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enigmaticexplorer · 8 days

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I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XX

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General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 6.1K

Beta. @starstofillmydream

24 Relona

A sprout, so pale in its orange it looked white, crested the soil of the pot—a burst of the sun before it began a new day. Sometime between this morning’s watering and this evening’s, the bud decided it was time to experience life outside the comforting coolness of its soil.

Kazi thumbed the little sprout. “Hi, buddy.”

The sprout mushed, its fuzzy bulb tickling, and she slowly retracted her hand, not wanting to accidentally kill it. She watered the soil, mindful to hydrate the sprout without drowning it, and then leaned back on her haunches.

A look through the sunroom’s windows revealed her sister on the wraparound porch. She wanted to show Daria her sprout. Out of anyone, her sister would understand the significance of this moment.

However, Daria was enjoying the comfortable heat of the evening, peeling beans for tonight’s dinner. Matches sat beside her, helping. Based on Daria’s stained cheeks, the demolitions expert was telling her a crude story. Kazi decided not to interrupt. It was more amusing watching her sister’s strained smiles and encouraging nods as Matches laughed at something he said.

Beyond the porch, seated among an elder tree’s roots, Nova and Hound talked. Tree foliage provided ample shade to hide their expressions. Based on the article she found Nova reading yesterday, she assumed he would be working with Hound for the foreseeable future.

A sharp command rang through the cracked-open windows.

“Again,” Fox said.

Wiping at her forehead, Neyti glared at Fox.

“Don’t give me that look.” Fox crossed his arms over his chest. “You can do better—you will do better. Again.”

Huffing her frustration, Neyti faced Cody, lifted her balled fists, and lunged for the man’s hand. One jab with her left hand, a quick feint with the right, and a final punch with the left. Her knuckles collided with Cody’s palm. His smile was soft with encouragement. Neyti looked to Fox.

“Better,” Fox said. He assessed Neyti for a moment and then motioned to the table where Daria and Matches sat. “Get some water.”

With a satisfied nod, Neyti waltzed through the backyard’s ferns, plopping into an open chair and accepting a glass of water from Daria. Another glass went to Cody, who squeezed Daria’s shoulder.

Kazi looked Neyti over once, confirmed the little girl was well, and then returned her attention to Fox. His black shirt clung to his skin, and sweat slicked his curls back. He’d spent the entire afternoon working on his project, the fallen tree finally taking shape.

Its shape bewildered Kazi, though. She didn’t understand why Fox was building a—

“You have a nice set up.”

Kazi flinched, glancing over her shoulder. Court stood beneath the sunroom’s partition, still dressed in the same black jumpsuit the men had found him in. At least it looked tighter and crisper, freshly washed.

“Thank you,” Kazi said, regaining her feet and dusting her hands together. Court regarded her, his head tilted in assessment. Nonplussed, she cleared her throat. “You know, you don’t have to stay inside, if you don’t want to. There’s a lake, and the jungle is full of hiking trails.”

A dismissive nod preceded his approach, and he surveyed those outside. “How often do you work?”

Studying his side-profile, the reddish hue of the setting sun set the whites of his eyes on fire, Kazi hedged, “I work a normal schedule.”

He was silent, unblinking, and she glanced at the elder tree where Nova sat, wondering if Court needed to talk to someone. Needed…help. Then again, he held himself with a stable composure, seemingly collected and unaffected, rather than a man facing a potential mental collapse.

“Are you interested in getting a job?” Kazi asked.

His lips twitched. “We’ll all need one. What do the former commanders do?”

She waved toward the windows. “They work these missions.”

“And their income? Where does their pay come from?”

“Most likely their contact.” Moving toward the game table, she pretended to tidy Wolffe’s puzzle, an attempt to create distance. Maybe she was being rude, too wary, but she couldn’t muster the shame to care. “But I don’t actually know. If you’re interested in joining them, I would talk to them about it. I can get Wolffe—”

“I’ll talk to him later.” Court twisted away from the windows. Those deadened eyes fell on her eyes, sharp and probing. “Wolffe said you work for the government. What do you do?”

“I’m an analyst.” Tension curled in her stomach, uncertain as a fog descending on a harbor. “I track military exports.”

Court didn’t need to know about her private work for the magistrate: the intel she continued to analyze concerning the missing and deserted clones. With the men’s help, Fox’s expertise in slicing especially, the scrubbed and manipulated data had protected their missions. So far.

“You must have a high security clearance.”

“Somewhat.” Kazi shrugged. “The Security Institute was founded less than two years ago. It’s still rudimentary compared to Imperial governances in the Mid and Inner Rims.”

“You work with a band of rogue clones, yet you serve in Imperial forces.” Court took a step in her direction. “Why do they trust you?”

“I may work for the government,” she said slowly, “but that doesn’t mean I support it.”

A twitch overcame Court’s face and he opened his mouth. Soft footfalls interrupted, however, and a moment later, Wolffe appeared. A black work shirt replaced his usual white, the sleeves rolled to his forearms; his usual gray poncho was nestled in the crook of his elbow.

Inclining his head to Court, Wolffe faced her. “We’re going, Ennari.”

Kazi frowned. “Where?”

“Out.” Wolffe extended his hand. “To dinner.”

“Neyti?”

“Daria said she’ll watch her. Cody is making dinner. And Nova’s setting up his telescope for Neyti to use tonight.” A satisfied smirk, similar to the one Neyti had sported a few minutes ago, completed his smug demeanor. “Any other questions?”

Smiling, she placed her hand in his palm. “Where are we going?”

The red sun burnished the wooden flattops of Hollow’s Town, the sky spired with brilliant orange and creeping navy blue.

Kazi and Wolffe wandered the Marketplace’s walkways, the colorful canopies withdrawn to allow the evening sunshine to warm the stalls. Small crowds loitered on the streets. Wolffe, with his hood drawn, blended in well.

He was on edge, though, his tells noticeable only because she had studied him so closely for months. A rigid set to his shoulders. A forced casualness to his stroll. An occasional flex in his fingers, even though they were clasped behind his back.

The Imperial presence was confined to Canopis, at the moment. But Kazi knew, from the blaster strapped to his thigh, Wolffe didn’t trust them to remain in the capital, and he wanted to be prepared. Since he was as obstinate as he was mistrustful, she didn’t suggest they return to the house. Instead, she reached for his hand.

Warm fingers curled around hers, slow and tentative. A thumb smoothed a light circle to the back of her hand.

Their stroll slowed and they rounded a corner.

Strong spices wafted through the air, as palpable as the steam from roasting meat. The crowds here were louder, busier. Kazi leaned into Wolffe, resting her other palm against his bicep. His muscle bunched; his fingers twitched in her hand.

“Neyti spoke to me,” she said. They paused near a stall selling Elucan wine, and Wolffe looked down at her, his eyes widened in surprise. She’d spent the last few days debating whether or not to tell him, but his opinion mattered, and she needed to share it with someone. Someone who understood the importance of this moment without turning it into a lecture or demands for the future. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“She trusts you,” Wolffe said, eyeing an expensive bottle of white wine. “Has she said anything else?”

“No.” They moved to the next stall. “She was looking at my adventure book when she spoke. That’s how I knew she wanted to go flying the other day. She told me.”

A splinter of darkening sunlight lit Wolffe’s face and the slight curve of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed.

“You have an adventure book?” he asked. A hint of amusement softened his tone.

“Yes.” He huffed a quiet chuckle and she rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “My mother got it for me when I was young and I filled it with a bunch of photos from my trips at sea.” She paused. “My parents called me their ‘adventurous’ kid. Hence, the name of the book. Real original, I know.”

Ahead, the walkway ended and they exited the Marketplace, aiming for downtown.

Wolffe kept their pace slower, more idle, as if trying to delay their arrival at the restaurant. “You don’t think you’re adventurous anymore?”

Kazi laughed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It happens when you get older—you lose interest in stuff like that,” she said. “You mature and realize life is different.”

“Would you think differently if you still lived on Ceaia?” Wolffe’s tone was inscrutable, assessing.

“No, and it doesn’t matter.” She gestured to their surroundings. “I live here now.”

“Do you want to live here?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.” His hand stiffened in hers, and she pursed her lips, sighing. “We’re safe, that’s what matters. And Daria’s medicine and healer are here, and getting Neyti adopted is easier—”

“What?” Halting in the middle of the empty walkway, Wolffe stared at her, brows furrowed and mouth parted. “You’re putting Neyti up for adoption?”

Kazi winced, releasing his arm. “It’s…been one of my goals since we first arrived here.”

Bewilderment wrinkled his features as he searched her face, and she gritted her teeth, berating herself for being so careless.

“Her application has been processed,” she said. “Now it’s simply a matter of when a family shows interest.”

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Wolffe straightened, his jaw clenching. “You love that little girl, Ennari.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He started to protest and she cut him off. “It doesn’t. I was never meant to be a mother, and Neyti needs someone who is.”

“Why.” The word was flat, harsh like the press of his lips and the glint in his eyes.

“Because.” Her cheeks warmed and she averted her gaze, shrugging blasely. “I’m not the affectionate, loving type that Neyti needs—that any youngling needs.”

“You’re not…” Wolffe scoffed, his grip around her hand clammy and tight. His face lowered to hers. “Who told you that shit?”

“Wolffe—”

“Who.”

“Stop it.”

The things her mother told her—the things she knew were true—weren’t his concern. And she wasn’t in the mood to humiliate herself in front of him tonight. But Wolffe scowled at her, his demand unwavering.

“You weren’t here those first two months,” Kazi said stiffly. “You didn’t see her. She lost her mother and that relationship isn’t replaceable.”

“I’m not arguing it is,” he hissed. “But she needs a mother—”

“Yeah. She does. And I’m not that woman.”

“You can’t give her up—”

“I’m her caretaker, and I decide what’s best—”

“And if I want to step up?”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped. His nostrils flared and she gritted her teeth harder. “Neyti is my responsibility, and mine only. Not yours.” She swallowed. “Anyway, we haven’t even been together for a month—”

“I’ve cared l—” Wolffe faltered. Working his jaw, he regarded her for a long, stilted minute, and then he shook his head. “Don’t be rash.” He clutched her hand harder. “That’s all I’m asking. Something comes up, we talk about it.”

For a pent breath, she considered him. “Fine.”

Anger still clenched his jaw, and annoyance pinched his mouth, but Kazi refused to cave.

She meant it, what she said. Wolffe might want to fill a role in Neyti’s life, a role that was needed, but his missions were his primary concern. They came first; she had learned that lesson the hard way. And she wouldn’t allow Neyti to form an attachment only to lose another parent. She wouldn’t allow another little girl to lose her papa.

Kazi continued along the walkway, and Wolffe fell in step beside her, their hands still interlaced.

“Please don’t tell the others,” she said after a few paces. “Daria doesn’t know. Neyti doesn’t even know, and I don’t want it to get out. It’s possible nothing ever comes of it.”

A heavy sigh heaved from Wolffe. His thumb continued to circle the back of her palm. An instinct. Or afterthought.

The sun had finally set, the dark blues and grays of a tumultuous sea bathing the horizon.

A group of males, loud and rowdy, strolled toward them. Wolffe tugged her closer and they crossed the street, evening’s shadows casting him as a more imposing figure.

Stilted silence yawned between them, nearly physical in its discomfort.

Surveying the darkening sky, Kazi broke the silence. “Why are your brothers teaching Neyti to spar?”

Wolffe released a low chuckle; some of his tension ebbed away. “We all learned when we were young.”

“Your upbringing was quite different.”

“Learning how to protect yourself is a good skill for anyone to learn.” He gave her a pointed look. “You should learn too. You and Daria.”

“Daria? The one who’s getting weaker and weaker with each passing month?” Her smile lacked mirth, and Wolffe winced, a silent apology in his squeeze of her hand. “I agree it’s a good skill to have. But it’s ultimately pointless. A real soldier will always be able to overpower me.”

“You don’t learn self-defense to win a fight,” Wolffe said. “You learn it so you have a chance to escape and run. To survive.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Frustration roughened his voice, and they paused on the edge of a walkway, waiting for an aircar to pass. “You’re acting too flippant with your life. I don’t like it.”

She sniffed. “I understand what you’re saying. And I think it’s good that you guys are teaching Neyti.”

He observed her through narrowed eyes, as if debating whether to believe her. “Promise me you’ll fight. If it ever comes to it—promise me you’ll survive.”

“Wolffe—”

“Kazi.”

The seriousness in his face, the tightness of his grip, told her he wouldn’t drop this. That he cared about this, and that she owed him a truthful answer.

Holding his gaze, she said, “I promise.”

Signs flickered to life, buttery yellow and warm. People enjoying a meal or drink busied the restaurants and cantinas’ patios.

They walked in silence. While Wolffe’s quiet was contemplative, Kazi was second-guessing their conversation about Neyti.

And if I want to step up?

The words were a kindle to that soft glow within her. Dangerous, if she truly analyzed the situation. But she didn’t, avoiding the glow steadily escaping her control, and instead concentrated on tearing apart the question.

Because, really, he had no business suggesting it. They were friends, and they were trying this thing between them, and he didn’t even realize the hurt he would cause when he—

“Do you feel alive?”

The question yanked her from her thoughts, and she blinked at Wolffe. He was staring straight ahead, the neutrality in his features forcibly apathetic.

“Do you?” Kazi asked curiously.

Rolling his shoulders back, he shrugged. “Growing up, we were told we were soldiers. Nothing more. Nothing less. We were soldiers. That was it.”

They paused outside the restaurant, its sign lucent white, and he faced her, his expression guarded. Vulnerable.

“I’m not convinced I’ve known what it feels like to be alive. Outside of basic instinct to survive. I didn’t know that feeling. Even as a boy,” he said, his voice lowering. Hoarsening. “But being here—seeing my brothers safe, the lot of us doing what we want…” His fingers flexed around hers. His gaze remained guarded, and yet it grew softer. Gentler. “I think I’m starting to.”

“You deserve it,” she said. Because he did, and sometimes, she wasn’t convinced he believed it. “To rest. To put yourself first. To go after what you want. You deserve it all, Wolffe.” The evening’s darkness enveloped his face, soft hands holding him, though the restaurant’s white light sharpened his scar. She brushed a finger across his cheek. Just beneath his scarred eye. “You deserve to live.”

He twisted, his lips grazing her palm. “You do too.”

Her smile was weary, similar to the exhaustion he couldn’t seem to shake. They were both trying.

“Eluca was supposed to be safe,” Kazi muttered.

Setting aside her datapad, she lifted her face to Wolffe. He was hovering behind her, one hand braced on the back of her chair, the other flattened to her desk, while he read over her shoulder.

Both the local news and her private comm line with Fehr and Carinthia lacked information.

Dinner had been a quiet affair. An assortment of sauteed vegetables, steamed rice, and freshly baked bread filled their stomachs; a glass of whiskey and a mug of Elucan chocolate mush further emphasized the ease of the early night. Whatever tension had survived their conversation on the walkways soon winked out, replaced by blue-white stars winking into existence.

Their soft laughs and relaxed demeanors were ripped away, though, when a military vehicle arrived. Stormtroopers leapt from the vehicle. They stormed the cantina across the street.

Within three minutes, it was over. Two bloodied males were dragged away.

Kazi had loosed a breath of relief, grateful the two males were the stormtroopers’ targets. Because the moment the black vehicle rumbled onto the street, she’d feared for Wolffe’s life.

Thought a passerby or patron had reported him.

Sat, trembling, as she tried to determine a plan of action so he could escape.

The dinner revealed one thing: if it came to it, she would sacrifice anyone to keep her family safe.

Leaning back in her seat, Kazi scowled at her ceiling. “Eluca was the safest option compared to other planets. It was never supposed to be like this.”

Gods, she sounded pathetic. Complaintive and whiny, ungrateful. At least they didn’t live in Canopis; at least Hollow’s Town remained relatively safe and free of Imperial oversight.

Wolffe perched himself on the edge of her desk, folding his arms over his chest. He regarded her with a carefully even expression.

“Do you think it’ll get worse?” she asked.

“Can’t say.” He frowned at the files on her ‘pad. “But things can change quick. I know that firsthand.”

She dropped her gaze to the hands wringing in her lap. “I just want to feel safe. And I know how ignorant and unfair that sounds coming from me when you—”

“You deserve to feel safe, Ennari.” A firm steadiness hardened his voice, a mountain weathering the strongest of winds, unmoved. Quietly, Wolffe added, “We all do.”

Deciding it was too late to dwell on the increasing danger of their situation, Kazi started to untie her braids, a necessary distraction from the thoughts whirling inside, and instead, chose to watch Wolffe.

He was studying her room: the gray, folded sheets of her bed and the matching quilt; the bookshelves along the opposite wall housing her adventure book, a cactus from Daria, and a charcoal sketch Neyti had drawn of the ocean; the white curtains tucked aside, revealing the jungle’s rolling hills.

“Your shelves could use some personality,” Wolffe commented.

Judgment underscored his tone, and she frowned. “I didn’t know you’re an interior decorator.”

He threw her a bored look and pushed away from her desk, approaching the shelves. “Why’s your dragon downstairs?”

“She doesn’t match my aesthetic.” At the roll of his eyes, she chuckled, glancing at her closed door. Though her dragon remained downstairs, she swore she could feel its unblinking gaze, observing her in its uncanny way. Sobering, Kazi said, “She’s too much of a reminder of life before.”

Wolffe wandered to her bed. “Before what?”

“Before everything.” Setting aside her hair ties, she combed her fingers through her hair. “Before my father died. Before Daria and I stopped liking each other. Before the Purge. Before all of this.” Her voice had grown colder, bitter, and she cleared her throat. “I tried to get rid of her but I couldn’t. So she sits downstairs. It was a compromise.”

Reassessing her room, as if she was looking through Wolffe’s eyes, Kazi grimaced. Her bedroom was nothing more than utilitarian: bare, clean, tidy. Lifeless. The only sign someone had recently lived here was the lack of dust. Even her cactus could survive without her.

The rustle of dried paper interrupted her musings as Wolffe lifted a seed packet from her nightstand. He arched a brow at her.

Her cheeks warmed. “It was a thoughtful gift.”

“This is trash,” he deadpanned. It was her turn to roll her eyes, and Wolffe shook his head, replacing the seed packet back where it belonged. Another slow survey of her room commenced, and then he straightened. His head angled toward her refresher. “Can I use your shower?”

Kazi blinked, momentarily rendered speechless. It was such a random request. And yet there was something bedded into his words, scrupulously layered, guarded: a question, no, a suggestion.

Perplexed, she gestured to the ‘fresher in acquiescence, and, after a prolonged search of her face, Wolffe disappeared. A few seconds later and the spray of water, a gentle patter, spilled through the cracked door.

Kazi returned her attention to her ‘pad.

Keying into the datafolders Fehr passed along every month or so, she searched for Ceaia.

A foolish idea, really. Ever since her arrival on Eluca, she’d avoided the network’s reports on Ceaia. To her knowledge, they were mere assessments of Imperial presence in the Outer Rim. Simply a means to remain informed. Anyway, she would never return to her home planet, so updates were pointless, a dull fingernail reopening a flesh wound.

But tonight…

The first datafile inside the Ceaian ‘folder presented an overview of the planet: Most of the information detailed the small Imperial force in the capital and the Empire’s disinterest in the planet. Imps bolstered the central government on the eastern continent. Rebellion was nonexistent. Kazi knew all this.

However, the further she read, the more bemused she became.

The rebel network had suggested planet-level analyses of Ceaia’s continents, major cities, and even certain harbors. For some reason, the network was interested in Ceaia.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Kazi scanned the report closer, but any mentions of the network’s plans were properly redacted. Still, she skimmed the analyses.

Searching…

There were individual files on specific cities and harbors.

She scanned the list.

Familiar names flitted past.

She scrolled further, searching for—

Outlook Harbor.

Her heart stumbled at the familiar name; a cold sweat clammed her palms.

The rebel network had investigated her harbor—a harbor in the northern continent lacking any connection to Imperial accusations and the Purge. Opening Outlook’s file, she read through it.

Sensitive information redacted—information that clearly detailed the network’s plans—Kazi could only theorize the network’s goals. But there was one line that caught her attention. One line, in the Overview section, that demanded her attention.

Empire rumored to abandon shortly.

The sentence replayed in her mind, a broken holofilm repeating over and over.

Because, if the Empire abandoned Ceaia, Outlook Harbor would be safe and maybe—

Shoving away from her desk, Kazi massaged her temples, pacing the length of her room.

It was too late. Things were in motion here, and finding hope within a rumor, a fucking rumor, was asinine.

She had chosen to run, and Ceaia was in the past, and she couldn’t dwell on it any longer. She wouldn’t.

A sudden quiet seeped into her room; a creak told her that Wolffe had exited the shower, and she stilled.

Everything within her went silent.

A distraction, she wanted a distraction. No, she wanted comfort: She was still running, and she was tired, and her soul was so sore, and she wanted to pause for just a moment to feel something.

Alive, she wanted to feel alive, and she wanted to feel it with Wolffe.

Fingers trembling, Kazi removed her sweater, untied her trousers, tossed her clothes and underthings into her hamper. She moved across the bedroom; the resolved beat of her heart, steady, unflappable, complimented her soft rap on the ‘fresher door.

Steam warmed her face, licked her bare skin.

“You’re late.” One of her white towels covered Wolffe’s lower half—tiny around his waist—and he looked down at her, amusement breaking through his practiced composure.

“You showered too fast,” Kazi said.

“Yeah.” His hands bracketed her jaw; his face lowered to hers. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Soft lips were on hers, and Kazi ran her hands up his chest, still damp, delectably warm, wrapping her arms around his neck. Wolffe groaned against her mouth. Tangled his fingers in her hair. Gripped her waist and stroked her spine.

The heat of his hand to her bare skin, the softness of his touches compared to the desperation in his kiss, the way he held her and touched her, sparked her body to life. Need throbbed in her clit, and gods, she needed something—needed him.

Mouthing beneath her jawline, Wolffe rasped, “Tell me what you want.”

Her thighs hit her bed and she didn’t resist as Wolffe lowered her. As his forearms surrounded her head and his toweled lower half settled between her legs.

“To feel something,” Kazi said. Water dewed his curls and she rested a palm against his chest, basked in the hard, rapid beat of his heart.

He leaned back, just slightly, and let his gaze wander the length of her body. His pupils dilated, the dark brown of his eye and silver of his cybernetic giving way to black. A shiver breathed down her spine, tightened in her nipples, and she could only lie there, appreciating the way he took her in, the same way she had seen him study the bioluminescent flora during their night swims: admiring.

One moment Wolffe was perusing her body, and the next, his mouth was on her breast.

Gasping, Kazi arched into him, clinging to his bicep. His mouth was hot and wet to her sensitive skin, and she ground her hips against him, desperate for any stimulation. Wolffe choked at the contact. His teeth grazed her nipple and—

“Oh gods,” she whimpered.

“This?” Wolffe flattened his tongue along the underside of her breast and licked to her nipple. “This good with you?”

She released a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

A large hand cupped her breast, and a calloused thumb scraped her nipple. She started to tremble. The clench in her cunt was hard, demanding, and she could only stare at her ceiling, trying to quiet her breathing, calm the racing beat of her heart.

And, fuck, she thought she might actually come from this—from him caressing her nipples, biting gently into her breasts. Her cunt fluttered at a particular scrape of his thumb, and she bit back a whimper.

A dazed look darkened his features as Wolffe focused on her breasts. She didn’t understand the appeal: Her breasts were small, small enough his hands easily engulfed them, and yet he seemed unable to look away. Unwilling to abandon them as he dragged a long lick across her nipple and sucked on it.

Panting, she gripped his shoulder, dug her fingernails into his skin, wavering between pushing him away because the sensation was overstimulating, or holding him closer, giving into the pleasure humming through her nerves and tightening her insides.

A finger brushed through her labia and she tensed, glancing between their bodies. Wolffe circled his finger around her cunt. Light, unhurried circles.

“This?” Wolffe asked. His eyes were on hers, and the dark brown swirled, drunken with desire. “This good with you?”

“No sex,” she whispered hoarsely. Her labia were so sensitive from his circling, and she swallowed a rising moan. “I can’t—”

“I understand.” Wolffe tapped her cunt and she could feel her arousal slickening him. “But this? Can I fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes.”

“What about my tongue?” He licked along her breast again, nipping at her nipple. She shuddered beneath him. “Can I taste you?”

“Wolffe.” Need buzzed beneath her skin, burned in her blood, and she was so fucking sensitive, so desperate for any touch between her legs or her nipples, but he needed to know, first: “I take so long—”

“Good.” He removed his hand, and her hips jerked their protest, her legs trembling with restraint. Satisfaction carved a smile on his face. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, Kazi. Take your time. I’ll enjoy it.”

Before she could dissuade him, Wolffe was kneeling between her thighs, and he was propping one of her legs on his shoulder; and all she could do was watch, her nipples tingling and her clit aching, shaking with want as Wolffe breathed her in. As he flattened the head of his tongue to her cunt. He licked her.

Pleasure swelled deep inside her and her head fell back. Another slow lick followed and Wolffe groaned against her. The noise was low, guttural, and she gasped, bucking against his mouth. His hands flexed around her thighs, holding her open, restraining her against the bed.

Sweat thickened the heat beneath her skin and she panted harder; her blood ran fast and hot. Wolffe traced her labia, the tip of his tongue so light it tickled, and then he was sucking her clit, his pleased groans rumbling against her.

Breathy, uncontrollable moans hissed between her teeth. A finger circled her cunt once. Twice. It pushed into her and her hips jerked.

“Wolffe.” Kazi lifted her hips, a silent demand for more, but Wolffe kept his strokes languid, his finger curling upwards and massaging such a sensitive spot she fisted her sheets harder and groaned.

A second finger slid inside, and she whimpered at the pressure, at the stretch of his fingers. It was so much; more than her own fingers.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Wolffe hissed, stilling his fingers inside her. His eyes snapped to her face. “Am I hurting you?”

Breathing through her nose, she shook her head, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. “It’s just…a lot.”

Wet heat encased her clit the moment Wolffe’s two fingers massaged her upper wall. Massaged a spot that had her panting “More, please more” and her hips gyrating against his face.

Tightness coiled in her lower stomach, and the muscles in her legs bunched. She was shaking; her fingers were curled desperately in her sheets. Her breathy exhales were moans, and the pressure inside her bordered pain.

Wolffe sucked on her clit harder; he curled his fingers and rubbed that spot over and over and over. All of her tightened, and her legs stiffened, and she felt as fragile as thin glass—

She shattered.

Honeyed pleasure oozed through her blood, seeping into the cracks of her coiled muscles and soothing them. She was trembling, and she couldn’t move, left to blink at her ceiling as a wet tongue lapped at her, its strokes long, slow.

A sharp flare in her labia made her pull away. Wolffe gripped her thighs harder, his scowl displeased, but at her sharp look, he released her, gently lowering her leg from his shoulder.

A little tired, a little sore, Kazi lowered herself to the floor, leaned into Wolffe, and kissed him. He grunted against her mouth, seemingly surprised, but she didn’t bother to stop, pressing lackadaisical kisses to his jaw. Licking the muscled length of his neck. Basking in the way he held her weight as he panted against her ear.

It took her too long to realize he was fisting himself. Fisting and stroking his cock. She leaned back to watch him, beads of cum glistening his tip. It took her even longer to realize the wetness he was using to stroke himself was her own arousal—her own release. Wolffe met her gaze, his eyelids hooded.

Grazing her palm along his thigh, the muscles shivered beneath her touch, Kazi smiled, cupping his balls and squeezing.

“Fuck.” Wolffe’s forehead fell to her shoulder. His breaths grew ragged, pained.

“Show me,” she said, massaging his balls. “Show me how you like it.”

Roughly, he guided her hand to his base and fisted himself; the heat of his cock burned and her eyes widened in surprise. He tightened her grip and stroked. A groan warmed her neck.

“That’s it,” Wolffe rasped, using her hand to stroke himself faster. Harder. “Fuck, that’s it.”

Bracing a palm on the bed behind her, Wolffe hissed between his teeth, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

Kazi traced light, teasing circles to his inner thigh, kissed behind his ear and nipped at his earlobe. Wolffe choked. His body stilled. He bit into her shoulder, and then he was spilling onto their hands, onto his stomach. He rutted into her hand, his semen hot and thick, his moans low and hoarse.

As his thrusts eased and then stopped, Wolffe released her, his fingers trembling as they ran along her ribcage, like he was reassuring himself she was here. She was with him. Indolent kisses warmed her shoulder, soon followed by gentle licks to the mark he must have left.

Eventually they cleaned themselves and returned to her bed, still naked: soft brushes of fingers to skin, languid kisses to knotted muscles. At one point, Kazi laid atop Wolffe, her cheek nestled to his chest, his hands slowly tracing the knots of her spine.

“This,” he murmured, grazing the center of her back, “I’ve been thinking about.”

Trailing a finger along his own scars, she smiled. The line-drawn dragon tattoo was tiny and simple, her sole tattoo.

“Any significance?” he asked.

“I got it as a reminder,” she said. “That the only person whose got my back is myself.”

Pensive silence enveloped Wolffe as he continued stroking her spine, like he was counting each dent. Soon, though, those wandering hands shifted to her hips, her ass, her ribcage. Curious, lackadaisical touches ensued. Kazi wasn’t any better: feeling his scars, the tightness in his muscles, the fat toning his body.

They were clay, formed from stardust and molded into individuals: to be appreciated, revered.

Later, the moons casting her bedroom in a bluish tinge, Kazi scanned Wolffe’s side-profile.

“You can smell my soap? From feet away?” she said, disbelievingly. “Even after a couple of hours?”

“Yeah. And when I’m close to you, like this”—he gestured between their bodies—“I can smell you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I can smell when you’re bleeding.” A nonchalant shrug succeeded her appalled blink. “And when you’re aroused.”

“No, you can’t,” she whispered.

“I can.” Amusement was woven into his frankness. “We were engineered to be exceptional.”

“Huh. I don’t know if I’m impressed or mortified,” she said. Wolffe chuckled, and she smiled, brushing her nose to his shoulder. “So, enhanced smell, sight, and hearing. What about taste?”

A devious glint darkened his eyes, and he edged closer, playing with a strand of her hair.

“You taste”—a wet tongue licked the length of her throat and Kazi gasped; Wolffe pulled back—“divine.”

Laughing, she tried to shove him away, but he resisted, grinning down at her.

“Divine?” she said, scoffing. “All you tasted was my body oil.”

“I was talking about your cunt,” he drawled, smirking at her exasperated shake of her head. Returning his face to her neck, he kissed just beneath her jaw and murmured, so quietly she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it, “I won’t ever get enough of you.”

Minutes later, with Wolffe sucking on her collarbone in a way she knew he had no intention of stopping anytime soon, Kazi glanced at the chrono on her nightstand. She grimaced.

“Wolffe.” He grunted his acknowledgement. “I’m tired.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m gonna go to sleep.”

He lifted his head. “You kicking me out, Ennari?”

A tiny, glowing fist pounded against her chest but she ignored it. If she asked him to stay, then she would grow accustomed to his presence. Rely on it. On him. And what if…

Rubbing her chest, she offered him an apologetic wince. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Understanding gentled his expression, and he inclined his head, reaching for his trousers, forgoing his long-sleeve.

At her door, Kazi pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for dinner and for…”

“The orgasm?” he supplied.

“Good night,” she said, unable to stifle her smile.

Amusement crinkled his eyes and he tapped the underside of her chin. “Sleep well, Kazi.”

Masterlist | Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

A/N: Next chapter release – June 6th

To see how I imagine Wolffe going down on Kazi, check out this artwork (18+/nsfw). If you take a look, please show love to the artist by reblogging. The artist deserves it. The artwork has no relation to Star Wars, but I stumbled across it one day and it reminded me of the scene in this chapter. Please enjoy. (Again, if you view it, please reblog it. Liking a post on Tumblr without reblogging does nothing to support the artist.)

Tag: @ulchabhangorm

#I Yearn and so I Fear #commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe #oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe x ofc #commander wolffe fanfiction #commander wolffe fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars fan fiction

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unavailabletozombies · 2 years

Text

Rue/Hob Cinderella AU where Rue never used a glamour and instead stayed away from all the festivities they crafted. Watching from afar as an owlbear and relying on Wuvvy to know how the Bloom is going.

On the night of the ball Wuvvy offers to enchant them (creating a temporary glamour) so Rue can enjoy the final night of the (final?) bloom among the other fae. Que magical transformation, a gorgeous and softly flowing silvery gown, the colour shifting in the candle light and glowing against the cool blue of their skin, peonies and other flowers scattered down the whispering layers of their skirts and entwined in their updo. Soft slippers tied with ribbons and lastly Rue’s own gloves, enchanted for the night to fit the slim elven hands they now have.

Rue arrives near the end of the last carriages, is introduced as a friend of Rue (or goes unannounced) and is transfixed by the beauty of the forest which has been transformed into a magical ballroom. Strung with lights, a central platform for dancing, indeed several figures are already waltzing, secluded corners in shade and hundreds of fae all dazzling in exquisite gowns and suits.

Their attempts to blend in are thwarted by the ripple of hushed voices through the ballroom as fae notice the new face in their mists. Offering a small smile they move towards the drinks tables, trying not to be overwhelmed by the attention now sent their way, and are interrupted by a throat being cleared behind them. Turning they are facing Hob who bows and offers a hand asking for the next dance.

The pair converse as they waltz, think the dialogue from the forest hunt, and Rue does their best to obfuscate who they actually are and to avoid giving a name. Unlike in the hunt, Rue doesn’t flee when the dance ends, but instead allows Hob to lead them on a circuit of the guests, introducing Andhera, the Lords of the Wing, the goblin court, etc. after dances with Sqwark, Andhera and Lord Blemish, Rue keeps finding themselves drifting back to Hob’s side. They are dancing once more when Rue catches sight of Wuvvy from the corner of their eye and realised that the glamour is coming to the end of its time.

They turn to flee and in the haste of breaking the dance Hob ends up left holding one of their gloves (no slippers left here, we’re doing Regency glove angst). Hob starts moving after Rue after finally breaking from their shock, but is too late, as the glamour drops and Rue, now outside of the lights in the forest, is able to move in their owlbear form through the trees without detection.

Hob realising the enchanting person has vanished gazes down onto the glove in their hand, no longer the slim and delicate glove of an elf, by a large and unconventionally shaped glove belonging to someone more likely to have claws than fingers. Standing to attention as his mind races with all the information, Hob turns back into the lights, excuses prepared, as he plans how to find Rue and their ever growing secrets.

#delloso de la rue #captain k p hob #a court of fey and flowers #acofaf #d20 acofaf #dimension 20 #ruehob #battlemaster of ceremonies #I just love them so much #wuvvy #acofaf wuvvy #fanfic #mine #drabbles #d20

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sukunaspinkyfinger · 6 months

Text

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ - ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ

ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ: ᴄʜɪᴘᴘɪɴ' ɪɴ - ᴋᴇʀʀʏ ᴇᴜʀᴏᴅʏɴᴇ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜰɪʀᴇᴀʀᴍꜱ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ 𓆩♡𓆪 ɪ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ, ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴜɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ! 𓆩♡𓆪

Satoru falls to the ground and helplessly cries out as the teenage boy quickly sedates him in the metal chair allowing Shoko to swiftly tie his hands behind his back. Fresh blood drips on his high-end blouse due to the sudden injury I inflicted on his nose.

"What in the fuck?" he cries out once again as his signature shades land on the cold ground. "P-please don't kill me! I have money!"

I let out a small chuckle and take a long drag of the freshly lit cigarette as my cold hands grab the back of his chair to ultimately make him face me, still, his eyes remain closed. Aside from Satoru's whimpering, only Yuji's bouncing right leg and the clacking sound of my heels echo among the clinic's cold concrete walls as I waltz closer to him until my mouth is only a couple of inches away from his ear.

"Hm, so you do have money, huh?" The moment my exhausted, raspy voice reaches the back of his brain, Satoru shudders from the cool shiver that coats his spine, which causes him to slowly open his bright blue orbs. The man strapped to the chair evidently recognizes me guessing from the relieved sigh that leaves his lungs.

"You could've told me you were this desperate for eddies, N." He laughs mockingly as the familiar, shit-eating grin begins to form on his handsome lips.

"I just think I deserve my money on time, since, y'know, Shoko almost had to amputate my right arm because somebody forgot to mention that the stolen cargo from last week belonged to a corpo-bastard with security flowing out of his balls." My stiff hand grazes his bloody cheek as I give him a half-assed slap. "That's not why you're here for, though."

Yuji swiftly flicks the cigarette in the ashtray as he jumps up from his seat and takes place beside me. "Hey, choom. Remember me?"

Satoru scans the boy left and right, up and down before he finally opens his mouth. "Sukuna's errand boy. What's he doing here?"

"The shard you gave him. Where is it from?" Shoko asks impatiently as she stands up with the help of her walking cane and approaches Satoru to untie him. He winces from the pain as he massages his wrists like some kind of drama queen. The man's expression suddenly turns hungry.

"Ahh, one of my dear clients gave it to me as a thank-you gift for getting their choomba a gig. Why? Did you manage to impress your boss?" Yuji's visibly embarrassed as Satoru recounts his somewhat cute but childish goal. The man's face turns sour the moment he realizes. "Ugh, I'm guessing that's not what happened."

"Wow, you're one lucky asshole, Satoru. News flash, the thing with the Militech equipment? Fake, though whoever gave you the shard did intend to gift you with a fat, brain-frying, location-tracking malware that unfortunately got Yuji's brother kidnapped. That's just my theory, anyway."

"I can't believe it...", his jaw drops on the floor, "Fucking scavs, man!"

Satoru paces back and forth as he cleans his face with a wet wipe, he runs his hand through his white strands as he thinks. Finally, his expression lights up.

"Okay, I might know where your bro is, choom, listen. The gonk that gave me the shard, right? One of my clients needed to retrieve something from a doll that robbed him, so I entrusted this chick's man - the one that gave me the shard - to get it back. It was a high-value item, so I sent one of my guys to pick it up, personally. I'm sending you the address, N."

I desperately try to mask how impressed I am with Satoru's intel. He might be Night City's silliest, most unreliable fixer and - it's not just me, his reputation exceeds him -, but somehow this man always proves to come in clutch.

"Wow, choom..." I mumble as I take out my phone and scoot over to Yuji. "This is good info, thanks a lot."

Yuji looks too excited for me to not open the text message right away, which as Satoru promised, reveals a detailed address. Megabuilding H10, Apartment 657, Northside.

"Don't mention it, but as compensation, I'm giving your eddies to Shoko." Satoru makes his way to the exit as he bids farewell with a lazy wave. "I'll be back in a few hours, you can fix my nose up. That cool?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We should let Shoko rest. Yuji!" My tired voice calls for the boy, still sitting in his chair, clearly on edge as I pick up my hoodie and car keys. "We riding?"

The boy instantly says bye to Shoko, - who's about to fall off her chair due to the exhaustion-, as he sprints towards the gate without even waiting for me.

"Don't you dare flatline, you reckless idiot" The frail woman whispers as I help her lay down on the spare bed she keeps for long shifts.

"Yeah, good night, doc."

Due to the grim, dark setting of Shoko's clinic I almost can't believe the sun's already been up a couple of hours as I approach Yuji, who's impatiently leaning on the car's dusty trunk.

"Listen, kid, this is a 15 minute drive so I gotta set the record straight before we get going. I'm not even gonna try to convince you to stay in the car, so listen carefully." I stop for a second to offer him a cigarette, then squat down in front of him. "Northside's Maelstrom territory, however, Satoru said the guys that possibly have your brother are just a bunch of Scavengers. That doesn't mean it's gonna go smoothly, 'kay?"

"Ye, ye, I get it choom, 'm just really nervous, y'know? My brother, h-he's all I got, well, besides my gramps, but he lives on the city outskirts and doesn't know the kind of jobs we do. He thinks I still go to the Academy and Choso is some kinda suit, but that's obviously not the case."

"Yeah, I understand." I wish I didn't need to say these next words out loud to him. "That's why I gotta be honest, Yuji. There's a slim chance Choso's still, y'know...He might not even be there."

"U-um, y-yea, I know..." He stops mid sentence to brush his tears away. "But I'm not giving up until we find him! Even if he's...g-gone, fuck, he needs to be brought home, t-to his family. It's the least I can do for him."

My heart genuinely breaks as I observe this teary-eyed, minor who's only objective is to get his brother back, safe and sound. He reminds me of my old self, I couldn't have been much older when I found out about Utahime and that she might never recover from that state. That's why I'm going to do everything in my power to help him.

"Yeah, I agree. That's why I'll help you out 'til the end. Hop in."

As the key lands in the ignition, the car responds with a familiar roar and begins to play the newest album of Kerry Eurodyne through the radio. I proceed to make up a somewhat reliable plan with Yuji as we get nearer to our destination, we agree on taking things slow and silent. No bloodshed, if possible. We go in, grab Choso if he's there and leave quietly.

"Here we are, Megabuilding H10. Completely abandoned due to the earthquake damages and the lack of financial investment. Well, not completely, Maelstrom, Scavs, homeless...you name it. You ready to rock?"

Yuji firmly nods as he clicks the safety off on his shiny pistol, just in case. As we begin to walk towards the entrance, I suddenly feel the looming shadow of uneasiness in the back of my head. Sure, the building looks like shit and there are a couple of gonks around, but somehow it's way too quiet for my liking.

We both try to ignore the hungry gazes that feel like sharp knives, grazing and slashing the skin of our backs. The building reeks of urine and stale alcohol, I can barely make out the graffiti decorating the crumbling concrete walls as the darkness swallows everything whole. Glassy orbs from murky rooms follow every breath of ours as we approach our destination, Apartment 657. The boy's sweaty palms tremble around his iron the moment I decide to push open the creaky door, as quietly as possible.

My empty stomach churns the second the door flings open and reveals the putrid smell of active decomposition. My heart shatters once again as I observe the boy, desperately trying to make out the faces of the dismembered corpses in the cold, dim room, hoping none of them resemble his brother.

"Let's keep going, I take left, you take right." He whispers with an unfamiliar, cold expression on his face.

"Hey!" I quickly grab one of his arms before he could escape. "Don't be a gonk, that's not what we agreed on."

"Fuck, N, I need to know, okay?" he whispers and let's out an apologetic sigh before he takes off in the direction of what seems to be the living room. "Sorry."

I sigh, understandably annoyed as I take out my iron and begin to move through the dim corridor. I notice a shut door, no sounds but there's plenty of lights coming through the small crack from under it and I stubbornly shift my focus on it instead of Yuji. I pray he doesn't flatline because of his stupid decision.

As I push open the door of a moderately sized bathroom, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the cold, strong lights on the ceiling. The first thing I notice, of course, is the piling up bodies in the bathtub, some on the floor. The only difference between these and the ones on the table is, that the gonks in here seem to be untouched, besides the stolen cyberware and clothes. I decide to briefly scan the room, hoping to find Choso as the sound of three, perhaps four gun shots cut through the stiff, cold air.

bam-bam, bam, bam

I feel the blood drain from my face as prepare myself for the worst and sprint to the area where the shots came from. I grip my gun with my stiff, cold fingers fearing it would slip through my sweaty palms, take a deep breath and step into the big room. It's dirty-white tile floors are tainted with blood from the new and old corpses. My trembling legs stop by themselves in the doorway and I struggle to hold my aim at the only standing persons head in the room.

"They're never going to hurt another soul."

He drops his iron on the floor, which lands followed by a sharp cling. I hesitantly take my finger off the trigger upon hearing Yuji's quiet voice, his back is turned to me and he just keeps looming over the dead Scavengers as I approach him, sort of relieved. His young features seem calm, though expressionless as he finally looks at me.

"I-I killed them all." he explains meekly as I search for signs of any injuries. "Sorry, I didn't really stick to the plan, did I?"

"Hardly." A sighs escapes through my lips, still shocked due to the recent event unfolding. "Bastards deserved it, regardless. You're still a gonk for almost getting yourself killed, you know."

Yuji plops on the sofa, collecting himself as I share my findings about the bathroom that I didn't get to investigate due to the sudden shooting he initiated outside. He insists on taking a look and I decide to watch him from the doorway as he begins removing the piled-up bodies with a scarred expression from the icy bathtub.

My eyelids fall as they start to feel exceptionally heavy from the exhaustion, thus the alcohol in my system and me being awake for almost 24 hours.

Suddenly, a terrible cry erupts from the boy's throat.

#jujutsu kaisen #choso x reader #jjk x reader #anime #alternate universe #yuji itadori #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #cyberpunk edgerunners #cyberpunk 2077 #choso x you #choso x y/n

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mormonforgetmenot · 4 months

Text

I love to wish upon the stars

I turn my gaze up to the heavens and plead to the universe to always light my way

Sometimes the clouds block out the moon

Good thing I have excellent night vision

But you love the sun

You rise with the dawn and run through the grass and wildflowers soaking up its rays

I’m sorry I cannot join you

The sun is too bright and it burns my skin

The great expanse of blue threatens to swallow me up

So I’ll sit here in the shadows and watch

I mean what can I do

It’s not bad though

It’s pleasant here

I can feel the light filtering through the leaves of the trees I rest under

And I’ll watch the the same scene play out as all the people gather

It’s the same every day but it’s beautiful I enjoy watching you thrive and flourish in that bright light I do

But it’s a little lonely here

It’s not always bad

Sometimes someone comes over and sits with me a bit

We talk and laugh

It’s… nice

But you are a child of the sun and so you must return before long

And I’m back to watching everyone play together

Without me

And I’ll just be here

All alone

When the sun sets and you all flee

Fearing the terrible darkness

I miss you

But I’ll be ok

I have the stars

I’ll dash over the fields you once pranced through

I’ll jump up and twirl through the sky

I’ll dance among those twinkling lights

Playing hide and seek with the moon

Prancing across planets

Waltzing with galaxies

Flying with the comets

And I’ll ignore the tears streaming from my eyes

I’m lonely

But I can’t say it

You’d never understand

I cannot join you

And I know you will never be brave enough to step into the darkness

But maybe if you did you’d see how beautiful the stars are

Sometimes I wish that you might offer me a parasol

To shield me from those bright beams

Then maybe I could laugh with you

But no one will ever pay me mind

I’m just a child of darkness to you

So I’ll just sit and watch

I’ll eat the dust that you kick up when you run so freely

Why

I’m a child of light just like you

But you’d never understand or care

You claim to love me

But

What will you do when the clouds cover the night skies

What will you do when the fog comes creeping in

What will you do when I stumble blindly through the darkness

You never cared did you

So I’ll keep dancing

I’ll keep wishing

I’ll keep crying

And I’ll be here in the shade when the sun becomes too much for you

It’s dark here and I’m all alone but

Good thing I have excellent night vision

#this is about a lot of things but being a queer mormon is one of them so ill put this here

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villainworshiper · 2 years

Text

«Deadly Waltz»

>Lyutsifer Safin/Gn Reader

Dedicated to @crewman-penelope who encouraged this idea <3 and of course all the people who liked that early post, thanks!

-------------------- 𐫱 --------------------

You heard distant music at the end of the hallway. You knew Safin used to play music to stimulate his plants, he treated them like his children and it showed in the vibrant color of each leaf that was born under the warm sun that caressed his garden every day.

Usually it was classical music but this time the theme was very different. Paying attention to certain lyrics you recognized a song from the 40's, you used to let it play in the background to better concentrate on your studies in the lab when the task was especially difficult and it didn't escape your attention when you heard it playing over the loudspeakers in the garden.

"I don't want to set the world on fire."

"I just want to start..a flame in your heart."

Without thinking you approached, still without descending the large steps but visible enough so the one who cared for his beloved plants would recognize your presence among the guards surrounding the area. He was arranging the leaves of one of his poisonous ones, it was taller than him and you were surprised how close he was without being afraid its roots would touch his face without any protection. You couldn't really argue with him since you knew much less than he did about botany so you let the warning you were about to exclaim aloud get stuck in your throat.

"I see you, come here." He said snapping you out of your trance.

You weren't sure about entering much less without protection of any kind but even before you could get up any courage to leave Lyutsifer made an appearance in front of you extending one of his hands once his gloves were discarded on the way. You didn't doubt him so now you were guided into the center of the garden by his warm hand.

"Dance with me."

He was a man of few words concise with his actions and thoughts his presence was the one that most communicated his way of imparting and directing others but something else was hidden, something that enchanted the moment you had him in front of you and you knew it because despite the fear he could instill in the lives of others no one was working for obligation in that place, he was a person who could easily guide you to the deepest rings of hell without you realizing it until you were on your knees in the mud, sinking.

You took his hand and he took yours, placed the remaining one on your back as you held his shoulder. You had danced this way before but with Lyutsifer you felt the nerves of an inexpert dumbass to make any mistake. He however placed his forehead against yours the moment you lowered your head and looked down at your feet not knowing what to do, nerves was not the feeling that could describe the closeness with that man, it was pure vertigo.

"Do not be afraid, I will guide you."

"I know how to dance.." You finally had the courage to speak in a soft voice, raising your face barely brushing the tip of your nose with Safin's.

His lips formed a small smile more like a thin curve that left an unsure feeling in your stomach not knowing if it was a genuine gesture of happiness or if he was uncovering your thoughts.

Another song began to play and your movements followed his, it was a slow waltz but very fluid. Your mind was focused on looking at a fixed point other than his eyes, those penetrating eyes that from the minute he saw you arrive never took off from your being as if you were a specimen worthy of admiration, the most beautiful plant in the place did not compare to how intense his gaze was on you and you knew that if you looked up you would feel things at the moment were hard to admit.

You were not only alert of his gaze but also the numerous natural species surrounding your body, Safin had taken you in the lightness of his dance to an area where his garden bloomed with such colors and shades never seen before, a peculiar kind of flower with an intense reddish at the base that ended in a white gradient kept your attention and if anything you could affirm that was engraved like fire in your memory was the moment he told you, "The most striking flowers are the most dangerous."

You felt your heart stop in your chest as one of these plants caressed your leg when you passed by, for inertia you attached your body towards Lyutsifer's looking for safety he instead seemed to hold a low chuckle as he caressed your lower back.

"Its poison has no effect unless with your bare skin."

Even as he said it you were not reassured to accidentally brush against any of the surrounding leaves again and the further away you were from them more attached your body was to Lyutsifer who didn't seem uneasy having your face against his shoulder.

"I would never kill you, not right now darling. I would die along in your arms if that happend."

Those words made you look up finding a confident look in what he was saying, minutes before you were frozen with fear now your pulse was racing so fast that you could barely concentrate on your steps because of your nerves. Safin was not a lying person if there was anyone more honest in this world you would love to meet them because didn't fit in your head that anyone was more honest than him and those words sounded like pure truth, an intense declaration of something you didn't expect to be mutual.

With his body he guided you to another area of the garden, with a gentle gesture he leaned your body back for you to trust into his arms the classic position of a dancing couple where you let yourself fall, without hesitation you put all your weight on him who leaned you until your face was under another very beautiful flower.

"Go on, smell it."

And you did, that was the richest perfume ever entered your system that flower possessed a sweetness mixed with an intense itch that didn't quite burn your nose but left it tingling as Safin took you up again, standing face to face he waited for your response.

"I really liked that flower."

"It always reminds me of you."

Your gesture of confusion was enough to elicit a brief chuckle this time.

"Sweet with a mysterious itch that's hard to spot the first time."

"And it's poisonous?"

"Not if treated with care."

There at those words you understood something, maybe he knew more about you than you thought. You also understood that not only was your interest so obvious but that he himself from afar had noticed it and was waiting for the right moment to reveal he felt the same.

There into a poisonous garden continued this deadly dance among the reeds, you lost track of how long you danced with him that day it was very easy to get lost in the calmness of his voice when he spoke, you calmed yourself with the vibrations of his chest were you rested your head closing your eyes. Having confessed those things nothing else mattered around, you just wanted to share moments like this because now your heart was truly intoxicated with fervor by his presence.

#lyutsifer safin x reader #no time to die #lyutsifer safin #james bond movies #lyutsifer safin rami malek #craig bond saga #lyutsifer x you #no y/n #fanfic

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liiilyevans · 1 year

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Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems

Or, Astoria accidently shreds things when she's unwell. (A big thanks to the @cruelsummer-ficfest mods for the luck of getting this song as a follow up to my last fic!)

Read on AO3

The last place Astoria wanted to be was on a boat in the middle of the Gulf of Venice with a pretentious group of snobs. The things she did for her sister. She adjusted her dark sunglasses as she glanced around at all the boats in the marina. The wind whipped salt into her face, and Astoria fanned herself trying to cool down. How was she supposed to find Blaise’s boat among all these monstrosities?

Annoyed, she continued down the dock, her heels clicking loudly against the wood. If one thing could be said for Astoria Greengrass, it was that she had an outfit for every occasion, which was the only good thing that her mother had taught her. Today she wore high waisted white pants with a white bow tied around her waist and a bodysuit with orange flowers and spaghetti straps that tied into neat bows on her shoulders. The heels weren’t practical — at all — but she wanted these motherfuckers to know she was coming.

She stopped in the middle of the dock again, huffing as she searched for the Zabini boat. Surely, it was as ostentatious as Blaise was. Then she spotted it farther down, the Serafina, named for his mother. One of the bigger boats in the harbor, the Serafina had three decks. The back of the first allowing access to the boat and hosting two sets of stairs that led to the second deck. There was also a shaded outdoor sitting area, located under the second-floor deck. Astoria could see polyester couches and lounge chairs, all bolted down no doubt. On the second deck, there was a crescent sofa with a table in the center. The top deck was a replica of the second deck, but with more lounge chairs, for when Pansy wanted to tan most likely.

Astoria hoped she burned and looked like a beet root on her wedding day.

As she marched up the boat ramp, she heard the conversation on the boat quiet down, then Theodore Nott’s head was poking over the railing. His brows were furrowed in confusion until he spotted her. He grinned. Astoria hid her own smile as she waltzed onto the deck.

The first thing she saw was the astonished face of Pansy Parkinson. Since school, she had let her hair grow out to her shoulders, though that hadn’t helped to disguise her hooded eyes. Draco Malfoy was there as well, his blonde hair shining so brightly it nearly blinded her. Daph had mentioned he’d be here. Like Pansy, he looked none too pleased to see her, his eyes narrowed slightly. The only person who looked remotely happy right now was Theo as he leaned against the railing a smirk in place.

“Lovely day for an outing,” Astoria commented as she strode past them toward the inside of the boat.

Pansy finally found her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Spinning on her heel, Astoria whipped her glasses off, anger eddying through her. The gall of these people never ceased to amaze her. Marching back to Pansy, she pointed the tip of her sunglasses in the older girl’s face. “You had the nerve to ask my sister to be in your wedding when you’re marrying her ex-boyfriend, and I will be damned if I’m going to sit back and watch you rub that in her face.”

When she finished, Pansy was sputtering loudly. Satisfied, Astoria placed her glasses back on her face. She turned around and spotted Draco, his mouth agape, and Theo, his hand covering his mouth, no doubt hiding his laugh.

Just as she was about to walk away again, Pansy hissed, “Where is your sister anyway?”

Daphne wasn’t here yet then. Good. Best to put everyone in their places before she got here and became embarrassed by Astoria’s behavior. “She’s on her way.”

With that, she turned and marched toward the inside of the boat, intending to find her sister’s room and have a nap before she had to deal with these imbeciles again.

It was going to be a very long weekend, and not even the alcohol could numb the sea of sharp smiles and barbed words. The only thing the alcohol managed to do was dull the headache that Astoria had gotten from listening to Pansy drone on about her honeymoon plans — a trip to Bora Bora apparently. Astoria would have been content to remain in Daphne’s room if Theo hadn’t coaxed her out with the promise of food. That was clearly a mistake. At least Theo was keeping her entertained with his facial expressions as Pansy prattled on. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought the bride was ridiculous.

Though she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help sneaking glances at Draco. He was sitting across from her, his foot resting atop his opposite knee. She’d never admit it to anyone, but he looked nice in his light yellow shorts and blue and white checkered button-down. The sleeves weren’t rolled up, unlike Theo’s, and the cuffs buttoned. Odd considering it was a warm night. Pansy and her other bridesmaid, Tracey Davis, were standing next to Draco’s chair chatting away. If the way Draco was quickly sipping his wine was any indication, he was not enjoying the Bora Bora conversation either.

They hadn’t spoken since their conversation at the Goyle ball a few months ago. Astoria never thought she’d be so intrigued by Draco Malfoy, but she was and she wanted to talk to him. However, he avoided her at all costs. Like right now, he wouldn’t even look at her, despite the fact that she’d been glancing over at him all night.

“Are you trying to melt the side of his head with your eyes?” Theo asked quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

Astoria sent him an annoyed look. “No, I’m not.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered.

Carefully crossing her legs, Astoria leaned toward Theo. “Tell me something.”

“I thought you didn’t gossip,” he said.

Astoria took another sip of her wine, ignoring the jab. “Why is Draco Malfoy being so quiet? He’s barely said two words all evening.”

“He’s terribly in love with the bride and doesn’t know how to tell her,” Theo said seriously. She might have believed him if his lips didn’t twitch upwards in a smirk. His sense of humor had always been her favorite thing about him. When they were young, Theo would say the most ridiculous things with the most serious face, and Astoria had always found it hilarious.

“Really,” she said. “Be serious.”

Theo shrugged. “Maybe he’s afraid you’re going to bite his head off.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you almost took Pansy’s head off this afternoon?”

Astoria couldn’t stop the smile that took form on her face. Pansy deserved every thorn she tossed in her side and more. Who in their right mind asked their fiancé’s ex to be in their wedding? Then again, who wanted their ex-boyfriend in their wedding?

Apparently, an insecure Pansy Parkinson.

To Draco’s credit, Astoria wasn’t sure that he and Pansy had even really dated. She had only heard rumors from Daphne that they had been together in their sixth year only for it to deteriorate in their seventh year. The rumors might have been just that — rumors — but Astoria didn’t really believe that considering how lecherous Pansy was. If that were the case, Draco seemed very unbothered by the whole affair, quietly sipping his wine and avoiding Astoria’s gaze.

“Astoria, Pansy told me you’d be here.”

Astoria glanced toward the edge of the boat and saw that the groom was finally making his appearance, his silhouette standing out harshly against the star flecked sky. Blaise Zabini was, by all standards, beautiful. He had the perfect facial structure, everything annoyingly symmetrical. Deep brown eyes sat perfectly in his face, and his nose was flat and sat just the right distance away from his mouth, which was constantly smirking. His dark skin stood out beautifully against the stars. But he had the personality of a viper and that completely ruined all his beauty.

Blaise came to stand in front of her chair, then leaned his hand on the arm, trademark smirk in place. “How is your sister?”

He knew better than to ask, the bastard. The arrogance in his voice coupled with the fact that her sister had yet to arrive caused Astoria’s ire to rush to the surface quicker than usual. Instead of answering, she stood up, making sure to press the tip of her heel into the top of Blaise’s shoe. His eyes widened as his breath hissed out through his teeth. Astoria didn’t move her foot until she was standing completely.

“I think you should worry about yourself,” she said. “It looks like you’ve hurt your foot.” With that, she breezed past him, leaving a gaping Pansy and Tracey in her wake. After grabbing a bottle of Dom Pérignon off the drinks table, Astoria climbed the stairs to the second deck and didn’t stop until she’d reached the third and final deck. Finally, some peace and quiet to get rid of this headache.

She sat down on the round table, not bothering with propriety. Raising the bottle to her lips, she took a long swig that her mother would have killed her for before flopping back on the table. The stars were beautiful tonight. She could see Ursa Major and Minor, and Cepheus and Cassiopeia next to him. She often wondered what it was like to be a star burning so bright that the whole world noticed you for a short time, knowing that one day soon all your fire would be gone and your light extinguished. Sometimes, she wondered if it was similar to how she felt.

Quickly, she took another swig of champagne, trying to force her headache out of existence. After two more gulps, she realized that wasn’t working and sat up. Big mistake. The world started to spin. She closed her eyes, breathing in the salt of the ocean and feeling a light breeze brush against her skin. The sound of giggles reached her ears carried by the splashing of the ocean. Pansy and Tracey must have gotten over her outburst quickly, though she had no doubt that Blaise’s foot was still aching. That made her smile.

A sudden feeling of loneliness swept over her as she listened to the waves crash against the boat. Though Theo might prefer her to everyone here, he wasn’t about to go out of his way to spend time with her. He was all about keeping his head down and surviving, like he had in the war. Where was Daphne? If she were here, they’d be silently communicating through shared looks, a secret language they had developed as children. Instead, she was stuck with a bunch of heinous idiots, one indifferent friend, and a mute pariah.

Astoria kicked off her heels, messaging the arch of her foot. It was a shame the only way she could make herself taller was with heels. They were bloody useful weapons though. Taking another large sip of Dom Pérignon, she stared out over the faint lights of the marina. Her head was still pounding, and the alcohol couldn’t seem to chase it away. She spotted a man several boats down pulling his shirt off. As she took another swig from the bottle, she continued to watch him. A woman joined him on the deck of his boat wearing some long coverup. The man slid his arms around her into the coverup and, what was he doing? They weren’t planning to do something scandalous out in public, were they?

Astoria was nosy as fuck, so she stood up quickly, only wobbling a little, much to her pride and astonishment, and climbed up onto the couch that was bolted into the deck next to the railing. The man had definitely grabbed her ass under that coverup. Squinting, Astoria leaned forward, her hand resting on the back of the couch for stability. She couldn’t see his other hand, but it had to be doing something as well. Faintly, she heard someone yelling Theo’s name, but she couldn’t be bothered with the menaces below right now. She thought she could make out the outline of the man’s hand sliding up the front of the girl’s cover up. Theo called her name; from rather close by, too, which was odd. Astoria chose to ignore him. The man was whispering to the woman now, no doubt muttering all sorts of obscenities.

“Astoria!”

She straightened up and turned to see what the ruckus was about. If Blaise was causing trouble again, she was going to take her high heel and ram it through his jugular. But it was only Theo approaching her slowly, both his hands in the air. Behind him standing near the stairs was Draco Malfoy, looking adorably rumbled by the wind, his grey eyes flicking between her and the railing.

“Tori,” Theo said softly. “Come down from there, please.”

Astoria glanced down at the couch then over the railing at the calm sea below.

She sent Theo an annoyed look. “I’m not suicidal.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you are very drunk.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. As she was about to answer, she heard her name called from somewhere below. Glancing over the railing, she saw her sister on the boat ramp, her eyes blown wide as she stared up at her. Well, it was about fucking time.

“Astoria!” Daphne called. “What are you doing here?”

Astoria held up the Dom Pérignon. “Drinking champagne.”

“Wh-” Daphne cut herself off and rested her head on her fingertips. “Nevermind. Just stay there. I’m coming up.”

She turned back around to watch Theo and Draco watch her. They were both still clearly concerned, and Theo was biting his lip, a nervous tell of his. Astoria simply took another long drag from the bottle, which Draco didn’t seem to appreciate at all judging by the way he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Holding eye contact with him, Astoria continued to drink from the bottle until her lungs were burning. His eyes were like needles dragging across her skin, and that thrilled her; anything to focus on other than the pounding in her head.

Daphne appeared then, pushing past Draco, not a hair out of place. Her sister was always perfect like that, with her blonde hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and not a flyaway to be found. Her looks were in such contrast with Astoria’s, the dark to Daphne’s light. Her sister stepped past Theo and offered her a hand.

“Will you please come down from there?” she asked.

Astoria shrugged, ignored her hand, and jumped down, wobbling only a little. She was quite proud of that.

“What took you so long to get here?” she asked. Without her heels on, she was reminded of how short she actually was. Theo and Draco would both tower over her if she stood close to them, and Daphne was a good three inches taller than her.

“Mum wanted me to do some errands today,” Daphne said. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t leaving you with these people for a week,” she said, gesturing towards Draco and the bottom deck.

He looked highly offended.

Daphne dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, Astoria.”

Astoria simply patted her on the arm before marching toward the stairs. All this excitement had made her tired. As she passed Draco, he glared daggers into her back.

“I love you,” Daphne said, but Astoria could hear the exasperation in her voice.

Her only response was to retch loudly into the toilet. If Blaise heard her, she would never live this down. Wiping her mouth, she gulped down air that smelled like cleaner and vinegar. After a few moments nausea free, Astoria gently braced her hands on the toilet bowl. She felt Daphne’s warm hands grasp her elbow and guide her to her feet. The sharp sound of water hitting the porcelain sink did nothing to lessen the raging sea in Astoria’s head. She cupped her hands under the cool water and splashed some on her face. The freshness and chill of the water was a nice contrast to the ache behind her temples. When she looked up, her eyes were rimmed in purple and bloodshot; looked like today was going to require a lot of concealer. Her skin was pale, too, like she’d stolen powder from an Inferi.

“What are you doing here, Astoria?” Daphne asked. Looking through the mirror, Astoria could see that her sister had her arms crossed over her chest and her blue eyes fixed on her brown ones. Never a good sign.

“I told you last night,” she croaked. “I’m not leaving you here with people who clearly like to see you suffer.”

“I can take care of myself, Astoria.”

She loved her sister, but no, she couldn’t — not when it came to her feelings. As much as Daph hated to admit it, Blaise leaving her for Pansy still bothered her, which Astoria was well aware of, and she was sure that Pansy knew that, too.

“Why are you even in this wedding then?” she asked, her brown eyes studying her sister’s bright blue ones through the mirror. Daphne broke first, dropping her gaze and wrapping her arms around herself. Astoria always had the stronger will of the two of them.

“Daddy and Mr. Parkinson are close,” Daphne muttered. “You know that-”

Astoria spun around, ignoring the nausea that hit her like a Reductor Curse. “I love Daddy but fuck him.” She grabbed her sister’s hands. Nothing mattered more when her sister was upset, not even her father. Astoria would hold the sea back to stop her sister’s tears. “Let’s get off this boat and find some nice villa to piss off to for the rest of the weekend. We’ll drink mimosas and find cute Muggles to show us the city.”

Daphne gently untangled her hands from Astoria’s, shaking her pretty blonde head. “I can’t, Astoria. I said I was going to be in this wedding, and I meant it.” Daph blew out a breath. “I know Pansy meant the invitation to be a bridesmaid as an insult, but I want to prove to everyone that I can handle this without breaking.”

Astoria shook her head. It was cruel, but she didn’t know if Daphne could do that. She wasn’t going to let her crumble alone though.

“Alright. If you want to stay, we’ll stay.”

Astoria needed two seconds where she didn’t have to listen to the high-pitched squeal of Pansy Parkinson or see the smug smirk that would slither across Blaise’s face whenever his eyes slid to Daphne. If she hadn’t walked out of that restaurant a few minutes ago, she would have flown across the table and punched Blaise right in the windpipe. They’d gone to a high-class restaurant near the end of the marina, and those two had been insufferable all night. Daphne was holding up admirably, but Astoria had to fight the urge to fling her steak knife at them to shut them up. So, she’d stepped out for some air and to make sure that her concealer and foundation were still holding up.

Digging in her clutch, she found her plastic bag of Mary Jane and hemp paper inside it. Quickly, she rolled herself a joint. She supposed she looked rather scandalous; that was certainly what her mother would say. In her pretty blue halter dress with the back cut out of it, balloon sleeves hiding her arms, and a skirt that barely hit her mid-thigh, rolling a joint of marijuana. How unseemly. With a snort, she put the joint in her mouth and lit it. At least her headache was gone today; no more pounding behind her eyes making her feel like her brain was going to be washed out of her head.

“What are you doing, Greengrass?”

Astoria’s head whipped around, a loose strand of hair smacking her face as Draco made his way towards her. He looked as finely dressed as he always did, in a white button down, brown slacks, and a black jacket, which wasn’t a bad idea as there was a chill coming off the water tonight. His hair wasn’t slicked back today, instead resting softly against his forehead. He looked halfway normal, and not like pureblood royalty.

Astoria took a long drag before answering. “I can’t be in there right now.”

Draco glanced behind him. They were a good distance away from the restaurant, not that Astoria would have minded if anyone heard her. They already knew she detested them. She took that moment to study Draco. He seemed relaxed, no bunched muscles or nervously glancing away from her. It was unlikely that he’d put their previous conversation behind him — Astoria certainly hadn’t — but he seemed willing to let that go for tonight. When he turned back around, Astoria was still staring, and her own eyes caught his grey ones. If she squinted, she could make out little specs of blue. He seemed peeved that he’d caught her staring, but Astoria just took another drag from her joint, holding eye contact the whole time.

“So why did you come out here?” she finally asked.

“Your sister wanted to make sure you were ok,” he said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“And she sent you?”

“I volunteered.”

Astoria raised an eyebrow at that, and Draco only offered a shrug in response. When he stepped closer to her, Astoria held her ground, but he just walked to her side and rested his forearms on the railing. His gaze was fixed on the water, and he didn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood. That was alright. Astoria was sure she’d be able to coax a reaction out of him.

“Are you just going to babysit me?” she asked.

Draco sent her an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

She took another drag of her joint before offering it to him. His eyes ran up and down her body suspiciously. That was fine. Astoria would be suspicious, too. She didn’t give things away for free, and the Mary Jane was her way of worming more of the truth from him. If alcohol persuaded him to open up before, surely this would mellow him out enough for her to wheedle more information out of him.

Who knew she would be so interested in Draco Malfoy’s past?

Finally, he took the joint from her, their fingertips brushing, and took a drag. Astoria let him keep it as she turned to lean against the railing too, close enough that their elbows brushed. After he took another hit, Draco offered the cigarette back to her. Gently, Astoria took it, rolling it between her fingertips. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how intimate sharing a cigarette was. His lips had just been wrapped around this hemp paper and if she took another drag, that would mean that, in some abstract way, their lips had touched. It was conflicting. She didn’t want to touch Draco Malfoy’s mouth, but the thought wasn’t wholly unpleasant either. Trying to decipher her emotions could be so confusing.

So, Astoria took another drag, letting the smoke sting her lungs and relaxation sweep through her body when she exhaled.

“Why are you here?” she asked when she finished her cigarette.

Draco gave her an incredulous look. “I’m in the wedding.”

“No, I meant, why are you in the wedding?”

Astoria couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to be involved in Blaise and Pansy’s wedding, yet here they all were.

“Because Blaise asked me to be?” Draco said it like a question. His eyes ran over her again, and Astoria shivered.

“But he’s marrying your . . .” She glanced up and down at him. “What is Pansy to you exactly?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Pansy was my occasional distraction from the real world. That’s all.”

“So, you had sex with her to divert your mind from having to kill your headmaster? How original.”

Draco’s head whipped toward her, and she thought he might berate her — tell her she was callous and cruel. Instead, he just let his eyes run over her, like he couldn’t believe that she’d said something so harsh. She expected some biting remark, was spoiling for one actually, but he was quiet, offering only a slight shake of his head. Then he pushed off the railing.

“Let’s take a walk, Greengrass.”

Astoria looked back at the restaurant. “But my sister-”

“Your sister can handle herself for a few hours,” Draco said. “But if you’d rather stay.” Then he shrugged and started toward the marina.

Biting her lip, Astoria tried to decide whether to follow him or not. Daphne was certainly capable of holding off the vipers in that restaurant for a few hours, and she had Theo, who though he wouldn’t get involved, would offer her sympathy. There would be no one to siphon their poisonous words off Daphne. However, her sister made a point of telling her often throughout today that Astoria needn’t have come here in the first place, that she was capable of handling these snakes. She glanced at her watch. In the end, the temptation of Draco Malfoy proved to be too much.

Hastily, Astoria bustled after him, careful not to catch her high heels in the cracks between the boards. When she reached his side, he didn’t stop or offer her any words, just kept walking along the dock. In moments where her feet ached from her heels, she remembered why she hated being short so much. It didn’t help that Draco was several inches taller than her and his stride much longer. Finally, they stopped near the end of the marina where there were very few boats docked.

Astoria raised an eyebrow. “Is this where you lure young women to brutally murder them?”

Draco scoffed. “Do you think about being brutally murdered often, Greengrass?”

“Only the normal amount.” She stepped closer to him. “And you can call me Astoria. I did share my marijuana with you, after all.”

He looked away from her, out toward the ocean, and what looked like a genuine smile swept over his face.

Astoria was entranced.

“Alright. Astoria.”

His eyes slid back to her as her name tumbled from his lips. Something fluttered softly in her chest for a brief moment. Before now, she hadn’t realized how beautiful his eyes were, how intricate the grays and blues were. It was mesmerizing. The fluttering was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving Astoria staring embarrassingly into the depths of Draco’s eyes. Nimbly, she reached down and pulled her high heels off.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

Astoria didn’t answer, simply dropped her shoes on the dock and then sat down on the edge of it. The waves were gently tapping against the wood, almost like a drumbeat. Though slightly chilly, the water had no bite to it. Astoria kicked some water away from her, fighting back the urge to giggle. She doubted Draco had ever done anything so simple as stick his feet in the ocean before.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she asked.

He huffed. “What is the point of this?”

“There isn’t a point,” she said, looking up at him. He was studying her as if she were some exotic sea urchin. “It’s just for fun.”

Turning away from him, she began to undo the twist her hair was in. As it fell below her shoulders, she heard Draco exhaling sharply and the sound of shoes scraping the dock. He sat down next to her, and Astoria didn’t say a word as she shook her hair out, the curls justling around her face. When he dropped his bare feet into the water, Draco hissed and she nudged him with her foot, the water eddying around them.

“Do not splash me,” he warned darkly.

Astoria couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You can’t say that and then expect me not to do it.”

He glared at her. “If you splash me, I will shove you off this dock.”

“How very ungentlemanly of you,” she gasped, pressing her hand to her chest.

“I never claimed to be a gentleman.”

“I think your mother would be scandalized by that statement.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

“No, but I know mine, and I imagine they’re a lot alike with their standards of how one should behave in society.”

She kicked the water then, thoughts of her mother causing anger to swirl in her like a monsoon. Her mother’s feelings for her were complicated, Astoria knew, because of her father and his insistence they try to have one more child after Daphne. Though the Greengrasses were hoping for a boy, that child had been Astoria. Her father had accepted his losses and, by all accounts, groomed her to be his heir and run the Greengrass estate when he was gone, surpassing Daphne completely. Her mother was not forgiving. She had never wanted Astoria and turned her nose up at her younger daughter whenever she got the chance with disparaging comments that cut Astoria like the winds of a gale. She shivered as she thought about it.

“Here.” Out of the corner of her eye, Astoria watched Draco shrug out of his coat. He refused to look at her as he did so, and as he offered his coat, Astoria saw why. With his sleeves rolled up, his Dark Mark was on full display, the skull’s mouth open and the snake winding across his inner forearm. It was a dull grey color, not at all like the vivid black that Astoria had been told it was before the war. It looked like a simple tattoo now. Albeit an ugly one.

Gently, she took the coat from his outstretched hand, careful not to brush his fingers again. When she pulled it on, she was enveloped by the scent of oak and vanilla. It was still warm, and Astoria was reminded that she had once again inadvertently touched Draco. The thought sent yet another rush through her chest, just as quick and strong as before.

“Thank you,” she said, trying her best not to look at his mark. “Did you know that Pansy wanted her bridesmaids and Blaise’s groomsmen to alternate in hair color? Blonde, brunette, blonde, brunette.”

Draco snorted. “As usual, Pansy got what she wanted.”

“That’s why Daphne said she was in the wedding. Because of color coordination.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, so Astoria pulled her eyes from his face. It was another clear night out and the stars were shining just as brightly as the night before, burning ever brighter towards their ends. She could see Cygnus and Cepheus. Ursa Minor was directly above them, and Ursa Major to the left of Minor.

“I can see you,” Astoria said.

“What?” Draco was finally looking at her again, confusion once again swimming across his face.

Astoria pointed to the sky and the constellation he was named for, resting just above Ursa Minor. While he studied the stars, Astoria took the time to study him. He almost looked approachable, with his platinum blonde hair tousled by the wind and his sleeves rolled up. Eyes drawn to his forearm, Astoria couldn’t stop herself from studying it as well. When he first took the Dark Mark, it must have been so intricate. Even though it was faded, she could still make out some of those details, the chips in the skull, the scales of the snake. Unable to help herself, Astoria leaned closer to Draco. He jerked slightly, his brows rising high on his forehead.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m not going to push you in,” she teased.

When her fingers found his forearm, he sucked in a breath.

“Does it hurt?” she asked as her fingers traced the outline of the mark.

“No,” he breathed. “Not anymore.”

“So, it’s like a scar?”

“It’s more than a scar.”

She thought he might pull away from her then, but he didn’t. Just stared at her. They were sharing the same breath as she continued to trace the outline, moving past the skull and onto the snake. The skin wasn’t raised like she expected. Instead, it was soft and smooth. Then goosebumps were rising under her fingers, and a smile tugged at Astoria’s lips.

“Are you cold?” she asked.

“What?” he said, his breath fanning against her face.

“You’ve got goosebumps.”

He did pull away from her then, mouth pressing into a thin line. Fine, then. Astoria looked back at the calm ocean, kicking her feet softly. Silence suited her just fine, and she had a feeling it would erode Draco’s will long before hers. She was right.

“Most people are afraid or angry when they see it,” he whispered. Most likely why he’d kept it covered this weekend.

“It’s going to take a lot more than a drawing of a snake to scare me, Draco.” And she meant that. She had never liked fear tactics, and this was no exception. If Voldemort was determined to use that mark to instill fear in people, then Astoria was determined to look at it and feel nothing at all.

“We should go,” Draco finally said. He tugged his feet out of the water and stood up, leaving his trousers rolled up to his knees. “The others will be looking for us, especially your sister.”

“They probably think I’ve strangled you,” Astoria said mildly.

When he offered her his hand to stand, Astoria took it, his palm warm and rough against her own. The callouses weren’t extensive, but they were noticeable; probably earned from flying a broom if she had to guess. Without her heels, Astoria could just see over Draco’s shoulder. Merlin, it was annoying how everyone was taller than her.

“Here,” she said, starting to take his coat off.

“Keep it,” he said. His eyes ran over her, and Astoria swore she saw them darken. “You’ll need it more than me.”

She tucked the smell of oak and vanilla tighter around her. “Alright.”

The wedding had gone off without a hitch, much to Astoria’s dismay. Her sister looked beautiful despite the ugly sage dress that Pansy had forced her into. Daphne always had that elegant grace about her, even when she was dressed in unflattering clothing. Astoria, on the other hand, had wanted to wear black, but Daphne had been horrified at the thought. So, she’d settled on a fitted silver number that would allow her to brood at the back of the party unnoticed while she nursed yet another headache. If her parents weren’t in attendance, she would have rested her sweaty glass of champagne against her forehead in hopes of some relief. As it was, the alcohol was doing very little to numb her.

The chair next to her scraped against the floor, and she saw Draco taking a seat next to her, looking as put together as always in his own wedding attire.

“Greengrass,” he said.

“Astoria,” she gently corrected him.

“Astoria,” he said. It was soft, like the sea caressing the beach at low tide. It sent a chill up her spine though she refused to admit it. Instead, she took another sip of champagne.

“Has the new Mrs. Zabini finally let you free of your groomsmen responsibilities?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll want us for something later. Your sister was over by the dance floor a moment ago.”

Astoria snorted. “My sister is probably heading for the bar, so the next time you see her, she’ll be tripping over her own feet.”

And honestly, good for her. She’d put up with Pansy’s bullshit for two straight days. She deserved the best cabernet that the Zabinis had.

The music overtook them, Astoria trying hard to ignore her headache and Draco sitting silently next to her. She realized that she had an ally now, someone to sit in dark corners with and pass the time during the pureblood social season. It might have been the only positive outcome from this weekend.

“Would you like to dance?”

Astoria’s head whipped toward Draco. His grey eyes were intent, and his bottom lip was sucked between his teeth. Surely, she’d heard wrong. No one ever wanted to dance with her during these events. That was always Daphne’s place, the center of attention waltzing around the ballroom floor. Her place had always been in the corner, with her outspokenness and her ‘radical’ opinions.

“What?” she said.

“I thought you might like the opportunity to walk off some of the alcohol you’ve consumed.” He was leaning back in his chair now and picking at his nails. “Unless you think you’re too drunk to keep up.”

“I can keep up.” Astoria sat her glass on the table roughly. “And I am not drunk.”

She stood up, wobbling only slightly, and noticed the hint of a smirk on Draco’s face. Annoyance washed over her. Snatching his left hand, she marched toward the dance floor, trying to ignore the tempestuous heat in her stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d consumed. When they reached the dance floor, Astoria turned to face Draco and noticed the mischief rippling through his grey eyes for the first time. Her breath rushed from her lungs as he slid his hand around her shoulder and stepped entirely too close to her body.

They were going to be talked about after tonight if he wasn’t careful. Her, the social outcast of their high society who sat in dark corners brooding, and him, the formerly perfect pureblood prince who had fallen from grace when his master had been defeated. The old cynics would be relentless, but Astoria couldn’t bring herself to care as the warmth from Draco’s hand swept into her back. Another shiver ran through her.

It was easy to fall into the waltz, muscle memory taking over from the torturous lessons her mother had put her through. Her instructor had carried a cane and would often whack her arms when they slumped from exhaustion. Draco was a good partner, easily guiding her through the steps with gentle pressure from his hands.

Dancing with him was surprisingly intimate. Theo had asked her to dance once or twice, and it had never felt like this. Perhaps, she’d had too much alcohol after all. As Astoria tried to ignore the heat that burned her skin, Draco guided her easily around the floor, never once bringing her close to the other couple. It should have been freeing — trusting herself completely to another person — but it only left more room for Astoria to focus on the insistent ache in her skull. It was a heady mix, the warmth from Draco causing her stomach to roil and the ache in her head.

When the song ended, they separated and clapped for the band along with the other guests. Silently, Draco offered his hand with the arch of a brow. The thunder in Astoria’s head had turned to a full-on gale that was threatening to drown her. She rested her palm in his, delighting in the slight roughness of his hand. This was a dangerous tempest.

“Why did you ask me to dance?” she said because if she stayed silent for a moment longer, she was going to combust from the storm inside herself.

Draco furrowed his brow. “Because I wanted to.”

“And you always get what you want?”

His arm tightened around her. “Mostly, yes.”

It was arrogant and exactly what she thought he would say, but it still pulled a smile from her, as she tried to fight off the nausea that was quickly rising to the surface with her headache.

When that song ended, Draco and Astoria were near the edge of the dance floor, and he didn’t release his hold on her to clap like he had moments before. Astoria barely noticed, her head feeling like it was about to burst from her skull.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked.

“What?” she said, gripping his shoulder a little tighter.

“About talking to someone about the war?”

She was going to be sick all over his shoes, and the alcohol she’d consumed was going to burn more coming up than it had going down.

“I need to find my sister,” she mumbled, her other hand finding his shoulder as well to steady herself.

“What?” he said, his other hand resting gently on her waist. When had he moved them from her shoulders? “I don’t . . . Are you alright, Astoria? You’re very pale.”

She knew she should have added another layer of foundation this morning. “I need to find my sister,” she said. Gently, she slid her hands down his arms and untangled his fingers from her dress. “I’m . . . so sorry.”

Then, she turned and hurried away from him. She checked the bar first, but only found a slightly buzzed Theo, who raised his glass in salute to her. When she searched the tables, she was unable to find Daphne there either, only the bride and her other bridesmaid gossiping about Diane Carter. Where was she? Hastily, Astoria clicked through the hallway and into the larger dining room of the venue. Daphne wasn’t there either. She forced herself to stop and lean against the wall for a few moments. Deep breaths; otherwise, she’d throw up.

Exiting the big dining room, she rushed toward the sitting room. There she located her sister talking with Mr. Parkinson. As soon as Daphne saw her, she sat her wine glass on the nearest available surface, panic obvious in her eyes. Astoria found herself being hauled out of the venue by the elbow and into the courtyard of the villa. The fresh air slapped her face, and she took several deep breaths.

“How long have you been ill, Tori?” Daphne asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“All weekend,” Astoria muttered.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded. “Or go see a Healer? Like a sane person?”

Astoria squeezed her eyes shut. She would not be sick. She would not be sick. “Because I wasn’t about to leave you in that den of-”

“Forget them, Tori,” Daphne said. “And I can take care of myself. I’ve told you that all weekend, and you’ve suffered all weekend.” When Astoria opened her eyes, she was hit with the tide of her sister’s anger. “And I’m too drunk to Apparate us anywhere, and you can’t Apparate.”

“The hospital is a few blocks down,” Astoria wheezed. “I checked before I Portkeyed in.”

Daphne huffed in annoyance, and Astoria knew she would have done the same had their positions been reversed. Her sister still wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her out of the venue and towards the hospital though. Daphne always was the better of the both of them.

“Your condition is exceptionally rare, Ms. Greengrass. You’re quite lucky that your sister brought you in when she did. Another few hours and . . .” Healer Bianchi clicked his tongue. “Luckily, we were able to get all of your paperwork from St. Mungo’s transferred to us in time. Merlin knows what we would have done without Healer Holmes’ notes. The case could have been quite dire.” He flipped through his papers. “How long have you had this condition, Ms. Greengrass?”

Astoria was sitting in a bleak hospital room, her arms crossed and fighting very hard not to throw her glass of water at this Healer’s head. “Since I was five.”

“Fascinating.”

Astoria was glad someone found her blood curse fascinating. She certainly did not, nor did she enjoy the constant trips to St. Mungo’s she had to make since she was a child. It had been a week since that dreadful wedding, and Astoria was still stuck in Italy. It was such a shame. The weather was beautiful and Venice was a lovely city and Astoria was stuck in this drab place with a macabre healer.

“Glad I can keep you entertained,” she snapped.

Healer Bianchi cleared his throat. “Your blood letting went well. We were able to get out all the contaminated blood, and replace it with new blood, though there was quite a lot of contaminated blood. You really should have come in sooner. You wouldn’t have had to stay in here for a week if you had.” Astoria rolled her eyes. “You’ll be in a bit of pain for a couple weeks, but you take cannabis sativa for that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And how is that administered?”

“I smoke it.” Astoria was pleased when a look of disapproval crossed the Healer’s face.

“Well, I can make up a potion for you, if you like. Won’t take any time at all.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Healer Bianchi sighed. “Well, you’re free to go then. Just keep up on your treatments and do come in to see a healer if you get any kind of chronic headaches, nausea, or shortness of breath.”

Finally, the Healer disappeared, and Astoria turned to face Daphne. Her sister’s eyes were narrowed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Her hair, which was usually styled, sat limply around her shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes, too.

“I could kill you,” Daphne said.

“But your life would be so dull without me,” Astoria said.

“You could have died.”

Astoria looked away from her. “I’m in danger of dying every day, Daph.”

“And you exasperate it.”

“I am not living my life beholden to this disease,” she snapped, slamming her fists down onto the bed. Even doing just that zapped her of energy. Astoria took a deep breath.

“I have a Portkey ready to take us home at three,” Daphne said softly. “Unless you’d rather stay here for a few days.”

“No,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

#astoria greengrass #draco malfoy #drastoria #daphne greengrass #my writing #cruel summer series #hp

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wispstalk · 2 years

Text

taboo

“Explain to me,” Tanis says, watching the ghost of his ancestor swoop and howl through the practice room, “how this doesn’t count as necromancy.”

Anaht’s nictitating membranes slide over her eyes in exasperation. “You do not want to get into this with me.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to get into,” he insists, and releases his focus, letting the restive shade return to the other side of the veil. “Say I’m attacked— bandits on the road, say, and say I kill the first one and make him get up and defend me against his fellow rogues and blaggards. That’s beyond the pale, and if I’m caught Traven throws me out on my ass.”

The elegant Argonian’s tail swishes impatiently. “Those are the rules, yes.”

“But dredging up my pissed-off card out of the ash is fine, and conjuring daedra— daedra, when they’re running thick as rabbits in the countryside— that’s all well and good.”

“Odd for you to be beating the moral drum,” Anaht says finely, “when I happen to know from Proctor Renault that you put your cohort to shame during the conjuration exams. A flame atronach, no less, while the rest of them were nearly bursting blood vessels just to call up a scamp.”

“Morals?” Tanis blinks. “Who the fuck said anything about morals? I’m a lout with a sword who does what I’m bid. It’s just that I can’t make heads nor tails of how you wizards think.”

Anaht relaxes then. “You will find,” she says, sweeping an arm for him to follow her out of the room, “that if there is a single thing that all wizards think, it is that we agree on nothing.”

In the Archives they find Tar-Meena, harried, drawing one claw down a list of requisitions, muttering to herself. “I need the key to the incinerator,” Anaht announces to the Master Archivist.

Tar-Meena throws Tanis a dubious glance, and speaks to Anaht in Jel, unaware that Tanis can parse it. “You are taking that one? Raminus’s hunter?”

“He was my hunter first,” Anaht sniffs, "and like any good hunter he knows when to be quiet."

With a skeptical lift of the brow ridge, Tar-Meena hands over a jangling ring of keys and returns to her work. Anaht leads him through the darkness and hush of the stacks, all the way to the end of the maze of shelves, to an unassuming heavy door.

More crammed bookshelves, to no one’s surprise. Sealed off from the carefully-controlled environment of the stacks, there is a window letting in the afternoon light, and a large round table scattered with a half-finished card game, books and papers, a mug of cold coffee dregs. It seems this vault of forbidden knowledge serves as a sort of employee break room.

No fires to be found, though, not so much as a reedlight. Like the stacks, this room is only to be lit by spell, with polished steel sconces on the wall to reflect the mage-glow.

“Why’s it called the incinerator?” he asks, drawing his reading glasses from his pocket.

“Yes, Arch-Mage,” Anaht says, taking a posture of mock obeisance. “We've found another treatise on the Black Arts, and we'll throw it straight in the fires.”

Tanis laughs. On the shelf before him, a veritable buffet of taboo: Necromancer’s Moon, Pathway to Lichdom. A journal purported to be authored by the Wolf Queen Potema. Even a title written in Dunmeris, On the Veneration and Summoning of Ancestor Guardians. The very spell he’d just opened his palm and offered his blood to learn.

And, tacked to one corner of the shelving timbers, a small folio: The Black Arts on Trial, by Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven.

“In the interest of being even-handed. A little joke among the scrivs,” Anaht says by way of explanation, then nudges him aside with her hip. “Now move, you big oaf, and let me look for something.”

He takes the folio with him and settles down at the table. The contents of this inflammatory writ are oft-bandied on the University grounds, but he’s never gotten around to reading it, what with all the... everything else.

While he reads, Anaht waltzes around the room, her tail jewelry jangling, occasionally plucking a book like a choice pear and stacking it on her arm.

“This gra-Kogg makes a lot of sense,” he says, holding a finger to mark his place. “Actually think her arguments were better than this other fella’s, but Traven’s conclusion doesn't consider her at all. Why include the debate, then?”

“Keep reading.” Anaht does not look back, but the tip of her tail shakes with mild amusement.

“Oh,” he says, squinting down at the afterword. “Reckon I ought to have seen that coming.”

“These will get you started.” Anaht drops her books to the table with a heavy thump, and delicately pats the top of the stack. Tanis grumbles; there has to be a dozen of them, and he’s already up to his ears in daedric research and restoration clinicals.

She perches lightly in the chair to his left. “Yes, Master gra-Kogg was a necromancer,” she says, and folds her jeweled claws beneath her chin. “But?”

“But,” he sighs, now seeing the point of that menacing bookpile, “that doesn’t make her wrong. Raminus has me running all over Cyrodiil flushing them out of their dens, but I don’t know a damn thing about how to fight them. Can’t interrupt their casting, can’t tell what they’re calling up, don’t know what they’re after.”

“If you insist on being Traven's hunting dog, I will not have you go forth unprepared.” She taps the silvery-thin scar on the side of his neck, the one he’d earned while ambushed in Wellspring Grove, collecting wood for his mage’s staff. “So long as Traven invites the necromancers' wrath, we archivists will maintain this bulwark against them.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's all very noble."

She ignores the barb, tucking the books in her striped haversack and foisting it on him to carry. “Now come. Let us go to the King and Queen. You owe me dinner.”

Tanis follows her out the door. "What for?"

She swats at him with her tail. “You think I do all this tutoring for free?”

#i didn't write as many university scenes as I would've liked for IITT #tes oblivion #mages guild #arcane university #hero of kvatch #oc: tanis #oc: anaht #ray writes

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helenadurazzo · 1 year

Text

Lightening Up

It has been about a month since I wrote a story about Erina (Erika x Helena) however I must admit, this might just be the favorite piece I have written for them. This tells the story of one of Erika and Helena waltzing together at the Passion Ball, hosted by the Kingdom of Hearts. While not their first interaction, it was their first meaningful conversation together that did not involve their respective kingdoms or occupations

This story is also apart of the HPHM Cardverse AU made by @ariparri

As the personal guard to the Jack of Spades, Erika had gotten used to attending a number of events hosted by the leaders of not just the Kingdom of Spades, but the others as well. It was certainly a wonderful opportunity that she would never had dreamed of when she was younger. However, here she was now, attending the ball with a variety of Spades officials, making it the first event Spades had attended in forever.

Ever since she had officially become the Jack’s personal guard, she had gotten to know her, and her quirks better. In Erika’s opinion, Rowan was quite an unpredictable and easily excitable person who was always ready to get herself invested in a new experience. When they had first arrived at the passion ball, Rowan seemed quickly amazed by her new surroundings always seemingly finding something new to notice in the ballroom.

It had certainly been a spectacular evening. For the majority of the night Rowan, Bill, and Queen Veruca engaged themselves in a conversation with the officials of Hearts, mostly discussing possible solutions to the problems caused by the Civil War. She had even watched as Queen Veruca danced with the Diego, the King of Hearts. They practically owned the dance floor as one of the few couples still there once the tango music began to play. Erika had scene multiple impressive feats of dancing however the way the Queen of Spades and the King of Hearts dramatically glided across the dance floor topped everything else she had seen that night.

However by now, their conversation started to fade and Erika accompanied Rowan as she continued looking around at the various people in attendance. Pointing out other officials as she spotted them among the crowd, some were having their own discussions, others were out on the dance floor.

Yet there was one individual that seemed to capture Erika’s attention and refused to let go. She had seen her before due to the officials of Clubs helping with the war effort. The woman, who was only slightly younger than her, had her long dark blue hair running down to the midsection of her back like a river. Despite it currently being during the cold season of winter, her outfit emulated the beauty of spring, hosting multiple shades of greens, pinks, and purple, while also incorporating a floral design on both her dress and her mask. Erika herself wasn’t quite sure how she didn’t notice her earlier but supposed that either she hadn’t been on the dance floor or Erika herself had been focused on performing her duties as the personal guard of the Jack of Spades.

Rowan seemed to eventually take notice and correctly identify whom Erika was looking at, “Starring at the Jack of Clubs again? Can you just say something to her already?” She requested, seemingly tired to Erika’s stalling.

Erika blushed with embarrassment at the Jack’s comment, trying to claim otherwise, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t deny it.” Rowan insisted with a mischievous smile, “It’s obvious you fancy her.”

“Is it really?” Erika sighed, trying to get what she felt was a light blush off her face. She didn’t have time to fall in love, not when there was so much work to do. Yet her head and heart were once again at war, trying to gain influence.

“If you don’t go talk to her, I’ll make you.” Rowan playfully threatened.

“You don’t scare me.” Erika replied with a smirk. “Besides, it is my job to protect you, can’t slack on the job, you know?”

“Just go already.” Rowan insisted, “After all, there is no danger here and besides I can defend myself if necessary, live your life, the Passion Ball only comes around once a year.” She added, before wandering off in another direction before Erika had the change to argue with her.

Rather than chasing after her, Erika felt herself being drawn closer towards the Jack of Clubs. In her head she tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound awkward. She usually had a better control over herself, being a force to be reckoned with. During her training to be a part of the Spades military, she had proved she was a formidable force which was certainly a key part in her being appointed as Rowan’s bodyguard. Yet now, it seemed like that version of her was no where to be found anywhere in the ballroom.

“Erika!” Helena Durazzo, more formally known as The Jack of Clubs, gently called out with a smile, “I didn’t know you were here tonight. Then again, considering you tend to go wherever Rowan goes. Speaking of her, where is she?”

“She is talking about some important matters with the Ace of Spades.” Erika professionally informed her with what seemed to be an appropriate excuse.

“Well when she is done I’d wish to speak with her.” Helena requested, “She is always such a curious spirit and I want to see if she has anymore reading suggestions since her previous ones have never disappointed me.”

“Good, good.” Erika replied, trying to sort through her own flustered thoughts as she attempted to say something that wasn’t gibberish.

The music changed from a more upbeat song similar to the tango music Erika had heard earlier, to a much slower song that consisted of elegant piano playing. Erika looked towards the source of the music then turned back to Helena. She noticed the Jack of Clubs gently swaying to the music in a relatively unnoticeable fashion to anyone further away from her, seeming to even hum along with each note that echoed through the ballroom.

“I remember my father teaching my brother how to play this melody on piano when I was a kid.” Helena revealed. “As much of a free spirit my brother is, it is ironic that he gravitated more to piano lessons than I ever did.”

“That sounds nice…” Erika remarked gently. She didn’t have any siblings of her own, only a few cousins who were pretty much all older than her. However, despite many members of the Rath family ranking high in the military, there wasn’t really other family occupational tradition, at least that she was aware of. Because of this, her childhood consisted of training with her older cousins and learning about the military. While there was occasionally music and more playful activities in the Rath home, it was very few and far between.

Suddenly, Erika noticed the Jack of Clubs extend her hand to her, “May I have this dance?”

“I’m sorry.” Erika apologized, “But I don’t dance.”

“Oh really now?” Helena replied with a playful smirk. “Here, why don’t I teach you how to do a ballroom dance that fits perfectly with this tune. You seem stiff and should get the chance to let loose even if it’s just for one night.”

Erika hesitated at first but tried her best not to display it in her facial expressions and movements. However, she kept interpreting the words Rowan told her. She was typically also very focused on work and always preferred taking combat lessons than dance lessons. The Passion Ball was one of the few events where people from all four kingdoms could go are have a good time. It would be back to business as usual in kingdom of Spades the next day, so it truly made sense to seize the moment.

“Well, in that case.” Erika said as he took Helena’s hand. “I’d be happy to dance with you.”

“Wonderful!” Erika watched as Helena smiled delightfully as she proceeded to lead her towards the dance floor. She eventually stopped in an area away from the majority of the dancers, most likely leaving room for error in the case of misplaced steps, without causing a scene

Helena assisted Erika in placing her hands in the right positions, finishing with placing her left hand on Erika’s right shoulder. “My mother taught both me and brother how to waltz.” The Jack of Clubs informed her, “It’s actually quite simple once you know the basic steps, just follow my lead.”

“First I will step forward with my left foot and you will step backward with your right foot.” Helena instructed, doing the motions with Erika once she explained them. “Next I’ll step to my right with my right foot, and you’ll step to your left with your left foot. Then I’ll step back with my right foot, and you step forward with your left. Finally, I’ll step to my left with my left foot, and you’ll step to your right with your right foot.”

“There you go!” Helena supportively cheered. “Now just keep doing it, one, two, three.” She repeated, following the beat the music, “one, two, three, one, two, three, one two, three.”

It went relatively smoothly from there. However, Erika certainly had a handful of times where she made some incorrect steps and ended up stepping on the Jack of Clubs’ lavender high heels. Surprisingly, Erika noticed that her dance partner never winced in pain or attempted to correct her, and would instead chuckle with a smile on her face as if it was a carefree joke. There were even sometimes when the Jack of Clubs would return the favor by stepping on the toe of Erika’s own shoe with a mischievous grin.

“Looks like I still have a lot to learn as well.” Helena chuckled as they continued to waltz. However, Erika still failed to decipher if the Jack was doing it on purpose or not to make her feel better, at this point though, it didn’t matter.

“You are still much more talented than me.” Erika admitted. “You waltz so gracefully” before adding, “about ninety five perfect of the time that is.”

Helena chuckled. “Are you sure this is your first time? You certainly need some more practice, but I know plenty of people who could never have waltzed so elegantly on their first attempt.”

“Are you trying to flatter me?” Erika asked.

“Perhaps” Helena answered with a smile, “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“I suppose there isn’t.” Erika blushed, just as the current waltz song finished playing and switched to another genre of dance. She turned to Helena once they got away from the new group of dancers, still with their hands grasped warmly, “I have to thank you for such an enchanted evening.”

“It wouldn’t have been so enchanting if you had not been here.” Helena spoke gently as she got closer to Erika, resting her head on her shoulder as they made it to the wall of the ballroom, where very few people were at that moment.

“Thank you.” Erika replied with a warm smile, feeing the same way, then sighed, “I suppose I better go check in on the Ace of Spades.”

“If you must.” Helena agreed as she stood up more formally and straight. “You know? you should come visit the Kingdom of Clubs at some point for something other than discussing the aftermath of the civil war, we have some wonderful events hosted there around the year.”

“What’s your favorite?” Erika asked with warm, genuine interest.

“I’ve heard of that before.” Erika recalled. If she did so correctly and if the same could be said about the books she read and the people she heard about it from. The derby consisted of two teams trying to gain points by flying through floating jewels. She was sure the descriptions and pictures of the event did not do it justice. “If I get the chance to attend, I hope to watch it with you.”

“I’d be honored.” Helena smiled as Erika herself nodded as charmingly as she could, before bidding her farewells and walking back towards when she assumed the officials of Spades were.

As she walked away Erika took a few sneakily glances at the Jack of Clubs who had seemed to have already found herself in a conversation with who she recognized was the Ace of Clubs. Even though Helena didn’t seem to notice her glances, Erika still admired how genuine she seemed. Compared to her own tough personality,

the Jack seemed to have a much more easy time expressing her emotions, something that Erika would have envied if she hadn’t taken a liking to her. However, her dreamily stroll nearly ended with her knocking over the Jack of Spades, thankfully she managed to stop herself just before she did just that to avoid embarrassment, partially because of Rowan’s quick comment that caught her attention.

“So how was it?” her Jack eagerly asked. “I watched your waltz with Andre, he took note of your and the Jack of Clubs’ beauty, particularly in your outfits. However, he did mention that your waltzing was a little bit awkward.

Erika knew full well she would never know how Andre was capable of even noticing the smallest movements. However that was a mystery she wasn’t invested in solving tonight. “It was wonderful.” She replied, to answer Rowan’s initial question. “Absolutely wonderful.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #harry potter hogwarts mystery #helena durazzo #erika rath #hogwarts mystery mc #hphm cardverse #rowan khanna #erina #passion ball

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14muffinz · 1 year

Text

Too much anxiety to tag everybody, but when I say the concept of His world leo's joining in on peepaw therapy sessions does not leave me alone

I am going to refer to them as their fic titles, because it is 11pm and i am not going to loose sleep over character names. (Using LJ/MJ to refer to main timeline leos/mikeys, and then just the abbreviation for the oldies.)

Included/Referenced are: OMO - @/cherrytraveller

MNMC - @/mutantninjamidlifecrisis

AMW - @/teainthesnow

TAE - @/apatheticrobots

MH - @/characcoon

The new guys, OMO!LJ decides, are like, way off.

He's pretty sure everyone else is seeing it, too, because it almost looks like those two are getting along.

Also. The one who'd waltzed in and claimed the name "Leonidas" and taken no questions had a fucking axe.

Like, what.

"Did you see that?" MNMC!LJ whispers in his ear. "Those two just smiled at eachother. Without banter. What the fuck."

MH!MJ, the only Mikey in the entire meeting (that'd been a real shitshow, don't ask) hums. "Someone go call in the bodysnatcher, we need an analysis, stat."

"Calling it now," TAE!LJ announces, "big one's five years earlier than ours."

"Wow."

TAE!LJ jumps at the newbie's appearance.

"This whole thing is... more common than I thought. So what? We're supposed to talk to eachother? I've done plenty of that already, trust me."

"Oh, please," OMO!LJ snaps.

HW!LJ raises his hands in surrender, looking around at the party before him. There was a little variety among eye colours throughout, strangely enough, and OMO!LJ notes the near impossible shade of bright blue this guy's are.

"You're literally a Leo, there's no denying that there's something," MJ snaps.

"Like, perhaps, why your guy showed up without his sword."

This time, several of them jump at the appearance of AMW, who plops instantly down into his half-used chair.

"Especially why he needed it replaced. Thing's sentimental, he wouldn't just abandon it, and the masks are on the new one. So what happened there?"

"Our ninpo's separated," HW!LJ responds, and it's so painfully a deflection of what really happened there that OMO!LJ and MNMC!LJ lock eyes. "Ever since he showed up, he's been leeching off of mine, which, fair enough, the universe kind of fucked us over like that, but then, like, a few months ago, there was this whole thing, with a black hole and shit, and I tell you, he just appeared with the damn thing."

"Score one for team shit did not yet hit the fan," TAE!LJ deadpans.

"Oh no, I don't mean the bubblegum bitches."

AMW!LJ lets out a choked laugh at the comparison.

"He popped up when Micheal, uh... beamed me up."

Right there with the lovely, painful comparisons.

This whole thing did not work very well when most of them, excluding like 2, had very similar experiences with the Kraang.

"What, so he just showed up then and there?" MNMC!LJ finally needles, his hand a death grip around the arm of his chair.

"Is this an interrogation?"

"Perhaps," OMO!LJ informs him.

~~~

"Wow," Nidas says when he plops himself into his chair. "This is depressing.

There are like, 3 different dead-eyed stares locked on him right now, yeesh. Was this what he'd been like around Nardo at first?

"Oh wow," MH comments, "we finally found one who doesn't combust into tears on the spot."

"Oh, like you were any better," MNMC snaps.

MH side-eyes him.

"It's okay, Mike, you can hair flip," MNMC reassures.

"With what? His overgrown sideburns?"

Well, this is going swell.

He looks over at the quiet one, and realises that he's staring at the arm. Of course he is, given that everyone here, excluding Chin-Stripes over there, were using prosthetics.

"Hey," OMO snaps at him, so of course Nidas focuses in on the guy. "How do you get it? The indifference thing? I've been trying, for like, moths."

TAE sighs, but is interrupted before he could say anything else.

"Oh no, I'm doing terribly right now," Nidas assures him curtley. "But like, I saw the little guy on the way in, so since I came back you're already the fourth Mikey I've had to–"

"Four?" Several voices exclaim.

"Where'd that last from come from?" MNMC questions.

Ah, great.

"Y'know, when they warned us that the circumstances would be a little off, this was not what I was expecting."

~~~

"You got him out?"

AMW!LJ is uncomfortably close to his face.

"Y... yes?" HW!LJ stutters out.

"Teach us your ways."

"Well," he coughs awkwardly, thinking back on what had transpired that fine day. "There's a lot of life-threatening shit involved. Soul-sucking. We kind of almost killed my bro's on accident then we had to like, relive trauma and shit to find them. It was this whole thing."

"So you're traumatised?" MJ prompts with an eye roll.

"For life, man."

("Mood," MNMC mutters under his breath.

MJ very curtly flicks him.)

"From today and onwards, I've seen two different Mikey's with sideburns."

AMW groans, loudly. "So to seperate the two of us, I have to make shit worse? UGH!"

"Hey," HW!LJ offers, placing a hand on his alternate's shoulder. "You'll get your own font of depression eventually, don't worry about it. It'll pass, too, before you know it you'll be right back to Leo "I process trauma through humour and never confront my feelings 'till I die" Hamato."

"Y'all need therapy," MJ deadpans."

"Jokes on you," MNMC!LJ smirks, "we're already here."

#peepaw multiverse #rise leonardo #i am keeping this as quiet as possible lmao #ficlet #rise of the tmnt #hamato leonardo #rise leo #rise future leo

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riflewounds · 2 years

Text

Whumptober, day 2 | Nowhere To Run (cornered, confrontation)

Cw: abusive relationship, posessive whumper

---

The sky glowed with those wonderful hues of purple and orange.

A little over half past six in the evening. It's been a good day today.

Fuchs told him to have some time for himself. To relax, unwind, do whatever he needed to do.

It was almost suspicious, the way his boss said all those things. The strange grin twisted the younger man's lip as he stared his gunman up and down. Something predatory twinkled in the man's eyes, but Durant - naively - paid it little mind.

What's the worst that could happen?

He trusted him. After all, wouldn't his boss have the best intentions in mind for him?

Durant turned the corner, long legs carrying him down a smaller street. Plenty of tall buildings, separated by thin, dark alleys.

He had a gun on him. If anything were to happen, he could fight his way out of it, tooth and nail.

Unless... unless he asked for it.

He passed by a deli or two. Then a fancy bar. He paused in front of it, studying the lit sign, but ultimately his interest faded. Too high-brow for him. He didn't need to be reminded of the weird fucks he worked for some years back. A good number of them seemed to love these fancy cocktail lounges, where even the cheapest drinks ran in the double digits and a laughable amount of french fries cost upwards of six dollars.

But the caviar and pork were suspiciously cheap.

And the wine had a strange aftertaste that reminded him of... a lot of things.

So he moved on, in search of some cheaper establishment. Those seemed to be honest, never lying about what they were. They didn't try to mask their rancid stink with fancy flowers or beautiful architecture. No, they proudly displayed their blackboard signs, touting their shit beer was cheaper than water. And they weren't lying, one large beer came in at half the price of a small bottle of water.

He kept pacing, heading through progressively shadier streets.

Until one sign caught his eye. It was colorful, shades of pink, blue, purple and yellow, big green-yellow lettering stating 'TOUCAN CLUB'.

And he went in.

Cheap cigarettes and tropical cocktails. He could pick out a faint trace of a tequila sunset among the dense sea of overwhelming scents. Maybe he should have that instead of his usual order of whatever was closest to whiskey on the rocks. He didn't particularly care about what they put in it, just that it was strong, burned his throat, and distracted him long enough to relax.

But the atmosphere beckoned him to try something else for a change. The dim colorful light, neon signs of toucans sitting on branches, they even had potted palms scattered around the bar to make it feel even more tropical.

He stopped in front of a big poster listing the drink menu.

Nothing out of the cocktail section caught his eye. He moved on to the special section, a selection of cocktails made only at this establishment, and nowhere else. They were all toucan themed, but there was one that sounded interesting. The Toucan Secret.

This one was based on white rum and orange juice, with some pineapple juice and a dash of dragonfruit. But the ingredients also mentioned sugar, kiwis, lime, everclear, and a 'secret blend'. Who knows how potent this would be.

But his curiosity got the better of him, Durant waltzed up to the bar, ordered this toucan-themed concoction, and sat his eager rear on the bar stool.

It took a few minutes, but he was a patient man. In his line of work, he wouldn't have gotten this far if he was an impatient little shit. He passed time by studying those colorful toucans. The lights were pretty, pink and yellow went surprisingly well together, molding into a red gradient where their colors met.

A mesmerizing image, one he was broken out of with the sound of glass against lacquered wood. "The Toucan's Secret, sir."

Before him sat a tall glass, much like the ones used for Long Island Iced Teas. It even had a green straw and a little pink parasol stuck in a chunk of pineapple lazily floating on top.

And it wasn't even that expensive.

It didn't take long for someone to notice him. He practically glowed with such a flamboyant drink on his hands. And as this stranger approached, Durant looked him up and down. Tall, he wouldn't call him handsome, but there was something about the way he carried himself that caught his fancy.

Durant sipped away at his drink. The pineapple juice nibbled at his tongue, tiny invisible saw teeth stripping the outermost layers of his tongue. The sugar and orange juice gave the cocktail its smoothness, and the dash of kiwi and dragonfruit left a nice sweet-sour aftertaste. He couldn't really feel the alcohol in there, save for the warmth spreading through his chest.

Overall, he was happy with his choice.

He took another long sip as the stranger sat down, briefly glanced at the lone gunman before he turned to the barman with those magic words: "I'll have what he's having."

Oh no. Durant knew this little dance. He's seen it before, been a part of it before. Wanted to engage in this little tango again.

They hit it off. Had a little chat. Things turned spicy, with the gunman forced against the cold tiled wall, giggling like a little child with a grin spanning half his face. Consensual violence.

He didn't recall most of what had transpired, on the account of his head slamming into the wall multiple times. Thankfully nothing broke, but his head throbbed with that nasty sickening headache and looking at lit street lamps sent waves of stabbing pain throughout his skull. But he could still walk.

Well, mostly. His legs ached, especially his thighs, and badly. But it was all in good fun, it was the good pain he sought out once in a while, not the bad pain he tried to avoid at all costs.

He still had that satisfied smile as he stumbled out of the Toucan club. The nice warm, fuzzy feeling radiated from his depths, rose up to his head and he tipped his head back for a moment, sending him reeling.

Okay, he definitely had a concussion. Combine that with alcohol (just one drink, but it was a hefty one, who knows how potent, too), and he had quite a powder keg on his hands.

He'll be fiiine. He always was, given enough rest.

But he didn't have time. The sun was setting and it was almost dark, and he had time until midnight to haul ass home.

Home. As if some dingy, moist hole in the wall was a home. No. It was one of Fuchs' hideouts, a web of strategically placed vacant apartments scattered across most cities. An expensive operation to maintain, but there always was a home (or three) wherever they went.

Durant traced quite a path through the town, killing time, trying to sober up a bit before he headed back. The concussion was enough of an issue on its own, he didn't need to get home drunk, too.

He wound up settling in a park, sprawling across an old bench. The wood caught against his creased clothes, a mainstream combination of a dark cotton shirt, black suit jacket and dark chinos, brought together with a simple cloth belt with a toothed buckle, and dark brown leather moccasins. Maybe excessively formal for this part of town, but inconspicuous enough to blend in with the crowds. The gunman sat there in the park, head craned back, resting against the hardwood strips. It wasn't particularly pleasant, but he's slept in worse places. Spending a few minutes resting on a shitty park bench was always loads better than sleeping on cold granite floors of a train station. And then scrambling before the guard set on beating the everliving shit out of him if he didn't leave.

He didn't like to reminisce about his time between jobs. Living on next to no money, unable to even get a motel room for the night. Raiding delis and gas stations to even get by, then skipping town just so the cops wouldn't get their grubby little hands on him.

And he got good at running. Running from the law, the people he pissed off, his previous employers, and himself.

Some time later, he noted how the cold was slowly creeping through his clothes. Maybe it was time to move.

Durant slowly got up to his feet. The world didn't spin as he moved, maybe he'd recovered enough to continue on home.

And so he walked. Away from the park, next to some small river, down a suburban street and then another. Suburban houses gave way to low apartment buildings, five, six stories tall at most. Blocs upon blocs of the same brown brick buildings, separated by thin alleyways.

He turned left, a second to last turn before he finally got home.

There was a hand at his throat, pulling him into the alley next to him. Durant went for his gun, fingers almost wrapped around the grip, when he caught a glimpse of the man's eyes. He barely got a sound out before the man's hand cinched at his windpipe and steered him back-first into the nearest wall with more force than necessary. Durant's head met the brick with a dull thud, bright sprites dancing across his vision as sounds slowly came back to focus.

"I don't think you've listened to me, puppy," the man hissed through clenched teeth, "I thought I've made myself clear."

He tried to remember how his tongue worked among the thick buzz in his head.

"And yet you didn't listen!"

The hand at his neck yanked at him, threw him off balance before it tossed his confused body to the ground.

He recognized the silhouette, long lanky limbs, messy dark hair, eyes full of some strange predatory instinct. "Fuchs?"

"Oh so now you've found your words," his boss mocked, kneeling beside the gunman, "Tony."

His lizard brain screamed at him to get up, but then Fuchs' hand was at his collarbone, just resting there, thumb stroking the gunman's shirt.

He wouldn't get up. It wasn't the right decision.

Durant felt how his ribcage grew and shrank under his boss' hand.

"Tell me, puppy. What did I tell you about hanging around other men without my approval?"

"To mind my own business," Durant replied, a slight terrified tremble to his voice.

"That's right. And what did you do?"

God, what should he say? The cat's out of the bag and it wouldn't go back in. Durant sucked in a tense breath.

"I went against my word."

"You'll have to make this up to me."

The gunman was afraid he'd utter those words. That this fucker needed his ego stroked with Durant squirming on the floor under him, scratching at the carpet and screaming, begging to be let go. He just hoped it would go quick this time but... he had a hunch it wouldn't.

"Now get up. We'll talk when we get home."

#whumptober2022 #no.2 #nowhere to run #cornered #confrontation #OC #fic #abusive relationship #possessive whumper

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