we’ll be able to work it out on our own… the work would go a lot faster with someone who already understands that tech.”

Nine hardened his expression and squared his shoulders in preparation for what he could already see was coming.

“We have Rusty Rose, of course, and she’s already agreed to help however she can, but she told us that her expertise is more focused on weapons and vehicle operation and her personal system maintenance. She still has a better background than the rest of us, so it’ll help, but…” here Rebel gave Nine a significant look, “we could also really use the help of someone with a broader understanding of the city’s tech and the creativity to adapt it for new purposes.”

Nine scoffed tiredly. “There it is. Thanks, but no thanks. I had enough of my help being used when I was captured by the Chaos Council.”

“We ain’t the Chaos Council!” Knucks barked angrily. “We’re tryin’ to make a better world for everyone, not just ourselves! Though I guess that ain’t a concept that’s really on your radar.” He crossed his arms heatedly and turned to Rebel. “You’re wastin’ your breath. I told ya. He ain’t gonna help.”

Rebel held up a hand to cut Knucks off, still keeping her calm demeanor.

“The rebellion is over,” she went on. “It’s not going to be easy moving past all the paranoia and mistrust that we needed to survive in that environment… but we need to try. Or else, what was the point? The whole goal was to create a better world, one where all that wouldn’t be necessary.”

She sighed, a bit of exhaustion showing in her eyes. “Maybe as part of that… we can accept having misjudged you a bit.”

Nine’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“We followed Sonic here to help him because we assumed that you weren’t intending to keep your word after he gave himself up,” she continued. “Now… I’m thinking we may have been wrong about that.”

“Not that ya gave us any reason to buy that you wouldn’t betray us again,” Knucks grumbled. Then his scowl softened ever so slightly. “But Sonic… well, even after everything, he never seemed to doubt that you were on the level. And, well, he sometimes had good instincts.”

‘Even after everything you've done, everything we've been through – together, against each other – you're still my friend, Nine.’

Nine’s breath hitched, and he had to bite his lip against the something he felt building in his chest.

“I never wanted to harm your worlds,” he said, voice thick and shaky despite his efforts. “I swear. I-I know that I did, and I don’t… I don’t have any excuse for that. But I was certain that I could fix all the damage I caused, and I intended to. Even when… even when I was still angry at Sonic. My only goal was always just to build my own world here, and for everyone else to leave it alone.”

He swallowed thickly, avoiding their gazes.

Rebel nodded. “And honestly, after everything that’s happened… I am inclined to believe you now.”

“Don’t get us wrong, I ain’t gonna hold back if ya do turn out to be pullin’ somethin’ on us, but…” The echidna shook his head and sighed. “Whatever. I’m tired of fightin’ for now. And I never thought I’d say that.”

Rebel tried to meet Nine’s eyes again, but he stared resolutely at the floor.

“Look,” she spoke up again. “We don’t know you very well. But we are from the same world, the same home, we all lost the same things thanks to the Chaos Council. And if we-”

“Well, you’re right about not knowing me at least,” Nine interrupted sharply. A tiny spark of anger had fizzled into existence at the bat’s words, and he latched onto it, nurturing it into a tiny candle flame and slowly fanning it larger and larger; and he knew, he knew he shouldn’t because anger was what had gotten him to where he was now, but anger at least overwhelmed the something festering underneath. “I hated the Chaos Council as much as anyone, but I didn’t lose anything thanks to them. Can’t lose what you never had in the first place.”

Neither Rebel or Knucks seemed to know how to respond to that. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sails and Mangey both looking at him with concern. He chose to let that fuel the flame in his chest even more.

“I used the Paradox Prism to restore New Yolk alongside the other Shatterspaces. I fixed what I broke, and a lot of what the Chaos Council broke too. Consider that my contribution to the rebuilding effort. But there’s nothing you could offer me that would make me go back there. It’s your home, you take care of it. I’m not letting anyone use me for their own ends anymore.”

That actually seemed to get Rebel mad. She grit her teeth and took a deep breath before speaking in a clipped tone, “We are not trying to use you, and we’re not going to force you to come with us if you’re so insistent on staying here on your own–”

‘We’re all on our own.’

“–but Sonic made a sacrifice to save all of us, you included, and somehow I don’t think the spirit of the agreement he specifically insisted we make with you involved leaving you to starve and waste away here. If that’s what you really want, though, fine. We’ll head back home without you and–”

The flame exploded.

“That city, that world, never gave me anything but pain! Why do you think I did this to myself?!” He flared out his cybernetic tails; Knucks flinched and raised his fists defensively, but Nine ignored him. “Why do you think I lived underground, away from everyone?! No one in that world ever wanted me. They made that abundantly clear for as far back as I can remember. I may have been born on that world, but it was never home.”

And then just like that the flame had completely burned itself out, leaving Nine with nothing but a horrible cold emptiness just as vast and pointless as the Grim. Standing was suddenly too difficult; he stumbled back against one of his palm trees, and slid down to sit so he could hide his face behind his knees, his tails falling limp on the floor.

“I-I don’t h-have a home. I don’t have anything.” He hated himself for how his voice hitched and shook, but he just couldn’t muster any energy to fight it. “S-sonic’s gone, the Grim is empty. I have nothing. Just like before, only now it’s my own s-stupid fault.”

He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying desperately to resist the pressure he could feel building behind his eyes, although part of him wondered what the point was – it wasn’t like these people could possibly think any less of him.

No one spoke, which only made Nine’s stomach start twisting into knots waiting for some sort of fallout from his outburst. After a moment he chanced a brief glance at the bat and echidna, and was vaguely surprised to see neither looked angry or harsh like he had expected; Rebel was frowning uncertainly at him, a trace of sympathy in her turquoise eyes that just made Nine feel even more pitiful, while Knucks was awkwardly averting his gaze, fiddling with his glove spikes.

Over to the side, there was sudden movement as Mangey, eyes wide and glossy like he was close to tears himself, took a few steps toward Nine, only stopping as Sails’ mechanical arm-tail settled on his shoulder, the pirate giving him a small head-shake, even as he bit his lower lip like he was struggling not to come over himself and try to administer some comfort that Nine knew he wouldn’t deserve.

He looked back at his knees, but could still feel everyone’s eyes on him – Sails and Mangey, Rebel and Knucks, the entire crowd of rebels and pirates and jungle-dwellers.

He wished they would all stop staring at him, wished he could just disappear, wished someone would say something so he didn’t have to listen to his own pathetic ragged breathing…

He wished Sonic were here.

A gruff throat-clearing cut through the lull.

“If I may.”

Nine’s ears twitched in surprise at the sound of the echidna pirate speaking up up for the first time, his tone light but clearly conveying that he intended to speak regardless of any objections. He looked up to see Dread strolling casually to stand beside his resistance fighter counterpart.

“What do you want now?” Knucks grouched, his scowl reasserting itself.

Dread shot a patronizing smirk at the other echidna.

“As entertainin’ as all this jabber be, I find meself itchin’ to get back to No-Place at some point in, oh, the next decade. So in the interest of speedin’ this up…” His flippant tone changed to something more serious. “I may have some smidgen of understandin’ what th’ lad is goin’ through right now, is all.”

Oh do you? Nine wanted to spit out, but he didn’t trust himself to speak right now without losing the fight to hold back tears, so he just forced a glower that he was sure wasn’t fooling anyone.

Dread stepped forward so he was a bit in front of Rebel and Knucks but keeping a polite distance from Nine. Briefly, he glanced over at Sails, his expression unreadable; the fox frowned uncertainly, but gave his ex-captain a hesitant nod. Then the pirate turned to look down at Nine, and spoke.

“Ye’ve lost it. The one thing in the whole wretched universe ye thought mattered. That if ye just managed to get yer paws on it… ye’d finally be satisfied. Finally be happy.”

His words were blunt, but spoken with a depth of emotion that despite himself Nine was certain they were born of intense personal experience.

“An’ now that it’s slipped from yer grasp… ye feel there’s nothin’ more what matters. Nothin’ t’ strive for, nothin’ t’ do but mope yer days away dreamin’ of what ye could’ve had.”

Dread looked away from Nine for a moment, staring off at something only he could see, before breathing a wistful sigh and meeting Nine’s eyes again.

“I got no business tellin’ ye what course t’ set for yerself now. I still be figurin’ that out for meself. All I’ll say, lad, is that whatever ye choose… don’t define yerself by what ye lost. Find somethin’ what matters to ye, and make a new goal t’ strive for. Or ye’ll just find yerself forever chasin’ somethin’ – even if only in yer dreams – that was never goin’ t’ give ye what ye truly wanted, an’ makin’ the same bloody mistakes each time ye grasp for it.”

With that, the pirate backed off and returned to his previous spot, leaning against the crystal pillar wall as if he’d never moved.

Leaving Nine to sift through a confusing swirl of emotions that had replaced the emptiness but still gave him no relief.

Disdain and anger were the easiest for him to parse out at first, naturally.

What could that idiot pirate know? What Nine truly wanted? He wanted the Grim. He wanted to be left alone, in his own perfect world. He wanted… he wanted...

He felt the hard bark of the palm tree against his back.

‘So… what else did we do?’

“I used t’ have nothin’.”

Nine looked over at Sails, his vision a bit watery despite his efforts. He quickly wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm as the other fox spoke.

“Then I had the crew, but… I didn’t quite know how I fit in with ‘em, at first.” His voice was soft and hesitant, like he was forcing into words something he usually kept very private. “Weren’t certain I was truly a crewmate, or just a… a temp’rary cabin boy they’d be ready t’ abandon again if’n I became more trouble ‘n I was worth. Ev’ry mistake I made, in those days, I thought were gonna be th’ final straw for ‘em, an’ they’d leave me at some village or maroon me on an island or just tell me t’ fly off an’ ne’er come back, an’ I’d… I’d be back were I started, alone.”

He swallowed thickly, then continued. “Took some time, an’ getting’ t’ know ‘em, an’… lettin’ ‘em get t’ know me. Which were really th’ scariest part. Didn’t happen all at once… but now, all these years an’ adventures an’ troubles later, I know they be where I belong.”

He turned to scan the crowd outside, passing in turn from the bat, cat and hedgehog in pirate garb, who each smiled fondly at him (the giant cat in particular was unabashedly wiping at his clearly watering eyes); even Dread gave Sails a small nod of acknowledgment when the fox caught his eye.

Mangey pressed his face against Sails’ side, before catching Nine’s gaze with wide, imploring eyes. He started looking pointedly back and forth between Nine and his fellow jungle-dwellers in the crowd. Nine suddenly found himself wondering what the wild-child’s story was, what he was trying to convey with those big blue puppy eyes that he couldn’t with words.

Disdain and anger faded to the background noise in his head, the wall that he had actively cultivated them into over long merciless years crumbling apart, and Nine finally forced himself to examine the less-familiar, uncomfortable feelings that just one evening with an aggravating blue hedgehog had managed to bring out in him.

What would Sonic do…?

Tch. Sonic would recklessly jump into things without any thought. He’d take it upon himself to help everyone, and in the end make a huge mess of everything.

...And then, once he realized he had done that… he would try to make amends however he could.

And he would always put his trust in other people.

Even if past experience might have made that trust difficult to give.

What Nine truly wanted…

Sonic was gone, but maybe… maybe what he had offered to Nine was still something he could find for himself.

But if it was… it definitely wouldn’t be here in the Grim.

Slowly, Nine pushed himself to his feet, setting his tails back in their relaxed non-combat configuration. He stepped forward to stand in front of the resistance leaders, forcing himself to look up and meet Rebel’s eyes; and, taking a deep breath that only shuddered a little bit, he spoke.

“...Back in New Yolk, before all this, I had a lab in the underground. I’m sure the Council ransacked it when they tracked down the shard I took, so I can’t really live there anymore, but it was… my sanctuary. A safe haven. If I do this, if I agree to come with you and help restore that world… I get a place of my own. I’ll put it together myself, you don’t need to do anything, but I get a place, outside of the city, away from everyone. And it is off. Limits. Whether I’m there or not, no one else is, unless I give explicit permission.”

He swallowed, trying to ease the scratchiness in his throat. “Deal?”

Rebel shared a quick look with Knucks, who frowned but shrugged in answer to her unspoken question.

“That sounds reasonable. Deal.” She held out her hand. Nine stared at it silently for a moment before reaching out his own, and they shook.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Nine stated. He tried to make his voice sound stern, but was pretty sure he just came across as tired.

“Same,” Rebel responded in a similar tone.

Releasing Nine’s hand, she straightened up and turned to look out over the rest of the eclectic collection of beings.

“Now with that business over with, let’s start working on coordinating getting us all back to where we’re supposed to be. Black Rose, how’s the Kraken looking?”

The hedgehog pirate stepped forward from the crowd, grimacing. “She jus’ barely limped us back here on one engine an’ a prayer. An’ it’s been slow-goin’ tryin’ t’ patch her back up. Ain’t sure if she’s got enough left in ‘er to make it to one world, let alone three.”

“Um… I could… take a look at it?” Nine offered hesitantly. Everyone turned to stare at him, and he again had to clamp down on the instinct to bare his tails. “A-and we can probably salvage some parts from the Council’s mothership, enough to at least get it working long enough to get everyone to where they need to be.”

“Aye, and the Catfish bot still be flyin’,” Sails proclaimed. He moved to stand just behind Nine’s shoulder, Mangey still at his side; Nine flinched slightly but actually found their proximity not as distressing as before. “It ain’t exactly speedy, but if we can take the engines for the Kraken that could boost it enough t’ keep it goin’ the whole trip.”

Rebel nodded decisively. “Alright, sounds like we have a plan.” She raised her voice to speak authoritatively to the crowd. “Everyone, let’s get out there and help them gather the parts we’ll need. Rusty Rose, do you think you can help with that?”

“Affirmative,” came the monotone reply. The cyborg hedgehog gestured out to the debris-strewn plane. “Come, sisters.”

As the gaggle of beings began to disperse, Nine found his eyes drawn from the hedgehog trio still sticking together like glue, to the jungle echidna running up to walk beside Knucks, to the other two bats fluttering over to join Rebel as she took flight.

He looked to his side, to Sails and Mangey. The other foxes shot him identical soft smiles, and while Nine couldn’t quite muster up one of his own, he found that the something in his chest was somehow no longer as painful as before; that the presence of these two people who maybe understood more than he had given them credit for was… comforting.

But noticing that, he also realized what was nagging at him, and a heavy knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Wait!” he called out, running over to the hole in the wall where everyone was exiting, Sails and Mangey on his heels. “There’s, there’s one more thing…”

Everyone stopped in their tracks and turned to look at Nine again; ears pinned back against his head, he swallowed nervously and tried to stand tall.

“I-I should tell you, just… to make sure you’re all on the same page. Without the Prism or any stored energy, there’s no way to create the portals the Chaos Council used to travel between worlds. Once you return to your respective worlds… you won’t be able to leave.”

Everyone’s faces fell as they absorbed this information. The three Roses looked particularly devastated as they exchanged crestfallen looks between themselves (Nine wouldn’t have ever guessed the cyborg was capable of such expressiveness). The jungle echidna rubbed his arm and bit his lip, looking at Knucks with dismay; the other echidna placed a hand on his shoulder, his own face determinedly stoic. Mangey whimpered and sidled up next to Sails, who put a comforting arm around the other fox’s shoulders.

“I… suppose that’s the way it has to be,” Rebel said, glancing around at her fellow bats. “Those portals were what started the collapse on all the worlds; even if we still had the Prism it would be too dangerous to start it up again.”

There were reluctant nods from among the crowd.

“Well,” Thorn Rose pronounced, her face set, “then it has been an honor to know you, sisters.”

“Oi, we ain’t splittin’ up yet!” Black Rose exclaimed, managing a grin despite everything. She slapped Thorn on the shoulder. “Save the heartfelt goodbyes for th’ actual goodbye!”

The mood slightly dampened, the crowd nevertheless began splitting into groups to begin scavenging.

As Nine prepared to follow, he stumbled as his foot slipped on one of the myriad broken crystal shards scattered around the opening in his fortress wall. Frowning, he kicked the shard away, and prepared to take flight over to the Kraken to see what he could do about it…

...But the glimmering of the crystal as it skidded along the floor of the same substance, bopping against other shards before coming to a stop, caught his eye.

Something niggled at the back of his mind, the same feeling he got when he had his ideas for inventions; arresting his take-off, he knelt down to examine the shards more closely, ignoring the remaining traces of his headache as he wracked his brain trying to get a lead on what had drawn his attention.

Something to do with the physical crystalline structure of the Grim? He’d done an analysis when he’d first arrived, of course, but then he’d been thoroughly distracted by the applications of Prism energy and had subsequently pushed any data not pertaining to that to the back of his mind...

Wait. What if…?

He was belatedly aware of Sails and Mangey beside him. Mind racing as he ran equations and factored in variables, he grabbed two shards then straightened and turned to his fellow foxes.

Both wore confused frowns as they looked at him, but as Nine worked the problem out further and further in his head and started arriving at some very promising conclusions, he found himself somehow feeling lighter than he had since waking up.

For the first time, he looked into those two pairs of identical blue eyes and a small but genuine smile came to his face.

“Here.” He handed each a shard. “Take these. Bring them with you to your worlds, keep them intact.”

Mangey curiously turned his shard over in his hands a few times, sniffed at it a bit… then gave it a good lick.

Nine felt his right eye twitch, but he gritted his teeth and pushed down the urge to snap at him and snatch the shard back.

If he was really going to attempt this whole friends thing, he supposed, he should start getting in some practice at not judging the other fox’s scientific process.

“What’re ye thinkin’?” Sails asked, staring inquisitively at his own crystal.

Nine reached down and picked up a third crystal for himself, then looked past his two counterparts out to the pitch black sky above, and the shimmering, far-off Shatterspace gateways floating through it like planets. The light green radiance of the farthest gateway seemed to shine the brightest to Nine’s eyes – a faint beacon in the dark to guide him on this new path.

“I have a theory. Don’t tell anyone yet, it’s nothing definite. But maybe… the Grim can still be useful after all.”

---

~ Several months later ~

Even before Knucks had noted where the light show was coming from, he knew it had something to do with Nine.

Normally he would have taken some time to appreciate a stroll through the countryside outside the city boundaries. Just spend a few moments taking in the soft green of the grass regrowing over the rolling hills, kneel down to look at the tree saplings slowly but surely pushing their way up into a world that would welcome and nurture them now, feel the sun on his face shining down from a sky no longer dreary red with smog but a shade of blue that he had almost forgotten. He would revel in the sweetness of breathing air not heavy with pollutants and the smell of ozone and slag, and just the simple joy of being able to see the horizon unobstructed by a skyline of ugly, pointless buildings.

He may have had to get used to the city life during the days of rebellion, just out of necessity, but Knucks had been hatched and raised in the untamed wilderness, and with said wilderness finally making a comeback, he was never going to take it for granted.

But right now he was an echidna on a mission, and that mission involved a certain arrogant antisocial fox brat, and the searing flash of light that had all of a sudden burst into existence over his house not twenty minutes ago.

A beam of light had suddenly crackled into the sky off in the distance, but loud and large enough to draw the entire city’s attention, and probably most of the folks who had moved out to settle in the countryside as well. For an entire minute it had remained as a pillar reaching up into the heavens, swirling with an admittedly rather beautiful rainbow of colors, then had faded away as inexplicably as it had appeared.

There had been some panic as civilians wondered what it could have been, but Rebel had managed to mostly calm people down, especially when she put Knucks on the case to investigate. They had shared a significant look at that, because they were both aware of a fact that the general citizenry were not.

Namely, that there was only one person who lived around the area where the light had appeared to be coming from.

And so Knucks stomped his way past the sapling forest, leapt from a large rock to give himself some height to glide from, swiftly making his way toward where the hilly grasslands met the beach, and soon enough had arrived at the entrance to the fox’s house.

Well, it was really more of a bunker than anything. The fox had claimed one of Dr. Don’t’s hidden underground labs close to the former city’s outer boundary and repurposed it. That part of the city had been the first to be deconstructed – the work going faster through the use of reprogrammed Chaos Council bots – and as the city boundary retracted further and further, Nine had soon attained the private sanctum away from the city that he had been promised.

With nature slowly reclaiming the area – aided in no small part by the seeding and terraforming machines Nine had developed – the entrance (at least, the one Knucks and Rebel had been made privy to; they were both fairly certain the fox had multiple other entrances and exits he kept to himself) was difficult to spot unless you were right in front of it. Built under an unremarkable grassy hill and looking out over the shifting sand dunes, nothing about it really drew the eye...

Save for one prominent landmark that seemed oddly inconsistent with the fox’s clearly-stated desire for people to stay away.

Two palm trees, with a homey-looking hammock hung between them, planted just a little ways off from the entrance.

The fox hardly ever left the place – or at least, was not often seen doing so. The rare times he emerged, to gather food and materials or discuss plans and issues with Rebel and the rest of the reconstruction council, there was some… animosity from the general populace. Many of them had seen Nine’s giant image in the sky, taunting Sonic to save them all as the world turned sideways, and few had been present at the final confrontation in the Grim. Rebel had so far managed to spin their arrangement with Nine as the fox’s “community service” to anyone who started making noise about locking him up or… anything further. So far there hadn’t been much more than grumbling and distrustful glares, but the decidedly unfriendly atmosphere clearly didn’t give the fox much incentive to come out of his hole any more than necessary.

Knucks frowned thinking about that. He was far from Nine’s biggest fan, but some of the folks passing judgment on the fox were… well, ‘unreasonable’ was probably a polite way of putting it.

Especially the ones who obliquely implied that Nine’s past actions were somehow related to his… unique physical traits.

Finding himself wanting to punch a face in on behalf of the fox kid during that one particularly heated council meeting had definitely been a new and unexpected experience.

(Ugh, why couldn’t this fox just be a complete unrepentant bastard like the Chaos Council? Feeling sympathy for someone who had once callously abandoned him and his teammates to die, and later almost destroyed everything he held dear, was not something this echidna was built for.)

Though, it was a big city, and there were some who were willing to give the kid a chance. There had been one instance where a little rabbit girl and her mother had hesitantly come up to Nine and thanked him for all he was doing to help restore the world, and even given him some home-cooked food as a gift.

The look on the big bad aloof super-genius fox boy’s face as his big bad aloof super-genius brain apparently short-circuited and he stammered out an awkward “You’re...welcome?” had been priceless.

Hey, Knucks wasn’t supposed to fight the jerk anymore, he had to take what he could get.

But who knew, maybe that was about to change. Maybe the lights from Nine’s home had come from some superweapon he was building, and the situation could just be nice and straightforward and solvable through punching.

With that happy (if, admittedly, unlikely) thought, Knucks began banging loudly on the metal door.

“Hey, Nine! We all saw the fancy light show, what’re ya up to in there?! Open up!”

His yelling was interrupted by a life-size holographic image of the brat in question suddenly vwip-ing into existence in front of the entrance.

The flickering semi-transparent fox looked down at him – the hologram floated in the air so that its head was about a foot above Knucks’, which the echidna was certain had been done deliberately to spite him – and put on a lazy smile.

“Always a pleasure to have you stop by for a visit, Knucks.” He spoke in the bored, mildly patronizing tone that never failed to get Knucks’ hackles up. “As it seems you’ve forgotten some of the details of our arrangement – understandable, as they involve several multi-syllable words – I’ll remind you of the parts relevant to the current situation–”

“Just shut up and let me in, fox! You got some things to explain!”

“–and provide you with aid regarding the environmental restoration, and in exchange, my personal space shall be respected–”

“Okay, ignorin’ me, fine, whatever, you’re only delayin’ the inevitable, brat.”

“–without my permission. Now, with the understanding that issues requiring my technological expertise will not always conveniently come up when I am outside my home, I have invented a radical new piece of technology to facilitate communication in such an event. You may have noticed, next to the door, a simple-looking square-shaped panel, but it is in fact so much more. When only a mild amount of pressure is applied to it, you see, it causes a musical tone to sound within my dwelling, thus politely alerting me to any visitors without any unnecessary banging or shouting.”

“Alright, alright, I get it–”

“Or, to put all that in layman’s terms…”

The hologram suddenly leaned forward directly into Knucks’ face, glowering darkly down at him.

“Ring. The doorbell. First.”

It straightened and resumed its casual tone. “Now, shall we try this again?”

Another vwip, and the image vanished.

Knucks growled, taking several deep breaths as he debated the pros and cons of just punching down the fox’s door.

Glowering for the benefit of the hidden cameras he was certain were showing Nine his every move, he reached one fist to the blue panel, moving exaggeratedly slowly. With his entire fist, he pushed it inwards and held it for several seconds longer than necessary, then finally released it. A muffled musical tone sounded from behind the door.

Knucks quietly seethed as he counted the seconds, certain that the fox was taking his sweet time opening the door just to annoy him. Finally, the metal panel slid to the side, revealing Nine standing in front of him, hands clasped nonchalantly behind his back, all nine tails swishing casually behind him, and looking up at him with a lazy smirk that Knucks desperately hoped he would have an opportunity to wipe off by the end of this interaction.

“There, now was that so hard?”

“Can it, brat.” He stomped past the threshold into the bunker proper. “What was with the light show? I know it didn’t have nothin’ to do with the world repairs. You up to somethin’ out here? Some schemin’?”

Truthfully, as aggravated as he was right now, the accusation wasn’t quite as serious as it might have been months ago. Knucks was still far, far from ever calling the fox boy a friend, but “ally” had slowly but surely become slightly less begrudging. There had been no signs over the past months of the fox going back on his word, and with how much faster the restoration efforts had been going thanks to his help, Knucks had to admit that Rebel had made a good call. He wasn’t to the point of letting his guard down around Nine… but he could see maybe getting there someday.

(Plus... there had been the whole uncomfortable revelation that the kid was not, as Knucks had originally pegged him from his overall demeanor, just a rather short teenager, but in fact not yet even past single digits.

(He still hadn’t worked out how he felt about… certain actions he had taken during the Grim battle in light of this information.)

The fox boy in question just shrugged at Knucks’ accusation.

“Welp, I guess you got me. I’m actually enacting my evil plan to betray you all again and eventually crush every world under my heel.”

“Ha ha. Look, ya didn’t warn anyone about any experiments you were doin’, so ya can’t blame us for–”

“Relax, Knucklehead. It’s–”

“Don’t call me that!”

“It’s nothing dangerous.” The smirk on his face softened, into what Knucks would almost be tempted to call a genuine smile. “I just... invited a few friends over for a brainstorming session.”

“‘Friends?’” Since when do you have friends?, he barely managed to keep from blurting out. (And Rebel said he couldn’t be diplomatic.) “Who-”

“Ahoy! City Dread!”

Knucks looked around with a start. The voice had come from another hologram – one that he at first mistook for Nine again, and briefly wondered if the fox was experimenting with creating a horde of holographic duplicates, before spotting a few more… pirate-y details that made his eyes widen in recognition.

“Wait… that’s…”

Another holographic fox bounded into view on all fours and drew his attention with a wave, this one dressed in leafy attire and with a semi-feral look to him. Both were full-color and life-sized, only their transparency and the slight crackle in the pirate’s voice betraying what they were.

“Wait… are they actually…”

“Here?” Nine finished for him. “Well, not yet, but this is actual real-time audio-visual communication. We’re still in the early testing stages, but if this continues to hold, it looks like we’ve finally cracked it.”

There was an understated pride in his voice that Knucks didn’t think he’d ever heard from the fox before.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Knucks belatedly noticed two small beams of light extending from each fox’s form and leading to a mechanical contraption over in a corner. Knucks’ first thought was that it looked like some sort of high-tech chimney more than anything, with a portion of it extending up through the ceiling – probably connected to some hidden antenna or something that had been the source of the light pillar, he now suspected. A circular opening in the center contained a shimmering cylindrical crystal shard floating in some sort of force field. It was from this shard that the beams of light were projecting.

“The ‘light show’ you saw was a side effect of the energy necessary to boost the signal through the Shatterspace gateways,” Nine continued explaining. “We’ve been testing it on smaller scales, but this is the first time it was large enough to be noticeable. Hopefully we’ll be able to fix that in the future.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, by the way” Sails chirped. “We be sailin’ uncharted waters with this here tech, it ain’t always easy to predict what the effects’ll look like. I be on an island right now ‘cause th’ first time I tested this on my end th’ flashes ended up attractin’ a glowin’ sea leviathan from the depths what almost capsized us!” He gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. “Cap’n Rose an’ I both agreed that maybe I should do me experiments from a greater distance movin’ forward.”

“Wait, all of you’ve been workin’ on this?” Knucks asked incredulously. The three foxes nodded. “How’d you… I mean, if this whole thing is new, how’d ya even manage to work all this out between you three?”

“Not easily,” Nine admitted. “It took over a month to even establish reliable two-way auditory communication. But now that we’ve worked through those problems it should be easier to coordinate our efforts going forward.”

Knucks nodded, stepping around the other two foxes (he supposed he could have walked through them, but that just seemed kind of rude) to scrutinize more closely the contraption that was projecting their images. Nothing about any of this looked sinister, but Knucks had never been the type to take such things for granted.

“So, ya say you’ve been workin’ on this for a while?”

Nine nodded. “Whenever I’ve had free time, for the past couple months. And before you say anything,” he added, rolling his eyes, “this project is entirely irrelevant to the restoration efforts so I was under no obligation to disclose it.”

Knucks frowned. “I thought you said we wouldn’t be able to communicate between worlds without the Paradox Prism.”

If Nine heard the suspicion in his tone, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I thought we couldn’t. And we can’t, really, at least not with methods utilizing the Prism. But before we all left the Grim, I… had an idea for a potential alternative.”

He gestured at the crystal in the heart of his machine. “The Grim’s physical structure is… well, I won’t bore you with the details, but essentially it’s one giant crystal with a strong elemental plasticity. Even when parts of it are separated from the whole, they still share a morphic resonance with each other and the entirety of the Grim itself – even, as we’ve confirmed over the past months, when transported to completely separate worlds. And it turns out it’s not only Prism-energy they react to.”

Knucks raised his eyebrows as Nine paced around, gesticulating excitedly with both his hands and tails as he spoke. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the fox brat like this, so eagerly showing off how his tech worked – heck, he didn’t even sound like he was deliberately trying to patronize Knucks by “dumbing it down”, which Knucks honestly would have fully anticipated.

“With these physical pieces of the Grim sharing the same energy signature, we figured out a way of using the Grim itself as a sort of ‘signal tower’ to project communications through. The biggest hurdle was honestly figuring out what energy to project with, since most forms physically can’t penetrate the Shatterspace gateways without an open portal.”

He stopped pacing and stood beside the two other foxes, nodding slightly toward the jungle-dweller.

“Mangey here had the breakthrough that allowed us to get to this point. Thanks to your counterpart on his world, actually.”

Knucks started, the image of another red echidna popping into his head, smaller and malnourished and with wild eyes constantly darting around, but still very much like him in so many ways.

“Wait, you talked with Gnarly?”

He hadn’t had much time with the jungle echidna, but after his interactions with Dread it had been an immense relief to encounter a version of himself whose nature didn’t utterly offend him to his very core. During their time sheltering in the Yolk together Gnarly had awkwardly gravitated towards him, and they’d shared words; from what Knucks gleaned from Gnarly’s stammered stories, the kid (he didn’t actually know if Gnarly was younger than him, but he just gave off that vibe) had never known any other echidnas on his world, which had… hit uncomfortably close.

Knucks had quickly found himself feeling rather protective of the other echidna (especially with their “allies” in the Chaos Council making snide remarks about his “unsophisticated” origin and mocking his skittishness). Gnarly was a good kid; a little off, yeah, but with a good heart, and loyal to his friends and allies (unlike certain pirates Knucks could name).

Plus, just… talking with a fellow echidna.

He had largely resigned himself to the notion that it wouldn’t be possible for them to see each other again.

“Not directly,” Nine answered. “Mangey’s been our go-between.”

“I thought Mangey didn’t talk.”

Nine shrugged.

“There are ways to communicate aside from words. Mangey knows how things work, even if he can’t always articulate it.”

The wild-child fox ducked his head bashfully and waved a hand as if to say “aw, shucks.”

“Anyway, apparently with the Paradox Prism stable again, Gnarly’s been picking up on some previously unknown form of ambient energy that he’s sensitive to, and Mangey was able to devise a means of utilizing it with the Grim shards. It’s taken a while – this energy is, well, chaotic and hard to pin down to make it work for us – but combining it with these” – he gestured again to the floating crystal – “we’re able to utilize it to produce similar effects to the Shatterspace portals.”

Huh. Knucks wasn’t certain what that was about – if it was an echidna thing, it was nothing he’d ever felt. But thinking about Gnarly brought up another thing that was bothering him.

“And did ya consider that some of us might wanna know that you were workin’ on a way we could talk with our friends in the other worlds again?”

And apparently Knucks was just going to keep having novel experiences today, because Nine bowed his head and actually looked genuinely contrite.

“I… I wasn’t one hundred percent certain whether this would even pan out. I didn’t want to give people false hope until we had something definite to show.” He settled his face and looked up to meet Knucks’ eyes again. “There’s still things the three of us need to work on right now while we’ve got this communication going, but I’ll come out to the city later and explain everything to Rebel and Rusty.”

Knucks shrugged, uncomfortable with the kid being so… agreeable. “I mean, I’m gonna be tellin’ ‘em anyway, but, yeah, that’d be appreciated. They’ll want the details from you, at least.”

Nine nodded, then turned back to look at his machine, his expression turning pensive.

“But anyway, once we can fine-tune this process and make sure it won’t cause any degradation like the Prism-energy portals did – it shouldn’t, since it’s not actually using Prism-energy, but we still want to be safe – we think we can probably eventually crack actual physical transportation between our worlds.”

“That be one of our two long goals,” Sails said in aside to Knucks.

Knucks frowned. “And what’s the other?”

The three foxes all shared a meaningful look between themselves.

“Finding a way to communicate with Green Hill.”

Knucks’ eyes widened. For a second he was back on the Grim, a washed-out hedgehog leaning against his shoulder for support, his seemingly endless vitality drained through his sacrifice to save them all…

“Oh.”

“Aye, this only worked ‘cause we each got a shard of the Grim to be actin’ as a connective point between worlds,” Sails said. “We been battin’ around a few ideas, but… well, even if’n we get a signal through, someone on t’other side needs to be there to pick it up.”

Nine again got a pensive look on his face.

“Yeah, that’s the major issue. Best case scenario, though, it’s possible – maybe even likely – that our counterpart in Green Hill will have the tech to pick up our signal if we can manage to force it through their gateway. And if Sonic…” He broke off, grimacing, and took a deep breath before continuing. “If Sonic’s okay, and if he’s told his friends there about us, then… Tails might be actively investigating the Shatterspace himself, which would make it easier. I mean, if he’s anything like us…”

The other two nodded in agreement.

Knucks… felt very much on the wrong foot here. None of this was what he had expected when he’d set out to this place. He couldn’t make himself feel upset about it though. Frankly, he was finding himself imagining the future with the foxes’ new tech – the chance to see Gnarly again; heck, even the prospect of meeting up with Dread too, if only because he’d been itching for a good fight…

And, of course, finally getting confirmation whether or not Sonic had made it home.

“You really think you can pull all this off?” he asked quietly.

“Well…” Nine turned to look at his fellow foxes.

He smiled then, and it wasn’t the insufferable smirk that Knucks had become used to seeing on the fox’s face when he wasn’t scowling. It was something hesitant, but soft and genuine and… happy.

He turned back to Knucks, Sails and Mangey on either side, identical blue eyes shining and each matching his smile.

“With the power of our three brains together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

#sonic prime #nine the fox #tails nine #nine sonic prime #mangey the fox #mangey tails #sails the fox #sails tails #renegade knucks #rebel rouge #knuckles the dread #gnarly knuckles #nine mangey sails #fanfic #my fanfics

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george-weasleys-girl · 8 months

Text

Act Like You Mean It

Start here:

Chapter 5

Summary: Y/N takes a late night walk and runs into someone unexpected

Warnings: description of sexual assault, cursing

George Weasley x Fem!reader

~•~

The moon was high in the sky when Y/N finally gave up on sleep and went to sit by the window. There was once a time when she would've tiptoed downstairs and knocked on George's door.

"Can't sleep, love?" He'd ask.

"No," she'd tell him.

Then they would spend the next few hours talking by the fire or, if they were feeling adventurous, sneak down to the kitchen for a late night snack.

The memory punched her square in the chest, and her tears threatened to spill over for the millionth time in two weeks.

Godric, I'm so sick of crying. Why can't I just get over this? Over him?

The temptation to take Montcroix up on his offer was growing by the moment. Maybe that would help her get past everything. Or at least he'd be annoying enough to distract her for a while.

No. No, I'm being stupid. Even if it did help, the cure would be worse than the cause.

And yet, just imagining George's face as she passed him in the hall, hand in hand with Byron, gave her a certain vengeful satisfaction. George had hurt her. Deeply and irrevocably. She was not some plaything for him to use and then just toss to the wayside like a piece of garbage.

As much as she hated to admit it, the petty, childish part of her wanted nothing more than to get back at him.

Assuming he even cared...

He'd barely even glanced at her since the night he came looking for her after dinner.

Y/N sighed and wiped away the tears wetting her face, then stood and began getting dressed, grabbing her cloak on the way out. The temperature was near freezing, but she didn't care. She just needed to get out of this sweltering dorm room. Breathe the fresh air for a while and try to clear her head.

Maybe, if I'm really lucky, the frigid air will freeze my heart. Then I won't have to feel anything ever again.

~•~

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold trickled down Y/N's spine. She'd never ventured out alone at night. And now she understood why. Every creak, every shadow, every howl of the wind manifested itself in her mind as the spindly, twisted horrors that haunted her darkest nightmares.

So much for a relaxing, midnight stroll.

There were other ways to clear her head, she surmised, and turned back toward Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the imaginary footsteps behind her.

~•~

Y/N screamed at the hand landing on her shoulder and whirled around, her wand at the ready.

"Woah, woah," Montcroix's voice echoed off the stone walls.

"Damn it, Byron!" she rolled her eyes, lowering her wand. "You scared the shit out of me!"

He snickered. "Sorry 'bout that."

"I'm sure you are," she muttered and turned to go.

Montcroix strutted along beside her. "What are you doing wandering the halls all alone in the middle of the night?"

"Changing the configuration settings for NASA's satellites. Same old same old, you know how it is," she answered with a nonchalant air.

"What?" Montcroix stared at her.

Y/N almost burst out laughing at the look on his face. Being a pure-blood, Byron would never lower himself to learn about something so phlebian as muggle space exploration.

"Nevermind," she said. "What are you doing skulking around in the middle of the night?"

Byron shrugged. "A little birdie told me I might find someone interesting."

Now it was Y/N's turn to stare. It wasn't just what he said, but something about the way he said it that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing," he winked.

Y/N swallowed hard and picked up her pace. The spindly, twisted nightmares now seemed downright cuddly in comparison to the hungry look in Montcroix's eyes.

"What's your hurry? Byron taunted.

Y/N said nothing and continued on, wondering if she could outrun him.

It was if he'd read her mind.

The next few seconds were a blur as he grabbed her, pinning her against the wall, one hand holding her wrists behind her back, and the other clamped across her mouth. She struggled against him, trying to wrench herself free, but any attempts to escape only resulted in his grip tightening around her wrists until she could no longer feel her hands.

"Aw, you're so cute when you try to fight back," Byron smirked. "Too bad your guard doggie isn't here to protect you. Word on the street is that he left you high and dry," he laughed. "So, maybe it's time for you to experience what a real man can do... "

Never in her life had Y/N been so thankful for Montcroix's arrogant preening. It gave her time to think about her options. Biting into his hand was one possibility. It'd certainly be easy, but it wouldn't stop him. No, she needed something more crippling, something that would incapacitate him long enough for her to get away.

"...now I'm going to remove my hand," he continued, bringing her full attention back to him. "And you're going to give me a kiss."

Y/N went completely still, letting her body go slack. Then she gave him a slow, deliberate nod.

"That's a good girl," he chuckled, letting his hand slide away. "Now, what does a good girl say?"

"Fuck you!" Y/N spat and hoped her aim was true.

~•~

Byron's eyes widened, his cocky malevolence melting into shock and agony as her knee slammed into his groin. He staggered backward, clutching himself. "You stupid, fucking bitch! You're going to pay for that," he groaned, looking around for her. But he was out of luck. Y/N had already vanished into the darkness.

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @lastwandastan @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe @drama-queen-fromthevault @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean @themaraudersslut @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @scooby-doo1995 @phant0mkitsune @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance @igncrantbliss @mchlist @adangerousbalance @thankyouforanonymity @mizu-soup @drama-queen-fromthevault @patriciamatezz @futureweasleywife @xluansstuff

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x you #george weasley angst #hp fandom #hp universe

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dreamersbcll · 7 months

Text

“I’m the one who makes you laugh, when you know you’re about to cry”

for @samsblackheart

——————————————————————————-

Samantha Carpenter was a lot of things.

Tough As Nails, the local parents would whisper at parent pick-up. They always marveled at her strength, amazed at how the little eleven-year-old did it all. She would drop Tara off in the morning, climb the hill to the middle school, and walk back down to do it all again. No one ever heard her complain or cry. Yet, as amazed as they were, they never offered their condolences or even a helping hand. Instead, they looked upon her with pity in their eyes and their hands tightening onto their kids' shoulders as if neglect was a disease that could be transferred to their child.

Her friends described Sam as Black Ice. She wasn’t an outright threat, but if crossed, she would surely take anyone clean apart. The sixteen-year-old skulked the halls of Woodsboro High, her brow furrowed, and her mouth turned down in a pennant scowl. Though quiet, nobody doubted her prowess. Sam had taken down too many douchebags, giving and warning many black eyes and split lips. Nobody got in her way, but nobody willingly tried to talk to her. School counselors feared her, but teachers tolerated her. The only person who welcomed her anymore was the nurse. The nurse was the only person who treated Sam kindly and let her sleep off her hangovers on the uncomfortable cots.

On the streets that she wandered for a year or so, she was known as the Ghost. She scampered through alleyways, hid behind dumpsters, and struck when the time was right. Never bold, but also never forgiving. She took what she pleased and offered nothing in return. If a hand reached out to feed her, she bit back and didn’t let go. She knew what it was like to get hit, slapped, and beaten, and she wasn’t afraid to protect herself anymore. She was on her own, and she had to be quiet, cunning, and even careful if she wanted to survive (which she wasn’t sure about half the time); she had to be able to disappear to lick her wounds and fight another day.

In Modesto, her nickname was Serial Killer. It was initially a joke by Richie, but the bowling alley crew liked it so much that it stuck. Sam was gentler now, her edges sanded down a bit. No longer addicted and controlled by chemicals, she started to see what the world around her was like. Life had beaten her down enough for her to know that she shouldn’t bite before she barks. Perhaps that's how she had let her guard down just enough to let Richie slip in. She didn’t realize how much the boy projected onto her until it was too late.

But lucky for her, all her mistakes, nicknames, and nights of terror led her back to the one person she cared about. The one person who knew which smile she faked and which was genuine. The only person she truly belonged to in this world.

Her little sister, Tara, called her Sammy. That’s all Sam ever wanted to be. She would stop the world on its axis if it meant that Tara could always stay with her.

She doesn’t quite know how Tara did it, but no matter when Sam went, she followed. Her little sister was there the whole time, during every fight, every high, and every lonely night. Though Sam cast her out of her life at a young age, Tara still stuck around, as if she knew that Sam would one day come back and be hers again.

Nobody could make her smile quite like Tara did, whether it be a funny face, how Tara ate kiwis like apples, or how she scrunched her nose when she tasted something sour. There was something magical in those big brown eyes, something that couldn’t possibly be found on this earth.

Heaven. Her little sister was a slice of heaven.

And nothing would ever take Sam away from that again.

——

“You do know nobody loves you quite like I do, right?”

Sam looked up from her book, grinning at the voice on her lap. She dog-eared a book page and set it on the table next to her. Looking down at her little sister, she cupped the freckled cheek, her grin growing impossibly wider.

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” she asked, pretending to be puzzled.

Tara rolled her eyes, jutting a lip out in a fake pout. But that didn’t deter her. “You know what I mean. You know that nobody can make you smile like I do, and you damn well know that I know everything about you.”

Grinning, Sam brushed a piece of hair from Tara’s face. “Hmm. I don’t know If I believe you. Tell me again, please.”

Leaning into her touch, Tara sighed. “You tell me about your dreams, and I know you wanna be a chef one day. You like to put your socks on right to left, and you never leave the house without a pen. I’m the only one who can make you laugh when you get teary-eyed, and I’m the only one who can hold you as I do,” she said, smiling smugly.

Taken aback, Sam swallowed hard. It was weird to be known so well by someone, to be so open that the wind between her ribs could whistle. Her little sister had cracked open her sternum, reached in, and stolen her heart, and Sam would never complain if she never felt it beat again.

She cleared her throat, wiping the budding tears from her eyes. “You’re right. I love you, Tara. I belong to you, and you belong to me,” she whispered.

Her sister’s eyes softened with pure wonder and unaltered joy. Tara reached up, her fingertips grazing Sam’s chin. She leaned her head down a bit so Tara could touch her lips and cup her cheek. Leave her mask all over Sam, as it was a blessing to belong to someone so precious as her little sister.

“I love you, Sammy. I love you so much.”

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #AU: protect my heart #you belong with me x scream #ts x scream #ao3 author

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Fireleaf (Part Eleven)

Hi! @greeneyedivy and I are very excited about this part 😏 we both worked very hard on it, so we hope you enjoy! ♥️

Warnings: SMUT! Like…most of it is spicy 😏🌶️

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What,” Y/N steadied herself as they stumbled to a stop outside the inn, “is wrong with you?”

Lucien schooled his features into mild indifference. Like his mind hadn’t been a bull in a china shop mere moments before. He dusted himself down and stepped towards the front door.

But Y/N grabbed his arm. “Hey–”

“Do you want to wake the entire village?” He hissed, wrenching the door open. “Get inside.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Had half a gods-damned mind to tell him to shove the village up his ass and go stalking off. But she clenched her jaw and pushed past him.

Only silence and tension existed between them as they climbed the two sets of stairs to the top level, where their rooms were situated. Y/N’s entire body was taut, rigid in front of him. She practically ripped her bedroom door off its hinges as she bustled her way in, leaving it open for Lucien behind her.

He stopped on the threshold, watching her kick her shoes off and chuck them aside. Only when she perched herself on the edge of the bed did she deign to acknowledge him again.

“Well?” She shrugged.

“Get some sleep.” Lucien gripped the door handle. “The sooner morning comes, the sooner we can leave – get back to the estate.”

He stepped back, meaning to pull the door shut behind him and skulk away to sulk in his room until sleep found him. But Y/N was there in an instant, jamming a foot in the way.

“Are you kidding me?” She snapped. “What of the debrief that we so hastily left for?”

“Mother above, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t need a debrief. You played your pretty little part and played it mighty well, so great job.”

She blinked at him. At the venom and ice in his tone. He’d been rude to her before – gods, countless times – and even downright insulting.

But Lucien found himself cringing internally. At how out of line he knew he was. How he didn’t have any right to talk to her in such a way. Hadn’t had any right to drag her away from a rare night of enjoying herself.

But that same voice continued to bleat on a loop inside his mind. Azriel had made her laugh.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

He needed to go to bed right then, get away from her, because he knew he wasn’t himself. Knew he’d damn well say something he couldn’t take back.

He turned and stalked across the hall to his room. Had barely set a foot inside before she was hot on his trail, pushing past him. She stopped in the middle of his room, turning to face him and folding her arms.

“Why the fuck,” she hissed, “did we leave, if not for your little debrief? I was actually enjoying myself.”

“Yeah, I could see that. As could the whole damn room.” Lucien kicked the door shut behind him, striding past her. “And I’m sorry, but it gets a tad tedious standing aside and watching you flutter your eyelashes at anything with a pulse.”

Y/N stopped, gaping at him. “Excuse me?”

Lucien…Lucien needed her out of his room, now, before this went somewhere he couldn’t drag it back from. He spun, turning his back to her, breaths heaving. He had no right to be this angry, this affronted. She owed him nothing.

She could talk to who she wanted.

Laugh with who she wanted.

Azriel had made her laugh. Made her happy.

Lucien had never, ever made her happy.

“Just get out of my room,” he said quietly, dangerously, “and go to sleep. Now.”

Silence met him. And he thought, for a moment, that perhaps she’d already done that. Walked away from him because he was a horrible bastard–

But then footsteps came at him, and she was in front of him, shoving him.

“What is wrong with you?” She seethed. “Why are you being an utter cock? What have I done to deserve it?”

She should have left when she’d had the chance. Escaped his foul mood, his vitriol. Lucien lost it.

“How about looking at your behaviour, in searching for that answer?” He snapped, his voice not even sounding like his. “Are you capable of doing anything without throwing yourself at a male? You may as well have ripped the shadowsinger’s clothes off in front of me. Is there anyone you wouldn’t let between your legs?”

The words had just…just leached from him. He may as well have slapped her right around the face.

She went so, so still. Stared at him. And he knew…knew he’d sliced deep.

Her eyes were wide, glistening, lips slightly parted. And when his own features softened at the sight, the look was wiped off her face all together. She tilted her head to the side, not unlike a bird. Her eyes narrowed as they traced over his face and body.

She was reading him.

And then she was schooling her features into…something else. Something cutting and hard. She swallowed, pressed her lips together.

“What do you mean by that, Lucien?” She rasped. “I may as well have ripped his clothes off in front of you?”

“I–”

“Not in front of the whole room. No.” She shook her head, studying him. “In front of you. And why would that have been a problem?”

“I…I didn’t…”

Her lips kicked up into a sneer. “Because you’re jealous.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Go to bed.”

“Jealous that I might want someone else. That someone might make me feel better–”

The fine, fraught tether that had been holding Lucien in place broke.

The damn thing utterly snapped, as he surged forward and grabbed Y/N’s face in his hands, swallowing her words with a greedy kiss.

The growl that rumbled deep in his chest was like no other sound he’d ever made – deep and dark and so menacing that it made Y/N gasp against him. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.

He wanted to lick and kiss Azriel’s name from her until there was no trace of him left. Make her forget him entirely.

She broke the kiss, placing a hand on his chest. And she was breathless as she said, “You’re an asshole.”

“That I am.” He bit back, and then he was kissing her again.

One of his hands secured on her waist, the other extending out to brace them both as he walked her two steps backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed. Then she was falling down onto the mattress, pulling him with her. Not once did their lips part.

Until he was coasting his mouth along her jaw, down the column of her neck, his fingers bunching the thin material of her dress at the waist.

“I need this off.” He snarled. “Now.”

If he wasn’t already painfully hard, straining against his fitted breeches, he would have become rock solid as he watched her grab the dress at the waist and pull it over her head without protest, chucking it across the room. She was naked, aside from a pair of lacy, flimsy underwear that the sweet sting of her arousal reached him through, potent and heady. Lucien’s nostrils flared, and his eyes met hers as he moved his hand down. Dragged a finger right over the centre of that silly, pretty underwear.

“You’d let him touch you here?” His voice was a deep, lethal tenor, coloured by lust. “Like you let me?”

Her breath hitched in her throat as his finger teased her through the lace, but no words accompanied the little noise. And she knew what she was doing; knew that a lack of response would incense him even more.

That much was evident in the way he grabbed the flimsy fabric between his hand and ripped, baring her to him. The cool air immediately brushed over her damp heat, and her head fell back.

“Would you?” Lucien repeated, his eyes not moving from her slick folds. He licked his lips hungrily.

“No.” She breathed. “I wouldn’t.”

A hum vibrated against the walls of Lucien’s chest, and he tore away what remained of the lace, chucking it over his shoulder without another thought. Y/N shifted on the bed before him, pressing her legs together, moaning softly, but his firm hands pulled them back open.

“Didn’t think so.” He said, his hot breath fanning her. “Would you let him taste you? Feast on you?”

“Well,” she breathed. “Somebody needs to.”

A feral snarl came from Lucien in response, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He dragged a finger through her soaked folds, allowing her arousal to overpower him as she sucked in a gasp, its scent and feel and–

He dipped his head between her legs. He needed to taste her. Needed her to cum on his tongue.

“I need to.” He growled. “And gladly.”

His tongue sank between her folds, and the taste of her could have finished him then and there. He didn’t know which of them moaned louder as he licked a stripe up her centre, lapping up every drop and latching his tongue to her clit. Her hips bucked off the bed, and he used one hand to pin them down whilst the other began to explore, fingers inching towards her wetness.

As his tongue flicked at the nub of her clit, the pad of one finger teased her entrance, merely soaking up her arousal and swirling it around the opening. She whimpered, tried to buck her hips again, and Lucien pulled his mouth away, his lips slick with her juices.

“What is it you want?” He mused, his finger still circling, still teasing. “Tell me.”

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction – not after his behaviour at the meeting. But his teasing was torturous, the scrape of his callused finger against her wet skin. Instead of lifting her hips, she bucked forward, encouraging him to do something. But Lucien was quicker.

“No.” He growled. “Use that wicked mouth of yours. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Y/N practically choked out. “Your fingers, your mouth, your cock. You.”

“Fuck.” He cursed, the words threatening to cleave him in two. He wanted her, too, every bit of her–

He didn’t allow himself to ruminate on that thought as he sunk his finger into her, and her writhing hips went still.

“Is this all you want?” Lucien tilted his head.

“More.” She gasped.

And he would gladly give her more – and did, as he pumped that finger a couple of times before adding a second one. And then he was lowering his mouth to her clit once more, his tongue finding the most sensitive part of the little nub and swirling around it. And it was as if fire danced on his tongue, scorching every one of her nerve endings in the most earth-shattering, addictive way.

“Holy gods,” Y/N’s head fell back, her body arching. Her hand moved down, kneading her breast, pinching the nipple, and Lucien’s eyes flicked up to drink in the sight.

“That’s it.” He goaded. “Touch yourself while I fuck you with my tongue.”

Fuck her with his— she had no chance to even consider his words as he pulled his fingers from her. Dipped his head further down. His tongue found her entrance, and he circled the opening a few times before sliding in.

The moan that broke from Y/N was far, far too loud, but neither of them cared. Not with how good it felt to her, how good she tasted to him. He could have cum on the spot, just from the sweetness he lapped at. His cock strained against his trousers, begging to be released. He barely managed to get any edge off grinding himself into the mattress.

Y/N’s hand moved further down, sinking into the strands of Lucien’s hair, and she pressed his face against her greedily as she writhed and moaned and gasped. As she damn well rode his tongue.

Lucien was living for it. For the utter filthiness of it. He plunged his tongue in and out of her, allowed her to grind her dripping cunt against his face, to take what she wanted. His fingers inched up to her clit, his thumb pressing down.

Release tore through her at an unstoppable force, and her hips lifted off the bed as she shouted her pleasure into the air, writhing and trembling, a breathless succession of “gods, gods, gods” tumbling from her lips. Lucien held her firm against him, tasting her through every second of her orgasm, lapping at every drop of her.

She was tingling and sensitive, but he was relentless, still licking her, still rubbing at her. And when her hips finally fell back down to the mattress, and stars were still bursting through her vision, trembles wracking her entire body – only then did he pull away.

The force of the climax had her too utterly spent to take much notice of what he was doing. She was still gasping, moaning, draping an arm over her eyes and trying to calm herself.

Lucien stood. And the sound of his belt being unbuckled and dropped to the wooden floor filled the room.

Y/N pulled her arm away from her face, her vision swimming as she took in the sight of him. Watched him shove his breeches off and kick them away. Watched his long, rock-hard cock spring free.

She bit her lip and swallowed. She wanted to feel him, to taste him, but she wasn’t sure she could move—

“Get onto your knees.” He said quietly.

She released a breath, any pathetic attempt to shift her position ending in her limbs giving up on her. Lucien wrapped a hand around his shaft, pumping once, twice, as he approached her. And as he stopped at the edge of the bed, between her trembling thighs, her eyes flicked to his cock. She reached for him, wanting – needing – to taste that bead of moisture that was gathering at the head, but he stopped her with a hand at her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips, his gaze fixed intently on them. He seemed to contemplate letting her taste him again.

And then his eyes were flashing darker, and all the tenderness was gone. He stepped out of reach, nodding once to the bed. “On your knees. Face the headboard.”

She complied this time, weak limbs or no. But from the tone of Lucien’s voice, the flare in his gaze, she knew damn well that there was no arguing with him, no asserting her dominance like she usually would have. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The command in his voice, his stance…the wetness was gathering between her thighs once again.

Lucien stood aside, merely watching as she turned over and raised herself onto her knees. The sight of her – inner thighs still glistening with her release – almost brought him to his knees. But he kept his composure as he approached her with slow, lethal steps.

She knew when he was a mere hair’s-breadth away. A strange tingle zipped between their skin, and she found herself clenching around thin air, her fingers digging into her thighs. A rough hand traced the curve of her ass, fingers dancing up her spine. A shudder wracked through her at his touch. And as Lucien slotted himself behind her and pulled her back flush to his front, she couldn’t help emitting a gasp.

His cock was so, so near to her entrance, brushing at her folds. It was torture for him, too – that much was obvious, in the way his breathing hitched, his hips jerking slightly. But he kept her waiting, using one hand to pin her against him as the other reached up to knead at her breast.

“You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” His voice was low, gruff, his fingers pinching at her nipple. His mouth came down, lips coasting the skin of her shoulder. “Ignoring me like that. Giving those pretty little smiles to the shadowsinger. You knew what it would do to me.”

Y/N bit down on a moan. “Why should I assume you to be jealous? You merely tolerate me, don’t you? When you’re not fucking me, that is.”

A deep, sensual laugh tickled her skin; one that wasn’t exactly humorous. “If only it were that easy.”

Before she could consider his response, let alone think of her own, he was releasing his hold on her. She went toppling back down to the bed, palms shooting out to brace the fall.

And then Lucien was grabbing her by the hips. Tugging them up and flush against himself.

She meant to get onto her hands; she was halfway up when a warm palm in the middle of her back gently pushed her back down onto the mattress, leaving her back arched and her glistening cunt exposed.

Lucien’s fingers brushed briefly through her folds, eliciting a raspy moan, but they didn’t linger there. A moment passed, and then she felt the head of his cock push at her entrance.

He was hissing between his teeth before it had barely slipped in. But he was quickly learning that being buried inside Y/N was like no other feeling in the world. He’d never had sex like it, never felt completion like it. And it was why he took his damn time, savouring every sensation as he slowly sunk into her inch by inch.

He stilled when he was fully inside her, right to the hilt. And gods, she was a sight — her ass lifted up as she buried her face into the mattress, fingers clenching the bedsheets. Lucien took a moment to just drink in the sight of her. And then folded his body over her, angling his lips at her ear. The angle had him torturously deep inside of her; every bit of his restraint went into not pulling out and slamming back in right then.

His hand brushed her hair to one side, tangling within the strands, feeling the braid press against his palm and in between his fingers. He closed his fist around it, nipping the shell of her ear. “I hope you’re not expecting me to be gentle.”

“No,” she gasped, writhing against him, “just having you move sometime in the next century would be nice.”

“That smart, gods-damned mouth.” He breathed. “It’ll be my undoing.”

And move, he did.

Gentle, he was not.

He pulled out slowly, feeling every slick brush of her against him. Out and out until just the tip remained at her entrance.

And then he was slamming back in again. So hard, she emitted a yelp that quickly shifted into a moan.

It was from that moment that Lucien seemed to just give over all control to his body, his mind separating entirely. He was a frenzied force as he gripped her hips and pounded into her, and as her hair slid over her face again, obscuring his view of those pretty, parted lips and eyes that were screwed shut, he reached down and yanked the strands aside, pressing a bruising kiss to her neck.

She gasped as he rolled his hips, and never had he felt so perfectly slotted within her, the fit just right as though their bodies were made to fix together. He pounded into her relentlessly, and as she moved back against him, a feral growl ripped from the walls of his chest.

“You feel,” he snarled, his skin slapping hers, “so perfect around me. So fucking good every damn time.”

Words failed her, and she could only answer with a moan that caught in her throat as Lucien hoisted her up again, pulling her tightly against him as he had done before. His capable hips didn’t falter once as he fucked into her, feeling her in every part of his body, and he slid his hand down, down, slotting it between her legs to toy with her clit.

“Oh gods,” she choked, her head falling back against his shoulder. His expert fingers were like a touch of molten gold, somehow managing to stroke at the exact spot that had release building in her again. “Gods, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it.” Lucien growled. “Cum for me again. Cum on my cock.”

And holy gods, she did. Her hot, damp walls clenching tightly around him, her body squirming against him, she managed to reach back and sink her fingers into Lucien’s hair as he fucked her through her second orgasm, his thrusts not faltering once.

“The fucking shadowsinger,” he bit, slamming into her, “is that the kind of male you want buried in you, making you cum?”

No. She wanted Lucien, utterly and entirely. Wanted him inside her, touching her, until the two of them ceased to exist. Whatever it meant, whatever she felt, she wanted this. This, right now, whatever it was.

Lucien’s hand was moving up again, climbing up her body, brushing over her breasts. She moaned, hoping for him to knead at them, touch them and squeeze them until it hurt, but his fingers continued moving until they were woven into her hair again. He tugged, tilting her head back and exposing the column of her throat to his incessant mouth.

“Bet you wouldn’t clench around his cock like you’re clenching around mine right now.” He hissed through his teeth, a gruff groan following. “Too bad we’ll never know.”

They never would know – both of them seemed to decide it in that moment, even without speaking the words. Whatever the reasoning behind it, Y/N wanted Lucien’s cock only. Didn’t even want to think of another male.

And he didn’t want to think of another female.

He knew what that meant. Somewhere, in the back of his frenzied, screaming mind, currently overwhelmed with pleasure, he knew exactly what it meant. And somehow, it only spurred him on further.

Both his hands grabbed at her hips, and there was no stopping the brute force with which he slammed into her, thrusting in and out and in and out. Skin slapping skin and their moans and groans mingling and building, they would wake the inn up, wake the village up, wake the whole damn world up, and neither of them cared because this was what they both wanted and needed.

He thought of her wrapped around him and him only, needing only him, wanting only him–

“Lucien,” Y/N gasped, as if in answer to his unspoken plea.

He was going to lose it. Utterly fucking lose it. And he…he wanted to be looking at her when he did. Facing her.

He laid her down and flipped her over with such sensual grace that neither of them really noticed the very brief moment of separation. He was sliding straight back into her, lifting her hips off the bed and he knew, just from the way she was tightening and clenching around him, that the angle was deeper. Better.

That a third release was tearing through her.

“Gods,” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. She dragged a hand up her body, over her breasts, her neck, gripping at anything.

Lucien was yanking her closer than ever, hands pulling at her hips with a strength that was sure to leave its mark on her. He fucked into her fiercely, fighting against a vibration that was snaking itself through his body, up his legs and down his arms, in his chest. Through his hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, slamming into her faster. He reached down, rubbing at her clit with his thumb. “You’ll kill me, taking me like that. Taking me so well. Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes–fuck!”

Her hand was snapping out, grabbing onto Lucien’s arm, both encouraging him and trying to still him as her third orgasm took her somewhere else entirely.

Her back bowed, her head pressing into the mattress as a scream hitched in her throat. And all of it…every single bit of it…was too much for Lucien. The feel of her walls tightly clenching his cock as he pounded into her, the throaty moans that left her as he body trembled and shook.

Lucien’s hips faltered, and it was all he could do to slam a hand down on the bed to stop himself from collapsing. He slammed into her, against her, again and again and again, and he was roaring, stilling, spilling himself inside her. That one arm holding him upright shook, threatening to give out beneath him.

Drop after drop of his cum, he emptied into her, a whole concoction of curses and noises rolling off his tongue. And she eased him through it, rolling her hips against his, writhing under him.

Both of them were trembling. Too stunned to speak. And then together, their bodies collapsed against the bed.

It was only when Lucien had caught his breaths that he pulled out of her. Rolled off of her. His arm brushed hers as he sprawled out beside her.

His head turned to the side, and he just…stared. She hadn’t turned away from him, but she wasn’t looking at him. Not like he was gazing at her.

Something had changed for him – he could feel it twisting tightly in his chest. Feel it becoming him as he studied her flushed skin, her swollen lips, her glazed eyes and messy hair.

He wanted to reach out and…and pull her inside his side. Brush that hair out of her face. Hold her against him as their thudding hearts calmed and they fell asleep.

He wanted her to stay with him. For them to spend the remainder of the night together, in one bed. Not fucking, just…just touching. Lying beside each other.

He wanted her to stay.

And he was just about to say something – anything – when she rose from the bed, planted her feet on the ground on weak legs.

Lucien angled himself up just slightly to watch. Was she going to wash up in the bathing room? To clean up before returning to him?

It was evident that no, she was not, as she retrieved her strewn clothes from the floor. And she turned to him, as if to say something. Her eyes looked…haunted, in a way.

But it wasn’t her reluctance to stay that threatened to break Lucien entirely, no. It was the way she covered her body – wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to hide it from him. She looked…tiny. Fragile. Vulnerable. She turned away, shielding herself. Tugged her dress on.

He knew, whatever it was…it was all down to him. The thoughts that were currently in her head, the motivations behind covering herself up before him, despite how bare and unguarded she’d been minutes before.

All down to him. He’d made her feel like that.

And that was why he didn’t argue as she slipped out of the room. Why he didn’t make a move as he listened out for the sound of her door opening and closing behind her.

He lay there, eyes on the ceiling, his heart thudding in his chest and in his ears. All bliss was gone and replaced by an aching coldness. Two realisations pelted themselves at him relentlessly.

He’d wanted her to stay.

He’d made her not want to.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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