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aemondavenue · 11 months

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desolate: part ii {aemond targaryen x reader}

word count: 2.6k

parts: one | two

warnings: 18+. smut. angst. proceed with caution.

note: all grammar mistakes are my own. this is a part 2, but will not be too confusing if you haven't read part 1. thank you for reading <3

Aemond blinked awake as the morning sun peeked through the curtains of his chambers. His sleep was usually short and interrupted as his constant edge made him easy to wake. Not last night, though, with you beside him. Within himself he couldn't make out why.

He thought about the last time he slept in the company of someone else, a woman. He cringed into himself when he realized it was his mother. The time was years ago. He was a smaller, younger. He had a spell of nerve pain during dinner and fled to his room. Alicent followed not far behind him. Where he would usually slam the door shut and lock it behind him, he neglected to then. With his hand cradling the left side of his face, he begged her, yelled at her, to leave. He was glad that she didn’t. She drew shapes on his palm until he fell asleep. He woke up to her still in his room asleep in the chair beside his bed. He apologized to her that morning. She told him not to, not for that.

He shook the thought out of his head and instead focused on how he couldn’t witness the sunrise this morning as he usually did. He slept for longer than usual. He turned his head down to finally look at you bundled beside him, back still to his chest.

Your words from last night racked through his mind as he studied the side of your face. He thought about the reasons why you would want more attention from him. He didn’t think himself good company to keep, not good enough for someone like you. Yet, here you were.

Shortly after his waking, you awoke as well. Still admiring you, he saw you begin to stir in your sleep. Shit.

When he saw your eyes begin to flutter open, he instinctively pretended to be sleeping again and then slowly blinked and opened his eye as if he were waking with you. You shift beside him and he sees you looking up at him.

“You stayed,” you smile lightly.

“Yes,” he responds, “However, Criston is expecting me in the training yard.”

Your face falls.

“Uh- but I’m sure he can wait,” he sputters trying to fix his misspeaking.

You roll your eyes and push his arm off of you.

“You have not one romantic bone in your body, husband,” you lift yourself from the bed and stand up, “don’t let me stop you from going about your day.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Stay with me.”

“Well, I have plans with Helaena, so it seems we’re both busy,” you move to the window to open his curtains. He uses his hand to shield his eye from the brightness.

“I can cancel on him and I’ll clear my meetings for the day,” he says to you.

“Very sweet, but no need as I will not be canceling my plans for you, husband,” you respond as you begin to make your way to the door.

“Will you be back here tonight?” he calls out behind you.

“We’ll see,” you respond with your back to him as you exit the room, the door closing behind you.

The only semblance left of you was your scent in his sheets.

── •

Later that night on his way back to his chambers, Aemond stops himself from the urge to go to your room and ask you to sleep with him again that night. He did not want to rush you. He moves on his path to his own room.

Once he enters, he is surprised to see you on his bed.

He stops in his tracks.

“Should I see myself out?” you tilt your head at him with a glint in your eyes.

“Of course not,” he responds and you notice his eye raking your body. You were wearing a white linen night gown tonight. Lace detailing decorated your neck line.

He moves to undress himself and get ready for bed.

“I can help you,” you jump up from the bed and approach him. You push his own hands away from his belt buckle and unclamp it for him. You focus on the individual notches on his tunic as he looks at you. Once you notice his gaze, you hold yours with his.

“Are you doing this because you want to fuck?” he chimes.

“You can interpret this however you want, husband-“

Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist, turned you around, and bent you over the bed so your stomach hit the mattress. You could feel him lift your gown until-

“Wait! Hold on!” you chime in, pushing yourself from the bed and turning to him, “be gentle at first!”

“Why? That is not effective.”

“Yes it is! It is about feeling everything.”

“I’m not good at gentle.”

“I could teach you.” you huff out of breath.

“And where did you learn about gentle sex?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Where did you learn about sex in general, husband?”

His face falls for a moment, “This isn’t about me.”

“But I-”

“Tell me how you want me to make love to you as you say.”

“... Well, I do enjoy reading.”

“You do.”

“I have read in the novels that we have the option to undress each other first,” your eyes avert away towards the conclusion of your sentence.

“Oh. Are those the kinds of texts you've been reading all this time?” there was amusement in his expression now.

“Wha- No!”

He throws his now unbuckled tunic to the nearest chair and begins fumbling your gown, “I am not judging you. Arms up,” You did as you were told and he pulls your gown over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.

“Okay,” you move to grab his hand and pull him to the bed, you both sit on the edge of it.

“This is the part where … you kiss me and touch me softly,” you then closed your eyes and waited intently for him to make the next move.

He nodded, though, you couldn’t see him. A small smile crept on his face. He didn’t know what part of you to take in first: the silliness of the sight of you waiting for him with puckered lips or the hardness of your exposed nipples. He licked his lower lip in anticipation.

His hand reached to turn your face towards him, press your mouth in a kiss. Then your a kiss to your chin. Then your neck. Then your collar bone. He pulled away for a moment to meet your eyes with his.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

He pulled you in for a harder kiss this time before guiding you further onto the mattress and positioning himself between your legs. He continued his trek of planting kisses all across your chest. The feel of his lips in tandem with his breath on your torso made you shudder.

His mouth moves to your breast and pauses there before suckling on the flesh, then on your nipple. You gasp at the sensitivity. For a moment he stays there and then shifts to give attention to your other breast. You reach your hand to run your fingers through his silver mane. You couldn’t tell who was more pleased in that moment: you or him. You smiled as a content hum escaped his lip. Undoubtedly, it was him.

You could feel his hands pull at the hem of your underwear. He only unlatched from your chest as way to better free you from your garments. He threw them out of view. You saw him sit for a moment to take in the view of you. He caught sight of your glistening center.

“Look how ready you are for me,” he says under his breathe.

You nod.

“Tell what they do next in those stories your read, my eager girl,” he teases.

You nudge him with the side of your foot and he laughs.

“Do you touch yourself while reading these novels, eager girl? Who do you imagine in place of your hands?” he says as he drags both palms along your inner thighs.

“Please,” you manage to say.

“Please what?”

“Touch me more.”

“Where?” he tilts his head.

“You know where,” you urge him.

“I’m afraid I don’t-“

You grab his hand from your though move it closer to your center.

“Ohhh, you mean here,” he taps your aching cunt and you hiss.

His traces his fingers along your slit, gathering your wetness along with it. He pulls his fingers away to examine the dampness you’ve left on his fingers. Your jaw drops slightly as you watch him bring them to his mouth, licking them clean. He hums at the flavor.

You watch as he adjusts himself onto his stomach and leans his head onto your inner thigh. Then he looks at you.

“May I taste you?” he says.

Mouth still partially hung open you respond with a breathless, “Yes.”

He proceeds with a long drag of his tongue across your cunt. He collects the wetness at your opening and gathers it to your clit. He rotates between swirling his tongue and suckling on the bud, eliciting moans from you pouting mouth. You grab at the sheets beneath you.

His tongues coaxes whimpers to escape your mouth as he continues his attack on your clit. Periodically moving back to your core to collect the nectar he has extracted out of you. He treated it as his prize. His reward for making you feel so good. You would blush at the joy he is deriving from this act if you weren’t so lost in the bounds of your own pleasure. Your clawing at the sheets and bucking hips into his face only came to him as greater signs to keep going.

He groaned into your cunt. He basked feel of your fingers entangling in his hair, tugging at his tresses whenever his nose bumped your bundle of nerves in that perfect way. He ignored the painful throb of his cock and bucked hip hips to relieve the pressure.

“I love making you feel good, my love, give it to me please,” he briefly pulled away before continuing to coax your peek out of you.

His tongue continued to lap at your cunt. He was diligent. Desperate for you to finish on his face. You barely heard his encouragements as your head rolled back deep into the pillow. Your back arched offed the bed as your legs flailed beside the sides of his head, overwhelmed with pleasure. He kept you pinned to that position for him as that rush of heat surged from your center and the through your whole body. Culminating, in a moan from you that echoed off the back wall of his chamber.

He pulled away, lips puffy and eyes glazed over. He sat back up on his legs and looks down at the now prominent outline in his pants. He looks at you still in recovery from your orgasm and reckons you’ve had enough. He begins to crawl to lay beside you.

“You’re done?” you pout at him.

“I reckon that you are finished, my love,” he smiles at you.

“I’m not not without you. I want you to finish too.”

“You think you can take me now?” he questions.

“Yes I can,” you nod at him and try to look more composed.

He finally removes the rest of his garments. You try not to react as he releases himself from his trousers. This wasn’t his first time revealing himself to you, but you still found it awe inducing how he managed to fit you.

He adjusted himself between your legs. He grabbed ahold of himself and teased his cock at your entrance. You were still sensitive from the work from his mouth. He dragged himself along your slit until eventually sliding himself in. Both of your jaws dropped in unison.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “so ready for me.”

His pace starts with a slow rhythm. With hooded eyes he makes sure you’re adjusting to him nicely. He revels in every single sound his thrusts elicit from your lips. You pull him in to kiss you, muffling your own moans with his mouth. He feeds on them. The pace was torturous for him, but you were right, he somehow felt more of you this way.

Aemond moved his hand to massage the meat of your thigh. Then lifting it over his shoulder for a deeper penetration. You gasped at the fuller feeling. Your pleasure drowned out the tinges of pain that came from the new angle. You clawed at his back in desperation. The feel of your nails digging into his skin prompted his thrusts to become more harsh. He groaned in your ear, you knew for sure he wanted to go faster.

“You can give me more. I’ll take anything you give me,” you whimpered in his ear.

He wasted no time. His thrusts became sharp and unrelenting. His hips colliding with yours at a rapid velocity. Again and again sheathed himself deeply inside you. His pelvis bumping against your already swollen clit. Your moans drowned out his occasional grunts into your neck.

He then sat straight up making sure to keep his cock buried inside you. He gripped your hips and moved them in tandem with his thrusts. His groans became less strangled and more desperate you knew he was chasing his own orgasm. You didn’t think you could meet him there, some how he knew.

“Need you to hold on for me, Issa jorrāelagon.”

“I can’t it’s too much, not again,” you protested, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“On my cock this time, please? For me?” he begged.

His thrusts in this position persistently hit that same spot inside you. He moved his hand to where his pelvis met your clit and began to work at your nub with his thumb. You knew you weren’t gonna last for him as your legs began to shake beside him. He gripped your waist harder with his other hand and you could feel him losing his rhythm, but his strokes became more cruel.

Your weeps halted as your breath caught in your throat. Your climax overtook you violently. You shoved his hand away from your clit. Your pleasure was harrowing. Your mind couldn’t take it, but your body betrayed you.

He rode out your orgasm in a chase with his own. His groans became more shallow. His hips were ruthless and his mouth hung agape. You both yelped in sync as he came so hard you saw white. HIs final thrusts, as he now held himself above you, were sloppy. He was ensuring you were taking all the seed he had to offer you.

He then collapsed onto your chest, cock still sheathed inside of you.

“You think a baby will lay this time?” you chimed.

You felt his cock twitch inside you at your words.

“Don’t go getting me worked up again, wife,” he voices, “but yes, I think it will and if not we will try and try again,” you could feel him grin against you.

You giggle and run your palm over his back. He eventually releases himself from you, but continues to lay his head on your chest. You two stay like this for a while before he interrupts the silence.

“I’d like to be in your company more from now on if you wouldn’t mind,” he mentions.

“I’ll allow it,” you say and he laughs at your response.

He laid like that with his head resting on your chest for the rest of the night. You would fall asleep before him and he followed soon after content with the sound of your beating heart coaxing him to sleep.

── •

tag list: @castellomargot @svtansdaddyx @brie-annwyl

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #smut #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine

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youreallyshouldtalkmore · 6 months

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Dark Imagination_ Part 1

A.N: Did I really just come up with a 10-part Genshin Impact Reverse Harem Vampire Husbando AU? Yep! But, I had to stop the count of husbandos somewhere, so I’m keeping it simple:

Zhongli, Alhaitham and Neuvillette are officially my top three husbandos, in that order. So they will have the honor of being the main vampire coven we are following in this story.

Genshin Impact MasterList

-------------------

Why did you even go into a haunted house in the first place? Where was your head? In all the years, you’ve been alive, you’ve never been to one. So what possessed you this time?

Perhaps you would later call it fate.

Fate, that made you buy tickets to a place, you knew you hated.

Fate, that, made you wander the grounds of this usual amusement park turned horror show.

And it was fate that made you go into a House of Mirrors.

So, was it fate, that you got lost in said the House of Mirrors?

The light that shined from somewhere was the last straw as you panic and tried to get out of the House of Mirrors. You ran until, you suddenly found yourself falling….

And falling…

When you woke up….

You woke up in a gothic room, in a king-sized bed, with sheets of black and red satin. At first, you breathed. Perhaps you had been sent to an infirmary or something. It certainly looked like it could be part of the haunted fairgrounds. But you were tired of this and wanted to leave now. You should have never come in the first place.

A smooth voice floated into the room, “You’re finally awake, my dear one?”

You had only blinked and suddenly three males were surrounding you. One minute they weren’t there and the next they were.

You lost your voice, shocked at their sudden entrance. What kind of magic was this? You weren’t being facetious, either, they literally appeared next to you in a blink of an eye. You were sure of it! But that wasn’t possible?

Was it?

“Dear one?” the amber eyed one’s eyebrows drew together in concern. He was the one that first spoke, sitting to your right. He was dressed in brown and gold, with long brown locks that were tied back.

Your eyes trailed to your left. This one had long white hair tied back in ribbon with lavender eyes, dressed in white and blue. He was looking at you in concern as well. And directly in front of you was a gray-haired man with green tint in his hair, dressed in dark green with many embellishments. You could not see his eyes, as he had his gaze was buried in the book in front of him.

Finally, you found your voice, shrinking back from these ethereal looking men. There was no denying it. They weren’t just handsome, all three process an otherworldly beauty.

“Who-who are you? Cosplayers?” you asked. You wanted it to be just model men in makeup but something in your soul, warned you that there was more to this than a stellar makeup job.

“Cos. Players?” the lavender eyed man spoke slowly, “In all my ears I had never heard of such a term. Zhongli?”

Zhongli hummed in thought, “Neither have I. Alhaitham, have you heard of this in your readings?”

The one reading the book, shook his head but did not look up, “It sounds frivolous already. If it has nothing to do with facts, then I too am unaware of this term.”

“It just means to dress up as a character. Costume play.” Why you offered an explanation, you did not know. But it was strange that these ethereal looking mean were discussing this as if it was that worthy of note. If they were cosplaying, they were remarkably in role.

But in your mind, that was not the issue here.

Who exactly were they?

“Then no, we are not costume playing.” The one with lavender eyes spoke, turning back to you, “Please allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Neuvillette. This is Zhongli, he is the oldest among our coven. Alhaitham there is the youngest out of the three of us.”

“...Coven? Did you say coven? What kind of coven?” you whispered, eyes going wide.

What exactly did you get yourself dropped into? Or more to the point, why were we starting out with a dark fantasy genre? You didn’t mind reading it, but you didn’t want to wake up in one!

“Please do not be frightened of us, my dear one.” Zhongli murmured, reaching out to gently grasp your hand, “We would never hurt you. We are incapable of such a thing. But we are vampires.”

Despite the warmth of his hand, despite the glove, you snatched it away, “You lie. Vampires aren’t real.”

The book shut suddenly seemingly loud in the room making you snap your head up. Alhaitham turned to look at you for the first time, “Perhaps not in your world. But you are no longer in your world.”

“What?”

Neuvillette heaved a sigh, “Even after all these years, you have yet to learn to be a bit less direct, Alhaitham.”

“Did I say something untrue?”

“No, but there is a time and place for every word to be spoken. Not to mention how they are spoken. Miss. Y/N….”

You gasped, “How did you know my name?”

“We’ve search long for you. The three of us were brought together because we knew that we would share the same Blood Mistress.”

“Blood…Mistress…?” you echoed slowly.

“Hm, vampires in this world are usually brought together in a coven by the one whose blood calls to them. Humans that have special blood are designated as Blood Masters or Mistresses.”

You protested, “My blood isn’t special.”

Zhongli gave a gentle smile, “I assure you, it is. Even now, you smell positively divine.”

You stared at him before ducking your head. What did he just say, and out loud without a stutter at that?

Neuvillette gave a sigh and glared at Zhongli while Alhaitham rolled his eyes.

Zhongli took the hint, “Ahh, forgive me, Mistress. It seems I lost my composure and said something I shouldn’t have. Especially not when we are trying to get to know each other. I should have had more restraint than that. I apologize.”

Alhaitham sighed, “As the oldest, shouldn’t you be putting forth a better example?”

“Indeed I should.” Zhongli spoke, “I apologize, to the both of you as well.”

“It’s past….”, Neuvillette dismissed, “Miss. Y/N, the three of us, have been in an….predicament that is unusual in this world. You see, we knew that we could sense your blood and that you had a bond with us, but we came to a realization after searching for years in every corner of this world; combing this world ten times over only to feel as though we were passing right by you that….”

“....that you didn’t exist in this world. You existed in a world beyond.” Alhaitham finished.

“That’s unusual?” you asked.

Neuvillette continued, “Hm, very much so. To be able to sense your presence but unable to reach you. So, we had a transaction with a coven of powerful witches, and they were able to bring you to us. Forgive us, for using such dire means, but we had no other way.”

You thought on this a moment, then asked the obvious, “Can…can I go back home?”

You notice the three exchanging glances. Was their pain in their eyes? No, why should there be? It was only natural you’d want to go home. You didn’t know these men. In fact, they could be lunatics.

Vampires, Blood Mistresses and different worlds?

Did they hear themselves? If only you were reading this, cozied up in your home, you would be quite a bit more appreciative.

Finally, Zhongli answered, “If….if you wish it, that can be arranged. However, it will about a month from now when the full moon comes again. Then, the witches can send you….back…home….”

There was an awkward lull.

Even you could see that it took every effort for him to say those words. A quick glance and you realized that all three were looking away from you.

“A month…? I see….”

You weren’t sure what to make of this, to be honest.

Part 2

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #zhongli #zhongli x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #vampires

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zablife · 7 months

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Mary the Helpful Housekeeper

Requested by @appare--vestigium for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

You woke with a splitting headache, the blinding sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains only adding to your pain. You reached out for your cigarettes, but your body was sluggish and unresponsive to your commands, only succeeding in knocking over the Bible the staff had given you as a wedding gift. With a huff of frustration, you fell back against the plush comfort of the feather down pillows, wondering if it had been the copious amounts of wine at dinner or your late night of passionate lovemaking causing your fatigue. Placing a hand over your eyes, you called out to Tommy to see how he was faring, but received no answer.

Your eyelids slipped close once more, too heavy to keep open and suddenly a bizarre dream resurfaced from the recesses of your mind. You flinched at the haunting memory of an intruder which now seemed unquestionably real. You were certain you’d witnessed a shadowy figure scurrying forth from the darkness to loom over you and Tommy, a pleading voice whispering in your ear to repent.

Before you could bring forth any other details, you heard the door of your bedroom creaking against its ancient hinges and you gasped loudly, eyes snapping open in fear. A slight figure rounded the corner with a breakfast tray, tilting her head to examine you curiously. “Is something wrong, ma’am?” Mary asked, placing the food at your side.

“No…yes,” you corrected yourself rubbing your temples in tight circles. “I’m not feeling very well. My head is aching and I’ve had the strangest dream,” you confided, though you weren’t sure she was the right person to tell. Where Tommy saw professionalism, you perceived nothing but coldness in her demeanor.

“Oh, what about?” she inquired, busying herself opening the curtains.

“Nothing….nonsense really,” you admitted, dismissing the ludicrous idea the moment the soothing warmth of the tea cup radiated against your palm.

The rhythmic clicking of Mary’s footsteps against the hardwood stopped abruptly, her voice straining a note higher as she advised, “I wouldn’t be so quick to forget. Your dreams can tell you a great deal.”

“I doubt that,” you snorted.

Mary drew the last curtain back with more force than necessary. The golden rings holding the heavy drapery crashed against the rod with a harsh clang, forcing you to turn. “Mary!” you exclaimed in shock and annoyance.

“My apologies, ma’am. I do hope you recover from what ails you,” she said in somber monotone before hurrying from the room.

You rolled your eyes at her unsympathetic tone, a long sigh escaping your lips as you attempted to move the heavy tray. Wincing in pain, your eyes fell to your left arm and the bright red mark that had seemingly appeared overnight. You traced the tender flesh at the crease of your elbow with your fingertips, wondering what sort of insect could have bitten you. It left you disgusted at the thought of something in your bedding and you demanded the room be given an immediate cleaning. Of course, Mary deemed it unnecessary, stressing her thorough routine.

Despite winning the battle of wills, you felt a certain unease that would carry through the day until you were tucked safely beneath your husband’s arm at bedtime. Only then did you give an account of your unusual morning and the difficulties with his housekeeper.

“Tommy, honestly, I don’t know why you keep her around,” you grumbled.

Tommy shrugged as he leaned over to extinguish his cigarette in the ashtray. “She’s loyal and hardworking, Y/n. Not to mention a skilled nurse. She patched up Arthur and me more than once without saying a word to the coppers,” he noted. “And she never complains. Always answers the bell, no matter how late,” he added with a satisfied nod.

“So she’s in love with you,” you teased, looking over at him with a wicked smile and playfully raised eyebrow. “The maid who answers the bell after midnight is always in love with the master.”

“Is that right?” Tommy asked, mischief dancing in his eyes. “It’s after midnight now, Mrs. Shelby, would you care to see to my needs?” he countered, moving your hand down his toned chest toward the growing bulge in his shorts. You giggled as he leaned down to kiss you, pushing every thought of insubordinate servants from your mind. By the time he’d finished with you, you were thoroughly exhausted and fell into a peaceful slumber by his side.

The next thing you remembered, the clock in the hall chimed four, a chill blowing through the room. Your heavy eyes struggled to open, nonetheless you swore there was something at the corner of your vision, moving stealthily toward you. You felt your heart knock against your ribs urgently and you willed yourself to scream, but found your tongue caught in your throat. Likewise, your limbs remained stuck and lifeless by your side. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…please wake up, you silently pleaded, wishing he could hear your desperate thoughts.

A whisper drifted toward your ear, hissing like a serpent ready to strike. “But if they confess their iniquity and the iniquity of their fathers in their treachery that they committed against me, and also in walking contrary to me, so that I walked contrary to them and brought them into the land of their enemies-if they then their uncircumcised heart is humbled and they make amends for their iniquity then I will remember…” Words tumbled out, one upon another as your eyes adjusted in the darkness.

Then a leather bound book came into view, held by bony hands. You felt fear clawing at your spine as a pair of bulging blue irises peeked over the edges of the volume in an icy stare. The recitation stopped the moment your eyes locked, a hint of recognition flickering like the flame of a candle before it was snuffed out. A sudden blur of motion overtook your senses as the figure turned in haste, leaving you to fall back into a tunnel of confusion, haze descending upon you like a thick fog.

The next morning, your headache returned and with it intense paranoia. Luckily, Tommy was there to tend to you. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, a pained look upon his brow as he studied you with concern. “We’ll get a doctor if you need to speak to someone about your nightmares, love,” he reassured you.

“They’re not dreams, Tommy! What I've seen is real!" you insisted. Biting your lip you added hesitantly, "I think it’s Mary. I swear it was her last night,” you said, clutching onto his sleeve, needing to be close to him.

“Where, darling?” he asked, beginning to worry for your sanity.

“Here! In our room, standing over our bed,” you stressed, tugging on him insistently. You searched his eyes to see if he believed you and found nothing but a blank stare.

Tommy shook his head gently and hushed you as he pushed the hair from your face. “You’re overtired. All the preparations for the party,” he reasoned. “I’ll stay in the guest room tonight. Give you a chance to rest,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head with such tenderness you began to cry.

“Tommy, please don’t leave me,” you sniffed. “I’m afraid,” you confided in a whisper.

“Of Mary?” he asked with a chuckle. “Now I know you could use some sleep. Who could be afraid of a little old woman, eh?”

—————-

Two weeks later…

“What’s wrong with her? Thought you was going to have a party?” a gruff voice echoed down the hall.

“She’s not well, brother,” your husband rasped, concern laced in his voiced.

“What’s she got?” his brother demanded.

“I’m not sure,” Tommy replied, exhaustion evident in his tone. “But she says Mary's to blame.”

“Mary? She’s a good Christian woman, Tom! What’s she got to do with this?”

Tommy sighed, “I wish I knew.”

Although you tried to prop yourself up on the pillows to hear the rest of their conversation, you were unable to manage it. You’d become far too weak in recent days. Your arms were now covered in tiny red blemishes which were beginning to scab over. You shifted the blankets to cover them, ashamed of the indelicate way your skin had bruised by whatever was afflicting you.

When Tommy opened the door to your bedroom, you offered a weak smile when he asked, “How’s my girl?”

You didn’t feel like his girl anymore, you knew dark circles painted the hollows of your eyes and your cheeks sunk in unattractively, but you tried to put on a brave face for the man you loved. “I’m alright,” you said, attempting a small smile. Your visits with Tommy were the highlight of your otherwise drab and listless days.

“That’s good. You get to feeling better and we’ll start to discuss our wedding party, yeah?” he offered encouragingly.

“I’d like that,” you answered, though the hope of returning to a normal life seemed to be slipping further from your grasp with each passing day.

“I’ll have a maid draw your bath,” Tommy said, placing a kiss to your lips before turning to leave.

“Not her!” you reminded him, voice as loud and clear as you could manage.

Tommy stopped at the door, one hand on the frame as he exhaled loudly. “No, of course not.”

“Thank you,” you called out, feeling like a burden and a disappointment.

——————-

With the steam from the bath having dissipated and the water turning tepid, you looked over your shoulder for your favorite silk robe. “Clara, could you help me?” you called out, settling back against the edge as you waited.

Eyes closed in one last moment of peaceful solitude, you inhaled the soothing lavender bath salts, leaving an arm extended for your towel. Just then a hand grasped your forearm immobilizing you, a momentary sting caused you to thrash in the water. As the crashing waves spilled onto the tile floor, you were only vaguely aware of the splash as it hit. You felt your body sink into the water, arms slipping from the porcelain edges as your muscles went weak. The piercing blue irises from your nightmares watched you, but this time you were lucid enough to attach them to a body, the ginger haired woman you’d suspected all along.

“M-mary?” you mumbled, lips and tongue tingling strangely. She held a hand over your mouth, her eyebrows twitching with fury.

“When will you ever listen? You sinful woman,” she berated you in a low voice.

You searched her eyes, but the effect of whatever she’d given you was quickly altering your senses. You watched as her face began to melt into a blur, using all your effort to concentrate on her words.

“Mr. Shelby was turning his life around before you came. The orphanages, housing for the poor,” she explained, voice cracking with emotion. “But you’ve distracted him from his work. All he speaks of now are hedonistic pleasures. Your influence, no doubt,” she hissed.

You let out a muffled cry, barely able to breathe, and she jerked her hand away as though she were the one who had been harmed. She looked at her hand fearfully. “I’m no murderer. I’m here to save your soul,” she said with a vigorous nod of her head.

She stood, smoothing her apron as if reminded why she'd come in the first place. Taking a small Bible from the bathroom sink, she licked her index finger before finding her place from the night before.

She cleared her throat so as to compose herself, standing straight as an arrow, chin held high. “Leviticus 18…” she began in a controlled voice you recognized from your nightmares. Your eyes slipped close, a tear running down your cheek as you realized it had been all too real.

-----------

Tag List:

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x y/n #zablife 2k celebration

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deaths-presence · 3 months

Text

Two of a Kind || Dazai x Reader Part 3: The Vanishing Act

Story Summary: The search for your brother has led you into conflict between the Armed Detective Agency of Yokohama and the Guild. Fitzgerald keeps you involuntarily, that is until you finally find your chance of escape. Will you find strength within the ADA, or will you only become more astray? Word Count: 1.5k Characters Featured: Nathaniel Hawthorne, Margaret Mitchell Warnings: afab!reader, slowburn, plot heavy to build up romance, usual Port Mafia violence, lmk if I happened to miss anything please! Tag List: @decaf-nosebleed @isa-ghost A/N: If you want to be added to the tag list that has started, feel free to let me know! Don't worry guys, we're finally getting plot-adjacent and building up to what we've been waiting for. :) Gotta love slow burns.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Despite the Zelda as your new floating prison, you gawked up at the humongous vessel that you boarded with Lady Margaret and Hawthorne. The three of you had taken the rest of the evening to settle upon the ship, only paying half-attention to them discussing ideas for what they would do to properly make the Zelda the Guild’s headquarters in Yokohama; at least until they could procure a building. You could imagine Fitzgerald buying out one for the right price.

If Hawthorne and Lady Margaret noticed how quiet you were at the dinner table later that night, they said nothing about it. Your mind kept wandering back to the small battlefield you had managed to jump into. Your body had never moved so fast to protect yourself, but your thoughts were eating at you. Did you protect the right people? Should you have turned around and fought back against the Guild to protect those local to Yokohama? Where exactly did her loyalties lie?

Instead of getting that boy killed, I could’ve given my life to save him instead, you thought. You weren’t hungry enough to finish dinner, and you sighed in relief as Hawthorne allowed you to be excused and escort yourself out to the room you would be staying in. It was no wonder Fitzgerald assigned him and Lady Margaret to look after you. Despite having the opportunity to escape, you knew you would not get far without sustaining critical injuries. Hawthorne’s ability to manipulate his blood was crafty and hard to avoid, and Lady Margaret’s weathering ability with the wind at her disposal was something you didn’t want to be on the other end of.

You entered the room that was provided to you, momentarily forgetting that you were being held against your will on this ship at the sight of the environment in front of you. Nightfall had come and welcomed the glittering stars and constellations in the sky. Your eyes were captivated by the moon, its light reflecting from it dancing across the small, rolling waves of the water. The Tokyo Bay leading to the Pacific outside your windows was torturous. Something so vast and free laughed at you, trapped with no one to come to your rescue.

You decided to succumb to the bed that called out to you after undressing and putting on a nightgown, pulling your hair down from the ponytail you had put it in when leaving the Moby Dick. Your eyes fought to stay open as you shifted into the mattress that hugged you, and you drew up the sheets and blankets to stay warm and comfortable. It was the last thing you remembered until you woke up the next morning.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The preparations for replenishing the Zelda the next day were quickly turned upside down. Your hands stopped running over the purple and black polyester of the gothic-style dress you wore. The length of the dress shortened into ruffles that came down to your knees and seeing them made you miss having Lucy visit you at least once a day. Your hair was down to save you the headache from having it pulled up, instead substituting the style by having your hair in waves.

Your attention was cast to Hawthorne and Lady Margaret chattering back and forth. Your eyes went to the singular paper that was in his hands, and you couldn’t help but notice that it was written in something deemed childish. You started to approach them before your footsteps on the wooden deck of the ship drew their gazes to you instead of each other.

“I need you to prepare for our departure once we have everything on the ship,” Hawthorne said with controlled calmness. Between him and Lady Margaret, you could taste the newfound tension in the air.

“Departure? So soon?” You tilted your head inquisitively.

“I’m afraid the Port Mafia has threatened this ship and our lives.” Hawthorne gestured to the letter by raising the paper up.

“In crayon?” you asked in disbelief, gently taking the letter to observe it. It was short more than it was sweet, and the content inside was exactly what Hawthorne had just described to you. Your fingers ran over the waxy letters.

“Like I said, it’s nothing more than a silly prank on the Guild!” Margaret huffed in exasperation.

You were inclined to believe her, but you also knew Hawthorne always preferred to remain cautious. If this threat was truly authentic, then it would only be a matter of time before it became reality. Hawthorne was the type to protect his people. Whether that happened to include you or not, you were not willing to pry into it. If nothing else, you knew Lady Margaret would be guarded.

“Mr. Hawthorne, sir. There’s something you should see.”

You felt a cold chill run down your spine and spread through the rest of your body. Did one of the labor men happen to find something to back up the evidence of the letter coming from the Port Mafia? You didn’t learn the answer to that question with Hawthorne’s next order directed at you.

“Please return to your room at once. I will let you know if it is safe to return to the deck.” His eyes told you all you needed to know. You understood if anything were to happen to you, it would be a target on Hawthorne’s head. Fitzgerald would make sure of that after assigning your welfare to him and Lady Margaret. Instead of arguing, you nodded and made your way back to your room. If nothing else, you would prepare for departure after everything was loaded onto the Zelda.

It felt like minutes passed before you heard a rumble above deck, your brows furrowing in concern. You heard your heartbeat starting to pound with adrenaline, and you weren’t willing to wait and see if more explosions were nearby. You left everything behind as you started out of the room at a hurried pace. Several large explosions went off above deck in quick succession, and the force of them made you lose your balance and fall onto the passageway floor. You could smell the fresh gunpowder, and your lungs contracted at the polluted air. You coughed as you forced yourself up on your feet, your idleness turning into panic as you sprinted to the closest way out.

The smoke worsened as you exited onto one of the balconies, your eyes stinging as your body racked with a coughing fit. The distance down to the dock was too grand to simply jump down, and you didn’t have a supernatural ability in your repertoire that strengthened your legs to break your fall. Though, as you thought about it, there was one way you could try.

You focused on bringing out the Change that you wanted, picturing the wings extending from your back and spreading out. Your eyesight shifted, and it forced you to blink rapidly to adjust while the colors making up the dock began to change and sharpen. Your body felt smaller and blonde locks of hair flowed in the small breeze out of the corner of your eye. You would have to take that in mind with your next course of action.

You took a couple of steps backwards before running to the rail of the balcony, kicking your feet off the deck to jump over it. Your wings glided you through the air and delivered you swiftly down to the port. Your landing was sloppy, but you managed to survive. To save your energy, you quickly shapeshifted back to your natural appearance, thankful for the unclouded air entering your lungs.

Your body felt like it was still lightweight enough to be carried by the air, and you nearly blocked out the shouting of your name. Your head slowly turned to the voice, and you snapped out of your stupor when you realized it was Lady Margaret. She looked uncharacteristically disheveled, and you noted the large patch of deep red on her pastel ballgown. Blood. She was injured. The Port Mafia threat was real.

You flinched when Margaret touched you. As you looked into her piercing blue eyes, you saw that they still held determination despite the outcome. She looked different and bare without her sunhat and parasol. She must have caught you staring with the way she shook you by the shoulders.

“Run, you little fool! What are you still doing here?!” she demanded.

“Lady Margaret,” you whispered as you found your voice, “I—”

You trembled at how tight her hold was on your hands now. They weren’t threatening. When was the last time you were touched without it bringing pain? Margaret had decided it was the best way to keep your attention focused on her instead of the chaos that surrounded you.

“Run. If they get a hold of you, it’ll be worse than what Francis has ever done. Run, and only use my appearance if you’re desperate!”

Your eyes widened considerably at the realization. That’s also why she had decided to touch you. If you had to hide yourself, she was offering her appearance as protection. You didn’t realize your eyes were tearful until her hard push sent you backwards. She didn’t have to order you to run again. With Margaret turning her back to help defend Hawthorne, you took to the unfamiliar streets and began running for your life.

#dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #dazai imagines #dazai x y/n

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

Note

https://cable-knit-sweater.tumblr.com/post/688418800148840448/sometimes-im-not-sure-if-cats-like-me-you

Do you see the Thot in this too?

“ I need a ….. who’s desperate to see me every time I walk in throught the door”

I can help to see thots everywhere with this man.

Welcome to my dark broken mind world

Darling, we are too much of the same mind. But I disagree with Chris, I think a kitty kat would be eagerly awaiting Chris when he got home. 😏

Warnings: 18+Phone sex, edging, teasing, Daddy kink, masturbation, oral sex (female receiving). Do not repost or steal my work. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

Smut drabble below the cut

Kitty Kat

Chris had been away again.

This time, it was only for four days. But he'd edged you every available moment while he was gone. He'd sent texts, videos, he called you and commanded you with that voice of his. He'd teased you to the point of delirium, jacking off in front of your eyes on face time, to the extent that pre cum dribbled all over his hand.

But he never came.

And he never let you cum.

You were at the point of tears last night when he'd called you before he caught the redeye.

"Wait for me, Kitten," is what he said in that sexy ass broken growl of his.

"Be a good girl for me."

“Fuck. Chris. I can’t wait.”

You whimpered, and he almost stroked himself to completion right then, but he that’s not what he really wanted.

“Oh, Kitten. It will feel so gooood. Be a good little kitty kat for me. Keep my pussy warm. And throbbing for me.”

He bit his lips and you could practically hear his smirk. You wanted to wipe it off his face with your pussy.

“Oh... Chris, I’m gonna....”

You weren’t touching yourself anymore, but that didn’t stop your clit from pounding away.

Your delicate cries of desperation made his own eyes water. Chris drew in a ragged breath as he pictured your arched back, your wanton wide open legs, your fingers clutching the bedsheets. He pictured you perfectly, and he cursed and prayed that he’d made the right decision not to FaceTime you.

“It’s gonna be so worth it.”

You whimpered again.

“Yes Daddy.”

Pre-cum spurted from Chris’ tip as you said the magic words, and he groaned.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Chris chuckled. “I gotta go. I gotta get ready for my flight Kitten.”

Chris stood up and went to the shower to turn on the cold water.

“7 hours. I’ll be home in 7 hours.”

“Okay Daddy. Have a safe flight.”

“See you soon.”

-----

Chris was on edge throughout his flight. He looked at pictures of you most of the time. Not just the naughty ones; he was smiling over pictures of your face. Your eyes, your smile; he was head over heels.

You had his heart and his soul. He thought that at 7 am when he made it home and that you’d probably be asleep when he reached your side.

Oh well, he thought. He’d content himself with holding you until you woke up. Anything was better than nothing.

___

Chris unlocked the door and walked in to the sight of you on the couch, legs open and body shining by candle light. His heart leapt at the sight of you and his mouth spread open in a grin.

“Hello, Chris. You wanna make me cum, or you wanna watch me do it? I’m desperate for you Daddy.”

Chris dropped his bags and kicked the door closed as he watched your fingers circle your clit. He walked over to you and glared down at you you stared up at him under your lashes. He should have been angry, but he was caught up by the fact that he was this close to you again.

He dropped to his knees in front of you and kissed your trembling lips.

“I’m thirsty from my long flight, Kitten. Let me have a something to drink.”

You arched your back as Chris took your ass in his hands, lowered his head and began to slurp from your folds.

😓

Feedback is for lovers. 😘

#ask dj #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans rpf #Chris evans imagine #love you 3000

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 10 months

Text

Title board created by the wonderful @mochie85!

Lesson Thirteen

After learning more about your teacher's tragic past, two unexpected visitors add further stress to the already-tense rift between you and Loki, reminding you of the looming threat to your life if you can't clean up your act...

**MASTERLIST HERE** Pairing: Soft!Dom!Loki x F!Reader Content Warnings: smut, extensive mentions of death, euthanasia, and death-related philosophy, some dark content (though the characters won't be), exile, moodiness, smut, kinks of various flavors (look for specific chapter warnings), trauma and mental illness, reader is a captive, reader has a body count

You went through several stages of heartbreak over the following three days.

Day one was depression. Loki had to peek through the crack in your door to make sure you hadn’t died in bed. You’d mustered up the strength to reheat some stew, but that was all you accomplished.

On the second day, you were angry. Not just upset, but absolutely seething. You didn’t see Loki at all that day, and it was for his own health, perhaps, that you didn’t. After all, how dare he lead you on? Brunnhilde admitted that she enjoyed watching you practice throwing under this mindset.

Now, on the third day after the funeral, you were numb. Your emotions had all blended together until none stood out as particularly worth examining. It was pouring that morning, but you were so desperate to get out of the apartment before Loki awoke, that you were up and out before 8am. In spite of the downpour, the air was rather warm, so you took tea with Ivar on the porch and listened to the rain fall.

There was something that fascinated you about Ivar, particular when you talked about your power together. Something about his calm, peaceful resolve both drew you to him and repulsed you, like someone with a morbid fascination for a dark topic most people would judge them for.

“I think what you have is beautiful,” he admitted. “Even after that terrible occurrence the other day.”

Shrugging, you took a sip of tea. “I don’t see a reason to even try to convince them in December. Maybe I’m better off running away. Maybe The Flock will take me if I cut off my hands and become a nun,” you sneered with bitter sarcasm, making Ivar frown.

“If the people monitoring you had thought for a moment beyond their protocols and missions, perhaps they’d understand…and so would you.”

“Understand?” You weren’t sure what he meant.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Ivar began to suggest, “that you find strength when you take life because it is the Universe thanking you for keeping balance?”

“No, never,” you immediately said. “Taking life isn’t how you keep balance. I should think a certain giant purple titan’s near-conquest taught all of us that.”

“Your tenure here is nearly half over and you somehow still resent your gift,” Ivar tsked. “A life was going to be lost on that roof. You told only death which soul to take. Even as an accident, your actions contribute to the ongoing turning of the cosmic wheel. Of course wielding such responsibility would come with perks.”

Something came to mind. “Ivar…one time something different happened.”

“Go on.”

“I think I did something by accident that was the opposite. I think I brought something back once. Something tiny, just a field mouse. But I touched its frozen corpse to get it off the path, and it woke up.”

Ivar raised a curious eyebrow. “How did you feel?”

“Sick. Dizzy. Weak,” you described. “Even for something so small, it left a big mark on my wellbeing for a while.”

He nodded. “Well, then, that only serves to confirm my theory. Just as death is the natural order, resurrection is spitting in its face. No creature can have the power to undo the only force of existence that is constant without repercussions.”

“But how can I do something without trying to?” you asked quickly, wishing just one detail would help the entire picture finally begin to make sense.

Ivar shook his head. “I don’t have magic, I could not tell you.”

You looked sadly off into the rainstorm. The grayer weather here was beginning to grow on you. Waking up to the smell of petrichor was practically the norm. If such an odor could be bottled, it would be New Asgard’s primary export, or perhaps secondary only to fish. Yet, there was a peace in the sound, an assurance that no matter what The Flock, or Loki, or S.H.I.E.L.D. did to you, the various cycles that created existence kept turning with or without them.

“Your mind is not on that right now, I think,” said Ivar with a wink. “How is Loki?”

You only sighed in response, causing Ivar to chuckle. “First lovers’ quarrel?”

“Love is for children,” you repeated. “He said so himself.”

“Ah,” Ivar nodded with light sarcasm. “Then I must be the most wrinkled, elderly child in the world.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Ivar raised his teacup to his lips, but spoke before drinking. “He pretends to be a leader, but sometimes he is more lost than you. You cannot always play to a god’s sensual side to get them to respond to you.”

“What was he like? Back on Asgard?” you asked.

Ivar rolled his eyes. “As boys, he and his brother were about as typical as boys are. Thor always led their games, but Loki was always the one to get them out of trouble again with his silver tongue. As youths, they drank and had their share of bed partners before going off to their military conscriptions. Even after returning home as fully grown gods, they enjoyed long days of adventures and glorious battles, and long nights of feasts and pleasurable company. When all of that fell apart--”

“--when Loki tried to take over New York, you mean?” you interrupted.

Ivar shook his head. “Loki’s soul was wandering long before even then, dear. His tragedy begins with his father, the late King Odin.”

“I see. What happened?”

As Ivar regaled you with the long story of Loki learning of his true identity, which led to his complete breakdown just as he had been granted temporary control of the throne. The madness, combined with the power had mixed with the hopeless feeling of being alone at a time where he was both at his lowest and highest.

It felt like it took Ivar hours to tell Loki’s truth to you. His own heartless father was prepared to have him executed, even after witnessing him throw himself from the rainbow bridge and into the void. Time and time again, Loki saw betrayal, heartbreak, failure, and abuse targeted at him.

“But the worst thing to ever happen to that boy,” Ivar said, “was the day Odin died.”

“You’d think that would be the best thing to happen from the sound of it,” you murmured. After all you;d heard about this Odin, it was a good thing he was already deceased, or you likely would’ve held little issue in doing the job yourself.

Ivar finished his cup and placed it on the table, thinking for a moment while tracing the rim with his index finger. “The last thing Odin did…after all of this, mind you…was to call Loki his son again.”

“But he denied Loki everything--”

“--exactly. At the last moment, Odin laid one final layer of guilt on Loki’s conscience before leaving him behind to face more monumental threats than he could have ever considered himself.”

“And you were there on the ship when he and Thor stopped Thanos, yes?” you asked.

Ivar nodded. “It was terrible. That monster killed half of us. Katja and I were hidden under a stairwell, holding two little girls with us whose parents hadn’t been able to slip out of his childrens’ hands.”

Katja appeared in the doorway with another silver tray of rolls. “The princes were magnificent. Thor is a champion even without his hammer! But it was Loki’s illusions and magic that saved the Universe itself.”

“What did he do?”

“He offered himself and the Tesseract to Thanos, only to reveal that he’d left the blasted blue cube in the Vault at Asgard to be destroyed. Before Thanos could slay him, Loki used mind trickery long enough for Thor to end him.” Katja set the tray on the table before making a quick ‘ax’-ing motion with her rigid hand.

You should have known that the full story behind Loki ran deeper than what you’d seen on MSNBC. It was funny how, despite the fact that Asgardians were heavier, sturdier, and longer-lived than humans, they were still vulnerable to the same emotional attacks from an unyielding, unforgiving world. And no one’s world was more unforgiving than Loki Laufeyson’s.

“Do you think this would be why he wouldn’t want to fall in love?” you asked.

Katja took a seat by Ivar and nodded with a sly look on her face. “Ah, that’s what this is about.”

You shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, but thankfully, a real interruption halted the awkward turn in the conversation. You noticed several Asgardians walking with urgency toward the pier. You could vaguely make out that a quinjet had landed near the shore.

“Who could that be?” asked Ivar.

You recognized the plane. “Oh no…”

Without another word, you shot up and ran back downstairs, where you found Loki just tying his hair back, looking rather sullen.

“Loki!” you barked, your voiced raised in more alarm than perhaps was necessary. He looked startled as you came bounding into the den; he dropped the piece of twine he was going to use in his hair.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“I think S.H.I.E.L.D. is here.”

You hadn’t expected Thor and Steve Rogers to meet you in the square. Thor was being surrounded by the citizens, while Steve stood off to the side, looking mildly interested in Thor’s celebrity, but perhaps a bit preoccupied with another thought.

“We’ve received word about the festival, and everything that happened,” he said as soon as you’d arrived. Loki immediately insisted you take the conversation private and follow him back to your apartment, which was where you remained at suppertime, the entire day spent in heated argument and conversation about what to do next.

You quickly threw a chicken in the oven and made tea. While dinner baked, you joined in the discussion.

“Fury’s very concerned at how you seem to be getting stronger,” explained Rogers. “That wasn’t the directive.”

“As far as I knew, the only directive was ensuring that I wasn’t a threat,” you defended.

“You’ve killed two people since arriving here six months ago, Y/N, one of them from twenty feet away,” Steve recited.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Both of them in self-defense! Did your spies tell you about The Sheep trying to murder the villagers?”

“Loki,” said Thor with warning, “We know about all of it. Stay calm.”

He responded with a scoff as he paced between the sofa and the kitchen, though he didn’t make any further attempts to sound aggressive. His agitation was wiping off on you quickly, however. You sensed that Thor could be reasoned with, and why not? He had ties to New Asgard as much as Loki.

Steve, on the other hand, was clearly there as Bad Cop.

“The goal of this bargain was to help her reign in the powers she already has, not discover new ways to be destructive,” he snapped. “The fact that she can murder without touch is a very extreme, dangerous thing.”

You shook your head. “I have learned to control it though! I can touch anyone now! I just…I still don’t know what it was that set me into the Avatar State back there. All I know is that I wanted to protect Lo--”

You stopped short, looking over at the melancholic god now leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. His posture only straightened slightly at the near-slip, but you thought you saw his lip twitch.

“--protect New Asgard,” you quickly corrected yourself when you. “They’ve been so gracious to me. I would do anything for them.”

Thor smiled a little and winked, setting you off your anxiety if only for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore Loki bit his lip at the sight of his wink.

“Be that as it may, neither of you seem to understand how dire this has become for you both,” Steve said, the impatience rising in his tone. “Which is why Thor will be staying with you until the end of the summer.”

“Excuse me?!” Loki called, pushing off from the wall and bounding back into the den. “I did not agree to this!”

“Perhaps the added protection against this group of cultists will deter them from attacking again, and forcing you to…act…again,” Thor reasoned, looking at you with concern. “The little old couple upstairs says I can stay in their spare bedroom.”

“It isn’t necessary!” Loki insisted, standing his ground.

Steve shot to his feet. Loki was taller, but Steve had years of experience making himself look bigger than he was, so in spite of the height difference, Steve did not look ready to submit. “I don’t think you fully understand anymore, Loki,” he admonished. “You do realize the death sentence is on you both if you fail to convince Fury. Her power is too lethal to ignore.”

“If you would just listen to her, she has already stated clearly that she can touch people now, so we’ve established--”

Steve grunted, taking you off-guard and nearly forcing you to spill your tea. “--what if Hydra or some terrorist group kidnaps her and forces it out of her one day for their own purposes? What if they figure out how to harness what she has to create a weapon? Even Wanda didn’t have the potential for such destruction lying underneath her skin,” he said, looking Loki in the eye with dominance.

“Why do you assume I’m going to be bad?” you asked quietly, stopping Steve from continuing his tirade. Instead, he turned his head, and his look immediately softened. He didn’t seem to have an answer for you.

“Thor can keep his lightning. You can keep your strength. Wanda can keep her energy. Why single me out just because it’s something you don’t understand? Something that scares you? I never intended to use it to begin with, you know! I did go almost thirty years of my life with the worst victim on my ledger being a street cat!” you gritted your teeth, making defensive eye contact with both men.

Steve and Loki both dropped their soldiers, Loki’s face in particular melting with sympathy. It was Thor, however, who went to stand beside you, putting a heavy-but-reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“If any of us could speak for Fury, I’m sure we would share everything we know with you,” he said gently. “And while you can’t expect Steve to understand, you know of someone else who knows what it’s like to be unjustly treated.”

You and Loki looked at one another again, the sadness building in your chest, making it feel heavy with pain, heavy with need.

“Look,” Steve said, finally backing down, “I do know what it’s like, Thor. Maybe not personally, but through my best friend. S.H.I.E.L.D. has always been tough, you know that! And it’s only gotten tighter since the Hydra breach. My hands are tied.” He looked at you, seemingly apologetic. “And I’m afraid I can’t lie to him when he asks for me to confirm your...um...body count.”

Loki frowned and tried advancing on Steve again. “For Norn’s sake, Rogers, could you, for once in your perky little USO show of a life, do the right thing and not the legal thing?”

Steve bared his teeth in anger and stood tall again. “You have no idea how many times I’ve defied the law for justice,” he asserted. “Question my honor again, and I’ll tell Fury that you aren’t fit to live.”

“Is that the justice to which you were referring? Or a threat to break our contract in order to tell the world what a big boy you are?” Loki questioned, cocking his head mockingly to the side.

“Please, stop it,” you moaned. “I’m getting a headache!”

“Are you in pain?” Loki asked, reflexively, causing both Thor and Steve to look at him with an odd, questioning gaze.

“Ugh, please,” you groaned. “My neck is the one on the line. I’m making the call. Thor can stay. If nothing else, he can help teach me fighting alongside Brunnhilde.”

You smiled and nodded beside you, and Thor looked pleased, if not still a little confused.

“You’re teaching her physical combat as well?” Steve asked, disbelieving. “You are headed down the perfectly wrong path, Laufeyson,” he warned. “However, if you’re agreeing to letting Thor stay through September, I suppose…”

He paused, giving you another sympathetic look. “...I suppose I can tell Fury it was an exaggeration, and that no one knew what was going on in the chaos. Whether or not he believes me is, however, out of my control.”

“Thank you,” you immediately said.

“I vow to keep them both in line,” Thor said stiffly, barely convincing Steve.

“See that you do,” he ordered.

You reluctantly, but politely offered to put Steve up for the night. Fortunately, he declined, preferring to get back to New York before too long. You chose to accompany him to the quinjet, while Thor stayed behind and got set up in Ivar and Katja’s spare room.

“I hope you don’t see me as the villain,” Steve mentioned, “and I know how harsh I can sound when I’m on official business.”

“I guess I don’t,” you mumbled half-assed. “As you said, you’re under their thumb too.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he added, “that this is all unfair.”

“Oh, I know it is,” you snapped cheekily, actually causing the Captain to chuckle in spite of himself.

“It’s the only way you can deal with these people,” he explained. “If they throw a target on your back, it’s tattooed there for life unless you can be very careful.”

“I got that impression pretty quickly,” you quipped.

“They will look for any mistake, any slip up, from here on out. It will be like living under a microscope all the time,” he warned as you approached the plane. Steve quickly unlocked the quinjet and went to power it up, but stopped halfway up the ladder, turning back to address you once more.

“Y/N,” he began. “I hope you know that I’m on your side.”

“I do.”

“And Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Steve?”

“Don’t let Loki manipulate you. He’s not worth it,” he assured you. “Trust Thor instead.”

You frowned and shrugged. He took this as a sign to leave you be, at least until it was your turn to call after him. “Hey, Steve?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s the spy? I have a right to know,” you insisted. “You basically blew their cover already anyway. I’ll suspect everyone until I can weed them out.”

Steve sighed. “There’s four, but I’ll tell you one if you promise not to inform anyone else.”

“I swear.”

He paused again, almost second guessing his decision to oblige you.

“The librarian,” he said quickly, before hopping inside the plane, beginning to power up the engines.

You scolded yourself thoroughly for your ignorance as you watched Steve take off into the evening sky. The blasted librarian pulled one over on you! That mousy little--

--well, you thought, smiling as you began wandering back through the village. Wait until Loki hears this one!

Please comment and reblog!!

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howlyourmelancholy · 8 months

Text

With a Wonder and a Wild Desire

summary: and try as she might not to fall into his eyes, she fell into the depths of them as though she were falling from the sky, tumbling through stars and galaxies until there was only him and her.

pairing: young!sirius x ofc (Emalia)

warnings: oral (fem & male receiving). heavy making-out, it's safe to assume if they're not moaning or talking, they're kissing. hints or hairpulling, dacryphilia, and biting. light spanking. little bit of dirty talk. tiny praise kink if you squint.

words: 7k

a/n: emalia is my own original character. please keep in mind these characters are portrayed at sixteen years old, the age of consent in my country. this would be set after like a virgin. i hope you enjoy.

The sun was barely starting to rise when the two of them woke the next morning. Pretty shades of purple and pink stained the awakening sky, and a ray of morning light shone through the opened curtains of her room. Emalia was quiet, even awkward.

It wasn’t that she regretted what they’d done; she felt quite the opposite. There was a dull ache that had settled in her pelvis and spread out through her hips and down her thighs. Her skin was still, hours later, goosepimpled with the feeling of his fingers holding her oh so tight and his tongue licking wet stripes here, there and everywhere.

She was happy, but she also felt different, and she assumed Sirius did as well.

The two of them having sex changed the entire dynamic of their friendship, and Emalia wasn’t certain where they went from here. So she sat on the stool in front of the vanity, towel drying her long, raven-black hair, watching him as though he were the most fascinating individual in the world, and to her he was.

His hair was still damp, hanging around his face like endless blackness in a starless sky. She caught a glimpse of the bruise along his neck where she had gotten carried away and blushed, remembering the taste of his skin as she had licked and sucked on it. She watched his fingers as he laced his boots, the silver rings contrasting with the colour of his skin. Emalia had never realised how erotic tying one's shoes could be until she found herself worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

She remembered the feeling of his hands on her body, how strong they felt, and the chill of his rings as he grabbed her hips, her thighs, and her breasts. She remembered the sting of his teeth biting into her neck again and again as she moaned and writhed beneath him. She remembered how he’d built the pressure in her core up and up until the dam broke and he released the storm that rolled through her veins.

Her thoughts paused.

The sting of his teeth biting into her neck.

Her head snapped towards the mirror. Her brows drew together as she craned her neck to get a better look. There was a trail of love bites along her collarbones. The imprint of his teeth was evident in the purpling bruise at the junction of her neck and shoulder. And there, on the side of her neck, was a big hickey that was going to be impossible to hide.

Emalia gasped, making his gaze jump to her.

"You dog!" She shouted, embarrassed, and threw the towel at him. Sirius caught it easily, tossing it onto the bed without breaking eye contact.

"What?"

"Look at me." She spun around to face him, her eyes wide and a hand clutching loosely at her throat, partially hiding the marks he’d left. A smirk split his face when he saw them, and she had to fight the urge to smack that smug expression right off his face. "I look like I’ve been attacked! You’re practically a vampire!"

Sirius chortled as he stood and moved towards her with a casual swagger that made her core clench with sudden and desperate desire. And then his hand replaced hers. His fingers curled loosely around her throat, the rough pad of his thumb stroking the bruise along the side of it with tender affection.

"I think they look good on you." He looked at her with dark eyes. "Like you’ve been thoroughly fucked and satisfied."

He forced her to look at him, holding her gaze with his own stormy hues when she tried to look away in embarrassment, her cheek flushing a pretty pale pink. And try as she might not to fall into his eyes, she fell into the depths of them as though she were falling from the sky, tumbling through stars and galaxies until there was only him and her.

His lips caught her before she could hit the ground.

Sirius kissed her soundly, without urgency. He flew through the sky with her; he felt the clouds against his skin, the sun shining on his face, and stars bursting to life in his veins. And then he was drawing away for a much-needed breath. Emalia blinked slowly to bring him into focus and to shake the haze of desire he’d invoked with something so simple as a kiss.

She held his wrist with shaking fingers, her face turned up towards him as he leant over her like some Grecian statue, perfect and marvellous. A whine tumbled past her lips; her thighs pressed tightly together to stifle the growing dampness. Her face burned beneath the intensity of his stare. "If you keep looking at me like that, I think I might die, Sirius."

Her lips moved against his as she spoke, and he felt compelled to kiss her again. His fingers stroked along the skin of her neck, feeling where it was warm to the touch, marked with the imprint of his teeth, before he buried his fingers into her hair. With the opposite hand, he stabilised himself by gripping the edge of the vanity, leaning closer and closer until her face was tipped sky-high to meet the demand of his mouth.

"And if you keep looking at me like that, Emalia," he said in a low voice, with a seriousness that made her shiver. His fingers tightened around her hair as he fought the urge to take her again then and there. "I might not leave." His words were soft—half a beautiful promise and a terrible threat—and she couldn’t decide which excited her more as she kissed him again.

Somehow she found herself on her bed again with him between her legs.

The two of them were clothed this time, though he’d worked her skirt up and bunched it at her waist so that he could shove a hand between their bodies and inside her knickers. The glide of his lips was rough, but it was his fingers drawing tight circles against her clit that had her lips parting in a moan and her hips bucking. Sirius clearly didn't need to breathe because his lips found her neck and his teeth found the already bruised flesh to suck and bite, deepening the colour of the mark that already embarrassed her.

Emalia whimpered; the sound was tinged with a pleasurable-pain as she pulled roughly on his hair, forcing him to let go with an obscene pop. One of his hands held her waist, his fingers hot and his rings cold, a whiplash of temperature that made moisture pool at her core and coat his fingers. "Sirius," she said his name in a breathless moan as her head tipped back, pleasure starting to build.

"I should go." His words were halfhearted as he circled her clenching hole, earning himself a mewling cry as she shuddered beneath him, trapped in the spell he weaved. Emalia clutched at him, gripping wildly at his wrist to stop him from pulling away as she rolled her hips to grind against his fingers after he pushed them inside. When she looked at him next, her eyes were blown wide, her thighs trembling— already so close to orgasm.

"W-why?" She gasped as he pumped his fingers in and out of her tight heat, feeling her walls start to flutter around them, the wet schlick a prelude to what was teetering on the horizon. He kept his pace slow, holding her at the edge. He found her neck again, despite the vice-like grip she held on his hair. Sirius sucked a new mark onto her skin, making her body jolt beneath him. The pleasure was starting to become too much. He licked a wet stripe up to her ear, where he nibbled at her earlobe.

"Because if I don't, we’re never going to leave this bed."

She made this little sound when he scissored his fingers inside her walls, her thighs squeezing his hips, her heels pressing hard into the mattress for purchase. She whimpered, her lips ripping into a little pout, before he kissed the expression away as she came for him. Every one of her muscles rippled, her body convulsed, and a white-static sound overcame her, placing itself behind her eyes as she threw her head back.

“Oh, oh, there, Sirius, f-fuck, don’t stop!”

Emalia sagged against the mattress; her bones turned to jelly, and her chest heaving with heavy pants. And he kissed her until, by the divine intervention of some cosmic force, he managed to separate from her long enough to make it to the front door. After goodbyes had been said, as he was stepping down the porch steps, she caught his wrist, whirling him around to face her once more.

And she kissed him so deeply that he thought he saw heaven.

The booming base of some muggle rock song was blaring from the speakers. Sirius could feel the beat of the bass guitar reverberating in his chest, his fingers tapping the beer can in his hand almost absentmindedly. His stormy eyes were narrowed, and his brows were pinched together as he watched the makeshift dancefloor across the room.

Emalia was there with Lily, dancing with Marlene and Docus, seemingly without a care in the world. He'd swear that someone was sitting on his chest because of how hard it was to breathe. The two of them had hung out with the group over the past few weeks, never alone, and while she was always her sweet, sassy self, things had been different.

Not bad, not worse, just different.

Each time he spoke to her, she seemed to be off with the fairies, soft-spoken and avoiding his gaze, entirely unlike herself. It was almost as though she were a shy, bumbling preteen again. He’d maybe have teased her about it if he wasn’t so… concerned? Worried? Frightened? He wasn't even sure what he was feeling.

But right now? Watching her across the room—the way her tight red dress was riding high on her thighs, how she laughed, how her arms were wrapped around Lily's neck, holding her close so that their bodies mashed together while they swung their hips and tossed their hair—he was completely distracted. Sirius held onto the memories of her: how her nails left little crescent moons on his shoulders; how her pussy felt wrapped so tightly around his cock; how she’d kissed him more than any girl ever had.

"Pads?"

They’d fallen asleep in her bed while kissing, arms wrapped around each other. And in the morning, he’d had her again, woken her with a kiss, and then trailed them down her stomach to the wetness between her thighs. She’d cum twice that morning, both times crying out his name as her thighs quivered around his waist. And when he finally left, she’d kissed him at the door, a hand fisted in his—

"Sirius!"

He jumped, startled from his thoughts, and his head whipped around to stare at James. "What?"

"You’ve been staring at them for, like, an hour, everything alright, mate?"

There was a hint of worry in James’ voice that had his gaze flicking back towards the girls. None of them seemed to have noticed his staring, though he was certain that more than once Emalia had sent a sweet little smile over her shoulder to him, a come-hither stare that was a far cry from sweet or innocent. He’d assumed she’d spoken to Lily about losing her virginity; he knew that it was important to her, as she’d said before in the past that she didn’t want to give it to just anyone.

He knew that had been a bone of contention with her last boyfriend. Sirius had overheard him one day talking about her; his words were vulgar and filled with all the licentious things he wanted to do to her, right up until the moment Sirius punched him square in the mouth. Just the thought of that git annoyed him. He assumed the redhead would have then told James about it.

Except as he looked at the girls once more, he thought otherwise. If Emalia had told Lily, and if Lily had told James, he'd have heard about it long before now. James had never been good at keeping secrets. "Nah, mate, nothing's wrong."

Sirius knew none of the trio were particularly stupid; if they were, none of them would be passing their classes. So when he met Remus' narrowed, speculating stare, he swallowed a mouthful of beer to keep from blurting out the truth.

It was a mess.

Emalia and Remus were good friends. Sirius and Remus were good friends. And then he and Emalia had started to grow closer, and he knew that some times Remus felt left out, and a little possessive. Emalia had been his friend first, after all, and neither of them wanted to hurt him.

"They just look like they're having fun, that's all."

"They also look completely drunk," James added with a laugh.

Thankfully, the boys left it at that and returned to their drinks.

Almost an hour later, the girls were still on the dance floor. Emalia had intended to move to the kitchen for another drink and to take a well-needed break to rest her aching feet, but then Lily dragged James to the dancefloor, and it was only natural that the other boys would join them, albeit reluctantly.

Sirius was behind her now. The moment was dangerously intimate. His mouth was at the nape of her neck, and an unmistakable heat was swelling in his chest as she swayed against him. He pressed a hand against her stomach to pull her tighter against him, the fingertips of the other hand biting into her hip to try and slow the movement of her hips.

Emalia leant her head back against his shoulder to stare up at him, her eyes shining with a myriad of emotions and desires, glassy from the drinks she'd had. Sirius might have thought the look on her face was innocent if she wasn't grinding her ass against him like she was purposely trying to get him hard.

He felt the drag of fabric against his aching cock with each sway. The first time she’d done it, he assumed it had been an accident. The second time he'd tucked them away at the back of the dance floor, where others wouldn't see them.

"You're killing me, sweet girl," he breathed against her temple, his expression hard as he tried to will his cock to soften. Emalia laughed, the sound teasing as she laid a hand over his, her nails teasing at the flesh of his wrist as she pressed harder against him, earning a groan as he hid his face against her neck.

She could feel the metal studs of his belt and dangling chains through the barrier of their clothing, could feel his cock straining through his black denim jeans, and wanted desperately to be naked with him again.

She smiled up at him. Sirius returned her smile, though it didn’t quite reach his stormy eyes. "Are we okay, Ema?" He asked quietly so that only she would hear the words. The smile dropped from her mouth and was replaced with something else.

"Are we not okay?"

He didn’t answer, causing her heart to kick into overdrive. Emalia turned in his arms and faced him. She stared up at him with those pretty blue eyes, so full of worry, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

"Sirius, what’s wrong?"

"Nothings wrong. It's just that I've noticed that things have been different between us. You've been distant. I'm hoping it's not because we, well, had sex."

"Oh, no, no, it’s not like that," she answered quickly, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see the blush creeping up her neck and into her face or the look in her eyes. It wasn’t that she regretted things—certainly not what they’d done or how it had ended the morning after.

Rather, Emalia wanted it again; she wanted him again, and her emotions were intense and confusing. Until a few months ago, she’d never thought of him like this—of course, she’d always thought he was good-looking and charismatic. She’d even touched herself from time to time, imagining it was him, but he was Sirius.

He was the boy she’d known for years—the one who was one of Remus’s best friends, the one who had held her for days and weeks after her mother passed, and who held her again when they’d lowered the casket, holding her with strong arms as she sobbed. Sirius was the boy who’d made her get up in the morning and who'd made sure that she ate.

And then one day, he wasn’t that boy anymore.

One day, he was a young man with eyes that carried storms. A young man whose touch enticed shivers down her spine and electricity to ignite in her veins. His smile had her thinking about his lips for days and how they'd taste. Emalia was fascinated by the strength of his arms, the way he wore his rings, and how she felt safe in the shelter of his body.

And then she’d told him to kiss her, and he’d done it, and he’d ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t seem to put out. It smouldered day and night, until thoughts of him consumed her.

"I’m sorry I’ve been acting strange, Sirius. It’s just that I didn’t… uh, well, I don’t know how to talk about it." Emalia said softly, refusing to look at him as she tripped over her words. She felt like a bumbling twit, unable to articulate her thoughts. "I don’t want things to be weird between us. Or with Remus, but I don’t regret it."

Sirius tapped a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up to him. Her breath caught in her throat for just a moment as she imagined he might kiss her there in front of everyone. He didn't, and she couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Yeah?" He asked, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," Emalia replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she met his gaze. Sirius' hand returned to her hip, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, his fingers tracing gentle circles against the fabric of her dress. "I was worried that things might have changed between us, that I was going to lose my best girl. I think the others were starting to pick up on all the mutual pining and sexual tension too."

Emalia took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as the music continued to play in the background, his words making her brain momentarily short-circuit. His best girl - his, his, his. "It's not that things have changed, not exactly. Everything feels more… intensified. I keep thinking about it, about you. It was fun—a lot of fun. Too much fun."

"Too much? What do you mean?"

"Too much because I want it again. I want you again." She risked a peek up at him only to find him smirking smugly, his hands on her hips tightening, pulling her firmly against him. Sirius smiled at her, his expression positively wolfish, and she whimpered softly in response.

Sirius stood at the door to the Grace family estate once again; this time, however, there was a lump the size of a bludger lodged in his throat. The air had become trapped in his lungs when his knuckles rapped on the door, and his mind wildly raced from one thought to the next. This was a strange situation for him, not because he was a virgin or inexperienced, but because this wasn’t just any girl.

Emalia was different from all the others who'd taken him home. Unlike them, she'd taken the time to get to know him. During those long nights spent at St. Mungo's, her sitting in his lap when there was only one seat, her head on his shoulder when weariness took its toll, and the laughter shared with her and her mother, the two had formed a deeper connection. Emalia was special compared to the other flings and one-night stands.

She was one of his closest friends, and he thought that maybe that was why he felt like he couldn’t breathe when the doorknob jiggled and turned. There was a small part of him that was worried—perhaps even afraid—that their friendship might fall apart because they'd had sex.

But even with that thought beating at his brain, when the door opened, he calmed considerably. The bludger that had been in his throat fell through his body to settle in his groin, causing a dull, aching need as he took in the sight of her.

She looked surprised to see him, her soft blue eyes widening ever so slightly and a small smile crossing her lips. She was dressed simply; the inside of the house warm enough to not need layers to stave off the cold. A pair of denim shorts that fell to mid-thigh, a knitted sweater that was a few sizes too big, and a pair of pretty white socks. The neck of the sweater was falling askew to reveal a shoulder.

Her hair was still damp from a shower, falling in waves down her back. He could see the outline of her breasts against the knitted fabric, how she wasn’t wearing anything under it, and how her nipples pebbled beneath his attention. A lump of a different kind had found his throat.

"Hey, Ema," he began, his voice deep and his lips tipped into a lazy smirk, only to be silenced when her arms went around his neck. Emalia pulled him inside, letting the door slam shut with a heavy thud as she pushed up against him, letting him feel the swell of her breasts against his chest as she found his mouth for a desperate kiss.

Sirius, as awestruck as he was, was quick to respond. His hands brushed down her back and settled on the curve of her hips as he turned and pinned her to the door, just as he had done the last time. She gasped against his mouth, pain shooting up her spine in a pleasant way that had moisture pooling at her core.

Her hands moved, one to the back of his neck, one in his hair, holding his mouth to hers as he grabbed the back of her thighs, lifting her and pulling her legs around his hips. Sirius licked along the seam of her lips and pushed his tongue inside when they parted, chasing her own. "Missed me, angel?" He hummed while dragging his mouth down her neck, finding that spot at the junction of her shoulder and neck that had her heart racing and her legs turning to jelly just like the last time.

"Missed you," she echoed, her fingers tightening around his inky-black hair. Sirius pushed harder against her, pulling her hips to collide with his own, making the fabric of her shorts drag deliciously against her pussy. His cock was already hard and aching, and the sound she made in response raced through him to stoke his own desires. "I need you," she went on to say seconds before her lips crashed into his, desperate, needy, and fucking addictive.

His answering groan was equally desperate. He’d thought about her in the days since their last tryst: the sound of her voice when she’d repeated his name as though it was the only thing she could remember; the taste of her when she’d cum on his tongue; how she’d clawed at him and pulled him in; how her pussy felt stretched around his cock; how she’d looked beneath him; how she’d wanted more that morning; how she’d kissed him at the door when he left.

He moved his hands beneath her shirt, fingers of one hand splaying possessively along her ribs while he palmed a breast with the other. "You should have said something sooner, angel," he replied with a laugh, his words muffled as he ran his tongue over her racing pulse. "I’d have come over sooner."

"Upstairs."

Emalia had barely gotten the word out before her bedroom door was slammed shut with an awful bang. Sirius made her sit on the ledge of the black vanity, which he was so certain belonged to her mother, and then fell to his knees. He pulled her denim shorts and knickers down her legs, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder before memorising every inch of her thighs with his mouth, his lips finding every curve and dimple.

Emalia fisted a hand in his hair, her lips parting in a soft moan that morphed into a whine when he pulled back to admire how she was already glistening with arousal. "Such a pretty pussy," he teased with a smirk, making her face flush a wonderful shade of pastel pink.

“Sirius!”

She whispered his name in response, embarrassment creeping into her expression as she started to draw her thighs together to stop his staring. Sirius was quick to intervene, placing his hands on her thighs to spread them again as he scooted closer. His touch was electric, sending wisps of fire shooting through her veins.

"Don’t hide," he said, his fingertips gliding up her thighs until he spread her wet folds with his thumbs, exposing her clit and the damp curls. "It’s s’fucking pretty. Tastes amazing too." He didn’t give her time to recover from that. Sirius ducked his head and flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit, making her hips buck in his hands.

Emalia buried her fingers in his hair to anchor herself as pleasure swept through her. Sirius flattened his tongue, running it from her entrance to her clit, gathering her arousal, and letting it slide down the back of his throat. He hadn't been lying; to him, she tasted divine.

"So fucking good." Sirius licked and stroked her folds at first, his tongue wicked, snaking between them to taste the sweet-tangy wetness. And then he sucked hard on her clit, his lips closing around her sensitive button and drawing it between his wet, plump lips until it popped free with a pornographic sound.

The moan she made was pure perfection. Emalia let her head fall back, her fingers buried in his hair, holding him to her as he started to pull a tight knot in her stomach. Except he pulled back, his chin dripping with her arousal, her folds shiny with his saliva, and she looked at him with a pout, whining softly.

Sirius scooted closer after moving one of her legs over his shoulder so that her socked foot dangled in the air. He pulled her closer too, so that only his hands at her hips kept her from toppling to the ground. And then he ducked his head again to push his tongue between her folds and lapped at her entrance. She gasped and pulled roughly on his hair when he nibbled ever so gently at her clit.

"Stop teasing me," she said in a harsh whisper, making him laugh, the sound vibrating through her pussy and to her core. And then he feasted like a man possessed, as though he were dying and only the sweet nectar of her cum could quench his thirst. And when he knew that she was close, he pushed two fingers into her pussy, feeling her walls quiver around them while he spelled his name with the tip of his tongue.

S. He felt her tremble and heard her gasp. I. Her nails scraped at his scalp when she pulled his hair. R. Her hips bucked, pushing her pussy against his mouth. I. Her walls fluttered around his pumping digits as warmth spread through her hips. U. She gasped again, panting something he didn't hear when her thighs squeezed around his head. S. She came crying out his name, her entire body trembling.

He didn’t stop—not until she was whimpering and trying to get away from his wicked tongue. Only then did he stand. He grabbed her chin gently to encourage her to stand on shaking legs and kissed her hard, the sweet-tangy taste of her cum on his tongue as he pushed it between her lips.

Emaila’s hands were trembling as she shoved the jacket off his shoulders, desperate to feel his bare skin. His shirt followed, pulled over his head in a hurry, only to be thrown carelessly away. The rest of their clothes followed as they tumbled to the bed. Sirius lay on his back as she straddled his thighs, the tips of her manicured nails tracing the outline of one of the tattoos along his ribs, making him shudder.

Each time she found one of the scars left by his mother's abuse, she paused, and he'd tense. And then she would kiss him hard, pushing against him, making him focus on her and not the trauma of his past. She took her time exploring his body, kissing him slowly and deeply before wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

His girth filled her fingers easily. He groaned against her lips when she gave a few experimental tugs.

She’d already known that he was big, but that didn’t stop the way she worried at her lower lip with her teeth as she sat back, blue eyes falling to his cock in her hand. "Like this?" She asked, watching the way his eyelids fluttered and how he stared at her with dark eyes. Sirius wrapped his fingers around hers to strengthen her grip as he thrust into her palm.

"Like that," he instructed, letting his hand fall to his side when she found the right rhythm. His eyes closed when she ran her thumb over his sensitive head, gathering the pre-cum that was beading at the tip and using it to help her fingers glide up and down his shaft.

But then his eyes flew open, and he looked down at her. Sirius hadn’t felt her moving down the bed; it was only when those perfectly plump lips enveloped the head of his cock that he realised what she was doing. "You don't—shit."

But he fell silent when she bobbed up and down on his cock for the first time.

Emalia was clumsy and kept losing rhythm. More than once, his cock sprang from her mouth and slapped against her chin, which just made her blush and giggle before wrangling it back between her pretty lips. But despite her inexperience, he enjoyed the feeling, the clumsiness. Spit dribbled from the corners of her mouth, and she worked what she couldn't fit with her hand.

The first time he felt her teeth, he hissed, his hand flying to her hair, crushing the strands in his fingers to give it a rough tug. That was enough to get her to be more careful. Emalia adjusted her position and then redoubled her efforts, swallowing him down inch by inch with a throaty moan. Sirius couldn't stop his heels from digging into the mattress or his hips from snapping forward, driving his cock deeper into her mouth, until her nose was pressed against the wiry hair at the base.

He felt a pang of guilt as she gagged around him and didn’t stop her from pulling away. Her lips were kiss-bruised when he found them again. Emalia kissed him as though it kept her breathing, like it gave her life as she settled above him, her hands on his shoulders, ebony-black hair falling around them like a curtain veil as she bent down to suck a dark mark into his neck, making him groan.

"Now who's teasing?" He asked with a laugh, only for his breath to catch in his throat when she rolled her hips experimentally. His reaction amused her; he could tell as much from the small smile on her lips.

"Oh, it's definitely me," Emalia replied. She rubbed her pussy along the length of his erection, getting him slick with her arousal. Sirius held her thighs tightly, the rings on his fingers pressing into her soft skin as the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Emalia moved slowly, seating herself on him an inch at a time, her lips trembling against him while he swallowed her little gasps of pain. He knew that there would still be pain and discomfort, so he kept kissing her, fisting a hand in her hair to keep her mouth cemented to his, feeling her tits pressed against his chest, tongue twirling with hers until he felt her move above him.

Emalia kissed him one last time with bruising force, until he was lightheaded and desperate for air, before rising up and sitting back. She braced herself by putting her hands on his abdomen as she rocked her hips. Her tits bounced as she moved; her nails dug into his skin just a bit; and the heat of her palms burned a fire through his stomach. He could feel how wet she was and how fucking tight she was as she rode him.

And he liked watching her.

She was slowly gaining confidence. His deep groans encouraged her each time she tried something different, first rocking back and forth, then swirling her hips in a circle, and then grinding down on him. "Shit, just like that," he breathed out in a strained voice, his fingertips biting into her hips so that her skin bruised in the shape of them again. "You're so tight - fuck - feels so fucking good."

Sirius felt her walls tighten at his praise, a prelude to the building pleasure and the orgasm looming over the horizon. "I wish you’d said something earlier, baby." The way he said the words, with dark desire and possession, made her shiver. "I could have been taking care of you all this time."

His hands roamed as he spoke, the rough pads of his fingers trailing up her stomach to cup the weight of her tits in his palms. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples, amused by the way they seemed to harden beneath his touch. The movement of her hips stuttered as she laughed, losing the rhythm in her inexperience.

"I wasn’t sure you’d want to," she said. Sirius grabbed her hips roughly and pulled her down onto his cock as he thrust upwards, maintaining the pace for her. Except then he was sitting up, dark brows drawn together with confusion, as he grabbed a fistful of her hair when she tried to hide her face against his neck. He tugged on her hair, making her look at him. The new angle had him hitting deeper, with the head of his cock hitting that spot that made tears glisten on her lashline.

Emalia clung to him, arms around his shoulders, gasping between frantic kisses. She moaned into his mouth when he kissed her hard, his teeth tugging on her lower lip before he spoke. "Who says I wouldn’t want this?"

Despite the electricity sneaking through her veins and the full body spasms lurking beneath the surface of her skin, she laughed, her lips pulling into a blissful smile as she stared at him with lust-blown eyes. "What do you want then?" Her voice was shaking with trepidation, as well as the force of the orgasm he was holding her on the verge of.

Sirius ducked his head to spread open-mouth kisses along her neck before sucking a mark just below her ear. "I want to feel you cumming on my cock, angel." He knew that she was close—her pussy was squeezing him in an exquisite vice grip. Her arousal coated every inch of his shaft and dampened the dark curls at its base.

She cried out when he made a particularly deep thrust, his aim never having faltered during their conversation. Her thighs trembled. "Maybe you need to do a better job fucking me, and I will."

Her words surprised him.

Not the vulgarity of them, which Sirius thought was stupidly hot, but the challenge in her voice. Sirius had never imagined he’d hear such a comment from Emalia-fucking-Grace.

She was a picture-perfect pureblood with features cut from marble and a tongue of old-world elegance. She was a socialite who danced circles around their classmates with biting intelligence, yet here she was, wrapped around him in a lover's embrace, her pussy creaming around his cock and features twisted in a cock-drunk expression, and she still had the audacity to challenge him.

His hand came down on her arse without warning, open-palmed and hard enough to leave a handprint behind, making her jump in his embrace. Her walls clamped tightly on his cock, and she whined at him, desperate and needy, so he did it again, and again. On the fourth time, he kept his hand on her arse, fingers kneading the bright red print to lessen the sting. The pain seared through her veins alongside pleasure, leaving her melting in his arms.

Sirius could have played with her. He could have told her that only good girls were allowed to cum. He could have made her beg for it. He knew that she would if he told her to. But she was looking at him with those pretty blue eyes like he hung the stars in the sky, and he couldn't—he couldn't deny her a damn thing.

He couldn’t figure out when it happened, when she worked her way beneath his skin and into his heart with those pretty eyes and perfect smile. He’s wasn’t complaining, he just doesn’t know when it happened.

"If you want to cum that badly, baby, all you had to do was ask." His words were undeniably smug. Sirius pulled her down to the mattress so that she was sprawled beneath him. He spread her legs, pushing one of them into the mattress with a heavy palm, and pulled the other one to lay up on his chest, her knee bent over his shoulder.

And then he was fucking her harder, if that was even possible.

Each thrust was as deep as possible, so that his heavy balls slapped against her arse and her toes curled while she clawed at the sheets. "Sirius, Sirius, I'm gonna cum!" Emalia arched off the mattress as pleasure ruined her; the familiar warmth of orgasm ripped through her core and then every one of her muscles.

"Sirius!" She screamed his name as lightning engulfed her. And then he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, swallowing every shuddering cry she made. She was crying, the tears having finally fallen, and she couldn't stop shaking. Sirius grabbed her by the chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing into her cheeks so that she was pouting when he kissed her again.

"S'fucking pretty, angel." Emalia grabbed him by the hair, her fingers pulling tightly on the roots. She was still trembling beneath the unrelenting piston of his hips when she came again without warning, and the pleasure quickly turned into too much.

With a scream, she flung her head back, and Sirius attacked her throat just as he'd done last time, biting and sucking until she was marked with purpling hickeys. She would be angry; he knew that, but he didn't care because seeing her like this because of him hurtled him towards his own release.

He lost the rhythm as his orgasm hit him with the force of a train. He drove deep and stayed there, his hips nestling snugly against hers as he came. Her hands smoothed along the muscles of his back, feeling the tension in them as the warmth of his release coated her walls.

"I think you killed me," he panted against her neck, breath hot like lava and lips drawn into a lazy smirk. His stomach ached from how hard he'd cum, a layer of sweat shining on his skin. Sirius rolled away, once again grateful for the cold sheets against his sweat-slicked skin. He wrangled an arm around her waist and dragged her against his chest once she'd stretched her legs.

"That was—"

"Fucking incredible, I know."

"So, I'm your best girl." Emalia said. There was a hint of tease in her voice.

Their hearts had long since settled back into rhythm as the sunset. The room was washed in a warm white glow from the lamps on either bedside table. The bed was unmade; the sheet was on the floor at the foot of the bed, and the comforter was tucked around their waists where they lay together.

"What's that?" Sirius asked as he absentmindedly brushed his hand down her back, over the curve of her hips, and back up, enjoying the way she shivered beneath his touch. He touched her because he could and because he couldn't get enough of her. Sirius looked down to where she was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, and her leg thrown over his hip.

She was staring up at him with those pretty eyes again, making his heart soar and a lazy smile stretch across his kiss-bitten lips. Her skin was marked with bruises; his teeth, his rings, and his fingers were all visible on her fair skin. He was in a similar state; her nails had left shallow scratches down his back, and her teeth had left their mark on his neck.

"That's what you said the other day at that party. That you were worried you'd lose your best girl," she elaborated, rising up to hover closer. Emalia cupped his face in her palm, her thumb teasing his lower lip. He opened them, his tongue swirling around the digit. "Does that mean I'm your best girl?"

A smirk broke across his face. Sirius pulled her into his lap so that she was straddling his waist again. He sat up and pulled her against his chest so that the soft swell of her breasts was pressing tightly against him, her nipples hardening beneath the stimulation. He wrapped his arms around her, marveling at how soft and utterly perfect she felt.

"You're my only girl."

#sirius black #sirius black one shot #sirius black smut #sirius black x ofc #sirius black x emalia grace #sirius black x original character #emalia grace #ride or die kinda love

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year

Note

Hi! You know those projects in high school where they make you care for an egg? Could I request some headcanons for the Arcane cast doing that, pretty please? :> Whoever you want to write for works! Thank you!!

(Hey! sure I can! Here, enjoy!)

Arcane Characters Taking Care Of An Egg

Jayce

He tried okay

He got probably a C- on the assignment

Didn’t know the difference between a fertilized egg and a unfertilized egg

Sat on it or kept it warm

Waited for it to hatch

Was heartbroken when it didn’t

Egg had a face on it also

With sunglasses and he wore his to match

Jayce is an egg parent now

Whenever he has eggs he stares down at the cracked yoke and remembers his lost child

He then eats the eggs all guilty

Mel is concerned

Viktor judges him

Heimerdinger brings more eggs

Viktor

He was already pretty smart

He was the best one at it

Obviously

His egg was his best friend

Loner core

He made a little pouch for it on his shirt

Keeps it there all the time

Talks to it and sometimes forgets it is not a real person

Still treats it like one though

Semi sad when he has to give it back for his grade

Stole it when the teacher wasn’t looking and booked it out of there as fast as he could

Stealth mission 100%

Vi sucked at the assignment

100% failed the entire thing

She put it in her pocket for a little while but usually forget it was there

Vi also had a face drawn on it

Powder stole it a lot also

Powder probably drew some explosions and doodles on it

She once got mad at a student and reached for the nearest thing

Which was her poor egg

Chucked it straight at the kids head

Kid knew what was coming and ducked

The egg nailed a teacher in the head

All froze in their spots

Before the teacher could say anything Vi ran away

Was scared to go back to class but she did

She failed horribly

But she stole another egg and broke it on the other kids head

Successful if you ask me

Caitlyn

She took good care of her egg in the beginning

She gave her egg a name and took it home with her all happy

She was a mother for an egg now

Which was pretty cool for her since she was a lonely child

Was a normal assignment for her

She always had weird assignments, okay?

But she always mastered them

So why not this one?

Let me tell you why

In Caitlyn’s wonderful mind she thought the best case was to put it in the fridge

With the other eggs

She woke up the next morning to the smell of eggs and bacon

Went downstairs and opened the fridge to find her egg missions

“Oh, what are you looking for, Caitlyn?”

Her father asked as he didn’t turn around from the stove

“Did you see an egg with the others? It had a face drawn on it. It's a part of my grade final.”

“Oh.”

Caitlyns dad then slowly showed her her plate for breakfast

Caitlyn was horrified

It was George

Her egg

Was horrified and most definitely had a funeral

Ekko

Ekko surprisingly did pretty okay

He took care of his egg

He had to protect it from Vi, Mylo, Claggor and Powder though

He did pretty good at that also

Made a small box with cushioning inside to help keep the egg safe

He did drop the box a good amount of times though

Would stand still and do a little pray before slowly picking it up

Was always relieved to see it was okay

Even if the egg did break he replaced it over and over again until it was time to turn in the egg

He’s smart so the teacher didn’t catch on

Ekko is still smug about it to this day

Powder

She really didn’t care about the assignment

She knew she was a mother now

Took it so serious

Put it to bed, talked to it, hugged it, took it everywhere

The whole works

She just drew on her egg most of the time

Her egg is so colorful and full of doodles it’s crazy

She kept it so safe though

Kept it on her belt pouch also to keep it with her all the time

Always tucked it into a small barbie bed next to hers

Was horrified when she woke up and got out of bed and stepped in something

It was her egg

It had fallen down

She cried so much

She then got the thought to go get another from the kitchen

Which she did and just drew on it again and tada!

All’s well

She then got hungry and put it on her belt and got another egg

She cracked it open and was also horrified

She saw it was a fertilized egg they had missed

Stared at it on the pan before she yelled

“Vi! Want some eggs?!”

“Sure, Pow-Pow- what the hell?!”

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wolveria · 1 year

Text

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 27

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Why… would you wish to speak about him?”

AO3

You were disappointed to find the bed empty the next morning.

It was unfair, expecting the SCP to be beside you when you awoke. It was a selfish need, one you weren’t entirely ready to examine.

049 wasn’t at his usual spot at his desk, and you nearly set into a panic until you spotted him at one of the lab counters, medical tools spread out before him. He didn’t need to clean them—the anomalous doctor’s bag took care of that—but he did polish the tools one by one, rubbing the scalpels, forceps, and knives until they held a reflective shine.

You watched him in his task as you ate breakfast, the tray of food delivered soon after you woke. Neither of you had spoken beyond a cursory “good morning,” and the silence that stretched between you felt like a delicate thing, too easy to break. You didn’t know how to approach what had occurred the night before, so you let it be. Even though you were tired, your mental state had improved exponentially from the day before. You didn’t know how to tell 049 how grateful you were for what he’d done, so you said nothing at all.

At least, until that night. The day had been peaceful, 049 seeming to understand your need for quiet companionship, but sleep evaded you, and the dark held the promise of monsters.

Without prompting, 049 left his place at his desk and sat at the edge of the bed, moving carefully so as not to startle you. You were easily startled, these days.

“Sorry,” you muttered half into the pillow. “My tossing and turning isn’t disturbing you, is it?”

“No,” he said gently. “But I was hoping to aid you in this restless state.”

Oh, did your mind dance with the possibilities. Possibilities 049 hadn’t meant at all. What would the good doctor think, had he known the depraved corners where your mind strayed.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, praying your voice betrayed nothing of your thoughts.

“Another tale, perhaps. You appeared to enjoy my other stories. Were there others you wished me to tell?”

There were many, the problem lay in what to choose. It was easier to point out what you didn’t know about 049, rather than topics you’d already covered, but your mind drew back to when he’d spoken about 173 with such disdain. You were curious what 049 thought about other SCPs, especially one in particular.

“What do you know about SCP-035?”

049 went completely still.

“Why… would you wish to speak about him?”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. The loathing in 049’s voice was barely disguised, and there was something charming about how he always held his heart on his sleeve. When he spoke of a subject he disliked, it was obvious, as was when he talked about something he enjoyed.

You didn’t linger on the fact that when he spoke about you, it was always with a warmth in his gaze.

“Curiosity,” you said, plainly enough. “In our interviews, he gave the impression he knew you quite well. It wasn’t something we talked about since it wasn’t covered in the interview questions, but… he did like to bring you up whenever he could.”

049 gave a noise that was close to a disgusted groan. You couldn’t remember him making a sound like that before.

“I would not believe a word that comes out of that porcelain mouth,” 049 muttered. “He is prone to tales of fancy rather than those based in fact.”

“He does like to embellish.”

“Embellish would infer there is a grain of truth to begin with.”

Now you did smile, hoping the darkness would keep it hidden from the annoyed SCP.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about him. I won’t push.”

049 released a sigh, but there was a concession in it.

“It is not a matter of want. Although that sac à merde may be a less desirable subject to speak of, I am willing to sate your curiosity.”

Well, when he said it like that.

You sat up further on the pillow, no longer even pretending to attempt sleep. Your eyes had adjusted enough to see the hooded SCP, and you waited for what you were sure would be a fascinating story.

049 began in the most likely place, following a mass Pestilence epidemic across Europe during the 1300. By the sound of it, it was the infamous Black Death, but you didn’t interrupt to confirm, especially since 049 seemed to think all plagues were the Pestilence. Plus, you were too interested in why he was revisiting his earliest memories, not having thought he’d met 035 so early on.

But he had, while visiting one of the many poor villages to help care for their sick. A doctor had already been in town, supposedly healing the sick and miraculously saving the dying.

“I had to meet this skilled physician, of course,” 049 explained. “You can imagine my horror with what I found. The villagers merely saw a masked man, but I sensed something worse. A source of the corrupting influence itself.”

“Wait, wait. 035 has the Pestilence?”

“035 is the Pestilence,” 049 said, his words on the edge of a growl. “Or at least, one outlet for it. You have made note of his black secretions, have you not? Does it not consume and decay all that it touches?”

“Well… yes, but…”

But this was brand new information 049 had never shared before. You were about to warn caution, and then realized, what was the point? The Foundation researchers didn’t take his claims of the Pestilence seriously. Why would they start now?

049 waited for you to finish your thought, but you simply shook your head.

“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

His gaze softened, taking some of the animosity out of his eyes while speaking of 035.

“That is quite all right. I realize it may come as a shock, learning the true nature of the Pestilence and that it has corrupted other anomalous beings. The mask is not the only one. That which you call 106 also has a festering influence.”

“What? The old man?”

“A rather innocuous name, but yes. He revels in the domain of the Pestilence, rotting everything he touches when he crosses into this world.” 049 shifted on the bed. “I would have thought these traits were self-evident, Doctor.”

In hindsight, they were. Or at least, you could see the similarities between 035’s leaking ooze and the rotten, black rust that 106 left behind. You weren’t quite sold that it was due to any Pestilence, but you weren’t about to tell 049 your doubts.

“It seems I still have much to learn,” you conceded. “Please, continue.”

Avoiding any discussions of the Pestilence would probably be best, and you were relieved to hear him continue, his tone placated and even soft with affection.

“You are a swift learner; I have no doubt you will gain a mastery in recognizing the Pestilence when you come across its stain,” he said, and even that small bit of praise warmed your insides. “But yes, there are beings such as 035 that accelerate the Great Dying in this world. Even without the aid of the Pestilence, 035 was in the midst of ushering along his patients to a grueling, final end. His methods were barbaric, cruel, and unscientific.”

His voice dipped low, heated even after 700 years.

“He subscribed poisons as tinctures, Pestilence-ridden ointment as salves, and useless pieces of glass as healing baubles. He would even drill holes into their skulls, claiming it would let out the demons. The only demon involved was one who wore a mask and called himself a physician.”

049 ended the denouncement with a short, frustrated breath. He seemed to gather himself, smooth the proverbial ruffle feathers that you only saw in your mind’s eye.

“Do you know where your Foundation first discovered the mask?”

It was no longer your Foundation, but you didn’t correct him.

“Yes,” you said, mentally pulling up 035’s file, one you had read many times before. “An abandoned crypt in Venice.”

“Exactly where I left him.”

“You trapped him there?”

You were unable to hide your surprise. Hostility wasn’t in 049’s nature, and you wondered just exactly what 035 had done to garner it.

“Why?” you pressed quietly, once again aware of the camera. “If you can say.”

“I have no qualms with explaining my actions, though I do not happily remember the events leading up to it.” 049 turned his head just enough to stare at you out of the corner of his eye. “I could look past the schemes, the lies, and the cons. The mask is a skilled manipulator and delights in the suffering of others. Choosing to thwart his destructive desires would have been as effective at trying to stem the tides or halt a wildfire in its path. He is not one to be persuaded or reasoned with.

“He stalked me across Europe, sabotaged my good work and turned my patients against me. I do not understand his obsession with me, but I bore it as best I could and ignored his vie for my attention. What I could not ignore was when he set his twisted mind to my students. To… Pernella.”

And now, it all made sense. Considering 049’s protective streak and how much he had clearly cared for the girl, it was a wonder 035 was still alive. Maybe that was further proof that the mask couldn’t be destroyed.

“I see,” you said, looking down at the bedsheet to escape his gaze. “And what did he try to do to them?”

He gave another puff of air in disgust.

“Turn them against me, of course. My students were not weak-willed, but the mask, if given time, can break the resolve of most. Even Pernella would have become vulnerable to his damning allure.” 049 hunched a little further inward, his voice going soft. “She didn’t trust men whose smiles were too wide, and their words too sweet. She saw right through him, and the mask does not appreciate being seen.”

He sat up straighter, once again taking on a tone that was like silken steel, soft but unyielding.

“I did what had to be done, and if given the chance, I would do it again. It was the mask’s own greed and avarice that followed me into that crypt, lured by the opportunity to catch me alone. His goal may have been to dispose of me, or lock me away himself, and become the new shepherd to my flock. When one schemes of betrayal, they often become blind to betrayal at their back. He never saw me coming.”

You didn’t imagine the underlying tone of satisfaction and triumph. No, you thought, 035 wouldn’t have seen the good doctor at all. 049 spoke of the mask’s allure, but you wondered if he at all understood his own. It was a strange thing to consider that you might understand a little bit of what 035 might have been thinking. An immortal mask, able to control the thoughts and actions of others given time, whose intelligence had been charted beyond genius. Perhaps, he had simply been bored, and 049 had been something new. Something different.

A rival. A challenge. A fixation.

Yes, you thought you might understand 035 a little too well, even if you two had never spoken deeply about 049. And you hoped you never would.

049 shifted, perhaps noticing your long silence.

“Barring my dislike of that villain, he is an exceedingly dangerous being.” His head quirked, giving you a puzzling look. “I would not have thought your Foundation would allow you to conduct such interviews.”

There were no longer supposed to be any interviews, especially after Site-19, but the Site Director had allowed you to interview 035 under your former position. Even Dr. Puli had not yet interviewed the mask, and while at the time you hadn’t thought much of it, you did now.

“There were many walls between me and 035, with no direct visual contact. He wore a target dummy, and we communicated via microphones and camera.” You frowned. “Even then, there was a risk of being affected by his abilities, but I don’t recall feeling much of anything. All of the post-psychological evaluations cleared me for duty without a problem.”

049 said nothing, but with the sort of silence that gave you the sense he knew something. As much as you wished to talk about your strange effect on SCPs, you wouldn’t do it in a place Leahy could watch and record.

“Then I am glad you were able to escape the poison of his influence,” 049 finally said, the words holding a tinge of unease.

“As am I.”

Before you could think better, you reached out, squeezing his arm close to his wrist. You didn’t want 049 to worry about you, not when his own life was also on a knife’s edge, dependent on the Site Director’s moods.

You removed your hand before it could linger too long, though 049 watched you retreat with a surprisingly unreadable look, heavy with something you didn’t understand. And then the look was gone, a small, apologetic chuckle in its place.

“I apologize, my dear. Once again, I have shared tales that are not fit for restful sleep.”

“No apologies needed,” you said with a reassuring smile. “I’m the one who asked. Thank you for sharing with me. I’m sure many of your memories are not… pleasant ones.”

“Some,” he admitted, his gaze warm even in the dim light. “But not all.”

He rose from the bed, and you wanted to grab his hand, pull him back to bed properly this time. But you didn’t.

Instead, when he said, “Have a good night, Doctor,” you simply bid him good night in return and curled up under the blanket. His story might not have been a soothing lullaby, but it kept your thoughts turned on something other than your captivity. The more you discovered about 049, the less you realized you knew about him. Your curiosity only burned brighter, and it was a nice distraction from the bleak void that filled the days ahead.

You only hoped that whatever Leahy had planned for you, it wouldn’t involve 049 any more than he already was. And if the worse should happen to you, you hoped 049 would not meet the same fate. He didn’t deserve to get caught up in whatever games the Site Director was playing, and if you ultimately met your death, you didn’t want 049 to be haunted by it. You wanted him to move on, perhaps even escape this place, and not linger on what had become of you.

You had a passing suspicion he would do no such thing.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 #scp 035 #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #wolveria writes

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

Text

flowers

Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Rhett had been acting weird all week: rising before sunrise, not showing up to the Abbott Ranch. It concerned you, your darkest fears invading your mind when he came home smelling like flowers. He only hoped you'd give him the time of day to show you his special project.

wc: 1.4k

a/n:I rewatched outer range :') . I'm in love with him your honor.

Rhett always had the habit of waking up with the sun, even when he fell asleep in the early hours of the night after the rodeo. About a week ago he started to get up before the sun had the opportunity to hit his face with its warm golden light, he’d kiss your shoulder and roll out of bed with a slight grunt. The new house would be empty when you woke up, his truck long gone from the driveway.

You only noticed when you woke up one morning from a dream. Rhett was sitting on the end of the bed tugging on his work boots as quietly as he could. You slowly got up and crawled over to him, snaking your arms around his torso. “You’re up early,” you stated groggily, still half asleep as you pressed your cheek to his back. You felt him tense underneath you, he wasn’t expecting you to be up.

“Gotta get into town early, dad’s been on my ass about picking up supplies for the new fence,” Rhett explained as he sat up straight, putting his hand over yours. Letting out a soft hum, you rose on your knees and kissed the side of his neck.

“Can I interest you in coming back to bed? Tell Royal you’re sick and enjoy the new house. We finally got unpacked,” you tempted, your lips ghosting over his skin. He thought about it, his blue eyes looking up at the ceiling. It was all going to be worth it, he thought.

“You want him callin’ around here, askin’ where I am?” he chuckled, leaning back into your loving embrace.

“No,” you laughed, releasing him. “Come back soon though, cowboy,” you pouted.

Rhett placed one last kiss on your lips and mumbled about you going back to bed, his western drawl making you shiver. “Promise.”

You didn’t think much of it until the next morning when he came back home smelling sweet. You felt his body press down into the mattress and instinctively you rolled into him and took in a deep breath. He smelled like the ranch and his faded cologne—you sniffed again—flowers. There were no flowers on the Abbott ranch besides the ones Cecelia had on her kitchen table. Your heart started thumping against your chest, the sick feeling gurgling in your stomach.

He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like that. Rhett was a good man. It became a mantra for you as you lay in his arms, gripping his t-shirt and feeling like if you let go he’d slip away.

You ignored it for as long as you could, trying to keep your mind at bay, the screaming thoughts were becoming too much to bear. Pacing around the kitchen the following afternoon, you tried to keep occupied. Your phone rested on the counter and it drew you in like a poisonous spindle. “Well hi, Sweetheart,” Cecelia cooed. You rubbed your eyes, embarrassed at how fast you called his mother.

“I was just wondering if Rhett was there, he left his gloves on the counter this morning,” you lied effortlessly.

There was a small pause followed by a questioning hum from your mother-in-law, “Royal wasn’t expectin’ him this mornin’,” she told you, “I’m sure he’s just in town.” You could feel her motherly smile from the other end, knowing if she was there she’d lovingly rub your arm.

“Right, thanks,” you mumbled before swiftly hanging up, all but slamming your phone on the countertop in frustration.

Rhett didn’t keep secrets from you.

He came home later that afternoon, thorns still stuck in the arms of his navy blue hoodie and his ball cap holding back his dampened dark blond hair. He dumped his keys into the small bowl next to the door and scanned the empty living room for you. Rhett was met with silence. Eyes narrowed, he crossed the floor and looked into the living room.

You sat at the kitchen table, a murderous look in your eyes as you put your coffee cup against your lips. Oh shit, he thought as your eyes locked, which meant he was in deep shit. “Everything alright, baby?” he asked cautiously, leaning against the door frame.

“Where were you this mornin’? Your mama said you didn’t go to the ranch,” you questioned, placing your cup on the table with a harsh thud.

Rhett swiped his tongue along his lower lip and looked to the ground. “You accusin’ me of somethin’?”

“I don’t want to—should I be?”

The man sighed and looked up at you, your stone facade was beginning to crack, your sadness and worry underneath were starting to shine through. You knew of his reputation long before you two got married; the cowboy had trampled over many hearts, he didn’t want that to be you. He loved you. Loved you enough to not hide anything from you, no matter how small. “Get dressed,” he told you.

“No,” you huffed, lurching out of your seat, “You don’t get to butter me up, I know where this leads to.” He took you by the hand and raised your hand to kiss your knuckles, his thumb moving the stone on your ring from side to side.

“I wanna take Cinnamon and Dolly out for a ride so we can talk, need show you somethin’.” His blue eyes were full of sincerity, it almost melted your heart. Almost. You pulled out of his grip and sighed, letting your annoyance be known.

“Fine,” you grumbled, not looking at him as you climbed the stairs

—

You rode in silence, jaw clenched as you burned holes into the back of your husband's head as he rode a few feet ahead of you. It was pretty out today, the trees were gently blowing in the wind and the beautiful blue Wyoming sky was overhead. “We gonna talk?” you asked, cutting the silence.

“We’re almost there, baby,” he told you, motioning towards the tree-covered hill at the edge of your property. As you got closer, the smell of the grass started to change to something sweeter. It smelled like Rhett a couple of mornings ago. You sniffed again and again until you had to sneeze, you were smelling flowers.

Beyond the trees was a patch of newly transformed land, a white picket fence surrounded tall bushes and smaller brightly colored plants. The wildflowers that lined the neatly placed fencing were the first thing that caught your eye, remembering that you once told Rhett that you wanted to scatter them all around the property. “Rhett?” you said his name almost silently.

He ignored you and dismounted the horse, lovingly wrapping her reins around the fence. You watched carefully as he took off his hat and walked through the garden with his back turned to you. You whispered to your horse as you got down, “You think he did all this?” you patted her neck and walked into the garden.

You were in awe of how pretty it looked, the variety of beautiful flowers in the ground and in stunning pots that must’ve taken him many stores to find. You bent over and picked one of the small red flowers out of the ground.

A small shy smile graced your features, suddenly feeling silly with all your worry “You did all this?” you giggled, pressing the flower to your nose.

He nodded bashfully, playing with the brim of his hat. “I should've told you earlier. I just wanted to give you something pretty to look at when we go on our rides,” he admitted, his crooked smile making your heart flutter. Walking closer, you moved a fallen curl out of his face, placing it behind his ear.

“I’m already lookin’ at something pretty,” you told him sweetly. Rhett’s smile grew and placed his hand on the side of your face, pulling you in for a gentle kiss in the middle of the garden. “Can’t believe you did all this for me…getting up early, the long hours. It’s beautiful,” you whispered against his soft lips.

His thumb stroked your jawline, his chest touching yours, “You’re worth it, darlin’, so very worth it.”

“I feel so silly,” you laughed, leaning into his touch.

He laughed with you, shaking his head, “You’re cute when you’re mad at me,” he told you, pecking at your lips.

Pulling away, you took another look at the garden lined with crimson red roses. "I have an idea," you smirked.

"And what might that be, Mrs. Abbott?" he hummed as you moved from his grasp and sauntered back towards your horse, knowing his eyes were on you. Your fingers grazed the delicate flowers as you made your way out of the garden, pulling a rolled-up blanket from the saddle.

You walked back up to him and was greeted by a white-colored daisy being placed behind your ear. "Christen the garden with me, Mr. Abbott," you whispered. Rhett grinned and gripped your hips, kissing you deeply.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fluff #rhett abbott fic #outer range #lewis pullman

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provincial-charmer · 5 months

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As Boundless As The Sea

We'll be posting this in order directly from my AO3, so the first two chapters, then updating as more is added, so...

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

When This Takes Place: After On Stranger Tides, but in the year 1742, due to the fact I really just couldn't stand how many time skips there were and wanted to just keep At World's End 10 year time-skip. There's another reason, but shh...

Rated: This chapter is E for Everyone, as it mostly sets the scene, but later chapters might not be! No warnings for this chapter, either!

Fic Summary: Marco Montero has, for the most part, lived a quiet life. Raised on a family fortune built by academia, he was sent many years ago to Venice, Italy in order to pursue the career of his dreams. However, these dreams would never come to fruition, as the death of his father would suddenly send him back home to Cádiz, Spain, in order to claim what remained of his family inheritance.

What a pity that inheritance also included a steep debt to the Spanish Royal Navy. Eighteen years later, it seemed to get no smaller, and Marco’s threadbare patience only grew thinner with time. That is, until one fateful day, when the work that nearly killed him brought him a strange map...

Chapter One: The Sun Rises Regardless

In which we are introduced to our protagonist, his daughter, his neighbors, and his schedule on his days off.

30th of November of 1742 Today, I dreamt of a storm. A storm too terrible to be natural, one that tossed rugged waves over the deck of the ship as sailors struggled to keep her afloat. The wind threatened to rip her sails apart. The water threatened to sweep her crew away. The only light that reached us came with the clash of lightning, which danced around us in flashes of blue and white. I know not what I was doing aboard. Was I part of the crew, or an unwitting passenger? Was I a body, there to withstand punishment, or merely a ghost, only there to bear witness? It didn’t matter. Whatever I was, I wasn’t staying there. With another crashing wave, a young man near me was swept off of his feet and over the side of the ship. The lightning showed me his face for only a moment. He wasn’t much older than my daughter. His eyes were full of fear. I briefly imagined the grief of his mother, learning she would never see her little one again, his body lost to the unforgiving sea. To lose a man’s body at sea is to be expected, but to lose a child… I couldn’t bear the thought. I dove after him. It was strange, I thought, that I could see the storm better in the water than on the ship. However, I had neither the time nor the mind to question the reason behind it. My focus was on saving my fellow sailor. Luckily for me, he had not drifted far. His body, so light and so fragile, had been swept below the waves. He lingered there, motionless. It wouldn’t be long before he drowned. Quickly I swam down to him. I did my best to wrestle against the ocean’s conflicting currents, but she was a relentless beast, refusing to give way. However, I was equally stubborn, and so with unending determination, I made my way down. But then, I saw something else. As I took hold of him, as I drew him under my arm, the lightning flashed again. And in the light that flashed through the dark ocean, I saw another face, looking up to me from deeper down. It was the face of a young man. One that was younger than me by many years, with long, dark hair tucked under a bandana, and sweet, sorrowful eyes. Eyes that were open. Eyes that watched me. Eyes that were accompanied by other eyes, belonging to other faces in the deep. I was staring at another crew, at another captain, on another ship. A ship that looked as if it sailed under the sea itself. And then I woke up.

As I laid my pen down, I turned to look out the window. Had the weather been warmer, I would have blamed the sun for my nightmare. I had forgotten to draw the curtains shut before retiring the previous evening, so it would not have been difficult for the radiant sunlight to disturb my slumber. Unfortunately, that was not the case, as the sunlight this morning had been far more welcoming against the cold.

I was certain that whatever had troubled my sleep, I only had myself to blame. I couldn’t cast ill blame on the sun. I usually loved waking up to the sun on my face, whether I was watching it through my window or basking in it on my morning walks.

Of course, that was on the days when I awoke at such hours by choice. This was not one of those days.

But then there came a knock at my door. One that I knew by heart. As soon as I heard it, all ill thoughts fell away from my mind.

“Papá?” That darling little voice called to me, “Papá, are you awake yet? I have breakfast!”

I smiled. “I am now! Come in!”

The door carefully creaked open, and in walked Perlita. Perlita was my daughter. Oh, she was just the sweetest little thing, with her strawberry blonde hair cut in short waves, her dark brown eyes shining, and her little blue dress bouncing with each happy step. She was planted on my doorstep around sixteen years ago by a late friend of mine, with only a note with her birth name - Toireasa - and a plea to care for her. How could I refuse?

“Took you long enough!” She teased. “I was afraid you would sleep through the entire morning!”

“Part of me wishes that I did!” I responded in earnest. Certainly, it would have taken precious time out of my day. But my sleep might have been more peaceful. “But the sun seemed to think that I had slept for long enough. I had a nightmare.”

She paused as she was setting down the tray. “Oh, you did? What was it about?”

“The ship in the storm.”

“… Again?”

“Again.”

Perlita sighed. We were quite used to this. The same subject would repeat for some days, if not weeks, and then stop. Then I would have new, unique dreams until another recurrence happened. She was always very sympathetic. I was just glad that she never had to deal with them, for they sometimes granted me some truly cursed visions.

“That’s the second time you’ve dreamt of that.” She went on to say. “I hope it doesn’t happen again. I can’t imagine what it could mean.”

“I think it means I need to stop drinking cocoa before bed.” I set one hand on her shoulder to reassure her, “I'm certain it won’t happen again.”

She frowned in a way that left me uncertain as to whether I had truly convinced her, but regardless, she dropped the subject, instead focusing on serving breakfast. She had always been like this. Worrying over her old man day and night. I was often endeared by it, in spite of how silly it felt at times. I was supposed to be taking care of her, after all!

But then, some part of me couldn’t help but feel bad. Would she worry over me nearly as much if I could take better care of us? If I didn’t have to worry about paying off the Navy, what kind of life would we have? I thought I knew what hers might have been like – all the time in the world to talk to her friends, to learn medicine, to enjoy herself without judgement for who she was.

So what would my life be like? If my father hadn’t fallen on that expedition, if I hadn’t been saddled with this debt, what would I be doing with my time?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that the more I thought about it, the worse it would make me feel. So I pushed it aside. I had to focus on the life we had. Where we were, there and then.

And I had places to be.

Before I continue, allow me the courtesy of an introduction. I am Marco Montero, the last son of Lazzaro and Diamante Montero. At the time, I had spent eighteen long, loathsome years as a translator for the Spanish Royal Navy, with only occasional commission work for other customers. What free time I had was spent helping Perlita read, translating personal subjects in my study, or sitting at one of the local taverns at the docks to watch the world go by. Outside of that, I had very little else on my schedule.

Now, my usual morning routine went as follows: I would wake up, grab a cup of coffee or cocoa, then head out on an early morning stroll. I would walk all throughout the quiet streets to the port, find my usual spot to rest, and watch the sun rise. I would greet whoever might acknowledge me in passing. Then, once the sun had risen fully from the gentle embrace of the sea, if I had nowhere else to be, I would walk back home and get to work.

I had no such work that day. No one had commissioned me in some time, and the Navy had not bothered me for work for several weeks. So I was left with what I hoped was a significant amount of free time. Once I had gotten dressed, I took my cup of coffee, thanked Perlita for cooking with a kiss on her head, retrieved Orfeo from his cage, and headed down to the docks.

Ah, that’s right!

Orfeo!

I haven’t introduced him yet!

Orfeo was the family pet. A Macaw of proud stature who had been with the family for nearly twelve years at the time. He was a big bird, with feathers the color of sapphire, tall enough to stare down small children and playful enough to pull at their hair. But we taught him how to act and how to talk, so that he would behave himself in such situations. He only pulled on someone’s hair if they upset him, or if we gave him the secret signal to be a little troublemaker. And when he behaved well enough, we would reward him with treats.

He loved plátanos and mangos best.

As I removed him from his enclosure for our morning routine, he greeted me as he always did, with a facsimile of Perlita’s voice. “¡Buenos días papá!”

“Ah, buenos días, Orfeo! How did you sleep?”

“How did you sleep?”

I laughed. He was imitating me now. “No, no, I asked you first! How did you sleep, Orfeo?”

He would do this sometimes, making circles out of conversations. But I was patient. I had to give him the chance to properly respond. He would know what I meant after a few rounds.

Eventually, after some thoughtful bounces on his part, he finally gave me a different answer. “Like a baby! ”

“Good boy!” I responded, holding out a small plátano piece for him. He took it with his beak so carefully, it was as if he was handling glass.

I always tried to tell people he was smarter than he seemed. Sometimes, he would hold entire conversations with himself, in absence of me or my little pearl! I’ve caught him doing it! Sometimes, he would even come up with responses to conversations that I never taught him! Yes, surely he copied them from others, but the fact still remains that he learned to apply it!

And yet our neighbors were insistent that he was nothing more than some “dumb tropical bird.”

Pah!

I took him with me on my morning walk, as I always did when the weather was fair enough for him. And it was off to the docks we went!

The docks were easily one of my favorite parts of Cádiz. Second only to the beaches and bakeries, of course. Ever since I was little, I loved heading out at the earliest hours I could, just so I could watch them come to life. I watched the sails of returning ships billow in the breeze before they were doused, as men on the docks and on the boats prepared for the arrival of the other, voices calling out to one another, like seagulls coming home.

They were always glad to see the land, too. There was never a sailor who came back who didn’t share some look of relief at the sight of the pier, or show a big smile when he undoubtedly saw someone he recognized waiting for him, to be answered with a cry of joy in return. For I watched as loved ones came out bright and early to see their ships return, tying their hair up as nicely as they could with pretty little ribbons of all colors, waving favors and hands to greet their jolly sailors.

Today, a ship of particular pride was brought to port. Yes, new ships were always a sight, but this one in particular was truly a sight to behold. One that caught my eyes as well as the eyes of any dock workers awake at that hour.

The Pride of Venus.

She was a ship of the line, and a fine example of her craft. No other ship present could compare. Elegant and lethal, she was fully rigged with three masts, three decks full of cannons, and three emblems of the Spanish Royal Navy hand-sewn upon her sails, with details of doves and dolphins on display anywhere they could be painted or carved. Her figurehead itself represented Venus in all her glory, rising from the waves with her arms outstretched in invitation. The sunlight warmed her painted skin so much, she looked like she was just as real as I was from a distance.

She was a treasured gift to King Philip V from King Louis XV. Any Spaniard would have been proud to sail under her banner, making their way in the world with such beauty beneath them.

I would have been proud of her too, if only she didn’t serve the Navy. But I could admire her fine craftsmanship without thinking of the blood she was stained with. The art of creating such beautiful vessels was slowly but surely falling out of public practice. Newer ships were being made with more cannons, more masts, and sleeker, simpler shapes, leaving little room for expressions of art such as this.

It was such a shame. It was far easier to identify ships and their captains from afar when their ships were just as unique as they were. If they all started to look alike, I was afraid I wouldn’t enjoy watching them anymore. And one day, The Pride of Venus would fall out of my sight forever, into the endless blue sea.

My only hope was that, perhaps if such creatures as merfolk existed, then they would appreciate such ships as her more than we ever could. That perhaps the fish in the sea would make a good home from her bones.

Still, I could appreciate her while she stood. So I did. I slowly whittled away at my coffee, getting lost in dreamy ideas as to her adventures overseas while the world came to life around her. Dock workers helped tie her and other vessels down, while their crews filed out of their ships in orderly lines. The sailors maintained their professional airs while their captains addressed them, but once they were dismissed, they turned from men into boys once again. Those that had loved ones to reunite with did, running to them with much excitement, to be greeted with excitement in kind by those they left ashore.

Some of them were taken into open arms, while others had their weary faces cradled in the hands of their other halves. A lucky few were painted in kisses from sweethearts that clearly missed them just as much, leaving colorful marks of affection wherever they could.

I did my best to ignore that. Instead, I drank in the warmth of the sun, the songs of the gulls, and the smell of the sea, along with my coffee. Once my cup was empty, I wiped it clean, stowed it, and moved on.

My next stop was the book store. Carrasco’s Book Shop, to be precise. Pearce was an old business associate of mine, having worked with my father long ago. Whenever I needed new paper, or was interested in the newest book release, he was the man I went to.

Orfeo couldn’t come inside. This was due to a no-pets policy on Pearce’s part. An understandable rule, given the destruction any untrained animal could inflict upon those old bookshelves. Even my lovely bird was no exception, with beaks and talons that could make bedding out of any book’s pages. At my command, Orfeo flew up atop the sign for the shop and stayed there, well out of the reach of any would-be thieves. He was a very valuable bird, after all. Very pretty and bright.

The bell above the door announced my arrival, prompting a look from Pearce behind the counter. He was a lean old man, as lithe and lax as an old cat, with just as fine of a face. What few scars he bore at his neck and arms told of his old life at sea, the life he said he had left behind for the comfort of the shore. He seemed to be finishing setting up shop for the morning, as I could see him putting a few things beneath the counter when I arrived. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Good morning, Marco!” He greeted me, with a voice that creaked softly. “Normally you’re here before I’m open! Is it safe to assume that you slept in?”

“Yes, sir,” I responded with a smile of my own, “but certainly not by choice.”

“Is it ever by choice?” Said he. It was a tease, we both knew, so we shared a chuckle at the idea. Once he was finished putting things away, he then told me, “Your order arrived just this morning! If you’ll allow me to fetch it for you…”

“Of course, sir! Take your time!”

And so he disappeared into a room behind the counter, well out of sight. While I waited, I looked around. Hand-painted scenes on the wall depicted all kinds of adventurous moments, from a meeting of politicians to a crew of sailors heading out to sea. A fisherman had caught a mermaid on his line above one shelf, while another showed a procession of fairies walking through the woods, to the amazement of the children looking on from the bushes. Opposite of the sailors, a crew of pirates were burying their treasure, with their captain hiding a pistol behind his back.

They had not been repainted in some time, so all their colors were worn. But in my mind, they were as bright as they were when I first walked into the shop, back when I was just a child. My father would happily chatter with Pearce while I looked through the shelves, only to stare at me in shock at the tower of books I came out with. My appetite for knowledge was insatiable.

It still was. I just didn’t have as much desire to read as I used to. And most of it I had already read through countless times. I didn’t pick up too many books these days.

“Here you are,” Pearce said as he came out, holding a wooden crate of fair size, “all blank pages, as requested! I have the paper for you to sign here…”

I watched as he set the crate on the counter, waiting until he had fully released it before going to inspect it for damages. Sometimes, my shipments from overseas came in less… desirable condition. So it was always good to check.

The crate itself looked to be intact, save for some residual dampness from the rain the night before. Upon prying the lid off, however, I was relieved to find all the paper inside to be completely untouched. Dry as sand, even. Perfect!

He handed me the papers to confirm I had received my package, and I took them, and the quill, quite happily… only to stop.

The name on the shipping order wasn’t mine.

Instead of Marco Montero, it was addressed to Lazzaro Montero.

My father.

This happened sometimes. Mail for our house would come in with my father’s name, even though he had been dead for many years. It had been so long, in fact, that I had made the mistake of assuming these kinds of things would eventually stop.

I was wrong. As usual.

“... Marco?”

I glanced up to Pearce.

“Is everything alright?” He asked me. His oak-brown eyes were alight with concern behind his eyeglasses. “Is anything damaged?”

“Oh, no,” I reassured him, “not at all! In fact, it’s all in remarkably good condition! It’s just… they put my father’s name on it again. See?”

I showed him the paper, taking care to point out where his name was. Upon seeing it, his expression fell only further. “Oh, Marco, I’m so sorry… You would think they would learn to fix that by now!”

“You would think… ”

Regardless, I signed the paper with my name. When I handed the paper and quill back, Pearce reassured me, “I’ll correct them as soon as I’m able. This can not keep happening, it’s incredibly unprofessional…”

He didn’t need to. Not because nothing would change, but because it didn’t bother me as much as it used to. It was just one small thing. An ant hill in a mountain of other, far more worrisome things. That, and I confess, I did still miss him. Sometimes, it was nice to think that perhaps that name wasn’t a mistake, and I would see him again when I went home.

I would. But never in the flesh. I had long since accepted that.

Holding the crate under one arm, I made my way to my next destination: a bakery. It was only a wooden crate full of parcels of paper, so it was no trouble for me to carry on my walk, even with Orfeo having returned to my shoulder. I walked slowly through the streets, letting the smell of firing ovens and baking bread delight my senses. If the coffee didn’t wake me up, this smell always would, without failure.

I was most loyal to one bakery in particular. I could partake of the others whenever I liked, but my most devoted business was reserved for the Belmonte Family Bakery. It belonged to one of my dearest friends, Isabela.

Isabela wasn’t the easiest friend to make, mind you. She was hard to crack open, with a harsh temper. To me, she was like one of those German nutcrackers, with a bite that could break bone and a stiff spine that no man could bend. In spite of it all, I knew that beneath that harsh exterior was a good heart. I wouldn’t hear anyone say otherwise.

She was already dealing with a customer when I came in, so her greeting to me was brief. “Morning, búho!”

“Morning, burra!”

She finished packing up a loaf of bread for a young man she was dealing with, then spotted the crate under my arm and stopped. She tilted her head and frowned, a crooked frown that favored the right side of her face more than her left.

“That’s funny, I don’t recall ordering any books.”

“Ah, that’s because you didn’t. This order is mine. ”

“So what are you doing bringing it into my shop, then?” She asked.

I teased her and replied, “I figured you could use kindling for your oven. I don’t see any devils flying about to keep it alight, so I must assume you’re actually using your firewood, in which case you must be struggling.”

She laughed. It was a loud sound, and a lovely one at that. “Ah, so you’ve noticed! Give it an hour or two, then you’ll see them, don’t you worry!”

Once she had sent her customer on his merry way, she turned fully to me. She leaned against the counter with one arm as she asked, “Now, what do you need?”

“I was wondering what your recommendation would be for us today.” I then told her, smiling. “I’m thinking Perlita and I could try something new!”

Her proud brow-line lifted slowly. “New? You? Ha!” She scoffed loudly at this. “The day you try something new is the day Hell freezes over!”

“Ah, but you were married to the Devil once,” I teased, “so you would know if Hell was cold today, wouldn’t you?”

This got a good, long laugh out of her. This was because her former husband was a terrible, terrible man. One with a hard-earned reputation for putting past wives in the ground. He died several years ago, having apparently choked on his dinner.

She insisted she had nothing to do with it. I pretended to believe her.

When she could eventually speak again, she said to me, “Well, he was always complaining about having me around, so I figured I would give him some space. But the next time I go down to see him, I’ll check on him, just for you~”

She then gestured for me to set my belongings aside with a wave of her hand, so while she perused what she had on display, I set the crate on the part of the counter farthest away from her work space.

As I stood there waiting, I took the time to enjoy the atmosphere of the room. There was some comfort to be found in roasting wheat, in the smell of toasting almonds and slightly burned sugar. Isabela’s cooking always felt comforting. For all how harsh her exterior was, one could taste the truth in her mazapán, delicate and sweet. One could feel her comfort in the warmth of her bread, and find her kindness in the quiet tang of her mantecados.

But it wasn’t mantecados she brought me, or mazapán. Instead, what she brought up was a small woven basket, full of sugar-dusted pastries cut into familiar, fluffy squares. I would recognize them anywhere. My mother baked them every so often for my father when we were small.

Beignets.

My familiarity must have been obvious, for her typical biting commentary came more softly than before. “It’s been a while since you’ve had these, right?” She asked. “The man who ordered these threw me a fit, so he didn’t get them. I don’t know if you still like them or not, but…”

Looking over to her, I only said this: “If ever I were to fall out of love with beignets, then I would no longer be myself. How much do you want?”

“Don’t bother.” She slid the basket over to me. “It’s on the house.”

Now, I hated to leave anyone unpaid for their services, and she knew this. But when I tried to object, as she no doubt knew I would have, she only snapped her fingers at me. “And you’re going to take it, or it’s going on the house, got it?”

“But– you could still sell it to me–”

“I’m not selling anything that isn’t hot and fresh.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “ Please. At least I know you’ll eat them. Now take them and go, before another customer sees.”

So I looped the basket over one of my arms, took up my shipment, and did just that. If Perlita somehow didn’t appreciate the treat, I knew that I would.

Perlita was already gone by the time I had returned. She was apprenticed to Dr. De la Fuente, and so spent much of her afternoons with him, learning what she could on medicine and the human body. He was the only one willing to teach her, as no one else took her seriously when she told them she wanted to be a doctor.

This was alright with me. I knew she would be safe there. And it gave me plenty of time to myself. I set all of my things aside, set the basket of beignets on the coffee table, then took my shipment of paper upstairs to my office. But not before putting Orfeo away.

Once I was inside, I got to work sorting out my shipment. The parcels were sorted onto my paper shelf one by one, nestled in neat and orderly fashion with the rest of the blank paper I had. It kept them cleaner to leave them in their parcels, rather than removing them. Especially with a pet like Orfeo. As well as he behaved, he still could make a mess if I wasn’t careful!

That, and my office didn’t have that much space. Compared to my bedchambers, it was much smaller, with only enough space for my writing desk, my work table for book binding, and some bookshelves for storage. The window to the room also wasn’t as big. My father’s personal study back at our old home was much larger, with more breathing room, more books, more seating…

This office felt more fitting for a mouse. I could scarcely be satisfied with my sorting, when I didn’t have much room to store the new paper in the first place. This was the other reason they stayed in their parcels.

Not wanting to get lost in my thoughts, I went back downstairs for the beignets. With no commission work currently available, no tasks from the Navy, and Perlita gone from the house, I was hoping to finally be able to relax. So I took a beignet for myself, seated myself in the nicest armchair in the reception room, and was just getting ready to take my first bite… when I heard it.

A knock at the front door.

This knock was also familiar to me. However, unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock I never looked forward to answering. Also unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock that I couldn’t turn down. With a great sigh, I rose from the chair I had just seated myself in. I took a bite of my beignet to comfort myself, then came to answer the door.

When the door opened, I was greeted with a charming smile. One filled cheek to cheek with wolf’s teeth.

For my own well-being, I chose to be polite. So I answered his smile with one of my own.

“Ah. Good morning, Captain Gutiérrez.”

#my writing #potc #pirates of the caribbean #there's nobody familiar to tag for in this first chapter #and nothing to warn about #it's just a pleasant little mood setter I think #also researching foods and ships for this time period was a LOT more relaxing than researching the salary of a translator in 1742 #the internet is NO HELP THESE DAYS #also i love and hate the formatting differences #this was all nicely spaced and indented in the google doc...#ocs #original characters #much later down the line it'll be oc x canon as a heads up #As Boundless As The Sea #will be the tag for this

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vanishedangels · 1 year

Text

As the stars are shining

Summary: Jedi Luke Skywalker's world turns upside down when he comes to the aid of a force-sensitive child only to find that Din Djarin, the only man he has ever loved and pushed out of his life six years earlier on Dagobah, is the kid's guardian.

Includes a scene inspired by Secret place by talented 3D artist @lil-dormouse This chapter is for you, bestie.

Blame it on the storm & Castles on the sand sequel

Pairing: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker

Characters: Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Paz Vizsla, Ahsoka Tano, Greef Karga, R2-D2, Anakin Skywalker (Force Ghost), Leia Organa.

Rating: Mature

Tags: AU, Canon Divergence, Post The Mandalorian Season 2, Getting Back Together, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Tumblr Prompts, POV Alternating, Mostly Luke's POV.

Chapters: 3/3

Navigation: <- Previous Chapter •

Part 3 of Wonderwall series

Excerpt:

You came back.

The Jedi smiled "Welcome, Din." And he was staring at his visor with sincere eyes, full of love. He closed them leaning forward and Din met him halfway, eliciting a sigh from him when the cold beskar touched the skin of his forehead, feeling Din's strong hand caressing his waist, his hand finding Din's elbow, holding him there, welcoming him in every single way. He opened his eyes softly, smiling, glistening, pulling back a little to gaze at Din feeling his heartbeat thumping in his ears as the water drizzled onto the rocks behind them and Grogu chirped between them caressing their boots.

Chapter 3: Your destiny may keep you warm

For a couple of months Din kept returning to them after spending some time with his tribe, it felt like the old good days, when Luke was receiving him at the Hoth base, longing for his lover's affection, except this time Din wasn't his lover but his good friend. The hours they spent talking about their feelings and thoughts, slowly opening themselves up to each other, made him feel at home somehow.

One day Luke woke up in the middle of the night, sitting up onto the mattress, panting and sweating profusely, he squeezed his eyes shut running his hands through his face as the thumping beat of his heart overwhelmed him. It happened again, and again, until he started to feel anxious before going to bed every night, and every time, he couldn't remember if it was a bad dream that disturbed his sleep, but he knew something was wrong and even when he couldn't decipher what was it, he was certain that it had to be the force, trying to show him something.

"You look like you're parsecs away, Luke." Din said resting against a tree, tilting his helmet, his visor on Luke.

Luke met his visor and blinked "It's nothing, I just-" He frowned staring down, wetting his lips with his tongue "I could feel that something is off." He swallowed tightly looking at his Padawan, the kid was playing with some rocks before him "I don't know if this is about him, or-" His voice trailed off.

"Or?" Din leaned forward and started walking towards him.

When the mandalorian was right beside him, Luke looked up at his visor "Or about you." He said quietly "The worst part is that it isn't clear, it's not a vision, not even a thought, it's just an unfathomable feeling, a continuous pressure in my chest." He shook his head slowly, deep in thought.

He parted his lips and drew in a long breath the moment he felt Din's gloved hand on his shoulder "Are you worry about us?"

"Yes."

Silence. They stared at Grogu for a while, Luke smiled fondly watching the little child playing peacefully on the grass, Din's voice bringing him out of his mind "I was thinking about him." Luke looked at the mandalorian. "You said that he could live for hundreds of years, I'm-" He tilted his helmet "What is going to happen when we're not longer here?" Luke's heart wrenched, he knew exactly what Din was feeling at that moment, he pursed his lips and frowned, it wasn't like he hasn't thought about it himself.

The Jedi sighed "I know what you mean. He's going to be a child for a while." He nodded searching for Din's eyes behind the vision "He needs community, a family."

The mandalorian remained silent, therefore Luke needed to cut to the chase.

"You're planning on taking him to your tribe, aren't you?" He asked quietly, noticing the way Din slightly flinched.

"What?"

"Are you thinking about taking him to Nevarro?" Luke added crossing his arms over his chest. Din lowered his gaze and then he looked at his face again.

"He's with you now."

Din sounded so soft by saying it that it warmed up Luke's heart. He shook his head slowly, staring down and half smiling "Din, I can't give him community." He looked at Din's visor "I'm alone." He added as his lips curled up slightly in a fake smile that didn't light up his blue eyes. A feeling of numbness invading him. There, with those words he was telling Din that he regretted not being able to find a way to share his new life with him in the past, regretting he didn't even give it a try.

To Luke's surprise Din seemed to understand him in a way that only Leia and Han could, the man in beskar, the man he loved, closed the space between them and took Luke's breath away by saying "You don't have to." Din's voice soothed Luke, he stared at his visor frowning, his heart leaping and his mind running wild. Was Din saying what he thought he was saying? "You were important to me, Luke. You are important to me."

"Din." Luke managed to say as Din's hand found his. He looked down as they intertwined their fingers.

"Look at me, Luke." The Jedi obliged. "I'm here. And I think you know what I mean."

Luke could tell by the way Din's breath was hitching that he was growing uneasy and, presumably, pulling out all the stops to make Luke understand what he meant to him. Din squeezed his hand and sighed quietly, and Luke knew that he needed to show him how much he knew what Din meant.

He fluttered his eyelashes until he finally closed his eyes as he leaned forward, slowly, softly, resting his forehead against Din's helmet and a much-missed warmth traveled through his whole body, making his heart flutter while Din wrapped his arms around his middle. He drew his hands up, desperately, grabbing the back of Din's helmet, pressing his chest against Din's, he could feel the mandalorian's heartbeat quickening through the thickness of his beskar and he chuckled almost letting a tear roll down his cheek.

"Luke?" Din said under his breath as he pressed his fingers against the blonde's small back, adding more pressure between their bodies. "F-Fuck-" He stuttered rubbing his helmet against the Jedi's forehead "Fuck, Luke, I'm here." He said again, this time his voice broke a little.

Luke nodded against him and sighed opening his now twinkling eyes "I know." He finally said stroking Din's helmet, hands roaming the beskar until he reached Din's neck, the tip of his fingers finding the soft skin beneath the fabric. He stopped when Din groaned, digging his fingers into his waist "The kid, Din." It took everything in him to say those words, but he wouldn't go any further knowing that his young Padawan was playing sitting on the grass a couple of feet away from them. Din nodded still holding him tight and then he looked at the child, still absorbed in his rocks and giggling at the distance ignoring whatever was going on between his mandalorian friend and his Jedi Master.

Luke stroked Din's arms around his waist and his hands tickled while he was looking dumbfounded at his silver helmet, his eyes traveling down dwelling on his neck and shoulders, longing for drape his arms around them "You're leaving tonight." He said pulling back a little, instead.

Din's visor shifted from Grogu to Luke's face, he nodded "Tonight." He said withdrawing his arms from the blonde and pulling away letting go of him completely. He looked at Luke for a while, in silence, Luke held his gaze without even blinking until Din walked away and towards the child.

Luke stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind swirling around Din's words "You don't have to." , "I'm here. And I think you know what I mean." and he was trying to embrace his feelings, to welcome the way Din's body against his own set his skin aflame.

He walked in the Temple's direction, clenching his hands into fists as intrusive thoughts started filling his mind, making him feel insecure, the internal conflict torturing him in that familiar way again, something that he believed he has had left behind him. Wrong.

There, within the confines of his Jedi Temple he finally realized that this duality, this struggle between his mind and heart, has cost him his own identity. He sat down on the floor in the meditation room peeling off his heavy robes, staying in his undershirt. He crossed his legs and leaned his forearms on his knees, sighing and staring at the ceiling.

Who are you?

He asked himself, frowning and running his forefinger on the floor doodling absentmindedly while thinking about the person he once was, the boy from Tatooine, the rebel pilot, the guy in love with a mandalorian.

And then, that unsettling feeling creeping on his soul again. He tried to compose himself, he eased his mind, closing his eyes and he was trying to reach out using the force, certain that this time he would get answers.

"Son." He heard a soothing voice making him open his eyes slowly until he could see the blueish image of his late father and his heart skipped a beat.

"Father." He said astounded widening his eyes "Father, I can't believe you're here." He added staring at the vision of his father's former self.

Anakin Skywalker smiled slightly, standing before his son "Seemed like you needed a little help."

It was uncommon for Luke to see the ghostly manifestation of his father, therefore he was grateful but worried at the same time.

"Why now, father? I've been struggling for so long and you haven't shown yourself until now." He rested his hands on his knees.

"Because this time you won't be able to work things out all by yourself." Anakin tilted his head, his eyes looked full of kindness, the same way Luke remembered them.

"Is this because I can't understand what the force has been trying to show me these last days?" Luke inquired.

The force ghost hummed "You will see it when the moment is right." He folded his hands in front of his body, his robes dancing eerily around him "Until then, you should be patient."

"Patient." Luke sighed lowering his gaze.

"I know you think it's about that mandalorian." Anakin said and Luke flinched a little looking up at his eyes again.

"He's going to Mandalore with his people." Luke explained frowning "He said they are going to retake their home world. He's leaving tonight."

"I know, and I know what you are thinking." Luke bit his lower lip listening to his father "You are not going with him, Luke."

His father's words made him feel stripped and utterly vulnerable, he ducked his head trying to hide his shame.

"Oh no, Luke, you can't fool me, I'm aware of the feelings you developed towards this man."

"Father, please." He said under his breath staring at the floor, as a scarlet shade was spreading from his neck to his cheeks.

"I had made a terrible mistake, son, and I paid for it, and even worse, I hurt a lot of people along the way. It doesn't mean it would happen to you as well." Anakin's voice sounded soft and soothing, still Luke was feeling anxious as he started rubbing his hands against his thighs.

"I'm confused, father. I know how I feel about him, but I don't know if I should-" He trailed off.

"You will know, you will get there." Anakin stared at his face trying to catch his eyes "Tell me now, when you are trying to know about your future through the force, what do you see?"

The blonde Jedi shifted a little on the floor, he blinked and then he narrowed his eyes "Shining stars above me and I am at peace, and I know in my heart that as the stars are shining nothing would hurt me, and I feel warmth, and I feel at home." Luke frowned, saying it out loud for the very first time left him perplexed, although it made him feel powerful and his heart was thumping with excitement, brimming with love and hope.

"You're not me." Anakin replied nodding as a gentle smile appeared on his face.

"What?" Luke snapped his head up.

"I know Ahsoka told you about my fall and the reasons behind it. And I also know you think that the love you feel about Din Djarin would eventually lead you to fear and anger." He made a pause "Every time I tried to see what my future would hold for me, I only found darkness and regret. You're not me, son. And this is why you will let him leave tonight all by himself, and you won't interfere in the internal affairs of Mandalore, they need to do this by themselves." Anakin stated holding Luke's gaze "This is why you are here now and not out there with him, this is you trying to accept that you can't interfere, and I think that you know I'm right."

Luke covered his eyes with his gloved hand, sighing deeply, feeling the way his throat tightened and his heart was pounding against his ribs. He drew in a deep inhale and rubbed his face with his hand, he held his breath when he saw Din standing by the entrance.

"Din?" He asked looking around trying to find Anakin's force ghost but he was already gone "I'm sorry, I was meditating. What time is it?" He asked trying to reach his robes next to him on the floor, but the mandalorian was already sitting down beside him. The blonde stopped in his tracks staring at his helmet.

"I hope you don't mind, I already fed Grogu and he's sleeping now." Din nodded at him.

"Oh." Luke frowned "I lost track of time." He pressed his lips together.

"I came to say goodbye." Din said putting his hand atop Luke's making him sigh, Luke interlocked their fingers thinking of the possibility of never seeing him again and his heart broke into pieces.

"Please be safe." The Jedi said boring into his visor.

"As always."

"No, I mean it." He retorted bringing Din's hand to his face, Din understood the unspoken plea and started brushing his fingers against his cheek, gently, softly. Luke's lips curled up into a smile "I want to give you something. It might help you." Luke said slipping the fingers of his free hand between his boot and leg, Din tilted his helmet down, his visor fixed on Luke's hand until the Jedi pulled a vibro-knife out of his boot.

When Luke put the knife in Din's hand the mandalorian curled his fingers around it "Luke, this is-" He looked up finding Luke's eyes "The vibro-knife I gave you."

The Jedi nodded and his smile reached his blue eyes "It's very important to me, so I want it back." He held up his forefinger at Din "Bring it back to me, Din." His eyes traveling down to the floor where Din was leaning his hand to support himself while pressing his helmet against Luke's forehead.

"I'll bring it back to you, cyare." He promised and Luke closed his eyes reveling in the moment and in the way his heart melted at Din's term of endearment.

Yes, love, I'll be here waiting for you.

He was resting his hands on the table, the dim light casting shadows on the wall, his eyes were fixed on the little child next to him, the kid was eating his stew with his little hand wrapped around a big spoon, he was twitching his big ears, making little happy noises and Luke found himself chuckling and caressing Grogu's head, then he blinked realizing that the time he spent with the kid was filling his heart with some pleasant feeling, he withdrew his hand staring down, understanding that things weren't happening the way they supposed to, he grimaced thinking that Grogu was more than a Padawan to him, and he froze terrified, he was caring about this child in a way a Jedi Master shouldn't, he was caring about Grogu as a son, and he felt confused. This was getting a bit out of hand.

All of a sudden he pressed his hands against the table, digging his fingers into the wood as Grogu whined letting the spoon slip from his hand. Luke gasped as the unsettling feeling reached him through the force. He squinted looking at the wall and it was as clear as daylight, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, he twitched his fingers finally closing his hands into fists. A disturbance in the force.

He looked at Grogu sideways, the child was staring at him with a worried look on his little face "You felt that too, didn't you Grogu?" The child nodded babbling.

Later that night he was sitting on his bed, with his head hanging down, holding his hands, finally he understood what was the force trying to tell him and he knew right away that he didn't think things straight the moment he took the child in, what was he supposed to do now? He didn't have a backup plan, if he needed to go through the galaxy to find the source of the disruption in the force he also needed to leave the child in the Temple, but, as he told Din, he was alone. No. Leaving the Temple wasn't an option, he sighed lying on the mattress thinking that he would wait for Din to come back and then he would be on his way. And if Din never came back, he considered that and shook his head as his heart clenched painfully in his chest at the mere thought, then Leia was his only option.

Grogu and Luke were wandering in the forest, three days had passed since both of them felt that switch in the force, although they never felt it again and Luke started to wonder if the source was already extinct. They came to a halt in front of a creek crowned by a curtain of water surging and plunging down the mountain, like a source of infinite life, Luke breathed in closing his eyes, the sound of water flowing and the humidity curling the end of his hair soothing him, the child amusingly strolling by the shore warming his heart, he chuckled and then he frowned when he felt a well-known presence through the force, he spun on his heels only to find the mandalorian walking towards them and his heart gave an extra beat.

He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down and kicking a little rock letting Grogu run to Din, his eyes on them as his lips curled up into a soft smile. When the mandalorian let go of the child, he closed the distance between him and Luke.

He came to a halt in front of him, tilting his helmet "Hi, Luke." He said sending shivers down Luke's spine.

You came back.

"I brought you this." Din said handing him the vibro-knife and leaning an arm on the wall above Luke's head, encasing him, almost pressing his body against Luke, the Jedi realized that he was refraining from actually touching him, but the mandalorian's body language was betraying him. He seized the vibro-knife staring at Din's visor.

"I'm glad you're back." He said under his breath and Din hummed. Luke frowned staring at his utility belt, he slid his hand over it and he tried to ignore the low rumble coming from Din's chest "Din, where's your saber?" He frowned staring at his visor, Din took a few steps back.

"It's gone."

"What?"

Din sat at the table and the Jedi followed him suit, the mandalorian breathed in "Luke, that saber means nothing to me or my people, it's a symbol of destruction and segregation, it didn't unify the mandalorians in the past." He looked down "We fought together this time, different tribes, different houses, and we're trying to understand what's the meaning of being a mandalorian. Together."

Luke was attentively listening to him, absentmindedly curling his hand around Din's over the table.

"We fought together and we retook Mandalore, and we decided that we didn't need a reminder of our bloody past. We destroyed it." Luke was holding his breath. "It's time to write a new history, it's time to leave the old ways behind us, those ways fractured us as a community, it didn't work in the past so why we should keep on trying to follow a rule that only brought pain and death upon us?" He asked tilting his helmet and Luke's heart was pounding in his chest.

Din was right. He frowned avoiding his visor, he could feel Din's words hitting in all the right places, his mind swirling around what he father told him, "You will know, you will get there."

And he knew right there and then that he wouldn't run away from his feelings anymore, that he could walk a new path as well, he felt an irrepressible urge to show Din how he felt about him, he opened his mouth to say something when the mandalorian talked first.

"We need to talk, Luke." He said staring at the Jedi and he sounded serious.

He told him about an imperial base beneath the mines of Mandalore, how they fought against troopers that carried beskar armours and Luke's blood was boiling inside his veins, his heart skipped a beat when Din explained how Paz, Bo-Katan and him barely walked out in one piece of an encounter with three men in red armours wielding weapons he has never even heard about before. Luke widened his eyes when he heard that they destroyed the base and managed to kill a dozen of clones of Moff Gideon.

"So that was it." The Jedi muttered "I felt them through the force, Grogu too." He stared into Din's visor "They are creating force-sensitive clones, we felt them before they were killed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive." Luke said standing up, Din tilted his helmet up to stare at him "They're back, I won't let them." He said clenching his jaw "Din, go back to your home world and take Grogu with you." Din rose to his feet towering over him.

"I'm not planning on going back." The mandalorian said making Luke frown "I left Mandalore, I won't go back, I want to hunt imperial remnants down. I was thinking-" He looked around "Maybe you can talk to Leia, you can count on me."

Realization hit Luke "You want to work for The New Republic?" Din nodded.

"And with you." He added and Luke could notice the way his voice trembled a little.

Luke considered it for a moment, and a lopsided smile crossed his face "Like the old times, huh? Leia hiring you." He chuckled, Din folded his arms defensively. Is this really happening? Luke thought staring at him for a while "Alright, Din, we're going to Chandrila." He walked away glaring at Din over his shoulder, the mandalorian was staring at him, frozen. "Now."

"Fuck, Luke!" Leia ran her hand through her long hair closing her eyes "Shit!" She slammed her hand on the table, then she bored into his brother's eyes "I knew it, this is not over, huh? It was never over."

"Just, please, I know it's hard to swallow, but I'm here, I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna find them. We are gonna find them." Luke held her hand in an attempt to reassure her.

"Anything you need, you got it. You hear me? I'll see to it." She nodded and rested her chin on her palm "So, you're together, huh?"

Luke shifted in his chair "I wouldn't say together." He retorted, although it felt like that in so many ways.

"But you're in love with him." She added leaning forward. Luke's mouth set in a hard line. "What about your academy?"

"I don't know." He shrugged one arm "We're taking the child with us. The lines are blurred, Leia, I can't pretend that Grogu is just my Padawan, I took care of that baby for months. I'm still training him though, but as-" He blinked.

"As your son?" She arched one eyebrow.

"You think I'm crazy?" Luke snapped back. He was being honest with her, wearing his heart on his sleeve and his heart was pounding fast.

Leia shook her head still staring at him "Of course not, I'm happy that you're opening your mind and not living like some exiled Jedi." She smiled fondly reaching out to take his hand in hers "You don't deserve that kind of life, brother. You can make this work. I know it." She added squeezing his hand and joy and relief welled up inside Luke.

Leia arranged and apartment for the three of them, Grogu was already sleeping in his little bed in the small room when Din walked into the kitchen, Luke was resting his backside against the countertop, he was holding a cup of caf between his hands, his eyes curious, following every move Din made. The mandalorian walked towards him until he came to a halt in front of him, he grabbed the cup from Luke's hands and put it down on the countertop behind him, instinctively Luke drew his hand up, curling it around Din's biceps, he sighed "There's only one bed, Din."

Din snorted out a laugh, pressing his body against Luke's, eliciting a groan from the Jedi.

"I'm sleeping on the couch then." The mandalorian teased, running his hands down Luke's waist and hips.

"Din." He leaned forward pressing his face against Din's neck "Take me to our bed, Din." He said caressing his chest plate and he couldn't believe that this was really happening, that he was being true to himself for the first time since he pushed Din out of his life on Dagobah and he finally let emotions flow through him.

Din pulled away staring down at him in silence, and Luke's skin prickled with want, the mandalorian grabbed his hand taking a few steps back, guiding him to the main room.

When they were finally inside the room, Luke leaned in closer to Din pressing his hand on his helmet right where his cheek would be and planted a soft kiss on his visor.

"Luke." Din said in a low-pitched voice and wrapped his arms around the blonde's torso. He gently pushed Luke against the mattress and rubbed his stomach with his gloved hand, pressing his helmet against the Jedi's cheek, instantaneously tying knots in Luke's belly .

His entire body was aflame with his touch and he closed his eyes relishing in the way Din's body pressed against his own had tension rapidly coiling hotter and tighter in his gut.

"Din." He said as his hands roamed over the man's back "Wait." Luke hated himself for spoiling the mood but there was something that he needed to say if he wanted to give them a chance. Din growled as his hand stopped right around Luke's thigh making him shudder. He opened his eyes staring at Din's visor "Can I ask you something?"

Din growled again, pulling away and Luke gave him the once-over realizing that the man was growing impatient and he felt miserable knowing that once again he was making Din feel rejected.

"No, wait, stay like this for a while. Please." He whispered encircling Din's neck with his arms bringing him close again "Din, why did you show us your face on Mandalore?"

Din sighed and brushed his fingers against Luke's cheek "I wanted to show you my face, I've always wanted to give you that, although I couldn't, that was the only time I could show you my face and I used it."

The blonde looked down nibbling on his bottom lip, he looked at Din again when he felt his thumb pressing on his lip softly, freeing it from his teeth.

"What is it, cyare? What is going on inside that mind of yours?" He asked amused, brushing his fingers against the blonde's lips now, making Luke's breath leave his body.

No more lies.

"I always knew how you looked like, Din." Luke said feeling the way Din's muscles tensed up under his hands "Even when we were just pretending that we were dating."

"What did you do, Luke?" He asked and Luke could hear the way his voice cracked.

"Oh, no." Luke sat up moving his hands to grab him by his biceps "I saw your face through the force, I didn't know anything, like anything at all about the force back then, I didn't know how to stop it, I think that my desire to see you was so strong that the visions came easily." He was desperate clutching Din's pauldrons now "I'm sorry Din, I couldn't control it." Din didn't say a word, his visor fixed on Luke's face. "I'm sorry Din, I know I betrayed your trust, you must feel so vulnerable now, I'm so sorry, please." He stroked Din's helmet adoringly.

"You saw my face and you still liked me?" Din asked catching Luke off guard.

"What?" He frowned "Well, yes. Din, I know every inch of your skin, every freckle, every scar. I like every aspect of you." Din was hovering over him, it looked like a dream come true "And, I love your eyes." He said sighing and he couldn't hold it back anymore, he moved his hands slowly, caressing Din's pauldrons finally lacing his fingers on the back of his neck, bringing Din closer and pressing their foreheads together.

He let out a shuddering sigh, closing his eyes and tilting his head a little, savouring every little detail, Din's hands leaving a trail of electricity on his skin as Luke rested his head on the mattress letting Din guide him, he move his leg up to hook it around his waist as the tip of Din's fingers were burning against his thigh through the fabric of his pants. All of a sudden Din pulled away, and Luke opened his eyes only to find him straddling his lap, he parted his lips, his eyes on his helmet, the mandalorian tilted his head grabbing his hand and making him touch his chest plate, the blonde's fingers twitching, encircled by Din's hand "Take my armour off, Luke." He said under his breath as Luke stared at him dumbfounded. He blinked a few times and then looked around.

"Are-are you sure?" The Jedi stuttered.

Din nodded slowly, reaching out to toy with a lock of dark blonde hair with his free hand and tucking it behind Luke's ear "Uh-huh, I don't need my armour here, I got a Jedi to protect me now."

That made Luke blush from ear to ear as he bit his lip down to suppress a chuckle, he shook his head and chewed on his bottom lip utterly smitten with his mandalorian, gingerly picking at the buckles of his chest plate. He removed Din's armour piece by piece and his heart was thudding heavily in anticipation, he understood that this was a gift, something that Din was offering him for the very first time and when his warm fingers found the skin underneath the flight suit something stirred inside him, he pulled the suit down admiring him for a while and then he leaned in closer nuzzling his chest relishing in the way Din's breaths quickened, he looked up at his visor stroking his stomach and he closed his eyes pressing open-mouthed kisses on his neck.

The mandalorian groaned threading his fingers through his blonde hair, bringing him impossible closer, emboldened by the inebriating salty scent of Din's skin and the little noises he was making, Luke pulled the flight suit all the way down, exposing Din completely, he pulled back to stare at him searching for his eyes behind his visor, his glistening lips, red and plump matching his crimson cheeks, Din looked at him and chuckled "I forgot how beautiful you looked like this." He muttered running his thumb along Luke's jaw "Perfect, cyar'ika. You're perfect." He sighed undressing Luke slowly, the Jedi rolled his shoulders slightly letting Din slip his fingers under the tunics. The moment they were pressed flush against each other, Luke smiled playing with the soft curls on Din's nape under the end of his helmet, completely lost in the feeling of Din's skin against his own, their chest moving in sync with every breath, he looked into Din's visor cupping his helmet "I love you Din, I've always loved you." He said out of breath and his heart leapt in his chest.

Din sighed deeply "I love you too." He said pressing their foreheads together "I never fell out of love with you, cyar'ika." Luke nodded against him, utterly touched by his man's worlds, finally at peace knowing that this was right, this has always been right. The blonde fumbled with his robes discarded next to them on the mattress finally clutching his black belt, wrapping it around his head, and the last thing he saw before covering his eyes was Din grabbing his waistband and pulling his pants down. In the darkness of his blindfold he felt at home, hissing when Din's mustache tickled against the corner of his lips, and Luke kissed him. It felt like they had been kissing each other for hours, between giggles and whispers and when his man pulled back he was threading his hands through his dark hair, Din's mouth felt so good and warm on his chest, on his belly, on his thighs, he shuddered knowing that they belong together, he smiled tilting his head down caressing Din's cheeks, and this time the visions of his lover pleasuring him weren't present, he sighed relieved, moaning Din's name as they became one.

The blonde woke up in the middle of the night feeling lighter and pleased, he stirred beneath the sheets smiling until he realized Din wasn't lying next to him, he frowned finding out that the mandalorian was sitting on the bed, staring at the window, Luke's throat constricted all of a sudden, dread invading him, he sat up on the mattress, watching him in silence for a while. Maybe Din was regretting their night together.

"Din?" He asked quietly, the mandalorian tilted his head down a little, he was giving his back to Luke, hands resting at both sides of his thighs on the mattress, Luke considered it for a second, trying to assess him, Din was only wearing his helmet, still naked, that made Luke realize that this wasn't about regretting being together again but something else entirely. He kneeled behind Din encircling him with his arms, still not believing that they were skin to skin, and pressed a kiss on his shoulder, he felt bold enough to ask "What is it, love?"

Din put his hands on Luke's arms, caressing them, resting the back of his helmet against Luke's temple "You wore a blindfold." Luke froze, his lips stopped against Din's skin. "Why you didn't ask me to take my helmet off?"

The blonde blinked pulling back a little when Din turned his upper body towards him, he frowned "Your creed." He said under his breath.

"I've been showing Grogu my face since I redeemed myself." Luke parted his lips astonished. "I know, I did wrong, I kept that from you, I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry. But I never stopped considering him my clan, Luke."

Luke pursed his lips not breaking eye contact with him behind his visor.

"Is that wrong?" Din asked staring down.

"No. I do believe that he's your son." He said making Din look at him again. "I won't repeat the Old Jedi Order mistakes, Grogu needs community, I told you, I want to give him that."

"Good." Din sighed and sounded relieved, he ran his fingers over Luke's chest "Because I want to be with my clan." He found his hand squeezing it "And I want to show my face to the people I consider my clan." He drew in a sharp inhale "And that includes you." He went silent expectant and Luke's heart soared.

The Jedi blinked back tears completely choked with emotion "Yes, Din, I'm your clan." He nodded leaning in closer to him and Din curled his hands around Luke's to place them on the sides of his helmet. Their joined hands lifting the last piece of armour between them, Luke's eyes went round when he finally saw Din's eyes boring into his own, brown and gentle as he remembered them, he smiled cupping Din's cheeks, the mandalorian closed his eyes sighing, placing his hands on Luke's hips, digging his fingers into his skin "My Din." He whispered against his lips, kissing him softly, he broke the kiss resting his face against Din's, eyes closed "I love you." The mandalorian chuckled rubbing circles on his back.

"I love you, cyare." And his voice sounded more beautiful than ever.

The mandalorian, the Jedi and their force-sensitive child went on missions across the galaxy, returning home between quests, some people said that they lived in a little cozy cabin on the outskirts of Nevarro, some said they settled on Mandalore, some said they built a Jedi temple on Ossus, and all of them were right, the Galaxy became their home and they were its protectors.

#dinluke #din djarin #luke skywalker #dinluke fanfiction #as the stars are shining fanfic #skydalorian

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pixelmensupremacy · 1 year

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Please... please........leon hurt/comfort.... *begging on my knees*

(In case you're not taking requests or you just don't want to write it - please ignore this!!! Thank you for giving us so many lovely fics! You're amazing and talented!!! ❤❤❤)

𝐴/𝑁: 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑦… 𝐽𝑘 𝑗𝑘. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ, 𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑦! 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 0.7𝑘

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡/ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡, 𝐺𝑁!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠

Hopelessness was all that Leon could feel; so much so to the point where the intensity of the feeling numbed all of his senses. His ears drowned in the deafening silence, surrounding him; the air seemed to thicken and Leon couldn’t help, but sob. He had lost all he’s got- his partner.

Lifeless, they lied in his arms; their features were calm as if they were simply in a state of peaceful slumber though that was just an illusion, he blindly wanted to believe in. Coldness had spread through their whole body, whilst their limbs were stiff. Leon couldn't believe it. Yet the blood on his hands grounded him into reality- they were dying and all he could do is sit and watch it happen. He felt powerless to keep the one promise he made- to keep (Y/N) safe. But now that he failed, he felt worthless and weak.

Hurricane of emotions raged in his heart all of it manifesting into the wave of tears that rolled down his dirtied cheeks. The built-up pressure finally took its toll on him as he finally snapped.

"No!" He shouted, unwillingly waking up his partner. Concerned, (Y/N) shot up in bed and immediately looked at Leon. He was trembling, his pale skin glistered under the melancholic moonlight strands that managed to make their way through the blinds. Incoherent sounds and words came from his mouth.

Gently, they shook his shoulder, whilst softly calling his name. He woke up with a gasp, a watery curtain of tears hid the icy irises of his tired eyes. Fear was written in his features.

"(Y/N)." Leon uttered as he embraced them, tightly wrapping his arms around their body as if he feared losing them.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare." (Y/N) reassured, their fingers massaged through his scalp all the while their other hand drew circles on his back.

"I'm right here." Uncontrollably, he sobbed, his fingers clung to the soft fabric of their pajamas. Resting their chin atop his head, they held him and gently and rocked him in a back-and-forth motion until he eventually calmed down by his only remedy for night terrors- the sound of (Y/N)'s heart beating against his ear.

"It's getting worse every night." He managed to say through hiccups and sniffs.

"I hate to see you like this." He knew the meaning behind these words, it was a thought that often crossed his mind. Though he found it unimaginable to leave behind a lifestyle he grew so familiar with after all he’s been through. It was akin to an unhealthy habit he’s gotten so addicted to, despite it taking away from him most of life’s necessities one of which being peaceful nights sleep.

But (Y/N) couldn’t bare it. The agonizing anticipation mixed with fear of whether or not their partner will make through yet another life-threatening situation, as well as the lonely sleepless nights, filled with nothing but coldness, was too much for them to cope with. Yet what tore their heart was the pain Leon tried to mask behind a cool façade, in fear of burdening or even pushing away his lover- the very same lover he met on the fateful 28th of September years ago. It hurt them to see him silently going through it all by himself, bottling his emotions until they came back crashing him down.

“Wanna talk about it?” (Y/N) asked ever so softly, afraid not to distress him any further.

“I… I failed to save you…”

“Oh, Leon..” They sighed, cupping his face in order to fully have his attention. Under the moonlight (Y/N) could see how red his eyes had gotten ad how puffy his lids were. “I am well, I‘m here with you and I’m not going anywhere. You don’t think you could get rid of me that easily now, do you?” Leon giggled; a tiny smile curled the corners of his lips.

“We can’t afford to do this anymore.” They said, their voice now had a serious tone to it; they fought the urge to sob as hot tears rolled down their cheeks.

“I know, sweetheart.” He nuzzled in their neck, inhaling their scent; soon, he felt his eyelids weighed down until he was sound asleep on (Y/N)’s chest. Yet they were far from falling asleep; hundreds of thoughts raced through their mind- ones about the past and mainly ones about the future. But they weren’t of importance, for they instead wanted to relish the short peaceful moment with their partner as if it were their last. Because with Leon the future always remained a mystery.

#resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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heartinajarofpickles · 6 months

Text

Dinner Is Not Over

Part 6

I really wanna draw the line! when you wanna keep me out of my mind, you want to put me down until I'm fine

Things have never been more interesting, although the state in which Crowley was, was far from ideal, the peaceful (and boring) sleep had already finished, ever since he woke up he had kept on moving, the demon was on the road and nothing was stopping him. It wasn’t a good thought the one the angel was having, but it was not like he was going to tell anyone about it, after what felt like a zillion years of repeating their actions something was finally happening, of course he felt guilty about enjoying this, but the demon dancing around earth brought him so much pleasure, he just couldn’t hold back, so he indulged one more time for old times’ sake.

As good as it was to have him back the angel realized that everything he had purposefully interfered with one way or another drove the demon into madness, fist that goodbye which leaded him to steal and drink viciously, then the messages on the voicemail, that made him destroy his beloved old machine, and finally not watering the plants became the starter for the destruction of the flat in the hands of its owner, somehow even after all that, after all the mistakes the angel had committed, he still jumped to his Bentley and drove to the library, even after everything he had messed up Crowley still went to him when everything was crashing down.

Aziraphale couldn’t pay as much attention as he would’ve wanted, it was his little secret after all, so he watched her get in the coffee shop when Uriel came and scolded him for not having things ready on time, so he had to pretended to fill out a solicitation form, and while he looked away just for one second, when heaven once again stole the angel away from the demon, Crowley got hit by the car, once his attention drew back to the dark figure on earth he observed it there laying on the ground.

Thankfully for both of them, as one couldn’t stand the pain and the other couldn’t stand seeing him that way, Muriel came out of the library and helped her get back on her feet, doing what Aziraphale so desperately wanted to do.

It wasn’t just a detail that looked different, absolutely everything have changed, even just by taking a look at the entrance the angel felt like he was going to faint. Since he saw Muriel selling the books 3 years ago Aziraphale refused to take a look at his shop, instead of paying attention to his business he focused all of his energy and thoughts to the demon, vigilating, watching over his dreams praying that they wouldn’t become nightmares, keeping vigil on their soft vulnerable state; So to see such a minimalistic place with all the books in metal shelves with bright white lights and those funky chairs, stole all the breath from Aziraphale, his space on earth, the one that he had rightfully owned from many many years was deformed, twisted in the hands of what was assumed to be his successor, change wasn’t wrong of course but no one really asked Aziraphale if these changes could be done. Not that it mattered, first because the only time they asked for his opinion was as a way to show support, he was always part of the statistics never the leader of the campaign, on a second note he would’ve said no; If anyone asked him for permission to change things up he wouldn’t have let them as the bookshop was already perfect as it was, this probably being the reason why no one asked him.

As he was staring at the screen everything slowly became prettier, the harsh image dissolving, the absurd colors mixing, the world was blurry now, a shield his body crated to protect him from his new sad reality, so he embraced it, he let the tears run through his face, play on his cheeks and land on the floor, first one by one but then allowing others to join many of them came and once they arrived it became impossible to make them leave, the only way they left was when they landed on the papers scattered on the ground, but instantly being replaced with a new one that had emerged from that holy eye, just as this was happening Michael came to retrieve the solicitation forms Uriel had sent Aziraphale earlier, when they saw the archangel in an awful state.

— “What is your problem?”

Nothing, Aziraphale wasn't registering any information around him, for once the world was quiet, heaven hell and earth for an instant shut up, they left the angel there, all alone, so he could grieve, grieve the space he lost and his favorite guest there, tears holding onto the past and incredibly terrified of the future.

All of this was wrong, and he couldn’t do anything but watch, that’s what he has been doing all along right? Just watching, watching how Crowley invented those beautiful stars, watching how Crowley tempted those humans all through history, in order to instigate curiosity, to make them made choices, freeing them or dooming them, the ways in which he made sure they live their lifes, that they could exploit their humanity and push them through the edge so that they could break their fragile minds and understand more, ask more, want for more, all of that just using her mind, perhaps putting them a few inconveniences on the way, he was a demon after all, but never doing anything that would truly hurt them, in the end his chore was to observe the humans, to accompany them, and Crowley was a being of word, he would stay there for them. But what had Aziraphale done in that time?, besides enjoy all of the earthly pleasures without giving the humans something in return, of course he was nice, but that was his nature, the sword too but that was so many years ago and he was created to be nice, a few miracles here and there, sometimes not even being committed by him, he was perfect because that’s the way it was intended to be, he was an experiment gone right on every single way; unlike Crowley that put so much effort into defying all the ideas others imposed onto him, that it became incredibly tiring for everyone, especially for herself, if only they inverted that time into being actually evil, they would’ve been Satan's voice already.

If it wasn’t clear before Aziraphale aspire to be like Crowley, but Aziraphale never had to hide, perhaps because of their agreement, but they were equally involved, so if they discovered them (like they did years ago) they would still have the other, but that’s not what he wanted, he wanted to be wise, he wanted to know, he wanted to ASK, he craved the skill that the demon have developed for thousands of years but that he wasn’t able to explore without being punished for, so he could only stare at pages full of knowledge and the demon by his side.

The glimpse of a light ceasing to exist pull him out of his string of thoughts, as he was watching around he realized Michael was standing there and that the earth between them had disappeared.

— “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM AZIRAPHALE?” Michael repeated yelling.

— “Please put it back on” came out of the angel's throat in a desperate attempt to keep feeding his soul with torment.

— You are not on lookout duty, that's for the angels below, but of course you aren't making your job, are you? I'll be surprised the day you do something! Just look at you, you pathetic excuse of an angel, the only thing you have done is stay in that little store of yours, you have committed more sins than the whole building and word says your faith is as weak as that friends of yours, do you want to end up like him? It would be ridiculously at this point that you would go against any of this, any of us, all the power you hold is thanks to us, everything you have has been given to you by heaven, including that demon you follow around like a puppy, and this is how you repay us? Wasting your time fixated on that screen looking at him, we have been generous but if this continues we might have to do some adjustments.

With each word Michael get closer and closer to Aziraphale’s face, until their noses met their eyes did too, although the archangel eyes were staring deeply into Michael's, Michael was nothing but a white and gold mass in Aziraphale’s crystalline eyes, he was there, but his soul was still on the image trying to rebuild it to its old state of glory, his consciousness was becoming incredibly small to search between the atoms, and then too big to be sorting through galaxies in order to find a glimpse of hope through all this mess. The yells from the most experienced angel make him weak, he wasn’t feeling good and his environment just made him feel worse, he fell into the ground and just like before everything went quiet, Michael was still shouting, or at least that’s what it looked like, their face was moving cheeks all blushed up veins popped and little drops of liquid emanating from their forehead but even like that Aziraphale wasn't listening, he stared in amusement and fear seeing how the universe kept moving leaving a passenger behind.

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