#in charcoal no less... my not-so-dear friend charcoal

[vgilantee]

dear devoted delicate {xavier thorpe}

xavier thorpe x reader

requested: by my beloved julie @websterss <3

words: 2.2k

a/n: the reader is an outcast of an unknown type, but not a werewolf. i love werewolves, but because of some of the setup, it's gotta be a non-werewolf reader. also i went a little off-prompt but it's still the same in essence, and all the important bits are included, just shuffled up a little. oh and yes the title is a line from the song older, but i used it mostly because dear is a sweet petname, and butterflies have delicate wings. i think i'm clever. oh and if you're new here, i hate writing dialogue and it shows in this also if you want to see some really cool drawings of poisonous plants, send me an ask (please) because one of my favourite things ever are vintage botanical drawings (this will make sense in a minute dw)

warnings: n/a. just some sweetness. there is swearing though so idk if that counts as a warning

pronouns: she/her (maybe she/they? i can't remember if i threw in a 'they' lmao)

Once a month - sometimes twice if you were incredibly unlucky - you were kicked out of your room for two days while your roommate had a handful of her younger cousins over. 

Before Nevermore, you loved the full moon. Now you had a love-hate relationship. You still loved the moon itself, but you never enjoyed showing up at your friend’s dorm, backpack over your shoulder and sleeping bag tucked under your arm, sheepishly asking if you could once again sleep on their floor. You could, in theory, go back to your room to sleep as your roommate and cousins wouldn’t be there, instead transformed into wolves and galavanting around the woods. But in your second month at Nevermore, you did that, and woke up to a room full of the less-than-dressed human werewolves, some of whom had chosen your bed to curl up on, with you still in it. Never again. 

Full moons on the weekend were the worst. With no classes to occupy your time, you often found yourself moving from place to place around campus to find somewhere you could hide out before getting bored and moving on. 

Xavier watched as you jogged past the archery field, headphones in and running shoes muddied. It wasn’t unusual to see you go past during club practice, though you tended to avoid it after a downpour. He’d asked you about it once, after seeing you in the library one rainy Saturday afternoon.

“My room already smells like wet dog at the best of times, I’m not going to add to that.” Your voice was light with humour; you adored Sofi and she always made sure to not bring in any smells with her. But the comment stuck with Xavier and the next time you were sat next to each other in Torture through History, he sketched out a wolf before moving his hand to bring it out of the page. You giggled quietly as the ashen wolf shook itself, small flecks mimicking water coming off, then curled up next to your hand. You had smiled down at it fondly as it fell asleep before dissolving into charcoal dust, leaving a light smudge on your hand. Xavier watched you and pretended not to notice the warmth that came to his face as you looked up at him, the fond look still in your eyes. 

“Xavier, are you going to take your shot? Or you just going to keep staring at ‘em?” He shot up a middle finger over his shoulder before turning to follow its movement to see his club mates smirking over at him. 

After ducking into Ash’s room to change into more comfortable clothes, you make your way down to the library. Ash was generally the most reliable for having space on their floor for you to crash, the thin roll-out mattress a permanent feature in the beanbag corner of the dorm. 

On your way, you detour to your room to kick your muddy runners under your bed, though not before making an ‘I’m watching you’ motion toward a curled-up Sofi with a smile. 

It wasn’t uncommon for couples to be hidden away in the library, especially not on an overcast weekend. But the Grimmstone library was the only library on campus that held an original copy of an 1800s toxic botany encyclopaedia. 

After a few false turns with quick apologies to the interrupted couples, you finally found the right - and luckily empty - aisle. With your forefinger running gently along the worn spines, you made your way down the rows of books, glancing at the names of authors until you found the one you were looking for. 

After carefully sliding the hardcover book off the shelf - nearly dropping it as the loose plastic dust cover slipped - you sat down at one of the desks lining the centre of the room and began flicking through. You flicked the book to the back, finger running down the yellowed page until you reached the name you were looking for: aconitum.

----

“Big scary werewolf and you’re afraid of a little butterfly?” You laughed as you wandered into Plant Toxicology with Sofi. 

“It flew right into my face!” She waved her free hand in front of her, mimicking the butterfly’s movements. 

“And you squealed!” As you laughed, Sofi gently hip-checked you, nudging you toward your usual desk, before laughing with a shake of her head and walking toward her own. You nodded hello to Yoko as you sat beside her. 

“Alight, class. Group paper time.” The sounds of groans and heads hitting tables bounced around the room. “I know, I know. Now, rows one and three, turn around and give a little wave to your partner.”

----

You were hours early to meet your study buddy, but it was a non-issue. The time alone allowed you to make meticulous notes on the plant before worrying about formatting them into a presentable paper. 

The notes you made were messy, quick dot points from the encyclopaedia that could make into a decent assessment. The paper was only short anyway, the first report of the semester that was more of a benchmark than a large percentage of your grade. 

Headphones in, it wasn’t long until you found yourself with your feet up on the seat and book resting open on your thighs, reaching around your bent knees to occasionally take notes. 

You were in the middle of triple-checking the spelling of a latin nomenclature when a flit of grey out the corner of your eye caught your attention. But as you turned your head to see what it was, all you could see was another couple darting down an aisle, whispering to each other. You shook your head with an amused exhale before turning back to your note-taking. 

Just as you leaned forward to take a note, you saw the grey again. But this time, instead of a moment at the side of your vision, the grey moved in front of you just long enough to make out the shape of a butterfly before it landed on the tip of your nose. 

Cross-eyed to stare at the charcoal insect, you pulled out the headphones slowly, trying not to disturb it. You knew it wasn’t real, recognising the trademark sketch lines of Xavier’s art. 

Another pair of butterflies began to flutter in front of you, bouncing off of each other with tiny plumes of dust. You let out a small giggle and the bug on your nose darted away, flying right into the other two where all three of them exploded into a shower of dark powder onto the desk. Once the last of the dust landed, you turned quickly to look over your shoulders, dropping your feet to the floor, trying to find the artist.

You met Xavier’s eye as he folded his sketchbook closed in his right hand. His head was tilted with a smile as he made his way toward you, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“Howdy, howdy partner.” You wriggled your fingers to wave as he pulled out the chair beside you, dropping down and letting his bag fall to the floor. As he did, you noticed that Xavier’s pulled-back hair was a messy damp, the kind that comes with being caught in the rain. 

“Started the fun without me.” He gestured lazily to your notebook and the two thick library books in front of you (at some point during your research you wandered back to the shelf and found a second book with information on the deadly plant).

“Wanted to make you jealous, of course.” You shot him a wink with a small giggle, turning back to your book just in time to miss the tips of Xavier’s ears go pink. “The butterflies were definitely a welcome distraction though,” you thanked, turning in your chair to face him fully, “I felt like I was going cross-eyed staring at these pages.” 

“I’m happy to distract.” Xavier sent you a dopey smile and raised one hand to flatten down flyaways, and you bit the inside of your lip while ignoring the warmth that grew on your face. In your attempt to break eye-contact and hopefully get rid of the blush, your gaze flicked down to his mouth and caught him licking his lips. 

Almost in sync, you and Xavier looked away from each other and as you looked over at the textbook, you heard him clear his throat. 

“Okay, so,” Xavier broke the silence after a moment, “what have you got so far?”

You quickly delved into giving him a rundown of the notes you had made so far, explaining ideas you had come up with for it. However, you made a point of not looking up at him. It was a little awkward at times, where you would catch yourself beginning to look at him but quickly found a drawing of the purple flower far too important to not look over at. 

Neither of you noticed that the sun had set until the howls of classmates made their way from this distance, the sound causing both of you to turn and look out the window. 

“Shit, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.” During the week, there was an 8pm curfew, but over the weekend library hours were extended and they were a little more lenient with the time you had to be back at your dorm giving you until midnight to be back. There was just one downside to being in the library late.

“Oh my god we missed dinner.” Xavier sounded devastated at the realisation, and you looked over to see him with the back of his hand pressed dramatically to his forehead. 

“You hungry?” It wasn’t long past dinnertime, but because of the routine that came with living at Nevermore, you knew the answer would be yes. “I may or may not have some snacks hidden in my dorm.” He perked up, and though he would never tell, he was more than a little excited to be spending more time alone with you.

---

Xavier sat awkwardly on your bed as you kicked off your shoes and began to pull a box out from under your bed. Pushing some heavy clothing out of the way, you pulled out a bag of chips and a couple of packets of sweets. 

“It’s not really a dinner, but it’s food.” You showed him the food you had stashed, offering it weakly. Xavier scooched himself onto the floor, patting the space beside him and you sat yourself down cross-legged. 

As Xavier pulled open the chip bag, you sent Ash a message saying you might be over late, but would try to be as quiet as possible. They sent back a thumbs up, and you shoved away your phone just in time for the chips to be held out in front of you.

Between the sweets and bag of chips, you and Xavier managed to talk about anything that came to mind as time quickly moved by. During your time, both of you got more relaxed, losing any vague semblance of good posture and leaned against the side of your bed. And maybe closer to each other, but only maybe. 

Xavier pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack and leaned forward, listening to you talk as he drew. He hid his sketchbook from you as you tried leaning over him, giggling into his ear as you did. 

You let your body flop onto the ground beside him, staring up leaning on your hand as he readjusted how he was sitting to keep hiding what he was drawing from you. Then he tucked his pencil behind his ear and held his hand above the page. 

Lifting up with a rain of dust, a dozen small butterflies began to flit around your room. They bounced off each other, spinning in circles as they danced.

Much like the interruption of howls earlier in the evening, you are brought back into reality by the buzzing of your phone against the hardwood floor. 

“I don’t mean to stop you from whatever you’re doing,” Ash skipped the greeting as you answer the call, “but if you’re sleeping here tonight you might want to think about showing up soon.” 

“Hello to you too.” Sitting up properly, you watched Xavier as he turned on his phone screen and showed you the time, and you widened your eyes. “Oh fuck. Okay, thanks, Ash. Be there soon.” Xavier stood first, offering you a hand to pull you up which you happily took pretending not to notice the way he squeezed your hand shortly when you stood.

“I can walk you over if you want.” You were already shaking your head at the offer, knowing that you would be cutting it thin getting to Ash’s dorm and Xavier’s dorm house was in the opposite direction.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble.” He held the door open for you, leaning on the outer frame. As he pulled it shut his arm brushed your side. 

There was a beat of silence as neither of you wanted to move. Although you had spent the night hanging out, the softness in that moment was different and not something you wanted to break.

Steeling yourself for a moment, you darted forward and kissed Xavier on the cheek, turning and beginning to walk away before you could see how he reacted. 

Xavier watched as you moved quickly away, his cheeks and ears pink, He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to figure out how to react. Once you disappeared around the corner, he let out a breath and sheepishly smiled to himself.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! as are asks about the fic!

rambles, feel free to ignore: this fic isn't… okay so i hold myself to very high standards which is a problem with my brain and things, and i need to stop doing that because i end up giving up on things that aren't perfect instead of appreciating that i have made something and it's mine and from my brain. again, a problem i need to sort out. but all this being said!! by my self-imposed standards this isn't amazing, and really i'm posting it as a "here! it's done! take it before i take it back and destroy it!" and that's only happening because it was a request from a mutual.

tl;dr: these rambles are more to say that i like this fic, and i'm happy enough with it, but my standards are so high that i don't think it's good enough. which is a common thing with creatives and just know that what you make is good because it's yours and you made it, and that's all that matters!

#char rambles #char writes #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x y/n #reader insert fic #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe blurb #char's mutuals #˚:✧｡• julie #xavier thorpe reader insert

[morelikeravenbore]

✨Don't Tell Ominis

I wrote this fun little oneshot for my dear friend @sleepywitchlory, whose MC Lory is as sweet, kind and loyal as she is, and whose friendship in this fandom I will always treasure and keep close to my heart.

Content warnings: none, unless you're triggered by offensive footwear. SFW.

Word count: 1.9k

Lory and Alistair belong to @sleepywitchlory.

[my hogwarts legacy masterlist]

Accidentally conjuring a dragon with Ancient Magic wasn't exactly what most would consider a stroke of luck, but as the secret entrance to the Undercroft slammed shut behind her, Aurélie thought herself very lucky on several accounts: first, that the dragon had been small, as far as dragons go; second, that Sebastian hadn't been there to witness her embarrassing blunder (because, as enthusiastic as he was about her practising her magic, she felt certain even he would draw the line at conjuring fire-breathing demon-lizards in a school; and third, that she'd managed to escape said demon-lizard without so much as a singed hair (hers, not the dragons.)

Luck — if one ignored the extremely unlucky circumstances that directly proceeded it — was on her side.

Read on 👇

Or so she thought, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the still silence of the empty Defence tower, announcing the swift arrival of unidentified others.

Merde.

Fearing her luck had already run out, Aurélie raised her wand, intending to conceal herself under a hasty disillusionment, when a familiar voice gave her pause.

'Ouch!' hissed the voice from somewhere close by. 'Sebastian, that's my foot!'

'Bloody hell, Lory,' replied a second, much louder voice, 'if you'd stop clutching my arm so hard -'

'Will you both shut up before somebody hears us?'

Moments later, Aurélie breathed a sigh of relief as three slightly disheveled and out-of-breath figures appeared from beneath the guise of magical concealment. Luck had come to her aid again, but this time in the form of three of her four best friends, who each stared back at her with wildly varying expressions on their faces: surprise (Lory, pleasant), skepticism (Sebastian, shrewd), and indifferent (Alistair, cold.)

'Aura!' said Lory cheerfully, her strawberry-blonde hair gilded under the warm the torchlight.

'Aura?' echoed Sebastian, less cheerfully, his wild brown curls standing up in disarray.

Alistair, standing slightly away from the others, said nothing.

'What are you doing here?' Lorraine Jones, ever the sweet-natured Hufflepuff, saw nothing nefarious in her best friend being out past curfew and was simply happy to be united again. 'Were you in the Undercroft?' she asked, linking their arms together. 'You smell different. Like... charcoal?'

'She's right,' agreed Sebastian, leaning in to take an exaggerated a whiff of Aurélie's vivid red hair, 'you stink.'

'Hey!'

'Why were you in the Undercroft?' he went on, his brown eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. Where Lory's natural kindness saw only the best in every situation, Sebastian's Slytherin nature meant he was predisposed to believe the exact opposite. 'Were you alone? How long have you been down there? Why didn't you ask me to come?'

'Who cares why she was in the Undercroft,' muttered Alistair, who, generally speaking, didn't care much what anyone did so long as it didn't encroach on him. 'Why aren't we going into the Undercroft?'

Aurélie threw her arms out wide.

'No!' she cried as the dark-haired Slytherin made for the concealed entrance. 'You can't go in there!'

Alistair Cushing, distant descendant of Salazar Slytherin, inarguably the most intimidating student in the entire school, and - thanks to Lory's innate ability to befriend quite literally anyone or any thing - the newest addition to their friend group, fixed her with a piercing blue-eyed stare, clearly affronted

'And why not?' he asked, his calm tone thick with a disdain only those borne of Slytherin blood could afford; Alistair, like his cousin Ominis, did not take kindly to being told what to do.

'Yeah!' agreed Sebastian, elbowing him out of the way. 'Why not?'

'Because I said so!' snapped back Aurélie, who was not descended from ancient, all-powerful Parselmouths, but from a very long line of equally-formidable French women.

Alistair raised his eyes to the ceiling, silently praying for patience, while beside her, still clinging to Aurélie's arm, Lory bounced on the balls of her feet.

'Oooh,' she giggled, pinching her best friends elbow, 'did you sneak a boy down there, Aura?'

'What?' Aurélie's spluttered cry of indignation was rivalled only by that of Sebastian's.

'What boy?' they said in unison.

'What boy?' repeated Sebastian. 'Did you show someone the Undercroft? The Undercroft is supposed to be a secret! You're not allowed to do that!'

'Why not? You showed it to me!' Aurélie retorted.

'And me!' added Lory.

'Me, too,' came from Alistair.

Sebastian pulled a face. 'Yeah, well...' he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. 'You lot are different. That doesn't count. Only I'm allowed to share the knowledge of the Undercroft.'

'Excuse me?' Alistair rounded on him, standing taller in his indignation. 'The Undercroft has been known by my descendants for a thousand years, I do not need your permission to -'

'Oh, please,' Sebastian interrupted, rolling his eyes as Alistair bared down on him. 'You're like Ominis' third cousin, it's hardly a connection to boast about.'

'Right, and you're the third cousin of nobody, so why do you get to set the rules -'

'Because I've been using the Undercroft since first year!'

'So what? My family's been using it since the school was founded!'

Aura and Lory exchanged a silent, long-suffering look.

'Now, now, you two,' Lory intervened, stepping between the arguing boys with her palms raised. 'Play nice, or Aura won't tell us about her romantic rendezvous in the Undercroft.'

'Lory, I did not sneak a boy into the Undercroft! The only boys I know are...' she gestured vaguely at the two Slytherins before them, the taller of which groaned aloud and rolled his eyes.

'For the love of Salazar,' muttered Alistair, 'has there ever in the entire thousand-year history of Hogwarts been a Ravenclaw who gave a straight answer? Because I've certainly never met one.' He turned to fix Aurélie with his signature ice-prince glare. 'Why,' he said very deliberately, 'are we not allowed in the Undercroft?'

Aurélie gulped.

'Because I -' She shot a panicked look between each of her friends, wondering how much longer her luck was going to hold out. So far, beyond her narrow escape from her little magical mishap, luck had kept away any meddling prefects, professors or ghosts, and ensured that the roaring of the accidental dragon couldn't be heard several floors above it. At any rate, it was no good trying to hide a bloody dragon; someone was bound to notice eventually, so she might as well just admit to her mistake and hope that somehow luck would, well... fix it.

'Because, I - well, because I accidentally conjured a dragon down there.'

The silence that followed was so dense Aurélie had to wiggle her finger in her ear. Three stunned faces gaped back at her, and then, all at once -

'You conjured a what?'

'You conjured a dragon where?'

'Ooh, can we name it Nugget?'

'Lory, please,' Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We've been over this, you cannot keep a dragon as a pet.'

Lory pouted. 'But why?'

'I don't understand,' Alistair cut in, one brow arched so high Aurélie was sure it would never come down again. 'If you conjured it, why can't you just... un-conjure it?'

'No!' cried the two girls in unison, their combined outrage echoing through the tower with enough force to wake the entire school.

'Are you mad? You can't just un-conjure an animal!'

'It's a living creature, Alistair!'

'How would you like it if I un-conjured you?'

'How could you be so unfeeling?'

'Bad move, Cushing,' Sebastian chuckled, clapping the tall bewildered Slytherin on the shoulder. 'I know you're only new to the group, but there are two rules you need to observe if you want to stay on the girls' good sides: never threaten Lory's Beasts, and never question Aura's fashion advice.'

'Yes, speaking of!' said Aurélie sharply, eyeing Sebastian's feet with disdain. 'I thought we agreed against those shoes!'

'Uh... t-these shoes? Are you sure? I don't recall, I think you're confused with my other shoes...'

'They are pretty ugly, Sebby,' Lory agreed, wrinkling her nose at the offending monstrosities that Sebastian considered appropriate footwear.

Aurélie threw her hands up, exasperated. 'They're hideous! We talked about this, you promised you were going to get rid of them!'

'Aw, bad move, Sallow,' smirked Alistair. 'Perhaps you need a refresher on those rules, hm?'

'Never mind my shoes!' Sebastian scowled, dodging away from a very condescending shoulder pat. 'Id say the more pressing matter is the literal dragon -'

'Nugget,' Lory interjected.

' - a literal unnamed dragon,' he continued, raising his voice, 'that someone decided to conjure in our Undercroft.'

Aurélie bristled. 'I didn't decide to -'

' — just seems a very unlikely thing to do by accident —'

'— on earth would I want to purposely conjure a —'

'— what goes on in your head half the time —'

'Enough!'

It wasn't often that Lorraine Jones lost her temper. She was, after all, the temperate voice of reason among the chaos; the gentle Hufflepuff influence who took all sides into consideration and mediated the best outcome for everyone. She was the temperate warmth to Alistair's coldness; the voice of reason to Sebastian's impulsivity; and a true friend to Aurélie, who'd shown up at Hogwarts two years prior, alone, overwhelmed, and grieving the untimely death of her parents. Without Lory, their unlikely friend group would be nothing but a fractured band of orphans, misfits and outcasts; Aurelie in her Ravenclaw tower, the three snakes in the dungeons, each of them separated by grief, isolated by trauma.

Lory was undoubtedly the glue that kept them all together - but, Merlin, when she was angry...

'Sebastian!' she snapped, jabbing a small but mighty finger at his face. 'For once in your life, shut up! And Aurélie!' she went on, interrupting the face she was pulling at Sebastian. 'Stop arguing with him!' Finally, she turned her wrath to the dark-haired boy, but when he only raised an unconcerned brow, she opened her mouth, closed it, then turned away, shrugging.

'Now,' she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips. 'Aura made a mistake, but bickering about it isn't going to get banish a dragon now, is it? Really, we should consider ourselves lucky that the situation isn't much worse!'

'Lucky?' Alistair echoed, laughing for quite possibly the first time in his entire life. 'Oh, my dear friends, facing a dragon is the least of your worries now.'

Sebastian frowned, clearly as confused as the rest of them. But then a slow-dawning horror broke across his face. 'Oh,' he said.

Aurélie paled, envisioning a dragon loose in the school, Hogwarts destroyed by fire, or worse - expulsion.

'What?' she demanded, palms sweaty. 'Sebastian Sallow, don't "oh" me! What is Alistair talking about?'

'Oh ho ho,' he said again, but this time with laughter in his voice. He turned to Alistair. 'You know, it isn't really my Undercroft, is it, Cushing?'

'For once in your life, Sallow, you are correct. Nor is it mine, really, being, as you mentioned, only a very distant relative to the Gaunt's. Hardly a connection at all, when you think about it.'

Aurélie turned, panic-stricken, to face her best friend.

'Oh, no,' she said.

'Oh, no,' Lory agreed.

Alistair cracked a rare smile. 'There's only one true owner of the Undercroft, after all...'

'And you, my favourite little Ancient Magic weilder,' Sebastian said, throwing an arm around Aurélie's shoulders, 'just stuck a great dirty dragon in the middle of the Heir of Slytherin's most treasured room.'

Luck fleed before her, leaving cold dread in its wake as a new set of echoing footsteps moved slowly toward them, accompanied by the unmistakeable red glow of a semi-sentient wand.

Ominis' sharp voice reached them first, slicing through the heavy silence like severing charm.

'You did what in my Undercroft?'

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy mc #aurelie collins #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #lorraine jones #ravenclaw x hufflepuff #morelikeravenbore writes

[stitchthesewords]

Redstone for Writers Part 2: Redstone Adjacents

Okay! You made it through the basics but you still have some questions - How do minecarts work with redstone? What's a logic gate? How do you keep yourself from getting lost in more complicated redstone machinery? Well good news for you - Part 2 is here! I've tried to split it up into what everything is - minecarts under the Minecarts section, an AND gate under the logic gate section, so on and so forth.

But first- How do we keep from getting lost?

An excellent question! The answer, my dear friends, is wool. Redstoners often make wool farms in survival because its a cheap, reliable, and easy way to get distinct, brightly colored blocks to keep track of multiple lines of redstone, as seen below.

Now, that particular redstone machine is more simple than the monstrosity that, say, the Decked Out 2 bus line is, but I think it gets the idea across. You want to keep your redstone more or less on the same line and I'll be doing my best to do so when I get into some of the more complicated logic gates further on in this resource. Not all redstoners do this, but I find even when you know what you're doing it can be helpful to see at a glance what line goes where.

Minecarts

Lets start this section by talking about the different kind of carts

At the very front here is the standard Minecart. This minecart allows you or another mob entity to ride it. You can drive it forward and backwards very slowly with your movement keys.

Starting from Left to right along the back row is the Furnace Minecart. You can put fuel in this minecart and it will self-propel on tracks forwards and can also push other carts on the track. One piece of Coal or Charcoal allows the minecart to run for 3 minutes. IMPORTANT: The Minecart will run in the direction you are facing when you place the fuel inside. This minecart can also link up with 2 [the wiki says 4 but I tested it and it only ever would pull 2 so. For our purposes, 2] other minecarts and pull them along if done in a very specific way, demonstrated in the gif below.

Your back two minecarts need to be against a wall and you must place the furnace minecart so that it rolls back into them. They will unlink if the minecart goes around a bend so this can only be used in specific situations such as moving villagers or items between a straight point a and b. For this reason, the furnace minecart is more often placed at the back. However, a furnace minecart can only push 1 cart from the back, but it can go around corners because they aren't linked. There also needs to be a gap between the furnace minecart and the minecart it's pushing so the furnace cart can get started before they bump into one another. It can push carts uphill and maintains the same speed up or downhill for the entirety of its runtime.

The next minecart in the line is Chest Minecart. This minecart has the storage of a single chest and can be fed into by hoppers and also feed out into hoppers. The more full a chest minecart is, the less boost it gets from powered rails. An empty chest minecart goes 64 blocks from a powered rail. A full chest minecart only goes 16.

The next minecart is the TNT Minecart. There are several ways to activate the TNT within the minecart:

Activator rail

Destroyed in motion [except in creative mode]

Destroyed by fire, lava, or explosion

Hit with a fire charge [Java only]

Instant Detonation can be caused by:

Falling down more than 3 blocks

Hit by flaming arrow

Runs into a block or entity with velocity

Runs into a block or entity on a curve

it starts with an explosion value of 4 [which is the same as standard TNT] but the game randomly assigns it a bonus value of up to 1.5 times its velocity. The faster its moving, the more it explodes. If it falls, the game divides the distance by 10 in order to determined the bonus value.

The last minecart seen is the Hopper Minecart. This is functionally exactly what it sounds like, with a few important differences. The hopper minecart pulls items in at a rate of 20 items per second, which is 8 times faster than the standard hopper. If the hopper minecart is on an incline when it pulls in items, it goes even faster. It can be locked and unlocked with activator rails, which will be discussed a little bit later. TLDR: A locked hopper cannot pull items, an unlocked hopper can.

There are also two other kinds of minecarts, Spawner Minecart and Command Block Minecart. The command block minecart is obtained using the /give command and the spawner minecart is obtained using the /summon command. The command block minecart is functionally the same as a regular command block within a minecart. The spawner minecart is functionally the same as a spawner within a minecart, with the exception that the mob being spawned must be set during the /summon command or with NBT tags - it cannot be set with Spawn Eggs.

Now for the rails. From left to right we'll start with the Rail. This is just your standard minecart rail and is the cheapest of the 4 to make. They are the only rail that can curve. If hooked up to a redstone signal, you can flip the direction of the curve .

Next up is the Powered Rail. These rails can be powered with a redstone signal which accelerate a minecart travelling over them. Additionally, if the minecart is against a block and the rail is powered, the minecart will accelerate - if you power the rail without the block behind the minecart the minecart wont go anywhere. A powered rail that isn't powered acts as a brake.

Next we have the Detector Rail. It is activated when a minecart is on and and deactivated when there is not a minecart on it. In its activated state it outputs a redstone signal which can be used in other mechanisms. The power level it outputs is 15 unless the detector rail is connected to a comparator, in which case the comparator reads out the fullness of the minecart on top of it. With a tnt, furnace, or regular minecart, the comparator outputs a 0. With a chest or hopper minecart, the comparator reads out the fulness of the container as discussed in Part 1 of this guide.

Lastly is the Activator Rail. This can activate different components when powered, such as TNT or locking hoppers. An activated rail can also eject mobs and players when their cart rolls over it. An activator rail can also trigger command block minecarts. An unactivated activator rail can unlock locked hopper minecarts.

Clocks

There are an endless variety of clock options in Minecraft so I'm only going to go over the most common/easiest ones that I personally use frequently. These pulse a redstone signal for things that need to be fired repeated, say for example a dropper or dispenser.

Our first clock is a form of rapid pulsar clock specifically called a Torch Loop. This is the oldest form of clock in minecraft.

Another very old form of clock in Minecraft is the Repeater Clock. Functionally this works the same as the above clock, but more compact and easy to control. The clock, however, has to be manually started by placing and breaking a redstone torch fast enough. An easy way to do this, seen in the video, is letting a torch burn out on top of a redstone block.

Both of the above clocks can be extended by adding more torches or repeaters but overall, control over their speed is not great. For a more modern approach to rapid pulse clocks, enter the Observer Clock. This is a clock made by two observers facing each other.

All of these clocks, you can pull your redstone pulse from anywhere there is dust or torches on the clock, as long as the redstone further down the line does not output its own signal and feed back into the clock.

Below is a Hopper Clock which is by far the most useful of the modern clock builds in my opinion. The two hoppers, as you can see by the arrows, feed into each other. They can have a variable number of items inside them from 1 to 320 items, and each time a hopper completely empties into another hopper, the comparators pulse causing the pistons to move the redstone block. The redstone block locks whatever hopper it's in front of, meaning that the hopper can't spit out the items contained within it until the other hopper empties out. You can then pick a side to pull a redstone signal from and pulse that signal into your builds. If you need a pulse longer than 320 items for whatever reason, the hopper clock can be linked to another clock.

#dont reblog this yet!!!!!! #please and thank you!!!! #the logic gate section got WAY too long so I'm having to break it up into smaller sections #but I want it all to be on the same post #So

[redheadspark]

Can I have Benedict with [ LOOK ] for receiver to catch sender gazing adoringly at them and ❝ i’m not staring, i’m admiring. ❞?

A/N: Thank you for the request, anon!

Gaze On.

Summary: You've always were able to stop Benedict in his tracks, even with a simple gaze.

Warnings: Just some fluff!

"And right....there! Perfect!" You hummed in delight as the last easel was placed in the perfect spot, you clasping your hands in glee as the room was finally placed together and was a stunning sight to see and behind. All of these weeks of you planning out how you wished for this room to look was finally done and completed, nothing out of place or missing. Two of the servants looked just as pleased as you looked at them. "Thank you! A thousand times, thank you! You're far too kind to help me with Mr. Bridgerton's birthday present! I can't thank you enough!" You hugged them both, not being able to continue the excitement inside of you, "Please don't tell him! It's going to be a surpise!" "Of course, ma'am," They replied, leaving the room and letting you drink in the entire birthday present you were going to gift your husband. It included fresh charcoal sticks, new paint brushes and canvas of various sizes, one massive easel that was easy to use and maintain with new pencils sharpened at the ready, and several new notepads and journals for doodling and drawing.

All in all, you were giving Benedict his own studio at your new home.

Ever since you two met though your mutual friend and family acquaintance Penelope, you both were attached to the hip. He made excuses to see you at your family estate of when you were out and about with your friends. There was something about his boyish charm and optimism about life that did entrance you and invite you him, not to mention how he gazed at you with love and longingness as well. Whether you were at a polo match with your families, or just strolling through the park during a rousing conversation about art and which artist was going to make breakthrough, you caught his gaze on you. Almost like he was staring right at his muse that would change his life forever. He called you his muse, right before he kissed you for the first time and took your heart into his hold so easily.

"It's not polite to stare you know," You explained as you two kissed, though Benedict still had you in his arms as he shook his head.

"I'm not staring, I'm admiring my muse," He replied, leaning in to kiss you again.

Benedict was introduced to your parents soon after, both of whom were smitten with his charm and quick wit at his first dinner with your family. He was none the less charming and kind, the true gentleman that you father knew would be worthy of your hand someday. You married 6 months later, finding your own home to settle in and to start a new chapter together. Every stare he gave you was filled with love. Whether it was a playful stare when you two played games with his family at their estate, or lustful when he took you to bed and in his arms. You adored his eyes on you, feeling a sense of peace and love rolled into one.

"Darling, I'm home!" You heard from the other side of the hallway near the front of the house. You flew out of the studio, closing the door barely to not have him see before you rushed down to meet him. There he was, giving his coat to one of the servants and seeing you rush to him. "Come now, my dear. Why are you rushing with a smile on your face?" He asked in curiosity, a smile was there too. You just took his hand and started pulling at him to follow, hearing and feeling him come willingly. He just chuckled as your clutched your hands around his one to make sure he was coming.

"I have your present ready for you," You explained, hearing him slightly hum. "My birthday is not until next week, darling girl. Shouldn't I wait until then?" He asked almost coyly. You just giggled.

"Not with this gift, I promise you," You reassured him finally getting him to stand in front of the doors into his new studio. You turned back to him, seeing how he looked beyond intrigued as you moved him to the right spot. He grinned widely, playing along with the tactic as you gave him a kind look of anticipation and excitement rolled into one.

"You and I have talked about you wanting your own room to be yourself, to be free with your work," You explained, seeing him cock his head at you as you pushed the doors open behind you as you kept your stare at him to see his reaction. The light in the room hit his face first, making him squint and almost adjust to the light shining on his handsome face. But one he saw what was in there, you moved out of the way for him to drink it all in. Watching on bated breath, Sousa this face melt into a massive smile that almost engulfed his entire face and then some.

He walked in a few steps, seeing every tool and piece that was his and his alone. You saw his head move, his eyes traveling around to what was nestled against the walls or out in the open with the easel there and a canvas at the ready on the easel. He was so silent the whole time almost making you wish you knew what he was thinking about and how he was feeling about this.

Finally, after a solid minute of him looking at all of the room, he turned back to you. Joy, pure joy that only Benedict would ever have within himself was etched on his face and within his eyes as he looked at you. You felt a sense of ease, no longer wondering if he ever liked what you did for him. It was there, right there on his face as he finally waltzed over to you within a few strides and scooped you in his arms. Squealing in the gesture, he twirled you and kissed you soundly in his new studio.

"This is magic, darling girl! Pure pure magic! I cannot thank you enough, dear wife!" He hummed against your lips as he kissed you a few more times, lowering you finally on your feet right next to the easel that was in the middle of the room. You just grinned and trapped his face in your hands.

If all you had for the rest of your life was tis one smile, this one gaze and look or adoration from Benedict, then you would be satisfied. He was filled with life, nothing slowing him down or hindering him. You only wished you had that within yourself, but you were happy enough to have it from him.

"You have brought me nothing but magic from the moment you courted me all that time ago," You reminded him, "I only wish to give a little bit of that magic back to you in this room, your room. Find your muse in here!"

"Ah, but I'm holding my muse. The only muse I will ever need in my life," He said in a low manner, kissing your eyes and cheeks as he then gave you a alluring look with his gaze, having you look your breath for a solid moment as he went on, "And for my first piece in this studio, I wish to draw you....wearing nothing but the necklace I gave you as a wedding present,"

You grinned wickedly, already sensing the thrill of this room.

The End.

#benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fandom #bridgerton #fanfiction #writing #luke thomspon #luke thompson

[saellefanwork]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Mature (adults only) for canon-typical violence and eventual suggestive or explicit sexual content

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Chapter 26: Grief and Gratitude

Tanjiro visits Kyojuro to see how he is holding on.

Author's note: Happy New Year with delay guuuuys! Sorry that I'm a bit late, I was more wasted than expected after the new year lmao. That's the pros and cons of hosting the party, I guess. Not everyone can be as flashy as our dear Uzui the days following such an incredible night of cosplaying and playing board/video games with my gang!

Anyway, this is a long chapter, and I think it's FINALLY a calm one where some good things happen. 2024 shall bring less angst and suffering to our characters, I swear!

There's actually only two chapters left. The rest will be bonuses!

Kyojuro held your hand, which seemed so delicate and cold in his, his eyes tracing the calluses and scars that adorned your palm and fingers. To most, such marks might appear unsightly, but the former Flame Pillar found them beautiful. They were the hands of a warrior who had battled, bled, and made profound sacrifices in the relentless pursuit of protecting others.

As a Pillar of the Kisatsutai, he was no stranger to the concept of sacrifice. To fulfill his duty and shield the vulnerable or his subordinates, he had willingly placed his life on the line, time and time again, without a moment's hesitation. Yet, upon reflection, he could recognize the boundaries of his own resolve when compared to yours. As a proud heir of the Rengokus, he found himself unable, or at the very least highly reluctant, to compromise his image, dignity, or principles. Becoming a demon, remaining one to vanquish his foes and save innocent people, or even accepting the loss of a civilian to ambush an Upper Moon—these were not options for him if the decisions were his to make. But you, you could seize such opportunities, unburdened by the fear of tarnishing your honor if it meant safeguarding your loved ones or more lives. To fight against monsters, one must accept the possibility of becoming a monster himself. Sacrifices were part of being a Demon Slayer, a reality well known to all, yet few were willing to soil their hands to fulfill their duty. By shouldering such weight, you demonstrated a level of selflessness that exceeded his own. In this aspect, you reminded him of his dear friend Tengen, who had quite a dark past too. Both of you were more honorable than him in his opinion, even though others might unjustly criticize your lifepaths. He acknowledged that he, too, had been unjust to you at some point.

His thoughts meandered through memories of the challenging last few months that the two of you had faced together. It was difficult to fathom that nearly a year ago, he had professed his love to you for the first time, after years of close friendship. The recollection of your initial kiss brought a faint smile to his lips, though the subsequent events left him burdened with profound sorrow and regret. His upbringing had instilled within him a stringent code of conduct, deeply rooted in bushido principles, but it offered no pardon for his past actions. He understood that you had forgiven him already, yet he longed to voice his remorse once more. How much he wanted to talk to you again...

"Rengoku-san Aniki..."

The Hashira raised his head slightly upon hearing his name, his thoughts disrupted as he turned halfway toward the room's entrance. He must have been deeply engrossed in his contemplation not to have sensed the presence of his former tsuguko approaching The young man stood near the door, his expression tinged with concern.

"Come over here, Tanjiro my boy," Kyojuro invited, tapping the seat beside him, unconsciously mimicking their second meeting on the train. The charcoal burner was taken aback by his superior addressing him by his given name, although Giyuu was also using it since the Hashira training. It wasn't unwelcome; in fact, quite the opposite. He nodded warmly and approached with a smile, which turned sad as he glanced at you.

"Nagase-san, she is..."

"Hmm! Kanoko has been in a coma for three months, as I'm sure your little sister has explained to you," Kyojuro began, his voice remaining as robust and steady as ever. "Nezuko has been a tremendous aid in taking care of her. The butterfly girls fon't allow me to tend to her, citing modesty and feminine dignity, so all I can do is hold her hand when they're not attending to her."

Tanjiro smiled compassionately at his former mentor, finding it admirable that Kyojuro could still provide kind and reassuring smiles despite the helplessness he must be feeling. He could hear and smell the worry and hint of self-deprecation that the retired Pillar exuded.

"I was informed that her body has endured significant strain due to her Blood Demon Art," Tanjiro confirmed as he settled into the offered seat. "But her scent suggests she's in a peaceful slumber, at least. I wouldn't be surprised if she awakens soon," he added with sincerity, wearing an encouraging smile.

Kyojuro's large eyes widened slightly as he gazed at his tsuguko, then his expression softened. "That's wonderful news, Tanjiro! I also have faith she'll wake up soon, but it's comforting to hear it from a person who truly believes it too."

The two young men remained at your side for an extended period, sharing updates and easygoing conversation, occasionally punctuated by tranquil silences. The months they had spent together as master and disciple had forged a camaraderie that resembled a fraternal bond, something that the boy in the checkered haori found both gratifying and pride-worthy.

"Rengo... Kyojuro-san," Tanjiro ventured timidly, emboldened by the informal address now used by his senpai. He was relieved to see that the older man didn't correct him. "How about we take a walk outside? It might help clear your mind, and I need to attend my recovery training anyway."

"Excellent idea!" Kyojuro responded enthusiastically. "How about I supervise your training, as a tribute to the months you've spent as my tsuguko?"

"With pleasure!" the young boy replied, his enthusiasm undiminished, despite his lingering apprehension. He vividly remembered the demanding nature of the Flame Pillar's tutoring, but he was not one to shy away from challenges or intimidation. He was the eldest son after all!

You awoke for the first time since the final battle a few days after the conversation between Tanjiro and Kyojuro. The enticing aroma of food miraculously pulled you out of the limbo where you had been immersed for months. Slowly, you opened your eyes, your stomach growling despite your confused state. The first thing that met your gaze was Aoi leaning over you, her brows furrowed, her serious face almost entirely filling your blurred field of vision.

She professionally lifted your eyelids and examined each of your pupils before straightening.

"It's good to see you've regained consciousness, Nagase-san. You've been showing signs of restlessness in your slumber for a few hours now, so I suspected you'd wake up soon. How do you feel?"

"Very weak...," you murmured, your voice hoarse and almost inaudible. "Food... smells good..."

"Does it? It's just soup, though. Now that you're fully human again, you can have it for dinner. Sorry that your first meal in so long can't be something more special, but you'll need to eat soft food for at least a few days."

Despite your disoriented state, a powerful emotion overcame you. Human food, not the blood of wild animals or the one of your dear comrades... you had almost forgotten how a real good meal tasted. How long had you been asleep, anyway? Your gaze instinctively turned toward the window above you. The setting sun bathed the cherry blossoms and plum trees of the Butterfly Estate's courtyard in a silky light with warm pink hues. It was already spring… You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at having missed so much precious time with your loved ones.

Aoi supported you to sit up and slipped the tray of food in front of you. Despite the hunger and the joy of being human again (and alive), a question gnawed at you.

"Kyojuro...?"

"He's doing well. He had to be placed in intensive care after the battle, but he was only unconscious for two weeks afterward. He started his rehabilitation a month ago." Rehabilitation? You didn't have time to inquire further as she continued, "He was doing exercises with Tanjiro and Inosuke. I didn't want to give him false hope, so I didn’t tell him that you might wake up soon, but I saw Kaname-san fly off his perch when you emerged. He should be back any moment now."

You had many questions, but it was difficult to speak, so you settled for nodding and focused on eating. Soup had never feel so good, and it was frustrating that your hand trembled a whole lot. Your watchful assistant only intervened when necessary, letting you reacquaint yourself with moving again as much as possible. After a few spoonfuls, you already began to feel a bit better.

Toward the end of the laborious meal, Kyojuro burst into the chamber with a deafening crash of the western door.

"Kanoko! You're really awake!" he exclaimed with a huge smile, his face radiating both contagious joy and profound relief.

"Don't shout in the patient's room," Aoi snapped at him.

Ignoring her, your childhood friend jumped swiftly to your side, taking your hand in his. His shunpo made an unusual, loud clicking sound, almost like he had struck the ground with something hard, but your foggy mind didn't delve into the details. You smiled tenderly at your beloved, gently caressing his face with your free hand. He hastily kissed your palm and rested his cheek against it, gazing at you with fondness. Embarrassed by your open displays of affection, Aoi coughed and grumbled about the Flame Pillar's incorrigible behavior.

"Kyojuro... I'm relieved to see you in good shape," you said with an amused tone, as much as your rusty vocal cords allowed.

"Hmm! Kocho's rehabilitation therapy is as effective as ever. You'll be back on your feet soon too, Kanoko! Right, Kanzaki?"

He turned his attention to your nurse, seeking her confirmation, but Aoi's countenance took on a somber and sorrowful complexion. She tightly gripped the hem of her apron, nervously fidgeting with it.

"Um... yes! My master has already prepared customized treatments for both of you. You'll regain your strength quickly, Nagase-san."

Your gaze shifted between Kyojuro, whose expression had subtly closed off although he maintained a reassuring smile, and the remorseful young girl before you. You decided to address the aspiring doctor directly.

"What do I need to know, Kanzaki? I was aware of the risks every time I used my Blood Demon Art. What's the final diagnosis?"

Aoi's countenance deepened into a new shade of sadness, but she responded, "Well... according to Shinobu-senpai's analyses, it appears that the Time Backlash has caused irreversible damage to your body, Nagase-san... especially the last two instances during your transition back to your human form. While most of your battle injuries have left minor scars, many of your organs seem to have weakened, as if they've prematurely aged. I'm truly sorry to have to deliver this news like this, but... in this state, it's unlikely that you will live past thirty."

The absence of surprise in Kyojuro's darkened expression, who was no longer smiling, indicated that he had already been informed of the situation. He inspected your reaction with concern, raising his eyebrows when he noticed you softly laughing.

"In the context of a demon hunter's lifespan, thirty years equates to old age. An early end is a small price to pay for the miracles granted by my Blood Demon Art, and it would be in poor taste to complain when Marked individuals have even less time ahead of them." A menacing anguish stirred within you as you thought of the fate awaiting most of the remaining Pillars and Tanjiro... but you pushed it aside for now. Kyojuro held your hand tighter; you managed to continue, "I have no regrets. Thank you for informing me about all this, Kanzaki."

"Don't thank me... you have every right to be angry or sad, you know. What's happening to you is unfair. The rest of us stayed behind, which is why we are alive and in good health. On the other hand, you fought valiantly, and..."

She burst into tears, unable to finish her sentence.

"...And we were rewarded with a magnificent victory," Kyojuro continued, completing her thought and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The end of a thousand-year-old war. That is worth all the sacrifices. We did it precisely because we didn’t want others to go through the same hardships as we did. Unlike many fallen comrades, we even have the chance to witness the dawn of a world without demons, where the new generations can live without fearing the night. Don't be sad, Kanzaki. Let's cherish the time we have left together, in honor of those who departed this world too soon. And who knows, miracles may happen!"

Aoi continued to cry while nodding vigorously. "I promise we'll do our best to keep you healthy for as long as possible! We'll defy the odds!"

"I have no doubt that you all will do an extraordinary job, thank you!" Kyojuro exclaimed enthusiastically, his gentle pat turning into an encouraging slap on her shoulder.

"Whatever happens, we'll forever be grateful for your care," you added with a sincere smile.

Aoi threw herself into your arms, and both you and Kyojuro chuckled at her outpouring of emotion. It was rare to see the young girl in this state, as she typically wore a mask of severity and discontent. You returned her embrace warmly, gently rubbing top of her head.

The butterfly nurse eventually left the room, and you quickly drifted back to sleep after the meal, your body still recovering. Kyojuro remained steadfast by your side throughout the night, despite the staff's insistence that he should lie in the neighboring bed. You didn't try to persuade him otherwise, fully aware of his stubbornness and relishing the comfort of having him close.

Dawn broke, and you awoke again, a habit perhaps formed during your last year as a demon desperately avoiding daylight. Sensing your restlessness, Kyojuro opened his valid eye as well.

"What's wrong, Kanoko? Is there something you need?"

"The sunrise..." you whispered, your voice strained from fatigue.

Initially, Kyojuro assumed you were still half asleep and was about to reassure you that the sun couldn't harm you anymore. However, he soon realized that fear was not the cause of your reaction. With an understanding gleam in his eye, he gently lifted you into his arms, cradling you as if you weighed nothing. He swiftly wrapped a blanket around you then carefully carried you outside. Once again, you noticed something different in his gait and the sound of his footsteps, but your thoughts were swept away when he executed a leap that brought you both to the rooftop. A tile broke beneath him after his slightly ungraceful landing, and he muttered to himself about Kocho going to kill him later for that mishap.

You chuckled softly, abruptly halting as you felt the first rays of light on your skin. Your gaze wandered toward the horizon, where the lush tropical forest and the mountains gradually came to life under the gentle morning glow. The colors of spring blossomed before you, vibrant and more captivating than ever, while the melodious symphony of birds celebrated the dawning of a new era. As you observed the daystar emerging from the dew-kissed landscape, you couldn't help but be reminded of Kyojuro's warmth. The soothing rays caressed your skin, which had grown pale after a year of darkness. You closed your eyes, basking in the embrace of the sunshine, a tear of joy tracing a path down your cheek. The Flame Hashira watched you in profound silence as you savored your first peaceful sunrise.

"My time as a demon has been a challenge for both of us, but I want to thank you for being my guiding light through this long and painful night," you whispered serenely.

You couldn't see it, but a myriad of emotions danced across Kyojuro's features. You felt him draw nearer, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his touch welcome, though you could sense it was tinged with a hint of restraint. You opened your eyes, meeting the blazing sea of his gaze. You couldn't help but get lost momentarily in the contemplation of his captivating beauty, his radiance accentuated by the blessing of the morning sun.

"In truth, Kanoko, it's the opposite," he murmured. "Thank you for all the times you saved me, despite knowing the consequences it would have on our relationship and your own well-being. Without your unwavering dedication and sacrifices, I don't know if we would have won, and for sure I would have never experienced the joy of witnessing the dawn of a demon-free world with you."

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you lifted your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with profound emotions. You perceived a fleeting hesitation and a hint of tension on his side, causing you to pull back slightly, searching his eye with a questioning expression. He averted his gaze uncomfortably.

"I didn't want us to have this discussion right away, but... it seems necessary now. I love you with all my heart, Kanoko. My deepest desire is to cherish the years we have left together and make the most of it. However, given our potentially limited time, I would understand if you felt the need to seek someone with a better chance of living a full life, a man who could watch your future children grow if you decide to have any," he spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen.

You could sense the load of his speech, the difficult contemplation he had undertaken while you were in your coma. The recent events must have weighed heavily on him, and it was clear that he had grappled with this resolution to give up on you. It struck you that your positions had reversed from a previous conversation you'd had, right before he embarked on his mission aboard the Mugen Train.

"What about you, Kyojuro?" you asked, your gaze fixed on him. "Do you desire to find a healthy partner who might have a better chance of raising your future children?"

The former Flame Pillar shook his head firmly, his gentle smile unwavering as he looked deep into your eyes.

"No, I don't. I want no one but you in my life, and I believe I'd rather be alone than seek another solely for the sake of normalcy. However, I would like you to take some time to seriously consider it, now that we are free from our duties and can meditate on these matters. I wouldn't want to deprive you selfishly of a better future; I could never forgive myself if I did."

You rolled your eyes, hoping to convey that he was worrying needlessly.

"Kyojuro… Do you truly believe I would give up on you after all we've been through to hold onto each other? I don't want anyone else in my life either."

Despite your reassurances, you could tell that he had something more to say.

"Even if I'm not… the same as before?" he whispered uncertainly.

The vulnerability in his voice left you momentarily speechless. Sensing your confusion, Kyojuro lifted the folds of his hakama, revealing his left leg—or rather, the absence of it. In place of his limb was a prosthesis, primarily composed of wood and lightweight metal, stopping just short of the knee. You didn't recall that your companion had lost his leg during the battle, but he had been seriously injured and poisoned in that area. Perhaps Shinobu had deemed amputation necessary afterward due to complications.

Kyojuro expected a horrified or more saddened reaction, but you didn't show much surprise; instead, your irises lit up with understanding. The strange noises when he walked and his 'clumsiness' on the rooftop now made sense. Your expression softened, and you gently caressed the prosthesis. Was he afraid you would love him less because of his wounds or perceived weakness? You knew that the loss of his half his eyesight had affected him more than he had let on already. But to you, he was more than just raw strength, bravery, or swordsmanship. He was the person closest to your heart, and he was the most beautiful man in the world to you, with or without any scars or disabilities. You could only hope to help him see that.

"Really, Kyojuro... is this the best you can do to try to convince me that there's a worthier match for me? Because that's not working very well." you replied with a teasing smile.

He looked at you in surprise, not expecting your lighthearted response, before letting out an amused breath. He knew you well enough to realize that he wouldn't change your mind anytime soon. So he gave in to his desires and leaned closer to you, placing his lips on yours and adding his warmth to the daylight.

The following morning, your first recovery training exercises began. They weren't harsh, but given your condition, even standing proved to be a challenge. You could feel just how weakened your body had become, and something inside you told you that, apart from your life expectancy, you might never fully regain your pre-demonization strength and vitality. However, mastering total concentration breathing allowed you to get back on your feet relatively quickly, and after a few days, you could walk without support. It was at this point that Kyojuro proposed taking a stroll through the Kisatsutai cemetery, a suggestion to which you readily agreed. Although you had only briefly been a part of this army and had known only a fraction of its members, you still wanted to pay your respects to your fallen comrades. The idea of informing these brave warriors that their fight was over and they could finally rest in peace felt like an important step in allowing both of you to move forward.

As you strolled through the graves, placing a flower at each tombstone, you quickly ran out of chrysanthemums. You had left some baskets behind, thinking you might not have the energy for an extended walk, but since you were feeling fine, Kyojuro offered to go back to fetch them. He took a shortcut across the woods, perhaps pushing his prosthesis a little too hard, but he couldn't help testing his limits. You let out an exasperated sigh as you watched him jump from a tree branch to another playfully, despite Shinobu's warnings not to engage in unnecessary risks. However, you knew better than to judge him harshly; after all, you were not much different and recently had your share of scoldings for the same reasons. Old habits died hard, it seems.

After waiting for a few minutes, you felt the approach of two individuals along the path, likely some former members of the Corps or relatives of the deceased.

"Anehue! You're back to normal!"

You turned just in time to intercept Senjuro, who had sprinted toward you from a distance and launched himself into your arms. Wide-eyed, you held him tightly, a lump forming in your throat. Kyojuro had promised that you would visit his family after you had regained enough stamina to make the journey back to Komazawa, so you didn't expect to see his littler brother so soon, but you welcomed the chance nonetheless. It had been almost a year since you had last met; he had grown so much, and the tips of his spiky bangs now brushed against your nose. His familiar scent enveloped you along with the warmth of his embrace, and you noticed he had become stronger, although he remained a relatively ordinary young boy in that regard.

"Senjuro... I missed you so much..."

That was all you managed to say without breaking into tears. The teenager was crying freely in your arms, and you hugged him even tighter. After a few moments, you finally released him and took a step back, looking into his eyes for the first time after such a long time. The resemblance between the Rengokus was still as striking as ever, and Senjuro's puberty only emphasized his connection with his brother and father.

"Me too, Anehue... I'm so happy to see you again." His bass voice had deepened somewhere between his thirteenth and fourteenth spring. "Now that you're back to your human form and awake, we can see each other like we used to, right?"

You were about to respond affirmatively but froze as you remembered sensing another presence approaching earlier, now standing behind Senjuro. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you slowly raised your eyes to the third party, already knowing who it was: Rengoku Shinjuro. He must have witnessed the entire exchange. How would he react to learning the truth about you?

Contrary to your expectations, the gruff man appeared surprisingly relaxed. He stood with his arms crossed, adopting a pose that bore a resemblance to his eldest son's signature one, albeit more casually. His expression held a hint of exasperation and weariness, as he addressed you.

"Don't make that face, Nagase. Senjuro confessed everything to me weeks ago. I had suspected a while back that you had become a demon, which is why my sons avoided talking about you, and you stopped coming to the estate. If you had died, they would have eventually told me. But I must admit I didn't imagine you were fighting in that condition for the Kisatsutai, or that you had saved Kyojuro with your powers, and had been in a coma because of your Blood Demon Art.”

Lowering your gaze, you remained silent, still holding Senjuro's hand. Your beloved reappeared at that moment with new baskets of flowers, arriving through the path this time. His customary radiant smile suddenly turned vigilant upon noticing his father. While he greeted him respectfully, he subtly positioned himself slightly between the two of you in a protective gesture.

"It's been a while, Father. I'm glad to see you're in good health," he said sincerely, but with a touch of caution in his voice.

Indeed, the patriarch appeared to be sober and stable, displaying a composure that was unusual for him. In fact, you couldn't recall ever seeing him leave his home for anything other than sake runs. You wondered how long this change had been occurring. Senjuro's timid but relaxed smile seemed to indicate that it had been a while.

"Humph. It would be better if you came back more often and stayed longer, like I'd expect from my eldest son," his father chided without any real bite in his voice. "You took so long to send news and return that I had to come get you myself with your little brother. And what do I find once I arrive to the Butterfly Manor? That you're leisurely strolling nearby with Nagase without a care. Tssk, I should have known better than to worry for nothing."

Despite his exasperated speech, there was a hint of amusement and relief in his tone. It was rare to hear this man, who had been so distant, stern, and violent until recently, express his feelings. Not giving you a break to get used to this new behavior, Shinjuro looked around with a tinge of regret.

"It's been a while since I last came to this place. I have many comrades resting here too. I suppose it's time I pay my respects properly. Let's continue together."

After exchanging a glance with your partner, you shrugged your shoulders, having no reason to refuse. The visit to the graves proceeded in a respectful and contemplative silence. You placed a flower at each tomb, mostly without saying anything. Occasionally, Shinjuro or Kyojuro would introduce a Slayer they had known, sharing one or two memories about them, their expressions filled with sorrow. It was hard not to have tears in your eyes and a heavy heart while listening to their stories, even if you didn't personally know the deceased. Fortunately, the grief was softened by the idea that no more victims would be buried here in the line of duty, and you conveyed the wonderful news through your prayers to each of these valiant warriors.

"Shall we have some tea?" Senjuro finally suggested when the last flower was offered. "I brought some... it's probably lukewarm now, but this tea is good cold too, and the weather is nice. I also made some mochis."

You found a charming spot under a sakura tree. The four of you enjoying leisure time together was a new experience and felt a little awkward. You weren't used to anything other than hunting demons or training for that purpose, making you feel a bit restless, as if you were wasting precious time you no longer had to spare. Additionally, it was challenging to feel comfortable around Shinjuro, given his behavior in recent years. Senjuro appeared to be the most content among you, probably because he lived with his father daily and knew him the best. He was also the only one who hadn't faced demons directly, so maybe the new reality didn't hit him as hard as the rest of you. In any case, his relaxed demeanor slowly put you all more at ease.

After some time, perhaps encouraged by the emotions stirred by the memories of his fallen comrades, Shinjuro spoke in a calm voice:

"I must admit... I find it hard to believe that you managed to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan. Nagase, your ancestors hadn't falsely earned their reputation as excellent warriors that Rengoku Genjuro used to boast about in his boring writings. I owe you and Kyojuro an apology and my thanks. You kids did a great job."

Turning on his knees to face both of you, the head of the Rengoku family and former Flame Pillar bowed to the ground before your widened eyes. You had sworn before the gods that you would make this man eat his derogatory words about you and your clan, but over the years, it had lost its significance, especially after your transformation into a demon. Nonetheless, Shinjuro's apologies and congratulations struck a chord within you.

Both you and Kyojuro quickly bowed back. "We were just doing our duty!" your childhood friend hurriedly brushed away, distinctly flustered by his father's behavior.

Shinjuro straightened up slowly and placed his hands on your shoulders for you both to do the same. The gesture was affectionate but somewhat awkward, as the family patriarch had lost the habit of displaying tenderness.

"You can give yourselves more credit. That’s not all I wanted to say, though…" he hesitated, gathering courage. "If you wish to marry each other one day... you have my blessing," he uttered, clearing his throat and gazing to the side, a little embarrassed.

Your mouth opened in surprise at the declaration, and you bowed again, deeper this time. "Thank you, Rengoku-san."

As you straightened, you stole a glance toward Kyojuro, whose eye was shining brighter than before, his usual disciplined façade cracking under the weight of his emotions. He seemed much younger when he showed vulnerability like this. "Thank you, Father," he replied softly, his throat tight.

Shinjuro gazed at him regretfully, as if he was looking back at the harshness and unfairness with which he had treated his sons. Suddenly, he moved closer to Kyojuro and pulled him into a rough and uncontrolled embrace, filled with all the love and remorse he couldn’t express properly with words.

Initially stunned by surprise, Kyojuro froze. It had been about a decade since his father had shown him any attention, let alone affection. Now that he was an adult, a hug wasn't the kind of paternal gesture he thought he desired. But as he was receiving it, he realized how much he had secretly longed for his dad's warmth, who had once been so loving and passionate. He slowly returned the hug, his expression a complex mix of disbelief, hesitation, and boyish joy.

After a few moments of emotionally charged embrace, Shinjuro pulled back to look at both of you.

"I've asked the butterfly girls to send some Kakushi at our Estate to supervise your rehabilitation there, which they've accepted. Shall we head back together?"

To say you were surprised by the proposition was an understatement. Was the Rengoku patriarch inviting you to stay at their house for a while? His sharp eyes lingered on you as he waited for your reply. The two brothers also turned their expectant gazes toward you, their faces beaming with excitement.

An immense wave of happiness washed over you, and you nodded, grinning wildly.

"Hmm, let's go home!"

Taisho secret:

Kyojuro had informed Senjuro about your coma but hadn't extended an invitation for his brother to visit you. As suggested in the conversation, he had also avoided a proper discussion with his father regarding your previous demonic state. At that time, he felt ill-prepared to address the topic, as you were unconscious, and he was adapting to life with his prosthetic limb.

After you woke up, he still didn't give updates to his family, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. Perhaps he wanted to savor some privacy with you after a long period without contact. It's also possible he wanted to give you more time to reflect on the conversation you had and, quite possibly, he feared his father's reaction upon learning the truth about you.

Fortunately, Senjuro stepped in to bridge the gap. He could sense that their father had found a better emotional place, especially after hearing about the defeat of Kibutsuji Muzan. Also, he understand that Kyojuro was not in his best state of mind and doesn't resent him for momentarily shutting himself. (What a golden child <3)

Next chapter: "Home"

#rengoku x reader #rengoku x oc #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer oc #reader insert #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #time travel #fix it fic #demon hunter #kny angst #kny spoilers #kibutsuji kny #kny rengoku #demon slayer rengoku #tanjiro kamado #rengoku shinjuro #rengoku senjuro

[thebitchbehindtheslaughter]

The Heart Everbeating

Hi! This story has been in The Works for about a year now, so I hope you enjoy! Warnings for death, Christianity/Catholicism, and everything going wrong in the MC’s life 

When one man falls for another, they say God, himself, shudders in disgust. Two men peacefully exchanging whispers betwixt the oxeyes and the late eve silence could send all of Heaven into a rage, wheels of flame and feather burning bright with divine wrath. The Spirit scoffs at the embrace of palms, The Son weeps at the embrace of arms, The Father recoils at the embrace of lips. All three were above any such mortal woes and so the Holymen and Holywomen would leap from their confessionals and morning prayers, setting down their scriptures and rosaries in the name of mallets and chains to purge the world of any threat to perfection’s untouchable paradise, for the loving whispers nestled within the daisies—promises to forever support, protect and adore, were far too demonic for the cotton ears of the immortal, immoral Shepard. Yet even once sentenced to the depths of The Nine Rings, no pretend border could halt the sweethearts’ yearning for one another, no prideful god fully capable of stopping the pounding of deep love’s heart; The Devil himself knows of and tries not to prevent honest admiration. Layers of wood, of rust, of ash, of soil, could not cease the fire within one man’s soul as he plucked at the freshly bloomed oxeye, near delirious with his burning desire.

     A trail of ‘he loves me’s spiralled on the wind as the fiancé limped through the aisle of wrought iron and forsaken stone, his veil of moonlight bathing one man and his wilting bouquet in sensations of ethereal glamour. Hums of melodies yet to be played bounced off the flitting wings of the Calyptra groomsmen all the while, holding back their hunger in the name of the beloveds’ special day. The one man tied back his long, dark hair with the red ribbon his beloved had gifted him, hoping to enchant just as he’d been at their first meeting, continuing his pursuit without so much as a stumble. At the mere thought of meeting once more one man’s mind was overrun with his deepest desires, burning through his ice-coated flesh and igniting the spark which had never truly died, his own wrought iron fence of bone becoming the grates of a roaring coal furnace and as such granting him ample energy on his seemingly endless journey. Truly, one man was ever so far from the halfway point—a little black house overrun by only the sweetest of alleycats—but moments spent alone do slide unto the doorstep of eternity when one is used to moments with his beloved, so one dared not to pause to collect the rapidly disappearing petals, or to pluck fresher flowers, or to feed his dear groomsmen as they continued their song. Instead he chased after the growing stronger aura of his beloved, his darling, as he slowly neared the town gates.

     If the ring of charcoal iron he left behind were to act as a church hall’s supposedly welcoming doors, then the buildings were certainly the rows of family and friends who arrived solely to bare witness to the beloveds’ moment of union as they leaned in close to admire the unearthly beauty one man found himself in possession of, the dewy mist which still hung in the evening air bringing the idea of tears to the candlelit windows that lit up his path. So attractive he felt as he walked the aisle he’d always dreamed of traversing, the scent of his beloved still rested in his lungs and it grew ever stronger the closer he was to the town square. The petals of the oxeyes he had gathered fell less on his gloves and more on the wind, his limbs moving faster the closer he sensed himself getting, one man’s mind growing equally as desperate for the face he so longed to hold once more, when one of his guests spoke and broke him from the trance he willing entered; “My old friend, is that truly you before me? My, you’re in that beautiful suit! Are you finally to be wed to your beloved?” There upon the porch stood a woman, the patches which crawled across her cheek marking her familiar in appearance, but the silver hair which clung to her head like spiderwebs struck her down as the grandmother of a friend who lived within those exact walls, but certainly she had passed long before one man’s eyes had closed? “Come in, my friend! It is poor manners to arrive to any wedding with an empty stomach!” So dearly did one man wish to see his beloved, to hold, to cherish, to kiss and recover the year that was lost between two meters of wood and mud, but as he always knew her granddaughter to be his old friend’s grandmother was most certainly correct. “Oh, my friend, I must lend you a bottle of perfume, as well. Tell me, would you prefer to smell of roses or daises?”

     Traditionally, receptions were to be held once vows had been born and welcomed to the new world, but perhaps tradition could take a knee for the beloveds’ celebration. Only for the moments spent within the old and rickety house, of course, as after the cake was cut one man would return to the aisle and greet his beloved with promises written in a heat of passion and longing. With heat of passion mentioned, one man found it quite impossible to miss how warm the air surrounding the dining table truly was, though that could be blamed on the Battenberg cake and Earl Grey tea that was set before him with unsteady hands. “Dig in, my friend!” The older woman sat in the chair across from his own with a smile lined in childish giddy, reminding one man that all the town was abuzz with excitement for the evening that had just arrived, all because he had insisted on paying patronage to a small tailor shop many moons ago. Yes, he remembered that year as if it had played out just moments ago, the one where he slowly fell for the charming tailor’s son who knew his figure better than he did. He remembered the first time they spoke, how he had thanked the young man for his service and complimented his handiwork, and of course, he remembered the shy and flattered smile that offered as response. Certainly, if his mind still held to those magical moments within a small, family shop, then it held what led to the beloveds’ arrival to the small, isolated town. He wished it would forget—prayed, even, but it held steadfast. Lavender. He despised that colour more than anything, for once upon a time it had infected his life and forced him to the tailor’s shop to be suited for a tux in that very shade. Although, one man would never forget the generosity of the woman in the matching dress, one who shooed them away and took all fault for their escape. He hoped her and her bride would be wed one day. “Goodness, my friend, you’re going to be quite late!” One man’s untouched cake and well-stirred tea were carried off into the depths of the hot house, just as he began to feel… sick. He hadn’t a clue he could feel sick once his body was beyond death, but as the older woman had exclaimed he had not a moment to ponder. “Take care, my friend!” She called as he shuffled out the door, his groomsmen having awaited his return upon the porch; it would be his night and his night, alone, for only a few minutes longer.

     Then came a buzzing, swirling spirit that twirled through him like wine in the glass of a nobleman, one born of unadulterated anticipation. For simply, he had twirled past the house he had known to be infested with cats but, to his surprise, had then been infested with vines and flowers. He could not find himself time to pause, however, so simply he continued on, the waltz in his step. Four steps at a time led him through an enthusiastic daze of sorting through crowds to meet his beloved at the ballroom’s centre, his own, personal history of wandering grand celebrations providing him and his movements great expertise. Oh, my beloved, his mind had pleaded as he stumbled from one side of the road to the other, his undead heart begging to pound in the pattern it knew so well. One man tightened the knot of the ribbon he’d so carefully laced into his hair, then a memory of how said ribbon had come to be teased him with visions of his beloved; he had been questioned as to what his very favourite colour was and, his gaze locked upon the eyes of the tailor’s son, he had simply said what he saw: Red. Red was a difficult colour—though nowhere near as difficult as indigo—so all that was offered was a red ribbon. His beloved had apologized in only a most sincere manner but he, oh, he had known that shade oh-so-well, and so, had giddily taken the gift and laced it into his long hair for the very first time. Oh, he would give almost anything to see his beloved’s flustered expression once more, how his red eyes had widened as if to show off all their glittering glory, his glasses falling down his face to assist in their unveiling. One man could not resist then, and had asked if he may. His beloved said yes. Such a beautiful memory had caused his dance through the streets to grow wild and desperate as he near cried out in love and admiration. Delirious, just as he was once he reentered the Ertha’s domain, though that time he was nearly at his beloved’s side, just stood at the edge of a true and real crowd. He could see the red through the shuffling shoulders. He ran for it. One man embraced the figure so tightly that he could tell instantaneously that it was not his beloved in his arms.

     “Let go of my daughter.” Hands rough from the wear and tear of time grabbed at his suit jacket and mercilessly pried him away from the young woman whose face was alight with fear. He knew that face, well—well, perhaps only certain features. The puff of her bottom lip he knew he’d kissed before, the batting of her eyelashes he knew he’d felt flutter against his cheek before, the beauty mark at her jaw he knew he’d gushed over before—though certainly it had moved sides—and the red. He knew that particular shade of red far better than he knew anything else, and he despised how natural it looked when combined with the new shape of her jaw, point of her nose, and texture of her straight hair. That hair always curled when grown that long, though it rarely had a chance to grow past the shoulders. Perhaps his beloved’s sister had appeared in town to comfort him? Oh, he hadn’t even considered the existence of his beloved’s grief! Yes, his dear sister must have appeared to stay the past two years with him and assistance him in his recovery! Then why, he questioned as he could not comprehend the answer, did a woman with the exact new features of the girl appear at that moment, stood beside the younger, and took on the appearance of mother and daughter? Hesitant, terrified yet morbidly curious of the truth in hiding, did one man turn to look at the man who still held him by the shoulders. His fear was proved to be founded in fantasy, for he knew that face and its every detail, instantaneously. “… My love?” Delirium once again ignited within one man’s shaking chest, and caused him great ecstasy which guided his limbs about his beloved’s shoulders, pulled the two men close together, their bodies perfectly tailored to the other’s just as they were in their younger years. His pined for those lips like he never had before in all his years of love and admiration for the taller, desperate as he had been all that night without his beloved by his side, and pushed himself to the tips of his toes in a reach that lasted all of three seconds. He closed his eyes and anticipated the warm—near burning sensation of gentle love he’d come to know so well, but he was met with the pin-pricked fingers of a tailor’s hands. “M-My love, I…” Those gorgeous red eyes darted to the two women at their side for truly not a reason, at all, as his beloved had never been the least bit cautious when it came to expressing their undying affection—at the very least, not in that town. “You must understand my hesitation,” he whispered as if some godly fear had been implemented into his untainted soul; perhaps by that woman who had yet to learn how rude it was to stare? “You’ve been gone—dead! For thirty years, so how am I to react to seeing your face again?” In response to such words rife with sorrow and conflict, for the very first time in that moonlit evening one man could not think at all.

     “Goodness, my love, I… I watched you die in that field of oxeyes! I held your shaking body, I watched the life drain from your eyes—the blood, as well! Y-Your own father shot you dead and I was the only one who mourned! Now, suddenly, three decades later you return to me? Why so long? Why must you have waited until I had finally moved on and healed?” His own mind was hardly aware of itself in that moment, as it drifted freely in the town square, inquired what the bystanders were thinking, and even what the woman and her daughter were thinking, but he could not bring himself to consider his beloved’s thoughts for he had to have been lying, though that was so far from something he would do especially in such serious situations as the one they were currently in. “My love… I’ve married another.” One man, his body shivering with horror, slowly followed that red gaze that instinctually filled with true love, though not for him. The woman and her daughter stared back… equally as horrified. “I didn’t believe you were coming back—How could I believe that? My wife she—she taught me how to recover, took her time to heal me, fully. Our daughter is sixteen, now. We are happy.” His beloved squeezed his arm and just as it always was, it comforted his aching heart. “I’m sorry, my love, but if you came back just to see me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your return, here. My love?” For the very first time in his twenty years of life, one khan ignored the words of his beloved in favour of approaching another. He pulled the precious treasure from his hair and took the woman’s wrist, where he then placed it in her shaking palm and turned to the younger woman, to whom he offered the wilting oxeyes to, continuously numb despite her gratefully taking it.

     Then, with a final look to the beloved and his beautiful family—with the additional press of a handkerchief to his one functioning tear duct—one man quietly left the village.

#the heart everbeating #original story #writers on tumblr #tragedy #likes are highly appreciated but reblogs are preferred! #me every time I write a story: Is this gothic literature? #gothic lit #original gothic lit #original character #original characters #original tragedy #tw death #tw christianity #tw catholicism #anyway #I assume you’re reading these tags after reading the story #if so please tell me how it is! #any positive feedback or constructive criticism is highly appreciated #thanks for reading!

[britneyshakespeare]

*Catching my breath like I just ran 10 miles*

#and im not satisfied w the arm on the left but SO BE IT #this is definitely my best drawing yet #in charcoal no less... my not-so-dear friend charcoal #tales from diana #that's winky btw #ive definitely mentioned her before. my childhood dolls. the winkies. there were 3. #the hw assignment was a drapery study but i kinda didnt have the materials to set up a cloth against a plain wall anywhere in my house #i did this in the basement btw. it took like 5 hours. im covered in far more gross debris than just charcoal rn. #im cold. i had to move a lot of stuff. unscrew some bulbs. cover some windows. #found out today that a can of paint can support my body weight btw. i wouldnt have thought. #and also when i was going through my closet for ideal cloths for the assignment i found the winkies #and i was like... oh yes... YOU are a cloth #and youre not too big to set up in my crowded ass basement #and you know what? i couldve searched harder and moved more stuff if i truly WANTED to draw a boring ass cloth #i already did that in class #i wouldve rather drawn a cloth doll. who has meant the world to me for about as long as i can remember #my professor likes when we set up objects in our hw assignments that interest us #and even though the hw did specifically say a sheet or smth like that. u know what. that doll has some drapery going on. #there's nothing she's doing that a cloth can't. #my only regret is that i didn't draw the face stitching and the bow #i honestly thought i was at least gonna draw the bow #but when i drew the shadow of the doll against the board w the compressed charcoal. i was like #i don't have the spoons anymore to fix it if i make a mistake #which is LIKELY on those fine details. like. go-back-and-redo #an-entire-area likely. #i hope my professor likes it!!!!!!! and i also hope the hairspray doesnt resettle any of the charcoal too bad while it's drying #if this looks as good when it's dry as it did the minute i said 'im done w this'... i think i will put this in the student art show #:^)

[obeymeswdwritings]

Words that describe them well + pet name hcs

This is more me talking than anything, but I added pet names for those of you that are, in fact, not here to listen to me ramble. Enjoy!

Characters- All (Platonic Luke)

Gn!Reader [use of dad and brother to refer to reader in Luke’s part, but aside from that no gendered terms or pronouns are used]

Warnings- Swearing, extremely outlandish associations

Category- Headcanons, Aix rambles

Lucifer

What pet names would he use for you?

Lucifer doesn’t like very many pet names, but will use ‘darling’ to refer to you affectionately and occasionally mumble things in Latin that roughly translate to “my dearest”

What pet names fit him the best?

bitch /affectionate if you don’t fear death!

If you do fear death, make something up. call him sugar, sweetheart, dear, anything that suits your fancy. He won’t mind unless you do it in public, in which case, see above notes.

What words fit him/why?

Sophisticated suits him, but only if you say it in a pretentious way. 

Stern, meticulous, etc in terms of descriptive words.

In terms of words that can be associated with him: spearmint, notes, crimson, graphing, consult, prius

What they remind me of

Lecturing your friends to drink water, affectionate sarcasm, the gentle red of a red flag early on, tying back your hair to do work

Mammon

What pet names would he use for you?

heart, treasure, and much as I hate to say it, babe. He calls you treasure the most, since in his eyes it’s essentially the highest compliment he can give.

What pet names fit him the best?

sweet, but said in the slight accent that implies it means candy more than nice.

Alternatively, call him Mams. Demons don’t use nicknames if the name’s less than three syllables, so he’ll be surprised.

What words fit him the best?

Mania fits better than greedy, an overwhelming passion for everything he does, not just in reference to wealth.

Rapacious, excited, outgoing, boisterous, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: laughter, gleaming, highlight, polaroid, sweater, daylight

What they remind me of

Inside jokes, casual affection, getting the right answer without paying attention, calling apple cider champagne on new years

Leviathan

What pet names would he use for you?

He’s often too nervous to use pet names, but he on occasions where he does it’ll probably be honey.

Normie is borderline a pet name, it’s decidedly affectionate.

What pet names fit him the best?

Star, sugar, or blossom

Rather than calling him Levi, you could call him Lev, making the nickname a bit more personal.

What words fit him the best?

Absorbed fits him well, thanks to how easily he gets caught in the plot of everything. 

Hyperfocus, flustered, excitable, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: insomniac, faded, spinning, headphones, giggle, eternity

What they remind me of

Staying up till three in the morning accidentally, saving soda tabs, stockpiling candy and soda for late nights, the good type of sad, neon signs with graffiti over them

Satan

What pet names would he use for you?

Obviously, he calls you kitty, but he sometimes calls you his librarian, since you’re always picking up in his room. 

What pet names fit him the best?

Kitten, darling, or love. He likes simple nicknames, and adores the message imbued in them.

What words fit him best?

Knowledge-hungry. He wants to know everything he can, and then some.

Fixated, calm, elegant, etc 

Words that can be associated with him: sharp, cozy, safe, latte, lingering, peppermint, annote

What they remind me of

Libraries that are warm and feel like home, staying up all night to finish a book, cafes that invite you in with signs and promises of pastries, charcoal art, listening to music or podcasts in class

Asmodeus

What pet names would he use for you?

All of them. If there’s a pet name, he’ll use it. His favorites are ones with ‘my’ before them, though. If you’re comfortable with it, you’ll notice that ‘doll’ is used the most. 

What pet names fit him the best?

Any work, but he likes pet names that are defined as gentle and sweet, so call him love, darling, honey, sweetheart, and he’ll be thrilled.

What words fit him the best?

Enthusiastic. It suits him well, explaining his demeanor toward just about everything.

Teasing, busy, loose, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: campfire, flowing, willow, lace, hydrangea, lilac

What they remind me of

flower tattoos, cherry trees blooming, dried petals, scrapbooking, peaceful protests in the streets, leather-bound sketchbooks, casual flirting with your close friends, boundaries that vary from person to person

Beelzebub

What pet names would he use for you?

He’s likely to just use your name, but if he feels like using a petname, it’ll probably be a nickname or sugar.

What pet names fit him the best?

Using his nickname tends to fit better, but if you like pet names, calling him sweetheart always works.

What words fit him the best?

Warm. Just about every action he takes is warm, even when he’s pissed. It’s borderline impressive. 

Comforting, cheerful, encompassing, etc. 

Words that can be associated with him: gentle, highlighter, dandelion, undercut, map, locket

What they remind me of

Resting your head on your hand while you listen to someone talk, sketching in pen, overcomplicating sentences to be polite, fuzzy blankets and hoodies, stealing your friends’ clothes, serious discussions about the dumbest shit you can think of, trying not to laugh at sleepovers

Belphegor

What pet names would he use for you?

dumbass, probably

alternatively, a nickname or ‘pillow’. You can’t convince me he wouldn’t.

What pet names fit him the best?

He likes nicknames more than pet names, so Belphie or Bells, if you feel like combining the two.

What words fit him the best?

Sleepy. For once, the most obvious does fit, but in a slightly different way than you might think. He’s sleepy in that every action he takes has the impression of someone who just pulled two all-nighters, and when he’s asleep, there’s always going to be a nagging feeling in your brain that tells you to join him.

Words that can be associated with him: lavender, buttermilk, tempered, quartz, honeyed, ceremonial (as in like ceremonial dagger, not ceremonial, I don’t know, child or something)

What they remind me of

Affectionate bullying as a love language, fluffy blankets around the house because you know you’ll get cold, having a thermos of chamomile tea at your desk, mumbling ‘fuck off’ at inanimate objects, offering to fight people for your friends

Diavolo

What pet names would he use for you?

Darling, delight, and love. He likes pet names that sound elegant, fragile, and like silk in the air.

What pet names fit him the best?

Sweetheart, a teasing ‘prince’, and maybe a ‘honey’ or two.

What words fit him the best?

Excitable. He gets happy and excited about everything, from a vacation to your name being brought up in a Student Council Meeting.

yknow nonchalant? chalant.

Words that can be associated with him: apple, cinnamon, loft, pom-pom, pattern, labradorite

What they remind me of

falling asleep on someone’s shoulder, binging through a series of books, decorating the walls with streamers year-round, laughing at bad jokes because they were made by someone you love

Barbatos

What pet names would he use for you?

dear, dearest, and love. The classics. 

What pet names fit him the best?

dear, love, honey. Things that feel inexplicably domestic, like you’ve always been in love. which, maybe you have. He certainly has. 

What words fit him the best?

Collected.

Peaceful, considerate, accommodating, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: espresso, quill, wintermint, teacup, notepad, newspaper

What they remind me of

Calligraphy on old paper, absentminded affection, sweaters and comfortable pants paired with a coat in winter and the same thing without a coat in summer, drinking caffeine to stay at your desk longer

Solomon

What pet names would he use for you?

Asshole, darling, bitch, doll, sugar, fucker, the list goes on. It depends on his mood, really, but there’ll be at least one gently uttered affection a day.

Since he’s also human, he’ll constantly reference human jokes, leading to the inevitable nicknames of ‘egg’ and ‘[preheat to] 350 degrees’ 

What pet names fit him the best?

Doll, dumbass (said with audible smile), and of course the ever-present ‘love’.

What words fit him the best?

Chaotic. It may be obvious to a degree, but he’s a mischievous fucker that brings out the chaos - or exasperation - in everyone. 

Analytic, cunning, ridiculous, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: bottle, leather, fox, dragonfly, companionable, hearth 

What they remind me of

Comfortable silence interrupted only by the sounds of a pen, writing things down to remember but forgetting where you put the paper you wrote it on, surprising your friends/partner at work with lunch, mutual complaining

Simeon

What pet names would he use for you?

Darling, my dear, sweetheart, love, and of course, the inevitable “amica mea” accompanied by a refusal to translate

What pet names fit him the best?

My angel. Angel, after all, is a pet name, and the my makes it clear you’re not just stating his species. after all, he is yours, in heart and spirit. completely, irrevocably, irrefutably yours.

What words fit him the best?

Gentle. Maybe it’s in his job description and all, but still. From taking care of Luke to how he treats just about everyone, he’s fascinatingly gentle.

Caring, inventive, cheerful, etc

Words that can be associated with him: sketch, chamomile, swan, engraving, eyeliner, piano

What they remind me of

Dancing with your best friend in an empty park, dirty jokes that don’t sound dirty unless you really think about it, tying embroidery thread around your wrist to match with someone you care about

Luke [this is platonic and if anyone so much as implies otherwise we’re gonna have some fuckin issues]

What pet names would he use for you?

a mumbled, accidental ‘okay dad’ when you ask him to do something, a joking ‘big bro’ when you’re threatening to fight Solomon, sleepily implying he considers you his sibling

What pet names fit him best?

Chihuahua, but only after you get to know him. an affectionate ‘ankle-biter’ here and there, a teasing ‘mk little brother’ when he’s denying being a kid. 

What words fit him the best?

Happy. He might come off as a little uptight at times, but he’s decidedly still basking in the joy that comes with being a kid.

Generous, considerate, enthusiastic, etc.

Words that can be associated with him: cupcake, decorating, embroidery, butterfly, watermelon, lotus

What they remind me of

Making brownies at two in the morning, liking history classes, overly intricate necklaces, re-making a sketch 80 times, protecting everyone you care about even from imaginary threats

#I ACTUALLY DO SPEAK SOME LATIN AND THERE IS SOMETHING THAT TRANSLATES TO MY DEAREST #JUST SO EVERYONE KNOWS #aix rambles #if anyone wants to know why I associated something please ask I'd love to share #omswd #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me brothers #little brother luke #obey me undateables #this took a while to do because of how long it took to do #obey me writings #I do have siblings so I am in fact allowed to misrepresent sibling relationships #gn!reader

[pillage-and-lute]

Geralt attempts to bake cookies. That’s it that’s the prompt

Hi Cabbage-with-legs!

This is a Modern AU with Tired Dad! Geralt. + bonus pining

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“Geralt? Geralt what’s all this.”

Geralt’s shoulders slumped and he scraped dejectedly at the blackened hockey pucks on the cookie pan. “Cookies.”

“I’ve seen charcoal briquets less black, dear heart. What’s this about?” Jaskier said, leaning his shoulder against his best friend.

Geralt sighed and leaned into the touch, hardly even registering Jaskier’s neon pink Hawaiian shirt. “PTA bake sale. They need me to bake something so I’m trying but, well...” Geralt shuffled a spatula under one pathetic hockey puck and flicked it into the trash.

“Lucky you,” Jaskier said. “I am a world class baker.”

“You burn water.”

“Cooking and baking are very different, my friend.”

“We aren’t friends,” Geralt huffed.

“Not if you keep up that attitude. How much food does the bake sale need?”

Geralt sat in a creaky chair and looked at the ugly yellow wallpaper of his kitchen. “They said anything helps, but the school is really underfunded, they need to make a lot of money off of this.”

Jaskier sat across from Geralt and bumped his foot against his friend’s boot. He smiled sadly. He saw Geralt almost every day, and Geralt never saw him, not really. He never looked at Jaskier and saw him.

It didn’t matter because Jaskier saw Geralt, and would continue to do so until Geralt threw him from his life.

“Alright,” Jaskier said standing up. “It’s Saturday, so Triss won’t have work, I’ll text her, she can bring by some bread.”

“Don’t bother her,” Geralt said.

“She’ll want to help. Yennefer too, she’ll bring something by the bake sale as well.”

None of them had much money, but baking, well, for Ciri they could all do something.

“You and I,” Jaskier said, “We’re going to bake up a storm.”

Geralt stood. “No, Jaskier. Go away.”

“No, you need my help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Fine,” Jaskier said, hand on one jutted hip, “Then take a bite out of one of those.” He nodded his head towards the blackened tray.

Geralt growled, but it was acquiescence. 

“Great,” Jaskier said. “Now, lets start this again.” He tidied up the kitchen, loading the dirty dishes into Geralt’s ancient dishwasher and pressing start. He knew Geralt’s kitchen as well as he knew his own. When Renfri had died and left Ciri and Geralt all by themselves he’d done all the cooking here. Geralt had just sat in the chair in the living room and wouldn’t let go of Ciri. Jaskier had practically hand fed him.

Triss had called it sitting Shiva, even though she was the only Jewish person among them. From what she’d told Jaskier, though, Geralt had been doing something similar, even if he didn’t know it.

Now, though, they both moved about the kitchen. Geralt measured flour and sugar as directed and patiently took the bowl of frosting Jaskier pressed into his hands, stirring as directed.

Jaskier moved around him, orbiting Geralt like he always did, adding almond extract and nutmeg and an extra dash of salt because Geralt used too little. At one point their little dance messed up and Jaskier placed one floury hand on Geralt’s chest to keep him from backing up against the open oven door. 

He looked at the dusty handprint on Geralt’s black hoodie, right over his heart. Geralt smiled softly.

“Thanks, I would have fallen right into the oven, there,” he said. 

Jaskier chuckled, “Yeah, Hansel, can’t eat you yet I have to fatten you up,” he poked Geralt in his rock hard abs. “You’d be awfully stringy.”

Geralt rumbled a laugh, deep in his chest. “I guess I’m not prime cannibal fodder, huh?” He crossed to the laptop, open to their recipe. “What’s next?”

“I’m sure there’s someone who’d take a bite out of you,” Jaskier said absently. “But we’re done with the cookies now that they’re in the oven, onto the cake.”

“We’re making a cake?” Geralt said. He looked in dismay at the cookies already in the oven.

“Unless you’d rather make the pies first,” Jaskier said. “And yes, we are. You and I are going to nail this PTA bake sale.” He watched the way Geralt sighed, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the little roll they did to loosen the tension. 

He patted Geralt on one such shoulder, looking into a pale hazel gaze. “Drink some coffee, we’ll be up a while.”

Geralt moved to start the coffee. “Is the--”

Jaskier handed him the little scoop that Geralt used to measure out his coffee and Geralt turned around to face Jaskier.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” he said.

“I did, I know you.” Geralt stepped close and looked at Jaskier with lazer focus. 

Please, Jaskier thought. For once in your life just, see me. 

“You have flour in your hair,” Geralt said, then turned back to the coffeemaker.” 

Jaskier held in a sigh and began pulling up the recipe he liked for chocolate cake. “Do you have cocoa?” He asked. 

“Cupboard,” Geralt grunted. There where multiple cupboards in the kitchen, but Jaskier knew which one Geralt meant.

They descended again into their orbiting dance.

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

Morning dawned to find a messy kitchen and two men asleep at the kitchen table. Ciri looked around, registered the mountain of cookies and muffins, four pies and two cakes, then got herself cereal. Jaskier woke up, the seam of his sleeve had pressed into his face in his sleep.

“Have you kissed my dad yet?”

Jaskier blinked away sleep to see Ciri, still in her Wonder Woman pajamas, eating a bowl of coco puffs while standing in the middle of the kitchen. He made to stand to give her the chair, but she shook her head.

“Stay put, you must’ve worked hard. When I went to bed Dad had just burned his second batch of cookies. I repeat, have you kissed my dad yet?”

“Um, no.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t want to kiss me,” Jaskier said. “He looks right through me.”

“Hmmm,” Ciri said. It was so like her father that Jaskier had to smile.

“Hello darling,” Triss said, closing the door with her foot behind her. “Jas, you’re up, I figured you’d be asleep...oh,” she glanced at Geralt, conked out on the table, then looked at the pile of baked goods. “Nice job, I brought Challah, soda bread, and Irish brown bread.”

Jaskier stood and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, I appreciate it, Triss.”

“Aunt Triss,” Ciri said. “Do you think my dad wants to kiss Jaskier?”

“Of course, why?”

“He doesn’t even really know I exist,” Jaskier said. 

“He does too.”

“He knows I exist but he looks right through me, Triss, I’m a ghost in his life.”

The front door creaked open then slammed, startling Geralt awake. 

“Whazzit?”

“It’s probably Yennefer,” Jaskier said.

Geralt blinked his eyes hurriedly and brushed back his pale hair. 

Yennefer stomped in and set down a tray full of lemon bars. “For the bake sale.” She looked up at Geralt, who was smiling at her. “You have frosting on your face.”

Jaskier stepped into the other room and Triss followed. Ciri stepped out after them, still spooning cereal into her mouth.

“He sees her,” Jaskier whispered.

“You like Yen,” Triss said. 

“I do, she’s terrifying and fun, but I just wish he looked at me like that, like he noticed me.”

“He notices you,” Ciri said. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt called from the other room.

Ciri smirked. “See?”

Jaskier reentered the kitchen. “What’s up.” 

“I’m loading stuff into my car, help.” 

Jaskier promptly took a few trays of muffins and began to walk them out to Roach, Geralt’s ‘84 Chevy Nova. It wasn’t a beautiful car but Geralt loved her, and Jaskier had grown to love her too. The four of them, watched by Ciri, loaded up the baked goods and Jaskier went to get in the passenger seat. 

“You’re not coming,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier faltered but recovered well. “Oh, well of course. And since I’m your very best friend--”

“Not my friend.”

“I’ll stay and clean up the kitchen,” Jaskier finished.

Triss made a sympathetic face at him, kissed Ciri on the forehead, and left. Yen nudged him in a mostly friendly way and swept out after her. 

Ciri watched him clean up, sitting on the counter in the corner of the kitchen. Unusually, neither of them said a word the entire time. When the last dish was put away she said.

“You know, I’m not sure Dad sees many people, not sees them. I’m not always sure he sees me. It doesn’t mean you aren’t important to him.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “You’re very wise for fourteen.”

“I am. Extremely.”

“He sees her.”

“That’s because he’s slightly scared of her.”

Jaskier leaned with both hands on the counter and stared between them. “Ciri, you know I love you dearly?”

“Yes.”

“And I won’t stop loving you. Not ever. But I might not come around so often. I promise it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you.”

“Just that you think Dad doesn’t care about you.”

“I know he does,” Jaskier said, looking up and crossing to where Ciri sat. “But he can’t even call me his friend. I can’t do that anymore. I need to...I need to not do that. At least for a while.”

“I’ll miss you,” Ciri said, setting down her empty bowl and hugging Jaskier. “He’ll miss you too.”

“I’m going to miss both of you too, but I need to do this. I’ll still come to every last one of your gymnastics meets. And I’ll still be your Uncle Jas.”

Cir pulled back from her hug, jaw set but her eyes dry. “I wish you could be my papa instead.” Jaskier kissed her on the forehead. 

“Bye Ciri, I’ll see you next week when you get another medal.”

She waved at him as he left.

Jaskier didn’t look up from the bus floor the whole ride back to his shithole apartment. The ugly green carpet on the floor of his room still looked the same. He shrugged and began to work on grading papers. There was no more he could do. 

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

Jaskier was surprised to find that the day had passed easily. He’d only had to turn his thoughts away from Geralt every time he started to think of him. 

Then there was a knock on the door and Jaskier suddenly couldn’t stop thinking of Geralt. There he was, drenched, from the sudden rainstorm and dripping in his apartment’s doorway. 

Geralt shoved a fist out, holding some supermarket flowers, the daisies they dyed in obnoxious colors. Usually Jaskier found them ugly but these, battered and very, very neon, were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

“What?--”

“We aren’t friends I want to kiss you,” Geralt said in one breath.

“What?!”

“I don’t want to kiss friends. I want to kiss you a lot. All the time.”

“You never even look at me,” Jaskier said.

“I do, just not when you’re looking.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to catch me staring at your lips I want to kiss you, Jaskier.” He stared into Jaskier’s eyes, unwavering. “I see you.”

“Who told you?”

“Triss. I came home and the kitchen was clean and Ciri was sort of mad at me and you were gone so I called her and panicked,” Geralt paused for breath. “And she told me. I see you. I promise I do. maybe not all the time but I’m not good at noticing people all the time I’m...Renfri could do that. I can’t. You can notice people all the time but I just don’t. I’m sorry. I do notice you though, I see you, I promise.”

“You see me,” Jaskier said. He watched Geralt’s eyes as they looked downwards. At his lips.

“I don’t want to kiss friends, Jaskier,” Geralt whispered. “Please, please may I kiss you.”

Jaskier nodded.

Geralt tasted like the peppermint Chapstick that he bought around Christmas and hoarded all through the year. A kiss had never been so good. 

Geralt pulled back and handed Jaskier the flowers. “You don’t like this kind but I like them because they remind me of you.”

“They do?”

“They’re bright and if you were a flower Ciri said you’d be a daisy.”

Jaskier smiled. “You got her advice, on what flowers to get me.”

Geralt nodded. “She knows these things. There’s cookies, back home. I bought some from the bake sale. Someone made white chocolate macadamia nut and I know they’re your favorite.”

“Fine, Geralt. I’ll go back home with you.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’m not moving all my stuff in tonight, but yes, eventually I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

“Ciri’s going to have to stop calling me uncle now. It’ll give people the wrong idea.”

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It got away from me. Whoops. Happy ending for all, though.

#ciri #Geralt is a good dad #modern au #geraskier #pining #not unrequited #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[pa-panda-heroes]

blue hour.

demon!au!dabi x reader nsfw; find the sequel here

Inspired (sorta) by this post. This was initially a 400 followers celebration fic but took so long I got to 500, plus it’s Halloween!! 🎃🎃🎃

i listened to Mothica’s song Blue Hour while i wrote this and honestly fell in love with it. hence the name! please go give her a listen!

Minors, go away. This content is not for you.

Warnings: brief description of kidnapping, tiny mentions of religion (nonspecified tho!) and human sacrifice, injury + blood mention, foul language, brief cremation, Dabi being horny (hehe), Dabi absolutely 100% not using magic on you nope, thigh fucking, orgasm denial, biting, dirty talk, degradation?, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification if you squint?

Words: 14k+

Summary: Kidnapped and held as an offering to an ominous demon, you thought your death was near. Soon enough you find your captor dead and the demon you were offered to becomes your savior. Dabi clearly has plans for you, but what are they? Or was everything just a dream?

Your heartbeat thrummed within your ears, sweat sweltering and becoming a thick layer on your skin all over, making the fabric of your clothes cling to it ever-so-uncomfortably. It felt like you were being smothered from head to toe in fabric. The cooled blood that began just above your temple and trickled all the way down your face and neck had dried by now, acting as a crusty reminder of the reason behind the throbbing in your head. Trees swayed in the chilly winds that passed, making the cool air even colder - yet here you were, sweating like there was no tomorrow. You were bound by the wrists and ankles to a musty wooden pole in a forest you’d never seen before, the sky dark yet bright for the blue moon. The stars looked so free, so beautiful, so serene tonight. Yet you didn’t feel it.

Your breathing was quick, panicked, and hurried to the extent that you’d take in more oxygen by breathing less. Your poor, puffy lip was numb from having been chewed on so much, to the point where you couldn’t remember whether you were a chronic lip biter or not; but you sure were, now. That is, until he gagged you by tying an old handkerchief around your face. You struggled against your scratchy, dry restraints so much, they began to dig into your skin and bleed, sending a trail of blood down your arms and a jolt of burning, throbbing, stinging pain through your nerves.

You were far from alone.  

The only other human body you knew of was the one who put you in the position you currently find yourself in after a night of dancing, booze, and sweat. The inebriation from the alcohol made you an easy target, you guessed. God damn it all.

The night began with your celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, drinking, dancing, and making merry. You had regretted agreeing to go at first after having a long, agonizingly tiring day at work, which gave you the burning desire to wrap up after a bath and lay in bed until the next day when you’d have to get up again. But as the night progressed, you were glad you tagged along; after all, it was an unexpectedly nice release after a bad day.  

Now you were regretting it again.

If only you hadn’t gone to the club.  

If only hadn’t agreed even if begrudgingly to go.

If only you hadn’t left your apartment.  

You made the mistake of trying to find a bathroom on your own and ended up in an alleyway. The last thing you saw was a filthy dumpster before it all went black, and upon waking you found yourself bound in this horrifying forest.

Around you was a circular dirt clearing bordered with a solid line and filled with various marks made upon it, ones that you’d never seen before. They looked to be of a lost, long-dead language - the language your masked captor was evidently speaking as he sat on his knees with his hands in the air before a makeshift altar of a sort. There was some distance between him and the altar, probably about two meters, that being the same distance he sat from you as you watched in horror.  

He was going to kill you, but not before torturing you - or other things. For some hideous purposes that looked a lot to do with a demon or something. All because you were a virgin that just so happened to cross his path.

You tried making noises, tried screaming, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t stop his hideous chanting and no one could hear you anyway. The thick forest swallowed your every scream and the gag held back your every cry. More tears run down your cheeks at your predicament, your struggling against your binds only digging into and stinging your skin as piping hot blood continued to trail down your tender wrists and ankles. It felt like frostbite was setting in. Was it actually, or was it your nerves? 

A pillar of black smoke began to rise from the ground in front of your masked captor, who then bowed with his forehead to the ground. Your own heart was beating in your ears so quickly you thought it would explode any minute. If only it would - you wouldn’t have to endure this any longer. 

“What... the hell do you want?” you hear a voice boom, distorted in such a way that made it sound like it echoed a thousand times. “Filthy human.” 

“Your favor, my lord. I offer you this virgin.”

You try screaming again, your throat beginning to feel scratchy and dry. It almost felt like it was bleeding. Could it be bleeding? Your mind was almost a haze, now. 

You can see a form emerge from the ground where the black smoke stands, and you’re stunned and scared into total silence as you see the silhouette of two large wings and a pointed tail. Other than that, the silhouette appears mostly human. But it’s not.

“My favor, eh?” you hear the voice again. The silhouette swings his arm and with it vanishes the smoke, and the reality that this... thing isn’t human finally settles in your heart. His hair is black and spiky, there are pieces of what look to be burnt flesh under his minty eyes and the lower half of his face, bound to the unblemished skin by silvery staples that seemed to spit steam. Three dotted piercings adorned his nose, and plenty more his ears. His wings reminded you of a bird’s with feathers and all, and they were a flat charcoal in colour, albeit they seemed a little worse for wear and severely burnt. The demon’s horns poked out from each side of his forehead and curled around like that of a ram’s. He wore a dark, simple cloak.  

You almost wondered if he had goat hooves for feet.

He looks down on the human who summoned him, literally and figuratively, it seemed. His eyes narrow viciously at the man, before jolting to you - and you, honest to all that exists, feel what you can only think of as a bolt of lightning course through every nerve - no, cell - of your body before it feels like your heart stops beating. You can feel the blood coursing in your veins, and it’s ice-cold, all of this forcing you to tense every muscle you’re able. He looks away and you’re instantly back to normal, slouching in your restraints.  

“Is this asshole bothering you, little one?” the voice of what’s clearly a demon rings.

“I-I beg your pardon, m’lord Dabi?” 

“Shut your trap, moron.” Clusters of the brightest, bluest flames you’d ever seen erupt above each of the demon’s eyes and he leans downward to grab the man by his neck, before easily lifting him in the air as the human choked. “Y’know, back in the day, sacrifices in some cultures were an honor. It was seen as a gift, a way to serve ancient -  nonexistent, mind you -  gods. People vied to become a sacrificial lamb. I’m ancient, too, you know that.”

The human man stammers and stutters, trying to say something coherent but failing out of fear.  

Dabi lets the man rest his feet on the ground as he jerks your captor to look at you, and you want to just shrink into yourself. “What the fuck is that, huh? Do you see the fear in her eyes? The bruises covering her body? The blood seeping down her arms as she fights against that rope? Does that look like a willing sacrifice to you? Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think she is willing at all.”

You blink. What? How? Why?

“You piss me off.”

Dabi throws the masked man to the ground away from him, then raising his palm into the air and summoning flames to filter out of the ground. They swallow him hole, and whilst he’s screaming in agony and burning alive, the demon turns on his heel and saunters your way. “Well, this is quite a mess, eh, dear?” His eyebrows are pointed upward, almost as if the gentle tone behind his words is sincere, yet almost as if there is deviance behind them.

You can’t help but gulp at the look in his eyes. Smile and arch his brows as he might, he was still clearly a demon unfitting of your trust. Right? He was going to hurt you. Surely.

His hands reach up for your face and you shut your eyes tight and turn away.

Much to your surprise, fingers work away at the handkerchief splitting open your poor, stretched, and saliva-coated lips, and you nearly gasp at the relief of pressure on them, the ache in your cheeks quite apparent and downright agonizing. Not only that, but the corners of your mouth were rubbed raw, and you weren’t sure if there was saliva mixing with more saliva, or blood mixing with saliva at the site. Dabi drags a finger from the corner of your mouth up to your cheek to wipe away the tears staining your skin, and you have no strength to fight the shiver that runs up your spine as your eyes fall half-lidded.

“Fuck me, you’re lookin’ a bit worse for wear, little one,” you hear him coo. “Easy, babe. You’re alright. That ugly, scary man’s all gone.” He seems to chuckle at the irony, before a toothy smirk splits his lips. His teeth are sharp, certainly enough to puncture skin without much effort, and you shiver again.

You’re quickly relieved of your bounds, but with the little strength you have left, you’re not able to stand on your own and collapse into his chest, spent and sore. He’s warm. It’s... nice. Fuzzy. Cloudy. Soft. Where are you, again? What’s going on? Why is everything spinning?

Everything fades to black.

:·•·:

You groan and turn over in your bed, pulling the fluffy covers up closer to your head as your body ached. You were warm and settled in, nothing could make you leave the comforts of your bed, yet you knew you needed to. To explain the achy joints, you tried reminiscing the night before. You remembered that night. Parts of it, anyway. When you tried to remember the feeling of being bound or the blood trickling down your wrists, nothing came up. When you tried remembering the chanting of your captor - nothing. It seemed that any parts which could be deemed... unsavory were gone from your memory. You brought your wrists up and felt around them and-

Also gone were any wounds.

It was odd. You could remember it all happening, but at the same time, you couldn’t. Must’ve been some whacked out dream induced by the alcohol.

You had no want to, but you sat up in bed and reached over to your nightstand to switch he clock around so you could see it. It read about half an hour after midday, and you sighed. How long were you asleep? You picked up your phone from the nightstand and switched it on, your heart leaping into your throat at the amount of notifications. Texts, emails, calls, there were dozens upon dozens of them.

“How long was I asleep?!” you shriek.

“Enough to nearly get evicted.”

Your head jolts up so quickly you hear your neck crack, and you see the demon leaning against the wall in front of your bed. You can’t help but gasp and scoot away, your back banging against the headboard of your bed. It wasn’t a dream.

He waves his hand lazily. “But don’t worry, I got it covered. Congrats, you have free rent for life, now.” His wings, horns, and tail are all gone, and he almost looks human, save for the staples and scars. You guess he can’t change his appearance much. Perhaps he doesn’t want to.

The teeth showing off from his smirk look just as sharp as before, however.

Your eyes are drawn to the huggies piercing the cartilage of his ears. They’re as shiny and plentiful as you remember. Your heart rate spikes, and you begin to breathe heavily.

“That soreness is probably from you bein’ out so long, sweets,” he comments, arms crossed in front of his chest, his right ankle also crossed over his left. His voice is smooth and a clear attempt at comforting you - yet there’s something behind it.

“Th-thank you. For saving me, and... the rent... I guess.” You hoped he would leave if you thanked him. Why else would he stick around?

He only shrugs, though. “Sorry, little one, but you’re not special. That sacrifice wasn’t done right in the first place.”

‘Ouch!’

Ah, you remembered that, now. But you couldn’t remember his name.

“What’s your name?” you ask hesitantly. He’s obviously not going to kill you by now. Why would he stick around?

“Dabi.”

“That’s it?” You tilt your head. You were surprised at how... nonchalant you were beginning to feel about this. The longer he stood there, the more it felt normal.

“That’s it, dollface.”

:·•·:

He ended up not having goat hooves for feet.

You knew there was a catch to being saved by that demonic bastard.

Aside from the fact that he wouldn’t leave you alone, keeping a demon cooped up in your apartment wasn’t easy. It especially wasn’t easy when said demon was constantly on your heels, pressed right up against your back. Personal space was not in his vocabulary. Dabi was constantly up to something, and he loved to harass or scare your neighbors with his devilish form; it was just too easy. “What else have I got to do while you’re gone all day?” he’d say. “Gotta entertain myself, somehow, doll.”

Apparently, it had been a long time since someone had summoned him at all, let alone with an offering of some kind. He hadn’t seen the mortal realm in hundreds of years, and because you were offered to him, he decided to stick around you. You only agreed to it as long as he never left your apartment.

Well, technically. He wasn’t actually giving you a choice, he was going to stick around anyway. Dabi so loved giving innocent mortals the impression that they were in control when they never truly were. The demon practically got off on the idea of giving a helpless little thing like you a false sense of security.

Having him essentially stuck to your hip, you couldn’t let him cause any trouble with the human world, be it harmless pranks or downright murder; hence why you left a line of salt in front of every opening to your place one day, to keep him home. He was a curious demon, a sketchy one.

And a bit of a horny one, at that.

If the groping or peeking in on your showers wasn’t enough of a clue, the fact that he did everything else in his power to seduce you certainly was.

Demons don’t sleep. They’re immortal, they don’t need to. Yet, as you lay snuggled up in your bed at night, he always snuck in with you to poke and prod at you, the exchange usually ending with you kicking him out of bed - sometimes literally. Other times, he’d randomly lean into your ear and say the filthiest things you’d ever heard - and then some, obviously - to get a rise out of you, giving him the opportunity to tease you about unconsciously clenching your thighs, whether it was for friction or out of denial.

You were starting to think he was a damn incubus.

But no, he denied that. He looked almost insulted when you made the insinuation before explaining that incubi and succubi are one and the same, changing back and forth between male and female. First as a succubus, the demon collects... “seed,” and then transforms into an incubus to “plant” it. He could change his physical appearance if he so wished, but he never had much want or need to, save for hiding away or using his devilish form; nor could he procreate, he was so proud to tell you.

It seemed the fact that you were a virgin only spurred him on to seduce you. With Dabi being the vile and damned being that he is, you thought he wouldn’t give a damn (ha) if you consented or not at first. The thought was honestly horrifying. Yet not once had he forced you or went too far. It was “poor taste,” he once said, there being no fun in it. You wondered if his rule of consenting sacrifices played a part in his discipline.

And of course, Dabi would go on about how badly he, a demon, an unsavory being to say the least, wanted to be the one to take your virginity and “defile” you, “the pure, innocent treat that you are.”

Defile? Really?

And treat?

‘Pick better wording next time you sex-starved, pointy-tail-having, staple-wearing, horned son of a bitch,’ you thought sarcastically, shoving dishes into their proper places after having dried them. He’d left you alone for most of the day, talking to you and treating you like he was a normal human being. ‘Then, maybe I’d consider letting you get your dick wet.’

Would you, though?

Nah...

Right.

One of the plates was a little wet still, and managed to slip out of your hand and shatter on the counter in front of you. You yelped when a shard cut into your palm after you’d instinctively reached to catch the plate, failing miserably. “Dammit,” you mutter, holding your left hand up to inspect the cut. From the looks of it, no stitches were needed, but it still stung like hell.

You should’ve known better than to think he cooled his jets for the day, because in an instant he’s standing next to your left side and reaching for your wrist.

“It’s fine, just a tiny cut,” you mutter, quirking a brow as he seemingly glares at the wound. “I think I’ve got a first-aid kit somewhere... Have to keep it clean, at least.”

“Nah, don’t need it,” he mutters, before pulling your hand toward his mouth. His tongue slithers out from between his lips and drags along the cut in your palm, the wet appendage searing against your skin.

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, and yet another soars when you see the hungry, predatory look in his eyes, which are fixed on your wound. You can’t help the gulp that sounds from your tight throat, or the yelp that fights out of your lips when his whole mouth latches onto the fatty part of your thumb where the cut is. Your knees begin to feel weak and your eyes fall half-lidded.

Dabi sucks on the flesh there, licking the wound occasionally as well. His eyes then flicker to yours, and they burn into you like no other ever has. You feel the heat of a blush trail up your neck and to your cheeks and ears, your heart thrumming in your chest and lips slowly falling open just a tad as he licks away at the opening in your skin.

“Ah-“

The demon pulls away with a pop from one final suck of your flesh, whilst a trail of his saliva - do demons have saliva?! - hung between your hand and his mouth. “See? Take a look.” He pushes your hand towards your view, and amidst the clear wetness on your skin, you see no wound at all.

Your mind flips back to the wounds you should have had from that night.

“Back then... did you... y’know...”

“Naah. There’s spells and the like for bigger stuff like that,” he explains nonchalantly with a shrug. He almost seems proud of himself with his next line. “Tiny paper cuts like this can be taken care of with good ol’ fashioned demon spit. It’s nice, huh?”

You deadpan at him. “No, it’s totally gross.”

Dabi chuckles at you, waving a hand as if to wave you off. “Admit it. Your virgin ass enjoyed it.” His words are crass, but you know he’s only teasing and they’re not meant to insult.

Yet it still riles you up.

That heat crawls up your neck again, and you huff at him. “Shut up!” you gripe, then turning away from him to at least try to clean up the dish shards. There was nothing wrong with being a virgin! A lot of people wait for the right person, or they just aren’t ready. People have their reasons, and there’s no shame in it! Just like there’s no shame in being the opposite. As long as it’s healthy, that’s all that matters!

“Jerk! You seem to forget whose apartment you’re squatting in!” you grumble, scooting the pieces of the plate you broke together - ever so gently - with a washcloth from the sink. “I could kick you out, y’know.” You forgot for a short moment that he managed to achieve free rent for life for you, but you told yourself it wouldn’t matter anyway. It was still your apartment, after all.

“Really, now?” The demon scoffs, then leaning against the counter and crossing his arms - clearly at you. “How would you go about that, little mouse?” His tone is unconvinced and sultry, the look on his face painted with doubt.

You avoided eye contact with him and perused the kitchen for a plastic bag before marching back to the mess of plate shards and trying to sweep them off the counter and into the bag. “I’d exorcise you,” you mutter. Finding a priest in this area would prove difficult, but you could manage to find one willing to travel. You could do it if needed.

Dabi only laughs you off, though. The sound is smooth and velvety, yet you’re left to describe it as littered with smoke and ecstasy. “C’mon, doll! That wouldn’t work,” he says finally. “Besides, we both know you don’t wanna do that. You like havin’ my sorry ass around too much, eh?”

“Ha! You’re right about you being a sorry ass,” you sass with a huff before tossing the bag into the waste-bin.

Oddly enough, while you’d never tell Dabi this and end up stroking his already massive ego, you felt safer with him around. It was hard to pinpoint why. Nothing had happened for him to be called to protect you; however, you lived in a less than savory part of town, which wasn’t entirely unbearable, but shit still happens. And you’ve already been abducted once, leading to your acquaintance with this horny (I’m more ways than one) asshole. Maybe it was because you knew part of what he can do, all that aside. Push comes to shove, he’d protect you, right?

That was a nice thought to have, if a bit naive, you thought.

He was a demon, not a guardian angel of some sort. He had no obligations to you.

Yet here he was, still living with you over a month after that awful night.

Your thoughts are completely swept away when you’re pushed by the hips against the counter with your back to it, your hands instinctively bracing the edge on each side of your hips for support. The demon’s face is immediately in front of yours, his breath easily filling your nostrils with an ashen smell. You see those horns of his again and have to fight the urge to reach up and grab one, maybe even give it a tug. He’d probably cremate you for it.

Could he hear your thoughts? Previous instances somewhat insinuated that he could, but he never admitted to it - or denied it.

Dabi was right. You don’t want to get rid of him. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that. There is an intensity in those half-lidded, fiery eyes of his that has never before been directed at you by anyone, and it leaves you wishing you could read his thoughts. Are his eyes merely looking at your own, or are they bearing into your soul, calculating and appraising it?

What you can tell is that it’s full of impatience and want. Greed. Lust. And so much of it all.

You tilt your chin down a bit and look up at him with a gulp quietly. You can’t think of anything to say, and tension builds within your chest as you search; you feel as if that silence ought to be filled, yet here you are, at a loss for words as you stare at your own reflection in his glossy eyes. On the other hand, he seems totally content letting you lie in it, letting you squirm for him as he smirks.

And so you look away, bringing your hands to your chest and holding them there bashfully. The sleeves of your sweater are soft and warm and plush - just how Dabi would describe you right now.

This maneuver of yours not being what he wanted, Dabi scowls a bit and grabs your chin to essentially force you to look at him, his thumb ghosting over the softness of your lower lip. He tilts his head at you almost curiously, perhaps evaluating your reaction as it’s been so long since he has seen or felt the mortal world. Those eyes narrow at you, though not out of ire. Dabi’s thumb pokes at the crevice between your lips, and the rest of his fingers on your jaw tug downward.

Confused, you comply anyway and part your lips for him, only for his thumb to invade your mouth and press hard on your tongue, coaxing you to gag and instinctively grasp both hands on his wrist. You attempt to pull it away, to relieve the pressure in your mouth, but he doesn’t want that.

Hell, in reality, neither do you. You just don’t feel like gagging and clouding your vision with tears.

Aw, you poor dear.

With a contemplative hum he pulls his appendage out of your mouth and holds it not far from your mouth, as if planning another venture into your wet cavern. You can’t help but stare at the string of saliva still connecting your lips and his hand as it glistens in the low lighting of your kitchenette.

“Open back up for me,” he huskily demands, but it’s not cruel and dictating, so you comply, entranced as if under a spell. But you know you’re not. This time, it’s his forefinger and middle finger that roam between your teeth, and as if he had told you to do so telepathically, you close your lips around them. With an innocent, doll-eyed look, you suck his fingers and lick at them with your tongue, earning yourself hushed praises and a searing trail of touches up your ribcage and back down. You continue to lick away, occasionally wrapping your tongue around his digits or cradling them as you suck on them, coating them in your saliva as some of it trails out one of the corners of your mouth. They feel cold, as if there was a lack of circulation, and it only spurs you on to warm them with the toasty cavern of your mouth and soft plushness of your tongue.

You’re sure you’re less than apt at this, but the praise and touch you’re receiving helps you feel less... off.

Dabi leans in for your ear, his hot breath against your cartilage sending a chill down your spine before his wet tongue laps at it, and you jump in your skin at the burning, completely unknown sensation. It’s so hot it almost stings, but it’s not painful; tingly, maybe. In the process you lean away to your left a bit, at which he seems to pause. But then you lean back as if to tell him to go on, and you can nearly hear the simper he gives just before he latches onto your ear, licking and nibbling away as you tremble and whimper around his fingers. The heat at your core throbs in tandem with your racing heartbeat, creating a melody of your arousal that you hoped only you could witness.

But you knew better than to doubt the senses of a demon.

“You’re doin’ good, doll,” he breathes into your ear, aggravating the sound of blood flushing through your ears and the thump of your heartbeat. “Such a good girl for me...”

The digits in your mouth get a little adventurous and explore your wet cavern a bit, but they’re quick to push down on your tongue again and you gag around them. Tears start to pool within your eyelids and your whimper is stuck in your throat.

The demon then unceremoniously pulls his fingers from your mouth to reach down at the hem of your sweater and yank it up over the swell of your chest, leaving your torso and bra-covered breasts bare. Dabi seems to drink up the sight of you as if it were a sweet wine he hadn’t indulged in for centuries. Both his hands then trail ghostly fingers - really, they felt like spiders - up your belly and to your sternum. You shiver and a mewl fights out of your throat unexpectedly, your back arching unintentionally toward him as you clutch onto his forearms. Dabi lets out a hot breath, just thereafter his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your bra as he grinds his pelvis against yours, the outline of his hardened cock clear as day against you. You don’t even try to fight back the moan it elicits as your head droops back at the stimulation.

Why bother, right?

The inhuman entity before you takes the opportunity to use your open mouth, his own latching into yours and tongue exploring your mouth in a battle for dominance you have absolutely no hope to win as he makes a mushy mess of you. You accidentally lacerate your tongue on the sharp point of one of Dabi’s teeth and flinch a bit, the sting on your tongue nearly coaxing you to pull away while the taste of iron floods your mouths. That tase you could certainly live without only encourages him, as Dabi growls and grips the base of your neck to hold your head in place as he quite metaphorically devours your tongue with his own, before his teeth latch onto your lower lip and you squeak in surprise as he pulls away.

“Aw, what’s’a matter, little mouse?” Dabi taunts, left palm dropping to rub against your clothed sex.

“Ah, Dabi-!” You jolt at the sudden stimulation on your clit and breathe in hard. Even if there are a couple layers keeping his bare hand from touching you, if feels damn good to have someone else touch you like this. Ripples of warmth flood through you and you feel your body temperature rocketing. Your own breath feels as though it’s on fire as it leaves your heavily salivated mouth and bloody lips in rabid succession, alongside your increasingly rapid heartbeat. Your grip on his firm arms tightens and you resist the urge to grind against him as he continues his ministrations. “Fuck...”  Your lips throbbed, yet you weren’t sure if it was from the tiny wounds he created or your blood pressure spiking.

“Hm?” The demon hums, inquisitive and high in pitch - yet maybe condescending. “‘Fuck,’ huh?” His grip on the back of your neck relaxes only slightly before his tongue pokes out of his mouth and drags along your lower lip, lapping away at the blood pooling there and drawing a slight whine from you. “What about it? You sayin’ you want me to fuck you, doll? Tell me.”

Blood rushes to your face like there was a race and your eyes wander from his bashfully, instead choosing to look at the horns cutting through his spiky black hair. He’s right, you do, you have to admit it. But admitting it out loud was embarrassing! With a gulp you elect to simply nod, but his brows furrow and he’s clearly unimpressed considering the animalistic growl that claws out of his throat.

“Hey, I’ve been locked away from you humans for so long, y’know,” he breathes, his voice dark and low. “I’m a bit behind on gestures. You have to tell me.” This time, you can tell by the almost playful tone of his voice that he’s really lying and just trying to make you admit it aloud. Dabi’s palm leaves you before moving up to the waistband of your jeans while his other hand snakes up your neck and latches onto a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, say it. Where’s all that spunk from earlier? You’re all bark and no bite, little one.”

“Y-yes, Dabi. I... I want you to fuck me.” You finally meet his eyes again, and the hunger in them from before hasn’t faded at all; it’s only deepened. What else has changed was the hunger and arousal in your own eyes.

That smirk appears again and Dabi leans into your ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he parrots, “do you? You want my demon cock to take your virginity and fill you up? You want me to fuck you against this counter until your voice gives out? You’re a slut after all, little one. Beg like one, then.”

Your thighs clench together and you gulp. This was... not how you fantasized your first time to carry out. “Demon cock” was not something you’d ever thought you would hear someone say.

But who cares? Not you.

“Yes, please. Please!” You tug at his jacket in an attempt to coax him toward you, your knuckles turning white from your grip. “Please, fuck me with your demon cock...” Your this time voice is less loud and demanding, albeit it’s more desperate and pleading. “Please.” Your voice breaks this time.

Nor was it something you thought you would ever say.

A groan rumbles from Dabi’s chest. “Good little human. Keep it up, yeah?”

You squeak as he roughly yanks your sweater over your head before working to unbutton your jeans, his lips and teeth savoring your neck all the while. Your head cranes back again, a mute gasp leaving you at the sensation of his searing tongue on your recently sweat-slicked neck as his fingers work to remove your bra before they move onto yanking your panties down. At least, you thought he yanked them down, but a quick glance to the floor revealed he ripped them off, rendering them unusable.

“I liked those!” you whine, still panting.

“Tough luck. I didn’t.” It’s not like you need to wear panties around him anyway. He’d burn every pair you owned to mere ashes if it meant getting you to waltz around your apartment with no panties. They just got in the way.

“Daabi! Why would you-

“Oh god!”

You jump and thrust against Dabi’s hand when his fingers run through the slick of your soaked cunt, your breathing ragged, while he gathers the slick abundant there and edges toward your clit. His tactic coaxes ripples of pleasure that lull a low moan out of you.

“Ha,” he scoffs in your ear, “no gods have anything to do with it, babydoll.”

Dabi’s fingers finally work their way to your clit and circle around it a few times before rubbing in a steady rhythm around it. You moan at the combination of the bliss he gives you and the pet name, and your legs instinctively open wider for him as you mewl.

“I’m really not sure you are a virgin, doll,” he starts with a chuckle, “You’re fuckin’ soaked, you know that? Like a slut begging for my dick.”

“D-Dabi!” You flinch at the sinful words he’s spitting at you, embarrassed.

The demon’s digits leave your clit and trail back through your folds, and the wet, lewd sounds that result almost surprise you more than the fact that you want to fuck a demon. You buck your hips in hopes of encouraging his fingers back to your clit, albeit his other hand distracts you with a flick to your nipple, before it rubs circles over the sensitive nub as the rest of his hand palms at your tit.

“Ah, feels so good,” you find yourself muttering.

In response his ear seems to twitch. “Speak up.” His lips are sucking and nipping at your neck, either ignoring or enjoying the layer of sweat built up on your skin as the heat coming from his body begins to overwhelm you. Not that you mind either way. He’s definitely leaving a mark here and there as he works around your neck. Not that you mind either way.

“Your fingers... ah, feel so good!” Your head cranes backward, your hands dropping to the counter against your ass for support as your legs begin to feel weak. The shockwaves of pleasure his hands send through your nerves leaves you feeling weak and mushy.

“Good. Now hold still.”

You give a confused look, eyebrows pointed upward before you feel the tip of his digit poke at your weeping hole, eliciting a loud gasp from you when his finger plunges into your pussy with no reserve. You hiss at the sudden intrusion, you walls stretching pleasurably yet painfully as he slowly moves his finger around, letting you adjust. His other hand merely plays with your breast.

Biting your lip, you lean forward and plant your sweaty, flushed forehead on his shoulder. “Hey, it kinda hurts,” you whine.

“Just relax, doll.” Dabi’s voice isn’t as crass as it was before, nor is it entirely soothing. You figure he just doesn’t have it in him to coddle you, being a demon and all that.

You whimper as Dabi ever so slowly thrusts his finger in and out, the mixture of pleasure and pain not at all what you’d expected. When his finger hits a spongy spot, you jolt and moan for him, and he takes the opportunity to take over your mouth again in a wet, hurried kiss with a groan. Dabi swallows any and all sounds that you make, and in the process you feel the hand on your tit move downward to your hip before it swings around and wraps under your thigh to lift your knee up to his hip level. The muscles of your legs tensing and the choked moan in your throat tell him the pain is starting to very slowly fade away. At the realization, he carefully dips another finger into you and you moan, higher in pitch, into his mouth before he pulls away to stare at the sight of his fingers fucking into you for only a short moment. Dabi is then quick to shove his tongue back into your salivating mouth.

The lithe digits within your wet walls pick up pace gradually, giving you time to adjust and not barreling into you. By now there is still a barely-there stretch, and all the pain has essentially faded as the assault on your nerves takes place and you near an orgasm. Your eyes lull shut and your head cranes back, your hips almost thrusting involuntarily on his fingers as his pace keeps increasing and pushing you over the edge.

“I’m- ah, I think I’m...”

Dabi hums as if requesting you repeat yourself or perhaps simply acknowledging your sputtering, but you’re too busy moaning louder and and thrusting into the palm of his hand, to do so, as the coil between your legs tightens. His fingers graze over that same spot as before and you cry out for him, for which his fingers increase their pace even more rapidly and slam into that spot over and over and over again as he groans at the lewd, wet squelching resulting.

“Shit! I’m gonna cum, Dabi, I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it. Cum for me, babydoll.” His voice is much more authoritative and huskier, and as per Dabi’s demand you cry out almost loud enough for your neighbors to hear as your orgasm slams into you like a tsunami of pleasure crashing into your nerves. Your soft, hot walls convulse around his fingers in your release as he uses them to fuck you through your first orgasm of the night, with your hips still thrusting toward him uncontrollably as you go through your high and begin to climb down, panting.

Your head feels light in the best way possible and your legs are weak, so you whine lowly as he pulls his fingers from your heat with a pleased sigh. The second your legs give out, he catches you by the ribs before grabbing your trembling hips and lifting you onto the counter, with you latching onto him and holding tight all the while, your forehead on his shoulder and arms around his neck while your legs wrap around his hips.

Dabi drags the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, sending a jolt of calming, electric waves up your spinal cord as he repeatedly kisses your hair and ear on the side accessible to him.

“Atta girl,” he mutters into your hair.

Do you... thank him? He’s giving you a compliment, after all, right? Do you nod? Do you hum? You have the energy to do all three, but what response does he expect of you?

“I didn’t... do anything,” you mutter quietly, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

“Technically. Doesn’t matter because you will, soon.” He leans into your ear like he’s so fond of doing, his lips grazing your earlobe. “We’re not done, doll.”

Your legs twitch around him unconsciously, eliciting a deep, amused chuckle from the demon.

You see pointed pearly whites bear at you before he lifts you off the countertop and plops you down in front of him. Dabi’s hand squeezes your ass cheek, said hand then spinning you around to put your back to his chest. Searing breath on the back of your ear makes it twitch. “You’re wet and all, doll, but I’m not sure you’re wet enough,” he taunts, his hands splaying out on your abdomen and gently roaming around, fingers spread wide as they adore your body.

“For what?” Dabi’s chest against your back prevents you from turning around and giving him a confused look.

“My cock. What else?” he jabs.

Your curt reply is totally cut off and forgotten when you feel a wet tongue singe the side of your neck toward the back, and you gasp shakily.

“What to do, what to do...?” you hear Dabi whisper into your now-pebbled skin, his hands ghosting down toward your thighs.

“Oh.”

Remaining silent yourself, you could feel the damn lightbulb light up in the bastard’s horned head, but you didn’t know what exactly would entail.

Before you can ask what the hell he was on about, his fingers drove between your glistening  folds and prod around, as if measuring the lewd slick settling there. They quickly pull away after a quick hum from Dabi.

“Be a good little human and bend over, yeah?”

Without a word or thought against it you comply, bending over your countertop and leaning on your elbows a little. You gulp at the thought of your leaking cunt bearing for Dabi. You weren’t sure what he could see from this position, but you were a little embarrassed, nonetheless. With a gulp you shift your weight back and forth on your feet nervously.

Hands rub and palm at your ass cheeks as thumbs rub deeply into your flesh in a symphony of soothing touch. You sigh blissfully and spread your legs for the demon without realizing, but it’s over all too quickly when he instead moves your legs back together. You crane your neck to look at him. “Wha...?”

Wasn’t he going to fuck you from behind?

Suddenly the weeping tip of his cock slips between your thighs, gliding against your dripping cunt and through your folds. There’s no piercing despite his many others, though perhaps that was why he asked you to take him to a parlor not long ago.

Dabi’s cock manages to grace your clit and your body unwillingly jolts a little, still having been sensitive from your previous orgasm. A soft gasp leaves your swollen lips and you hear Dabi growl behind you while he pulls back from your ass end only to jut forward again. Legs beginning to tire out, you unconsciously spread them, only for his hands to push them together roughly.

“Don’t fuckin’ spread ‘em,” he hissed, hips holding still. The fingers on your thighs push deep with force sure to leave bruises while you hiss quietly at the stinging pain they bring to your nerves. But that sensation is quick to fade into something warm and euphoric yet electric and sensitive, causing your head to spin even though he’s not fucking your desperate pussy. He pistons his hips into your ass, and you mewl.

“That’s your last warning, fuck!” he grunts.

You nod vigorously, content with letting him fuck your thighs so long as he keeps grazing your puffy clit like this. His pace quickens and soon enough you hear loud skin slapping against skin, his hips jutting into your ass and balls pattering against the crevice between the soft flesh of your thighs. The quick pace and silkiness of his cock against your clit is euphoric, leaving you to wonder if it would be better than this if he were inside of you. Are you drooling? Your head droops lazily as you revel in pleasure.

The wetness and heat between your legs has increased several-fold, but it’s apparently not enough for Dabi. Your poor body rocks against the counter and your eyes are clenched shut, head fixated on the sensation of his cock grinding against your cunt and between your soft, drenched thighs. You weren’t sure if it was the position or your nerves going haywire, but your legs ached with a dreadful burn.

“D-Daaabi,” you whine pitifully, “my legs... aah, hurt...!”

A hand jumps to your navel and brings you back toward him to allow room for his fingers slithering to your cunt. Before they graze over your clit, they stop. “Cum for me, then,” you hear him command, voice deep and breathy and sending a chill up your spine. “Maybe when you’re done, I’ll take you to the bed and fuck you into the mattress. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, doll?”

“Yes, b-but,” you suck in a breath when his hand envelops your tit, “‘maybe?’” You parrot the word desperately, your head going blank as you near orgasm.

“Mhm.” You can hear the smirk in it, and the sound of the hum rumbling in his chest is oddly euphoric for you to hear.

You hated having him behind you like this. All you wanted in the moment was to latch onto him and relish in his heat no matter how intense it would be for a mortal like you. You wanted to touch him, to be able to see him, and he was depriving you of it all - very likely on purpose.

Your moans and squeals get higher in pitch and Dabi evidently picks up on your cues, thrusting against your cunt faster and faster until your entire body tenses.

You cry out his name ever so quietly, yet before you can climax he pulls away and leaves you panting and weeping, a whine escaping your throat. “But you told me...!”

“Changed my mind.”

“You’re a jerk!” you half-gripe and half-whine, standing up to glare at him. “I was so... so close, you know! You better make it up to me!” You huff and puff from the intensity of almost cumming.

“You’re awful feisty when I’m not touching you,” he remarks cockily.

You’re going to regret saying what you said. At least, that’s what the look in his eyes tells you when he spins you around. It’s dark and already you shrink in front of him. The next thing you know, Dabi’s pushing you against the counter and mumbling something into you ear, that something being an incantation that sends a trickle of electricity though every nerve of your body. Suddenly you’re cumming hard as heavy waves of pleasure wrack your cunt clenching around nothing rapidly as whatever the demon used on you pushes you through your orgasm, your toes curling and lips shrieking, head falling back so fast it almost slammed into the cabinet if he hadn’t caught it. You don’t register that you had wrapped your arms around his waist until his hands grasp them as if holding you there.

“How’s that for makin’ it up to you, eh?”

With his voice pulling a moan out of you, your poor brain goes foggy and full and it spins within your skull as you pant away, your body feeling heavy. Dabi grabs hold of you and lifts you onto the countertop when it seems like your legs are going to give out. “Hey,” he mutters into your sweaty neck, “don’t tire out on me. I wanna fill that pussy up with my cum ‘til it’s dripping out.”

You feel heat rush from your heaving chest up your neck to your cheeks. “Stop... that! You pervert.”

Dabi chuckles at you. You weren’t prudish, you were inexperienced. “What? Stop what, hm?”

“Talking like... that.”

He only hums, though, and he’s not to comply with your request. “Ya know, if you weren’t a virgin, I’d take your ass, too. Or put you on your knees and shove my cock down your throat until you’re chokin’ on it. Fuck, you’d sound like an angel.” Dabi chuckles at his ironic comparison, seemingly proud of himself for it.

You shrink in front of him and shiver, the room feeling so cold. You glance at your bedroom door and he notices promptly.

“I’ll carry you, for a price.”

Your eyes flicker back to him and the simper he flashes you would’ve had you weak in the knees had you been standing.

“Like what, my soul?” It’s a slightly genuine, slightly snarky question.

“Your mouth.” Dabi waves a hand at your widened eyes. “Not tonight. Maybe next time. You won’t know up from down and I don’t feel like playing teacher more than I already am.”

The demon doesn’t wait for your snarky remark before he picks you up and lugs you to your bed. You let out a noise when he literally drops you onto the mattress, your form bouncing atop it before he pins you to the bed roughly, so quickly you get dizzy. He dips his hips between your legs and spreads them wide while his mouth delves into the crook of your sweat-coated neck to let him begin suckling and leaving stinging marks with sweet, little kisses peppered in between.

It seems he’s suddenly gone soft on you, but it won’t last, even if you don’t know it.

Your back arches against him, ready to finally feel his torrid body against yours so that you can relish in his warmth despite the fact that your body was soaked in sweat; you wanted so much more, you needed it. Your next moan is dealt without a care who can hear, and thereafter with you wrap your arms around his neck tightly. Dabi grabs your hips and squeezes the plump flesh before his hands roam down your thighs to your knees as he hikes your legs around his hips, with you far too eager not to comply.

“Dabi,” you breathe, and he hums with one of his hands still on your hip as the other supports his weight by your shoulder. “Kiss me. Please.” Your voice is desperate and needy, and you’re starting to think this is more than lust pushing you on.

Had he used another demonic spell on you?

When Dabi complies, his hips grind against you to allow his hardened cock to nudge the folds of your glistening pussy.

This time around, with his tongue prodding in your mouth at a slower, more passionate pace, you catch on and realize he has a tongue piercing. Your walls clench at the thought of what it would feel like licking stripes up and down your soaked cunt, wondering whether it would be cool to the touch or searing hot due to his body temperature.

Searing hot would be the answer, though you don’t know that as of now.

The demon grinds against you as he devours your mouth with his own, his weeping cock sliding through your your wet folds. On the other hand you’re careful not to cut your tongue on his teeth again, albeit he wouldn’t complain if you did; if anything he’d encourage it. Your hands splay on his hot back, and you wonder that if leaving them on his searing skin for too long will burn you. If it gave you the opportunity to roam your fingers over his muscles and caress the staples, goddamn would it be worth the burns. With a sigh into his mouth your hands move from his back to grab onto those horns you’d thought about, your grip gentle yet exploring as you try to focus on feeling the rough texture of them.

Dabi pulls away from you to pepper open-mouthed kisses among your jawline, growling all the while. “What’re you doing?” he brusquely asks between the wet gestures, and you croon. His voice was so rough and gravelly while the gestures were soft and... sweet. You almost dare to say it was heavenly.

“Just feelin’ ‘em, babydoll.”

You throw his pet name back at him purposefully, and the mockery elicits a dark chuckle from him. Ever so slowly, you were beginning to learn how to be more brazen. You were getting comfortable with him on this intimate level. You’d already been comfortable in some way with him living forcibly in your apartment for over a month, but not on this level, not like this.

The stapled hand on your leg disappears before it reappears in your hair and gives a pull - not a yank - to tilt your head back and further expose your neck. You expect him to ravage it with his mouth like earlier, but he stopped to admire his apparent handiwork. You can’t see the marks he’s left, albeit he’s apparently satisfied as he smirks.

“What’re you doing?” you mimic him playfully.

“Thinkin’ about how I want you, of course.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

In response, you huff at him.

“Let’s see,” he begins, moving closer to you, his breath fanning the lower half of your face as his eyes bore into your soul, “chest up against the wall, or on your hands and knees... hell, maybe just your knees...” He moves down so that his breath reaches just under your jaw, his eyes still staring intensely up at you while his hand slithers to your tit, rolling the hardened bud under his finger and you mewl. “...could always put you in a mating press and fuck you like a bitch in heat... I might even let you get on top, if you’re a good girl. Decisions, decisions, eh?”

“What,” you huff, “you mean, with all that whoring and harassing you did, you never thought this through?” You mirror his smirk with your own quirked brow while you rub the horns on his head, thoroughly enjoying their soft yet rippled texture.

“Oho, that’s the problem, doll. I’ve thought about it too much.” Dabi’s teeth put on a show for you to see from his widening smirk. Next thing you know, his fingers are pinching and tugging your nipple roughly for the first time and you keen under him from the shock before his wet mouth matches onto your other tit, tongue lulling over the bud. You mewl and flick your head back, chest heaving in your panting as you feel him suction onto your plump skin and suck away with a sopping, hot mouth, his low sigh into your skin blissful.

Your hands drop to his shoulders as a result of the distraction his mouth brings. Demonic saliva coats your tit and glistens in what little silvery moonlight filters through your blinds, all while you feel the pull of your leg over his right shoulder and prodding at your weeping heat with the tip of his cock.

“Ya know what?” he murmurs into your skin, “I wanna see these lovely tits of yours bounce.” With his other hand he guides the tip in and gives a moan at how warm and slick the entrance of your cunt is around him. And tight as hell, too. Of all the summons he could’ve answered, he answered the one that, unbeknownst to Dabi, lead to you, just on a whim. And fuck, if it wasn’t worth it.

You whine and writhe underneath him, needy as can be, as your entrance clenches around the head of his cock.

“Use your words, babydoll.”

You groan at him. “Just please hurry up and fuck me!”

“Your wish is my command...” Dabi’s voice is full of tease and mockery, which makes you want to bite his tongue.

Without any warning he sheaths his cock all the way into you as a groan escapes his throat, and you jolt at the sensation of suddenly being so goddamned full, your lustful gasp resonating off the walls of your bedroom. That one hard pump of his hips sends a wave up pleasure through your nervous system and the stretch of your tight walls leaves you wanting more. He’s much longer and thicker than his fingers, and you can’t help your cunt clenching around him like it does. The subconscious movement has Dabi groaning and panting out as you clench on his cock, and he still can’t help but relish in how fucking worth the wait you are.

That stretch of your cunt is back again, sweet and sinful as before. His cock brushes against all the right places, filling you up perfectly and having you drool for more.

Dabi holds still at least, though you can tell it won’t be for long.

“So goddamned tight,” he spits through his teeth against your neck, fighting the demanding of every cell in his body to fuck you like a rabid animal. Dabi’s hot breath fans over your neck, his teeth clenching as a result of your tightness around him.

His hips slowly start pushing and pulling to gently thrust his throbbing cock in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust before he can pick a normal pace.

...is what you thought he would do.

But nay, he begins with slow and agonizingly yet blissfully hard thrusts into your wet core, his grunts being drowned out by your wails and mewls as he slams into your sopping cunt. The lewd sounds of wet skin slapping slowly against skin and hot squelching mixes into it all, creating a melody of sin only you and Dabi share, that only the two of you can hear.

You were definitely going to hell, by now. But hey, good dick seemed worth the eternal damnation. Right?

With one particularly hard thrust, Dabi bites into the crook between your neck and shoulder, unexpectedly not breaking the skin, eliciting a cry from your parched throat and your eyes shut tight. The teeth latching onto your skin feel less sharp and more human, as he’s morphed them not to tear into your flesh and draw blood. He’d never hear the end of it for getting blood on your sheets, he knew that. Besides, if he wasn’t careful it would kill you.

He doesn’t want that happening again. Ugh. That was a godsforsaken mess - literally.

With every pounce of his hips, your tits bounce on your chest like he set out to do and he was sure to take in the sight of it all very well, having waited over a month for it. The smarting pang you felt earlier when his fingers fucked you is completely gone by now, leaving you to writhe and thrust your own hips from the overwhelming fucking of your senses.

“Dabi, Dabi!” you sob, your thoughts blending together until nothing but the demon inside of you remains in your consciousness. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, drawing a thick, black liquid in the deep crescents, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Words, babydoll,” he breathes out, emphasizing the first word with a thrust. “C’mon, you know better.” He groans above you.

A yelp and another, higher in pitch slap of skin resonates within the room amidst the wet, sloppy ones and his grunts, but it doesn’t register that he’s slapped the underside of the thigh perched on his shoulder until you feel the pulsating sting that scatters through your leg. The yelp was apparently yours.

“Faster!” Your voice is devoured by a whiny tone and squeals that fight out of you, but it’s drowned out by the rhythm of his hips against yours.

Another slap hits your senses, and you cry out, tears flooding your eyelids. All you need is a little push.

“So fuckin’ demanding... Where are your manners, little mouse?” His lips are on your ear again, almost as if threateningly. “I’d be a little more... ngh...  polite if I were you.” The covers bunch and roll under your body when it’s slid back against them from the hardest thrust he’s graced you with yet, the process bringing a shriek out of you and shock as a result of his hitting that special spot after angling his hips just right and causing your poor head to spin. With Dabi then yanking you back to where you were with the hand on your thigh above the reddening cloud of flesh, you croon underneath him as he stops fucking your dripping wet heat altogether. You’re left to stare into his fiery blue eyes directly while hot breaths flood out of you in rapid succession. His nose almost touched yours, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s dead serious.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re at my mercy, doll. If I don’t want you to cum, you won’t.”

“Nonono, I’m sorry! Please! Please! I’m sorry!”

A cross between a hum and growl leaves his throat, and you shrink underneath him.

“‘Please,’ what?”

“Go faster, please!”

Dabi’s teeth are on your neck again when he picks up his thrusting into you, increasing in speed and fucking your sopping pussy like you had requested. With his hands on your hips, the demon mutters praises and moans into your neck and you sputter incoherent gibberish when you’re not gasping for air and squealing and bawling out from his almost inhuman, blissful pace. The leg wrapped around his waist clenches as hard as you’re physically able as he slams into you, and while your senses are being ravaged and brutalized, you hear faintly those wet squelching noises and the sounds of metal and wood creaking. You weren’t sure if the thrumming in your eardrums was your heartbeat or your headboard hitting the wall, but the thought of the latter rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Dabi angles his hips just right and smacks his cock into that oh-so-special spot within your soft cunt, and the jolt of pleasure and utter bliss that results brings you back to reality momentarily - yet still somehow throwing you out of your mind.

“Right there! Dabi! Oh, fuck!” You sob with a slur, your hands grasping and clawing at his back desperately. Incoherent garbling follows thereafter, and Dabi doesn’t even try to decipher it even if it is silk against his ears.

The fingers gripping onto your hips are so tightly embedded into your skin, Dabi’s sure they will leave round little bruises in their wake and he relishes in the idea, but the sting they bring you feels so damned good, you welcome it, too. The tension that builds within your cunt keeps building and building, your hot walls clenching around Dabi as you near carnal release. You’re close, so fucking close to the height of true bliss, your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as your back lifts off the mattress without you willing it. You feel that familiar tingle before-

It stops.

You sob at the utter emptiness and lack of release, your head spinning.

The ancient bastard denied you of your orgasm.

Chest heaving up and down in your panting, your wordless whine and protest at the emptiness you can feel is seemingly ignored by Dabi. The lack of warmth at your pulsating core is almost... cold. So cold.

“Wh-why...?” you whine.

The demon lets out a breathy groan. You can feel him dip his lips to your collarbone and smirk. “Just ‘cause.”

Quickly the demon sits back on his haunches and your arms droop off his shoulders. Dabi blinks at you with his hand holding your ankle to his shoulder, all the while staring you down with an intensity that has you feeling small, like an ant before an elephant. You’re so vulnerable and naked under his unwavering gaze, it’s nearly frightening. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. It’s soft but it’s predatory. He drinks in the sight of you leisurely.

You know damn good and well blood is rushing to your face, your hot breaths leaving you in weak puffs.

“Aren’t you precious?” you hear him remark with a toothy smirk. “Just for me. Right?”

You nod.

Demonically slitted eyes narrow at you darkly. “Say it, then,” he demands.

“Just...” you pant, “for you.”

Dabi’s hand pulls your ankle off him and puts your foot flat against the bedding next to his knee as he looks down at you. The moonlight striking the vibrant color of Dabi’s eyes is breathtaking, if your breath could be knocked out of your lungs further. It almost forced you to liken the sight with tinted ice, with icy waters off Iceland or perhaps glacier-dwelling seas of the Antarctic. And yet, you knew better.

The sight before Dabi was more than he’d expected, albeit just as sinful. Seeing you splashed out in bed, sweating and panting and dripping in your own essence just for him drove him wild. You were so adamant against fucking him, about retaining your innocence and saving it for the “right” person, in the beginning. And yet now, you let him do as he pleases and he didn’t doubt it would be the first time. He knew better.

“Get on your hands and knees, love.”

That was a first. “Love?” You like it more than the several others. It was smoky and gravelly and breathy all once.

Without your knowing your eyes soften and you grin the tiniest grin at the demon, knowing he won’t return the favor and be as gentle and sweet with you. He’s quick to quirk a brow at you, but you turn on your side to maneuver your body around and comply with Dabi’s command. Your breath has evened out by now, as you prop yourself on your elbows with your ass pointing out to Dabi, weeping cunt ready to be filled. It was embarrassing being on display like this again. You glance back at him with curious eyes, only to be met with silence and what felt like a dark presence. He’d gone cold on you.

You feel a hot hand on the nape of your neck and swear on whatever god you used to believe that your skin sizzled for a bit, while another lands on your left hip as his cock presses up against your folds and slithers through between your legs a couple times, gathering the slick of your essence - as if it needed to! - before he delves into your pussy once again. You croon in front of him, and the moan that comes out of Dabi has you clenching around his cock for the countless time. He mutters something untranslatable to you and pushes down on your nape, easing you face-first into the mattress. Your bedding was so soft and warm from your own body heat. Maybe it was leakage from the demon’s body temperature, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was a mix of both, intermingling like perfectly-cut pieces of a puzzle.

With a sharp moan, Dabi bottoms out in you, your mewls being swallowed by the bedding pressing against your cheek. You sigh into plush warmth, but the soft and gooeyness you feel is quickly torn away by a harsh snap of Dabi’s hips. Your gasp is cut through by a squeak from your throat, only urging him further as you already feel that coil tightening and readying to snap. You feel him shift a little against you, and you try to glance at him as much as you can before he begins thrusting into you again. That hard but slow pace makes its appearance for a short while, and hot damn is it heavenly. You moan and whine completely unabashedly. The walls of your apartment were thin and cheap, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It was just an effect he had on you.

So what if your neighbors knew your were getting railed by a demonic being from ages past?

He certainly wanted them to know.

Dabi’s pace picks up again and you already feel the ripples of pleasure soaring through your body from your clenching cunt, your grip on the fabric underneath you tightening as you fight back the urge to bite into it. Even the lewd slaps of his hips against your ass are louder and quicker, and fuck aren’t they wetter. Dabi himself seems proud of this.

Your breathing quickens and your lungs almost burn like the hand on the back of your neck, your keening and sobbing getting higher in pitch and filled with rushed air. His thrusts only seem to get deeper and harder, if it were possible, and your eyes close shut tightly as your body trembles. Dabi adjusts his hips and continuously hits that oh-so-sweet spot that makes your head cloud over totally, his head falling back at the way your pussy hugs him tight.

“Dabi!” you sob. “Don’t stop, please!” Your wording is heavily slurred and slightly hushed from the impact of his fucking your nerves and your cheek being pushed into the bed, but you manage, nonetheless. You can’t fight back the drool that droops out the corner of your mouth.

The demon chuckles. Dabi could hear you say his name like that for a thousand years straight and it wouldn’t be enough. “S’pose you’ve been a good girl, babydoll. Go on, I’ll let you cum.”

The hand on your neck moves to your shoulder and soon enough, your chest and face are removed from the sheets, albeit you’re still on all fours as he fucks into you. Thereafter you feel the piping heat of his chest against your back, a crude reminder of the seven layers of arson Dabi’s capable. His hand holds you still while he continues to wrack your body with thrusts into your wet heat. You feel his fingers rub and circle your clit after a torrid hand snakes around your ribs and down your navel, and the pace of Dabi’s fingers is almost in beautiful tandem with his fucking as he hits that special spot over and over and over again. You can feel your essence flowing down the insides of your thighs like you thought wasn’t even possible, pussy dripping onto your bedding.

Ah, fuck.

With a lustful shriek, your spongy walls convulse around his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm, your vision going white as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body rocks back and forth, legs twitching and torso shuddering. It takes almost everything Dabi has not to cum then and there, his hiss and loud growl being evidence of that. You just feel so good, why wouldn’t he want to cum now? But no, that would be a treat for you later.

Your clutch on the bedding underneath is as tight as you’re fully capable, and your knuckles turn white while you revel in your own personal bliss, courtesy of whatever the hell Dabi is. The intensity of it all has your head spinning and body pulsating. Poor body beginning to come down from the fierce high, you wondered if Dabi would stop and let you bliss out - but nay; he continues to fuck you like an animal and abuse your clit while you cry it all out. You were drenched in sweat, your cheeks flooded with tears you didn’t know were there until now.

“Too much, too much,” you squeak quietly, so quiet you’re not even sure he could hear you. But maybe it was incoherent. Maybe you were babbling and drooling like a fucked out hole at this point. Was it getting overwhelming? Yes. Did it feel ungodly good? Fuck yes.

“You’re so fuckin’... wet, though,” he pants, before slowing down slightly. “I think you’re playing innocent. You like this, ah, don’t you?” Dabi groans as you continue to flutter, sensitively, around him. “You want me to fuck you stupid, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, right?”

Dabi chuckles at your lack of response and continues to ram into your soaking heat with your cries and squeaks only urging him further. An attempt to glance at Dabi is mostly thwarted by the pace he’s taken on, or maybe it’s because everything’s spinning - or is it the tears flooding from your eyelids - you manage to meet his icy, slitted eyes once, which prompts him to poke kisses at your nape and behind your ear. You feel that familiar warmth in your entire pelvis, you cunt clenching down on his cock as the waves of pleasure intensify.

“Dabi, I- nnn, it’s too mu-much,” you whine. “Please.”

“Nah, you’re okay, babydoll,” he drawls cockily, voice gravelly and breathy enough to make you cum on command. “I think you’ve got a few more for me, don’t you? C’mon.” He makes a point to hit your g-spot harder than before after he’s done talking, and goddamn does it take the air out of your lungs. You choke on your own spit when you feel that piping hot hand patted against your asscheek repeatedly.

Your shriek and wet slopping fills the room as you cum yet again, albeit this time the pressure on your nerves feels different - smoother, warmer - and the tingle in your belly is intense as your scream feels like it claws at your throat until it bleeds. Your thighs are drenched in your juices, cunt twitching and clenching in the aftermath of your mind-splitting pleasure. You mumble and whimper as he finally slows down and gives you a sliver of mercy, both of his hands now holding you up by your hips when your torso slowly droops down like it was before. Dabi chuckles behind you quietly as he comes to a halt.

“You good, doll?”

He’s definitely not sincere.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you heave and pant, the fabric in your fingers wrinkling in their grasp.

“Oi, you can’t quit on me now,” he demands. “I haven’t cum yet and I gotta make you squirt again.”

Trying to get a whole, solid word out was a struggle as a result of your heavy breathing and the overstimulation. Your head was fuzzy and the room was spinning like a damn typhoon, and for a split moment you thought you’d fallen unconscious. What spills out is garbled nonsense.

The demon hums that inquisitive hum again, urging you to speak.

You lift your cheek off the bed slightly, as you’re able. “Will...”

You’re not sure why, but the thought of Dabi skipping off after taking your virginity so unceremoniously rang into your thoughts, giving you a sense of loneliness and anxiety. Why, though? Why now?

“Huh?” He leans in so close, his horn bobs off the side of your head when he arches over you to put an ear to your lips. “Try again, love. Go on.” He sounds quite intrigued, probably the most you’ve heard him.

“Will you... hah, leave... me?”

The grin against your neck is dark.

“Whaddya mean, little mouse?”

His voice was downright excited. You were worth the wait. How long had it been since he’d had a human so obedient, so innocent yet so easily corrupted? You were his, now - whether you liked it or not was irrelevant. But he knew you would. Dabi had grown on you far more than you’d ever admit, he knew that for a fact. You were clearly enjoying yourself now, anyway. And it didn’t take magic to do all of this, save for one here and there to coax you to enjoy yourself and to bring out subconscious feelings. Like right now. You felt these things, he just amplified them to an unbearable extent. Whoops. You poor thing.

“Don’t go.”

Eyes half-lidded and droopy, you turn your head to look back at the demon, only to be met with sharp teeth shown off in a naughty grin. You blink once and you could’ve sworn you saw an image of a black, smoky aura surrounding him.

“If you can handle me, dear.”

You nod against the bed slowly before trying to push your ass against him with what little stability you have. Even if his cock was still buried in you, without any movement you felt empty and... alone.

“I thought it was too much?” he quips, hand rubbing at your reddened ass cheek in a way you have to describe as soothing. It felt so silky and mellow. Yet you knew he was far from that. “Well? I thought you were bitchin’ out on me like the virgin you are.”

“In... insi... inside,” you sputter shyly, mental clarity not quite returning, albeit you manage enough to think of that at least. You want him to cum inside, to know what it feels like to be stuffed full of his cum, to feel his cock twitching inside after his release. “C-um.”

You never would’ve thought about that before you met him. Why would you feel this way?

“Aw, what is it?” The hum that results from his scarred throat is dark. “You want me to cum inside right now? I’m not sure you’ve earned that yet.” His voice is bastardly and maybe even a little teasing, and he sighs almost happily at your squirming. “Asking me to cum inside like that the first time you get fucked - such a whore. Have I fucked you stupid already, doll? Shame, I thought you’d hold out better than that.” Dabi clicked his tongue and shook his head, though you can’t see. “Broken so early. Guess there’s no point in me stickin’ around after all, huh?”

A noise sounds from the back of your throat in protest and nearly unbeknownst to you, drool slithers out the corner of your mouth. Dabi seems to ignore your noises as his hands adjust your hips, giving you enough friction to elicit a whine from your lips. You can’t register this at the moment, but Dabi was a victim to his own whims and could be a mix of soft and downright mean in the bedroom, and there’s no telling which will arise. Sometimes he’ll want skin against skin, tongue lashing against yours, fiery pleasure; sometimes he wants to insult you and lash his hand across your ass cheek, leaving bruises or drawing blood wherever he can.

“I was gonna make you convince me,” he breathes, slowly thrusting. “But considering you’re still conscious, I think that’s enough.” Dabi chuckles behind you. Well, you were only conscious as per his meddling. He was the one keeping your consciousness pulled to the surface, preventing you from letting go of reality and passing out. “You’re most welcome to cry and beg, though, babydoll.”

Hell, that list was half-checked off. Tears stained your cheeks and blurred your vision already, and the more he fucked into you, the more they fluttered out. Your lungs burned at this point, a searing heat cutting through your chest. Anything you try to say comes out incoherently, a sputtered and garbled mess, when it’s not a pitiful sob.

You push your hips back against him in an attempt to fuck yourself on his cock while Dabi fucks your puffy cunt, drawing a condescending chuckle from him. The jolt of overstimulation beckoned you to crawl away and relieve yourself of him, but the need to have him thrusting and cumming inside you overcame it. His release and what it would feel like to have his cum mixing with your juices and dripping out of you was all you could think about, as if entranced in a spell that bound your consciousness to that one thing. The rest of your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent even to you, the drool trickling out your mouth and the rolling of your eyes into the back of your head representative of that.

As Dabi watched your pussy envelop him, he couldn’t help but envision his name carved into your asscheeks with a sharpened claw of his. Ah, the squeals and squeaks that crawl out of you would be divine in the most sinful way possible, and the threads of blood that would trickle down your skin would taste head-spinningly beautiful. Maybe next time. Dabi’s jaw clenched at the throb of his cock within your sputtering, velvety walls, the tightness in his abdomen building. Just one more...

“Fuck, little one...!”

As the demon drags sharp claws up your thigh and asscheek, it leaves red ribbons in its wake and the squeeze of your cunt and pitiful squeal tells him well that you’re enjoying it far more than you ever thought you would.

“Such a good fucking human... good fuckin’ hole,” he grunts, voice strained. His hand plants on the middle of your back and pushes hard, bowing your poor back as his other hand keeps your hips up, his cock ramming into you at a faster pace. Dabi lets out a loud groan when he sees the blissed out, tear-stained, drool-covered face of yours before his thrusting loses rhythm and he suddenly feels your pussy flutter around him hard in orgasm again, soaking him in your slick again. Finally he allows himself to find the release you’d internally begged for, fucking into you at a less than rhythmic pace as his own mind begins to become overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck, motherfucking-!”

Dabi soon finds his teeth embedded into your flesh and gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise or even cut into the skin as his hips move entirely on their own against you. With a strained moan he cums, thick, warm ropes of cum painting your fluttering, sensitive, and overstimulated walls as you literally cry and sob underneath him, his hips still involuntarily thrusting into you as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth.

“Fucking hell,” he bites out, body relaxing against yours as he comes down from the high, yet he doesn’t pull out. “I missed this.” His voice is breathy and littered with pants against your neck. Dabi leaves a few wet kisses to it before leaning back and slowly pulling out with a groan, leaving you empty and dripping before him. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out but is quick to gather it with his fingers and push it roughly back into your pulsating cunt.

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

Your poor head spins and you don’t know up from down, so Dabi ushers you to lay down and before he knows it, you’re passed out asleep. Eh, he’ll consider aftercare next time maybe. With a yawn that’s more out of sudden boredom than it is exhaustion, Dabi lays down next to you and props his head up with his hand, leaning against his elbow as he watches you sleep peacefully, a complete contrast to a few mere minutes ago. With a smirk he wipes the tears off your cheeks. Those cheeks...

“I oughta answer sacrifices more often.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #dabi #mha #bnha #blue hour. #*throws candy* happy halloween have some mediocre smut!

[dragonqueen1507]

The Beginnings of Doubt

Um, Hi. So this is an EmpiresSMP fic I wrote and I am very nervous to post this and Yeah. 

AO3 Link

Summary: What did the King of Mythland see when his neighbor was visited by Xornoth?

or Sausage's pov of Pearl's first meeting with the demon

The King of Mythland perched on the roof of the dark blacksmith studying his hands. They were broad, calloused and scarred from hard work. He remembered what projects caused each of the marks, what memories were tied to them. His builds, his farms, his ventures for power. He stared at them all. 

Swirls of dark magic emerged from the flesh of his palms with little effort. The power felt great. It nestled in a void Sausage had been trying desperately to fill. The magic crystals he’d stolen from Gem, the Blood Sheep sacrifices, none of it felt the same as what flowed through his body now. Xornoth had promised him power and he had delivered. Sausage was strong. He was powerful. Watching the dark energy twist and curl around his fingers he smiled. Never again would he be overlooked, never again would he lose. No one would be able to stand against him. That excited the King more than anything. 

Sausage unfurled his new wings and stepped off the roof. Soaring above the ancient dark oaks and buildings that housed his people, the King of Mythland looked at the twisting forms of red corruption that infested his kingdom with a feeling that resembled pride. Sausage gazed at the overrun buildings with a grin that could chill even a citizen of Rivendell. The wind that ran under his wings cooled his blood even as he itched to use his powers. To do what exactly he wasn’t sure, just to do something destructive, something powerful. Pulling out a rocket the dark Warlock flew toward the Lost Empire, already running late for their meeting. Joey would throw a fit sure, but when wasn’t he complaining about something? 

The dark forest bled into dense jungle and before long the fire temple came into view. The red and gold seemed to flicker like a flame in the sunlight. Sausage could see the irritated king standing at the temple entrance, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. 

“You’re late,” Joey spit out as the neighboring king landed. The parrot perched on his shoulder squawked in agreement before preening its feathers.  

“Yeah I’m really sorry about that, but we should get moving,” Sausage cheerfully took Joey by the shoulders, pushing him into the temple with a smile, “Can’t keep Lord Xornoth waiting!”

Joey let out an indignant sound but led the way down the hidden passage into the room. The walls were decorated with the banner of their master and the area was overrun with corruption. Tendrils nearly tripped the two rulers as they stepped down the stairs and took their places around the circle. 

The feathered king sighed dreamily, “Oh to finally see my darling Xorney again…” The Mythlandian shook his head with a smile, he knew Joey was head over heels for their master. Sausage didn’t understand it but he supported his friend nevertheless. The Lost King lifted the parrot from his shoulder and set it down in the circle. The bird cocked its head to the side as a sword was drawn. 

Sausage looked away before the weapon fell. He knew this was exactly like the Blood Sheep sacrifices so he had no reason to turn away. Both gave power, one less so, but some small part of him felt guilty at the sound of XP being gained. The warlock shook his head and straightened his back as the room darkened. He would deal with those useless emotions later. Black mist swirled in the room and the tall figure of Xornoth stood before them, horns nearly scraping the ceiling. His flesh a cracked charcoal black veined with pulsing red energy that cast strange shapes on the walls. 

Joey clapped his hands, “Xornoth! How are you my darling?” 

The deep, raspy voice of the Demon echoed in the small room, “I am well my dear,” Sausage thought Xornoth sounded a bit annoyed but he brushed it off. After all, who could dislike Joey? “I’ll be even better once the empires are in ruins.” 

“And then you’ll make me the King of all Kings right?” Joey asked.

“Yes my dear,” The Demon purred, “and no one will be able to stand in your way.”

Sausage nodded excitedly, “Oh yes, our powers will be so great. We’ll be unstoppable!” 

Xornoth nodded and motioned at the two. “What of the other rulers? I have kept a close eye on the Elf and the Gnome. What have the others been up to?” He flexed his claws and the tendrils of corruption around the room seemed to pulse in time with the motion. 

The two corrupted Kings reported what the others had done. From the quiet upkeep of the Vigil in Pixandria to the explosive experiments in the Grimlands. The Mythland King had more information than Joey who usually kept to his jungle or occasionally the Prisma Palace when his arguments with the Ocean Queen became a bit more heated. 

“Oh and Katherine visited Pearl the other day. I think they just had tea and talked since Katherine had this teapot with her but she didn’t have it when she left. It was a pretty teapot too from what I saw. It was this kinda tan-ish color and it had gold and green leaves painted all over. Oh, it might’ve been a gift for Pearl! She has a banner now and everything so she’s officially her own empire. I mean she was already her own empire but now it’s like all fancy official now.” The Iron King grinned as he spoke of his neighbor.  

Xornoth tilted his head, not entirely listening to the Warlock anymore. “Perhaps I will pay the Farmer Queen a visit myself as well.” Sausage’s smile froze on his face. 

Joey scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why? Pearl’s barely an obstacle. Her kingdom isn’t even anything of notice either. It’s so tiny!” He put a hand on his hip with a huff. 

Sausage frowned at the other ruler, “Hey now, Pearl is strong, she could beat the both of us in a fight easily.” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was true anymore, aligning with Xornoth had done the two of them wonders. “She’d be a great asset to Lord Xornoth.” The Iron King didn’t know why he was defending her. Sure, it was true that Pearl would be useful to Xornoth’s plans and they had been close - even closer than he was with the twins in the Wither Rose alliance before they betrayed him- but that didn’t explain why he felt so defensive about what Joey had said. 

Xornoth waved a hand dismissively at the two. “I will decide that myself.” Joey gave Sausage a smug look. The demon turned to Joey, “Every empire is an obstacle,” Joey’s smug look wilted into a pout. “Until they are all in ruins, not a single empire is to be ignored.” Xornoth tapped a finger idlily, “For now, continue cultivating the corruption. Keep the other empires in check as you see fit.” For the first time this meeting the Demon smiled. “I have a few things I need to take care of.” And with that, the Demon was gone, vanishing in less than the blink of an eye. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After the meeting the King of Mythland returned to his homeland. He had the strongest urge to do something- create something like he used to, before… all of this. He was tired of destruction for the moment. So he was wasting time and scouting out a hill to build a new castle on, flying back and forth from one end of his kingdom to the other. He should be doing something productive to forward their mission to help Lord Xornoth take control, but he just couldn’t right now. He didn’t know why. Soon enough he had to land and toss down some xp bottles to mend his wings. Who knew finding a new building spot would be so difficult?

PearlescentMoon has completed the challenge [Great View From Up Here]

Sausage paused when he saw the advancement pop up on his communicator overlay. Pearl hadn’t said anything about endbusting today. Before he was even aware of what he was doing the ruler of Mythland had already taken flight, scouring the skies for any sign of the sunflower Queen. 

Lord Xornoth would probably be angry if he intervened but he couldn’t care about that now. A few anxious moments later he spotted Pearl far above him, rising through the air through no power of her own. He could see the tell-tale bubble effects of a blindness potion from here. Some darker part of him wanted to smile at his Lord’s abilities. Look how powerful the Demon was! Soon Sausage would be just as strong as Xornoth was now once the empires fell. And they would all fall. 

The brief moment of madness was buried under fear as the levitation effect wore off and Pearl began to plummet. Sausage moved to pull out a rocket and rush through the air to try and do something- anything. He stopped when he suddenly heard… laughter? 

A clear, hearty laugh filled the air as the farmer Queen snapped open her wings of gold and glided down, still blind to the world. The Gilded Queen landed gracefully and turned unseeing eyes around her kingdom.

 In what could only be described as a giddy tone she shouted, “Come on Demon, is that all you got? That was more fun than anything!” Sausage blinked, did she just say what he thought she said? Coming to a somewhat undignified landing in a tree he watched the blinded Queen equip her shield and netherite sword before settling into a fighting stance. Sausage couldn't say he was entirely shocked. Pearl had always been rearing for a friendly spar, countless rulers had both new and old bruises to prove it, but he never would’ve thought she would try and spar with Xornoth. 

“Hey Demon! Do you want to be a part of my empire?” Pearl asked the question to the empty air around her. “We could be friends and do this more often! This is great!” Sausage nearly busted out laughing. 

Only Pearl. 

He heard Xornoth’s voice echo through the small kingdom, “There won’t be any empires left when I’m done.” Sausage gripped the branch he held tighter at that. Pearl only laughed, swiping at her eyes as the potion faded. 

“Oh trying to be an intimidating little nugget aren’t you? Well I don’t find you all that scary.” She sheathed her sword with a flourish and pulled out her bow, aiming at a mob that had wandered into her fields. “In fact this creeper is a bit more intimidating.” Letting her arrow fly she took out the creeper in one shot. Xp and gunpowder falling to the ground where it once stood. Xornoth appeared in the air next to the Farmer Queen who backed up as soon as she noticed him. 

“You want something threatening?” Xornoth seemed almost amused at Pearl’s gaull. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.” He spread his arms wide, curved claws glinting in the sun as a Ravager appeared before him. Sausage winced, he knew how destructive a Ravager could be from his own experience. Many fields and great dark oak trees were destroyed the last time one was discovered in Mythland. 

Pearl let out an exclamation of dismay for her poor crops before taking flight and firing down at the oversized creature. The Ravager fell far too soon for anyone’s taste, hardly a challenge at all. Pearl skillfully landed on the roof of one of her buildings. Sausage could barely believe his ears when he heard her comment about how cute Xornoth looked on the ground. Soon Blazes joined her in the sky to which she responded by downing a fire res potion without even breaking a sweat. The creatures fell before most of them could even throw a single ball of fire at her. The dark bubbles of a blindness potion returned and Pearl laughed. 

“This is fantastic! This is absolutely fantastic!” She coasted down, blind once more, off the roof and finished off the last of the Blazes. Another Ravager occupied her for a moment, posing as a slight bit more of challenge when she couldn’t see. 

“I love this!” She exclaimed when she had slain the Ravager, “I’m having a lot of fun right now, but I’m not very scared…” She trailed off with a smile, obviously goading the Demon into action. When Sausage spotted Xornoth the expression on his face was no longer amused. The Demon was starting to get frustrated. 

Suddenly Pearl was teleported onto the roof of her barn. She instantly stuck her arms out to keep her balance, dark bubbles still clouding her vision. Two witches spawned next to her and began tossing potions at her feet. Pearl skillfully dodged the breaking bottles and shouldered the two mobs roughly off the roof with her shield. Jumping down after them she landed in a roll and sprang back up onto her feet. The Farmer Queen made quick work of the witches when she found them. 

Sausage already knew how skilled Pearl was in combat, but seeing her fight… Even with his new powers he was thankful she was his friend. He was even more happy that he was hiding in a tree far away from her right now too. 

Xornoth, on the other hand, was not as happy. As the blindness potion cleared from Pearl’s eyes for the second time Sausage watched as the Demon bound her in place with tendrils of corruption. Xornoth’s movements were more forceful and angry as he spawned a group of Strays directly in front of the immobile Queen.

“Oh come on now, that’s cheating!” Pearl’s bright voice was colored with disappointment. She pulled out her bow and began letting arrow after arrow loose into the ever growing hoard of Strays the Demon was summoning. Though they began to burn the moment they spawned in the bright sunlight, Sausage knew it was a fixed battle. With every one she killed, three more seemed to take its place. Pearl couldn’t move to dodge their returning vollies either. He moved to fly down and help her. It was only a matter of time before- 

Ah.

A noise died in his throat. His momentum shook the whole tree as he grabbed a branch and stopped himself abruptly. The King stared at the scattered items and xp orbs laying on the ground. 

He should be proud.

Lord Xornoth had successfully defeated another ruler. Not even the strongest of empires could stand in his way.

 He should feel… well, he didn’t know exactly how he should feel. All that emerged from his heart was a feeling of numbness. He could see the Demon near where the Gilded Queen had stood just moments ago. The wind ruffled Pearl’s banner. The simple duck stitched into the fabric stared at him in accusation. 

He had made that banner for her.

Strays wandered around aimlessly, continuing to burn in the sunlight. Sausage raised his bow and shot each of the burning creatures dead. Xornoth’s power ran through him, making every arrow hit it’s mark. This whole situation felt both incredibly right and horribly wrong to him. Why was that?

The King’s shoulders tensed as the Demon turned toward the tree where he perched. He knew better than to try and hide from his Lord. Plastering a smile on his face the dark warlock waved at Xornoth, giving an excited round of applause before quickly taking flight. The sky filled his vision and took him away from the scene he had just witnessed. 

Xornoth’s gaze lingered in the warlock’s mind. Empty yet full of a near unbridled rage. 

Corrupted. 

Hollow. 

Sausage flew back to Mythland, landing on the roof of some building and began to think. Xornoth had shown his might once more. The display of incredible power assured him he had chosen the right side. No one could oppose him for long, the fight with the Farmer Queen had proven that. But- The Iron King wavered. He was proud of Pearl, her resilience against the Demon was amazing. The way she held her own for so long was incredible. How she kept fighting until the very end…

He stared at the coiling tendrils of corruption emerging from his Kingdom that glistened in the sun. Was it worth it? Sausage looked down at his hands. Broad, scarred and calloused from years of work. Hard work. Work where he had done something for himself, for his friends, his people. He couldn’t remember the last time he had truly done… anything since following Xornoth.

Oh but he had done something, part of him whispered, he had defeated the traitorous twins single handedly, he had made a name for himself, he had become strong. No longer would he be cast aside and overlooked. He was powerful and no one could take that from him. He would be the one to take from others. The Warlock’s hands curled into fists as dark magic pooled around him.  

A small yellow duckling swam in the river below. 

All in the name of the mighty Xornoth. 

Right? 

#Empiressmp #mythicalsausage #pearlescentmoon #Joey graceffa #Xornoth #The dragon writes #Holy shit I'm nervous to post this #thank you Fooled for beta reading this for me #AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH #my writing #how does one tag #mythical sausage

[rw47vr-key]

i have a fanfic request like , if only you want to!

Okay so jake is jealous becuase phil and darkness both flirting with mc in bar aurora!

Little note: Hey love!!💕 Thank you so much for the ask dear!💙I hope I won't disappoint you with this fic😅 And this is EP9 SPOILER FREE. And again thank you❤️ and sorry for the late update D:

And don't know if this came out well😅Sorry if there's any mistakes

"She's mine!! Back off you evil spirits!",

Jake yelled at Phil and Darkness, you in the middle of them,and suddenly, everyone stopped what they were doing and started concentrating what's happening to you,only the music in Aurora could be heard.

/Jake was ferocious and annoyed ,as if ready to chase bad vibes with salt.Well,salt was missing there.Jokes aside,it was partly your fault for him being mad.And you may ask who I am? The narrator of the life of duskwood mystery hero and heroine./

***

Two hours ago

You thought of going to Aurora and spend some time with your duskwood friends.

In Group chat

You: Hey guys! coming to aurora tonight?

Hannah: Sorry☹️ I'm having a date with Thomas.

Jessy: I can't come too😕, Today I was too busy at Rogers Garage😑 I need some rest😴. You have fun!

Richy: I'm already taking a nap.Adios!

Dan: I'm in the hospital

MC: Went for a checkup today,huh? It's ok , Take care Dan

Jake: I'm in. ;)

MC:Pick me up from my home then 🤭👍

Cleo: Me too, have to prepare cake for the kids in the nearby nursery.

MC: Good luck with the cake🍰

Lilly and Thomas is offline

MC: Ok Jake, it's just you, me, and Darkness,Phil your school friends

Jake: .....

Jake: Fine.

***

An hour later

Aurora was lively and filled with enthusiasm.People singing karaoke, dancing cheerfully, adding to that the glowing lights lit up in the bar ,it felt so nice to experience this after going through so much because of the maniac Mwaf.Well,now he is dead and everything went according to your wish,someway.

Jake and you had lots of fun alone in a corner seat in the bar.

/Huh huh nothing spicy/

He drank too much and now he's hiccuping and lying with his head on the table.He was half asleep.

You, having the drink on your hand, turned around when you saw Phil and Darkness coming towards you.

"How is my Nymos doing?", Darkness grinned and took a seat beside you,he was wearing dark clothes with a mask that had a skull figure.He rarely reveals his face.Thats his nature and he absolutely loves it.

"My beautiful lady is doing fine,since she saw me today ,am i right?", Phil asked adjusting his cooling glasses,holding a glass of your favourite drink in his hand.

"Hey guys! Wait, don't you have work,Phil?".

"That can wait",he winked and gave you the drink.

You emptied your previous one and recieved that drink with a smile,"Thanks".

"I shouldn't be attracted towards the ray of light you show everytime you smile, Darkness is enough for me,MC",he said staring with those black eyes,as dark as charcoal yet mesmerizing.

"Mmh,then don't stare at me".

"How about this Mr.Aurora have a dance with you?",he offered his hand and bowed, waiting for you to accept it.

"With pleasure,but my boyfriend will be mad,so no thanks",you hand him the emptied glass and waved.

/Oh sassy you/

But Phil pulled you closer and suddenly started moving you and him according to the music that was playing."Well,that was harsh,Mr.Aurora",you say and dance with even more joy, alcohol was also kicking in.

"Your hands perfectly fit mine,gorgeous",laughs Phil and whirls you around.

"Flirting king,better don't die because of this",you say and roll your eyes pinpointing at Jake indirectly.

/More or less directly/

"Haha, we'll see",he finally leaves your hand and you both sit back to rest.

"I enjoyed your dance,MC.Can't take my eyes off you. ", Darkness smirked and leaned in closer to remove some kind of dust in your hair only after your approval.

***

Jake who was listening to your conversation still acting asleep...

Every flirty command he heard,felt like an arrow stabbing him.You are pretty,no one can deny that fact but Jake is very possesive and protective of you.You can't stop loving him more because of that.

/Jake just get up and save your girl/

'What are these guys doing? She's my girlfriend you idiots!!.I shouldn't lose patience,I can handle this.

No! Why is MC going along with this? '

He quietly opens one eye, still with his head down and looks at you and Phil ,enjoying the dance,talking something and giggling.

'That womanizer! How many hell times do i have to beat him up with my keyboard??',Jake thinks of getting up but fails ,he was too tipsy and dizzy.He kept tightening his fist and hitting himself hard in his thigh.

/Nearly 34 keyboards were ruined.I reduced the quantity,since I don't want panicking the people who read this/

And after that when he saw Darkness leaning closer to you, energy boosted up out of Jealousy and got up with fire burning in his eyes ,to burn Darkness and Phil into ashes.

"She's mine!! Back off you evil spirits!"

***

*When Jake was dancing alone , Darkness secretly called you before *

"You both wanna prank Jake?",you raise your eyebrow and ,look back and forth at Phil and Darkness who just averted their gaze ,as if looking at something else in that busy ,late night Aurora.

Phil spoke then,"Yes,he lost in a bet with us",he looked at Darkness who nodded in agreement.

"What was that?",you ask curiously.

"I'll let you know after we finish this",said Phil with a mixture of cunningness and happiness in his tone.

****

Currently,

"I knew this will mess up",you still holding on and calming down Jake, telling him it was just a prank,apologised and said with a raising inflection to both of them,"Come on! Apologise both of you!!"

"We're sorry, sorry man!"Darkness and Phil said in unison but started giggling later.

"This was that surprise punishment huh? I'd have killed both of you! Don't you dare touch my girl!And I won't accept your apologies," Jake let go of your hand,sighed and kept staring at the bright lights ,you could see him slightly blushing.

/Why are you embarrassed Jake?/

Others in the bar started minding their own business and the music continued.

"Jake are you angry with me?",you approach him slowly and place your hand on his and squeeze it.

"No MC! I'm not!!.I'm angry at them and... I'm jealous", he pouted and continued staring at those lights.

/The reason for blushing,mmh?/

"I'm always yours,so you needn't worry,Jake"

You control your laughter and finally pester Phil why they did this prank.

Jake gestured him not to open his mouth and ordered him with his cold eyes to both of them not to say anything to you.

You in return with your commanding eyes , convey Jake to be quiet and looked at Phil for an answer.

"While playing cards,he lost in a bet where we asked what he loves the most",said Phil.

"We told he loves you.He said he loves computer", continued Darkness.

"Huh,is that so?",your reaction turns wild.

"At last,we won", replied Darkness with a hint of joy.

"I'm glad you both won.But Jake...," you ,like a mad boss look at Jake and banged the table.

Jake flinched and so did Phil and Darkness.

"You love your system than me huh?"

"No MC! I-I was drunk that day.They both insisted for the bet.I-"

/I don't know what you did to Jake, I'll leave it to your imagination/

***

/Also,Seriously MC?,you can't be jealous of a computer.My my/

"Shut up,you narrator!"

/I would like to.But your life history is really worth telling to the whole world.Adios for now./

***

Hope you liked this🙃

Sorry about that narrator part.I don't know how this turned up here🤓I should really concentrate on the original concept.🤓 And also ignore that first pic edit😂

Have a great day/eve/night lovelies!!🌺💕💕

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fanfictions #duskwood fandom #athelonewolfuniverse #jake x mc #darkness duskwood #phil duskwood #duskwood everbyte #writings☆

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (2)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: light cursing, mentions of death, angsty Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

(gif not mine)

The surrounding neighbors have been very nice; one elderly couple walked up to Draco’s door with an apple pie, quite the American staple, and he seemed to appreciate it. They seemed normal and sweet. Much unlike the feeling he had for his neighbor. Y/N. He hasn't made any attempts in the month that he's lived in the small suburban neighborhood to see her. He avoided her like she was a deadly plague.

Albeit, it was probably harsh and extremely childish. The whole point of him becoming a new person was changing his views he had been taught in adolescence. Or else why did he help Harry Potter all those years ago when he swore he hated him?

It was currently around 3 in the morning, he was standing in his backyard and made sure no one would be awake as he sent his owl to send a letter to his best friend, Blaise. He was the only person who still contacted Draco on a regular basis besides the occasional letter from Theodore. Gregory cut all contact with Draco after the Battle, especially since Vincent had died that night in the fire in the Room of Requirement. Pansy was living her life somewhere, and although the Golden Trio had forgiven Draco for his actions, it didn't start any friendships. But Draco was fine; Blaise and Theo had been there for him in more ways he cares to admit.

He never mentioned a word about Y/N to Blaise until now when he asked what Draco’s American neighbors were like. Majority of the letter contained contents of how work has been, the differences in not only culture but also how things are called, and just his own well being. He did say something short for the elderly couple, but when it came to Y/N he had a lot to say.

These muggles are far different from the ones in England, Blaise. They know things about the magic world but input a fantasy in their heads. They believe they can actually practice witchcraft and wizardry, calling themselves “Wiccan” or whatever rubbish it is. Bloody hell, they even have films and tv programs of them. My neighbor is one of these and she does the most ludacris things in her house. Quite laughable, really. If Salazar was alive today to see this happening, I’d bet he’d curse the whole lot.

She had been lingering in his mind since that day of his discovery. It was annoying him. Every night, he would catch her in her room doing whatever the hell she was doing and he felt as if the universe was mocking him. This is what people think what you really are was the message he got from it all. Draco never thought something like this would make him feel like a freak. But he did. This act of hers was an indirect insult of what he was capable of. And she had no idea.

—

It was a fine autumn morning. The shop was closed today, so you had lots of time at home to catch up with cleaning. You stood over your bathroom sink brushing your teeth and saw from the reflection of your mirror your cat stretching herself before walking into the bathroom to rub herself on your legs. “Good morning, Aurora,” you cooed at her. She purred in response and ran off to her tower in the living room.

After getting changed into some comfortable clothes, you walked up to a closet in the hallway that had collections of crystals, oils, sage bundles and more. “Let’s see, where did I put the angelica root?” you asked out loud to yourself. Going through the shelves, you pulled some sea salt, ground lemon balm, ground angelica root, and a feather. You carried the items outside in a bowl to your backyard and set them at a small garden table. Walking over to your garden, you pulled some elderberry flowers and started your cleansing spell.

You sprinkled the salt onto a censor dish and placed a charcoal dish on it and lit it up. In the bowl you had used to carry the items out, you started mixing the herbs together as you waited for the charcoal to burn red. Once it did, you sprinkled the herbs on top, creating a cleansing incense. You picked it up from the bottom of the censor dish, picked up the feather and made your way steadily to your front door, lightly wafting smoke towards it. Reaching your front door, you drew a pentagram over it with the feather and smoke,

“Be gone negativity,

Here now blessed be.”

You repeat your incantations throughout the house until you have finished and walked back to your living room, drawing one last pentagram. You placed your feather and censor dish on the bare floor, stood up and tapped your foot three times,

“By my will, so shall it be.

Sealed now shall this cleansing be.”

You sat on your couch and turned on the television, waiting for the incense to burn out so you could scatter it around your backyard. After a couple of hours of watching a guilty pleasure of yours, you decided to get some actual cleaning done. First thing was to do some trimming and gardening outside, so you grabbed some gloves and headed out back to your yard.

Before grabbing your garden scissors, you looked up and saw something rather strange. There was an owl in your neighbors yard. In broad daylight. From the backyard, you heard a car pull in and peeked over the fence to see that it was your neighbor coming home. You ran to the front leaving a dirt trail in your house and ran out the front door.

He hadn’t walked in yet, so you started waving your arm, “Hello! I’m Y/N!”

He had just nodded his head and walked a straight line to his door. Not wanting to lose this chance of having a conversation with him, you yelled for him one more time, “There’s an owl in your yard!” His eyes widened and without a word, he ran into his house in a panic. From a distance, you heard him say 'shit' before closing the door.

Building up confidence, you walked up to his door and knocked a few times and patiently waited. You fixed your hair and stood surprised as he hastily opened the door. “H-hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Y/N,” you stretched your hand out to shake his hand. He looked at it and had a displeased look, causing unease within you. Looking at your hand, you noticed you still had your gardening gloves on with dirt on it.

“Oops, sorry!” you chuckled as you took it off and reached out again.

Again, he just looked at you with a straight face for a couple of seconds before finally speaking, “Look, I’m really busy, so if you don't mind.” He shut the door without giving you any chance to say anything back. You stood there in shock, replaying his British voice in your head. And as you stood there, you wondered why it is that he doesn't want to talk to you. The Charles couple across from your house were able to introduce themselves, and even got a smile from him. But for some reason, you could never get the same treatment.

—

Ian had proposed to Draco a housewarming party during lunch. Of course Draco had never been to one, much less hosted one.

“It’s alright, boss. I can fix all the arrangements up. All you gotta do is relax,” Ashley proposed. To say that Draco is extremely happy is an understatement. He had friends that actually enjoyed his company and not his influence. Not that he had much of that anyway.

America was really working out for him; work was great, people were nice, and the area he lived in was peaceful. Yes, he didn't like his neighbor, but she wasn't ruining his life in this new country. He just didn't like what she did.

“Thank you, Ashley. And you know you can just call me ‘Draco’.”

“I know,” she replied. Ashley grabbed her Blackberry phone and started drafting up an email, asking for his address so she could let people know where it would be. “Is this Friday a good time?”

“Yes, that should be fine. I don't have any plans that day.”

“Great, it's sent out to everyone in our department. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an attending to watch over for a surgery. See you guys later!” Draco, Blaine and Ian waved at Ashley as she left.

Blaine left soon after, leaving Ian with Draco. “Alright man, how’s it going on your street? Are you finally settled in?”

“I finally got the last of my things delivered from London yesterday. I was a bit nervous though. That mugg— I mean No-Maj neighbor of mine saw my mum’s owl in my yard. Thankfully, she didn't ask any questions,” Draco said as he cleared his lunch tray.

“Wait, you still use an owl? Ha, I didn’t think people still did,” Ian chuckled. “Well, of course I do. Do you not?”

“No, most wizards here in the States just use the usual ground post that No-Maj’s use. Things are a bit more modern around here. Speaking of your neighbor actually, have you ever spoken to her?”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly and said a simple ‘No’ when he really wanted to scrunch his nose and eyebrows in disgust and say ‘Fuck no.’ Ian, however, is gifted in Legilimens. He heard what Draco really meant but kept to himself. I guess things are different in the UK he thought.

—

“Hello my dear baby, I just wanted to call and give you a heads up; your brother and I are coming for Thanksgiving. He’s bringing Stephanie so do me a favor, please no witchy stuff.”

The voicemail played out loud in the kitchen. Please no witchy stuff. Your mother had repeatedly explained to you that she was okay with ‘it’ all, but growing up you never really got on the same page with her. And you knew it was because of your practice. Your younger brother would say comments every now and then when you grew up, but he always stood up for you when other people called you a ‘satanic freak’. But never once did you regret starting the Craft. You enjoyed it and it made you feel whole.

It had been a week since your encounter with your, now known British, neighbor. It bothered you a lot that he didn’t seem to want to get to know you. You were lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the doorbell going off. You answered the door and saw your neighbor.

“Hi dear, do you think you could help me and my husband with something?” Mrs. Charles smiled sweetly at you. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

“My grandson is coming in from Vermont, would it be alright if you could give us a ride to the airport? I’d ask Draco but he’s always busy at work and I don’t want to be a bother.”

Draco? “I’m sorry, who’s that?” you had a confused look.

“Our new neighbor, dear. I thought you had met him already. You two are the same age after all,” she informed you. Draco. How unique. You instantly recognized the name from the star constellation. It was nice to finally put a name to a face. Distracted again, Mrs. Charles waited for your answer, “Y/N? Can you do it?”

“O-oh, sorry. Of course I’ll help. Frankie was his name, correct?”

“Yes, it’s Frankie. Thank you so much. His flight comes in on Friday. I’ll see you then,” you wished her a good night and looked out your window to make sure she crossed the street safely. The rest of the night consisted of you and and your cat laying on your couch watching TV, but what was on the screen didn’t have your attention. Draco did. And you had no idea why.

—

“Dude, why do you not have a TV?” Blaine looked around Draco’s house and studied the arrangements he had. It was quite plain, almost minimalistic. Looking around, Draco couldn’t help but think how different it was from the Manor back in London. Instead of grand chandeliers, moving portraits of the Malfoy’s before him, and intricate designs on the walls, he had simple white walls with just one moving picture of him, Blaise and Theo a couple minutes before a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. He had a bookshelf full of old school books from Hogwarts and some small relics he liked from the Manor.

“I’ve never had one growing up, and once I moved here I just never gave any second thought of it. Besides, what would I even watch?” Draco replied. Despite having one letter off from being the same name as his best friend, Blaine reminded Draco of Theo. They were both funny and outspoken. He would’ve loved for them to have met. They’d probably get on.

A few moments later, Ashley and Ian knocked on Draco’s door. The door was unlocked for them to be able to open the door. They looked around the living room before settling onto the couches. “Okay so I was thinking that we can just have some trays of snacks and desserts with some champagne. Does that sound good to you guys?” Ashley suggested. They just nodded along to whatever she said. She had gone to the store with Blaine to get everything prepared before the party tonight.

Ian looked at the pictures of Draco with his friends and one of his mother that laid on top of a chimney. “Do you still have lots of friends from Hogwarts?”

Draco thought about it, “You know, I actually didn’t have a lot of friends back in school. Back then, I only hung out with probably six people. But now it’s just two.” He sounded a bit sad, but figured that two were better than none.

“Do you think of what happened a lot?” Ian implied about that day at Hogwarts. He had been the only one that Draco trusted enough to tell. “Sometimes,” Draco gave a short reply. The action of opening up was still new to him, but he knew he shouldn’t wallow in it. Plus he’d rather have a friend instead of a doctor to talk about it.

Ian really felt bad for Draco. It must have been really traumatizing for someone to go through something like that at just the age of 17. Sure, Draco wasn’t the best person at the time. Who is he kidding, he was probably the biggest git in the whole school. It didn’t necessarily mean that he had to go through what he did. He lost one of his friends in a fire, and one left him after said friend died. Another left for no apparent reason. And another wanted something different in her life. Those things affected Draco, and probably will for the rest of his life.

He didn’t pity Draco, but was feeling sympathetic. “Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much friends from Ilvermorny. It sucks now, but hey, down the line you get new ones.” Ian held a fisted hand out, waiting for Draco to bump it. It made him laugh as he bumped Ian’s fist.

Outside, Ian looked out to see a certain neighbor walk to her car. “Hey, is that that chick you were talking about?” Draco looked out the window and saw you grab some things out of your trunk and into your house. “Yeah, that’s her.” Ian never really pressed on Draco to explain why he didn’t like his No-Maj neighbor like he did the elderly couple across the street.

“Well, I gotta say. She’s a sight for sore eyes for a weirdo.” She’s a what? Beyond the nightly activities he had caught you doing on occasion in your bedroom, he never really looked at your face. Or really just at you. But now that Ian mentioned something, he started studying you. She’s not so bad looking— wait, what are you thinking?

By accident, Ian snorted at the words Draco thought. “Did… did I say that out loud?” Draco asked with suspicion in his voice. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t really mean to be invading your mind or anything. It runs in my family,” Ian laughed nervously.

“It’s okay. My godfather was also good at Legilimens and Occlumency. I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse during his classes. Come on, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”

“If the other rooms are anything like the living room, I’m sure I’ve seen the whole place then,” Ian joked.

“Piss off.” As Ian walked towards the bathroom, Draco looked back outside to see you again. He watched as you helped the Charles couple in your car and drove off to Merlin knows where.

—

The party was rather fun. It lasted until almost 1 in the morning. He thanked Ashley for handling everything and spent the night talking and laughing with his colleagues. Once everyone left, he changed into comfortable sweats and a plain black t-shirt. Out on his bedroom window was Blaise’s owl with a sealed letter. He quickly opened the window, grabbed the letter and looked out to make sure no one was watching. Your room was dark and it seemed as the drapes were down. He guided his friends’ owl with his hands to a small, make-shift owl post against the fence that separated your yards. It had food and was enchanted to be at a comfortable temperature. His owl laid on one side of the post, resting as Blaise’s owl joined it.

Draco opened the letter and read its contents to himself.

Well mate, I’m glad you’re having a good time in America. There’s not much going on here in London. I’m just working at Gringotts until something opens up at the Ministry. Not really sure what I want to do, but I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that Theo and I are going to be joining you for the holidays. Theo got a hold of a couple American muggle films and he figured that if the women there were as fit as the actresses, then you must be living the best life and he wants to join. As for that muggle neighbor of yours, I can’t wait to see her in person. We’ll see you, Malfoy.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw lights turn on in your room and your shadow walk around before turning off once more. Sorry Blaise, but there’s no way in hell you’ll meet her.

—

Frankie’s flight was delayed, causing you to get home so late. You were extremely tired and your feet and back were sore. Usually, you’d take a bath with some salts and oils to relax yourself, but tonight you were really lazy. So lazy that you just shook your shoes off and plopped yourself on the bed.

The second you hit the mattress, you dozed off. Your mind was wandering and found yourself dreaming.

You sat in your backyard in a pretty sundress. There was a slight breeze in the air and you held a cup of coffee in your hands. Someone sat at the chair opposite you and blocked the sun’s light in your face. You looked next to you and saw your friend smiling at you.

Draco.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っ taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x muggle!reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x reader

[neednottoneed]

schatten der nacht//shadows of the night - chapter two

Rebecca || Mrs. Danvers/Ich || Ongoing || M

“Darling,” she said, lighting a cigarette, “if Maxim de Winter marries you, you’ll be the one paying me.”

Chapter Two

“A wife?”

I stared at Mrs. van Hopper, willing her not to be serious. She had mentioned the possibility of my getting married at lunch, it was true, but I didn’t think that meant I was supposed to be actively looking for a husband here.

“Why not?” she said, and took the magazine back from me. “And Maxim de Winter certainly is in need of one.”

“But I…”

She tsked and looked at me. “Honestly dear, you could do much worse than him. He’s a wealthy man. His parties are some of the most talked about in all of England. A man like that would certainly afford you some protection, with our… condition.”

“He’s twenty years older than me!”

“And what does that matter when you’re going to outlive him by centuries?” Mrs. van Hopper said. “I can’t understand you, child.”

“You mean I can’t turn him?”

She looked at me sharply. “Surely you’re not that daft, dear. We can’t turn men. Believe me, I’ve tried. They simply haven’t the constitution for it. Why do you think all the others of our kind you’ve met have been women? Why our suitors are men? It’s because there’s no danger in turning them, is there?”

I blinked. “So there’s no… you never love them, it’s all just a matter of… of convenience?”

“I’d hardly say it’s just convenient,” she said. “With his status, you’d be secured for lifetimes. And there are worse places to spend eternity than Manderley.” She appraised me. “You’re nothing like his first wife, but that can’t be helped, I suppose. It may even work in your favor.”

“So you knew her then?”

“I knew of her,” Mrs. van Hopper said. “All of polite society did. Rebecca de Winter. Rumors for years that she was one of us, what with that kind of beauty and grace, but I never could tell. When she died everyone was devastated, and none more so than Maxim.” She scrutinized the picture. “Though I’d say he’s gotten over that devastation if he’s all the way here in Monte.”

My fingers flew to my hair. Beautiful. Graceful. Words that had never been used to describe me.

“So you want me to… talk to him? Could you introduce us?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Though if you secure a husband from any of my help I expect an invitation to the wedding at minimum.” She smiled. “Or at least an introduction to one of Maxim’s friends.”

“I see.” My stomach dropped. “And when do I… when do I tell him? What I am, I mean.”

“Oh, not for a while if you can help it, dear,” she said. “Men sometimes don’t take kindly to the news, and you want to be certain he’s absolutely devoted to you before you do anything to jeopardize that. But I’m sure a man with that kind of money would hardly worry about anything. He’d be able to buy away any sort of scandal attached to you—not that I think you’llbe causing any scandals.” She sniffed, and I felt distinctly put down. Mrs. van Hopper had a way of both making me feel like she simultaneously cared for me and also found me to be a bug underneath her shoe. “Regardless, I’ll introduce you at breakfast in the morning. Try not to stay up too late.”

I nodded, and pushed away from her bed. I knew when I had been dismissed.

It wasn’t like either of us needed much sleep now, nocturnal as we were. I found myself much less tired than I had been previously, only really needing to sleep at least once a month or more. Still, I went to bed out of habit more than anything, often closing my eyes and letting whatever daydreams I had play out until the morning.

But daydreams did nothing to satisfy me that night, and my fingers were itching to sketch. After about an hour, I pushed myself off the couch and grabbed my sketchbook and charcoals out of my bag, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb Mrs. van Hopper, even though I knew she wasn’t asleep.

One of the few benefits of being turned was my night vision had significantly improved; I was able to make out colors and details even in dim light, aiding my drawing. I wasn’t sure what I was going to sketch until I began to, my fingers clutching the charcoal and frantically moving it over the page until I was done. Speed, it seemed, had improved with my condition as well.

It was only when I put the paper down that I understood what I had drawn—Mr. de Winter, or at least, as I remembered him from that morning, that intense look on his face, the sharp lines of his suit. His face half in shadow.

Why had I drawn him? People weren’t my speciality, never had been. But something in my subconscious had caused his image to be the one I selected to put on paper.

It could be a gift, I decided. To get him to warm up to me. If marriage was truly what Mrs. van Hopper had in mind, then a gift couldn’t hurt, something to endear me to him.

Especially if I was nothing like his first wife. Beautiful. Charming.

I wondered if being myself would even be enough.

We went down to the promenade for breakfast early; Mrs. van Hopper liked to grab the seats near the edge of the terrace; still in the shade, but with the best view of the other guests. There was no one else on the terrace when we arrived, so Mrs. van Hopper took the opportunity to grab another newspaper and gossip magazine that had been left behind.

“They’ll provide the up-to-date ones for you at the front desk if you ask,” I said, but she merely scoffed. I fiddled with the edge of my skirt. It was the one nice piece of clothing I owned, a light blue that complimented the cool undertones of my skin. I had never dared to ask Mrs. van Hopper to take me shopping, though she had bought me a few new blouses at the start of my employ with her, saying that I needed to at least look presentable if she was going to be paying me. But for the first time I wondered if there was some worth to be had in putting effort into my appearance, a sort of social currency on its own.

I stared out at the sea while Mrs. van Hopper ordered a coffee, wishing I had brought my sketchbook down with me. The sky was a crystal blue I so rarely saw back in England, the Mediterranean stretching out before us like a jewel.

There was one thing to be said for being Mrs. van Hopper’s companion—I would never have gotten to see places like this back when I was alive.

I was startled out of my view by Mrs. van Hopper’s elbow poking me in the side.

“He’s here,” she hissed, and I wanted to laugh at how obvious she was being. I followed her gaze to see the same man from the day before, now in a white suit with a wide-brimmed hat, taking the table nearest us. He only glanced back at us once, and I swore I saw a faint smile cross his lips as he did so.

“Mr. de Winter?” Mrs. van Hopper cried, and to my surprise she stood out of her chair and went over to his seat, loudly exclaiming and making a show. I’d known she was going to introduce me that morning, but I’d hardly imagine it was to be right in front of Mr. de Winter. I could scarcely keep from hearing her loud introductions, her butchering yet again of my name. But then she turned and shot me a get over here this instant look.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you since that party at Billy’s years ago!” I heard her exclaim as I made my way to the table. Her voice was loud, and she’d dialed up her American accent. But I understood what she was doing. It was something I had seen her do to my potential suitors—make herself look as aggravating as possible, so that in contrast my shyness came off as a welcome demureness. It had worked on men before, and from the looks of it, it was working on Maxim de Winter now.

“Of course, how could I forget you?” he said, shaking her hand. He turned to me. “And you are?”

“This is the companion I mentioned, Mr. de Winter, though she’s not much for conversation,” Mrs. van Hopper said, shoving me forward. I managed not to lose my balance and let Mr. de Winter clasp my hand in his own larger one.

“How do you do?” I said. His hands were warm, and I hoped he wouldn’t be put off at the chill in my own. “Mrs van Hopper was just telling me this is your first time in Monte?”

‘Yes,” I said. “I… didn’t travel much before I met her.” I glanced back at her, hoping she’d interject and do something to carry the conversation. But instead she gave me a wink and just went back to our table. Maxim’s eyes never left mine, even as she loudly exclaimed that she was leaving.

“Sorry about her,” I said once she was gone, because what was I supposed to say? Mrs. van Hopper was clearly abrasive; brash, in a way I’d found most Englishmen didn’t like. Maxim raised an eyebrow and I sat down.

For a second I worried, wondering if I’d misinterpreted, that he didn’t actually want me to dine with him. But he only smiled at me and signaled to the waiter.

“I bet you’re glad to have a moment’s peace,” he said once the waiter had left. “She can’t be paying you enough.”

“Ninety pounds a year,” I said, and he grimaced. “But it’s… complicated. I owe her my life. She took me in when my parents passed.”

Maxim nodded, and I winced internally, once again worrying I was making a fool of myself. Vampirism had not made my conversational skills any better.

“So you understand then,” he said. “About loss.”

I nodded. He looked me over and smiled slightly.

“Forgive me, that’s perhaps poor breakfast conversation when we’ve known each other all of five minutes.” He gave me a wan smile, which I returned.

“I’ve had worse,” I said, jerking my head toward Mrs. van Hopper. This caused him to laugh, and I found myself pleased at the prospect, that I could make someone laugh.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

Maxim and I finished our breakfast pleasantly enough, and if he noticed that I didn’t eat much, he didn’t comment on it. Besides, it wasn’t like that was out of place for a girl in Monte; it was too easy as a woman to decline meals, to say I was watching my figure.

We parted with an invitation from him to go up for a drive to the cliffs the following afternoon, and I felt strangely pleased with myself, that I had managed to secure the attentions of a man so much older and sophisticated than I. Most of the suitors I’d had, even when I’d been alive, had been very much like Connor--sweet, fumbling boys who either talked over me or didn’t say much at all. Maxim de Winter was, at least, different in that regard--I found myself talking more with him than I had before with any other man; the conversation between us flowing easily enough despite our awkward first steps. It was a comfort to me knowing that he could at least relate to my loneliness, not only having lost his wife, but his parents at a young age as well. While he had a sister, he said, they didn’t get on very well.

“Fundamental differences,” he said, and I left it at that. I’d noticed too he’d barely mentioned his first wife, which wasn’t all that surprising; Mrs. van Hopper had said her death had been tragic and sudden, and thus it made sense that he was keen to avoid the subject.

Still, as I made my way back up to our room, I found myself wondering about her. Rebecca. A woman so beautiful, people had thought she’d been a vampire while she lived. Bewitching. Charming. I could never be like that, even in the state of supposed “perfect undeath” as I was.

“How did it go?” Mrs. van Hopper asked the second I stepped foot in the room.

“I don’t know why you’re asking, you could hear our entire conversation perfectly clearly from where you were sitting,” I said. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror while I spoke, studying. My hair hung limply by my face, and not for the first time I wished that my transformation had done something to it, given it some sort of curl, volume, something rather than the straight thin strands I had.

“Yes, but overhearing isn’t the same as knowing, dear,” she said. “What did you think of him?”

“We had a nice enough conversation,” I said, and I could hear her huff from the next room.

“Foolish child,” she said. “Well, at any rate I hope you enjoy his company, as you’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the coming days.”

“How do you know? You aren’t a fortune-teller,” I said. “Unless you’ve been hiding that from me. One trip up to the cliffs doesn’t mean he fancies me.”

“No,” Mrs. van Hopper said, “it doesn’t. But I’m going to suddenly fall ill, so you’ll have no choice but to spend time with him.”

“You foul creature,” I said, but there was no malice in it. “And what mysterious illness is going to befall you?”

“The flu,” she said, and I felt a quick twinge in my gut just then, as that was what had killed my parents. But she wasn’t saying it to be callous, or cruel, I knew her too well for that. She had made barbs at my expense before, but never about such a subject. However, it was unlikely she’d apologize for it, either.

“And why ever would you be coming down with such a thing in this weather?” I asked.

“Because I would like to go find a man myself for a day or two and that way the staff won’t come up to check on you,” she said. She coughed once, not convincingly, and I raised an eyebrow at her. “Come now, is it so difficult to believe I’d want a bit of fun while we’re here?”

“You really are wicked,” I said, and she laughed. “You ought to pay me more to put up with you.”

“Darling,” she said, lighting a cigarette, “if Maxim de Winter marries you, you’ll be the one paying me.”

#rebecca das musical #rebecca korea #my fic

[cassiabaggins]

Wedding

A/N: Part/day six! Thank you all so much for your support! Please leave a comment/reblog if you enjoy this!

Wordcount: 2k

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Tags: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @guardianofrivendell @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @estethell @claraofthepen @kilielweek

Warnings: mention of miscarriage

Summary: Kili and Tauriel are finally wed

Kili has been quiet all day. That's unusual. Tauriel carefully combs her fingers through his hair and rests her chin on his shoulder. He's staring into the fire. 

"You seem distressed," she says gently.

He grunts wordlessly, so she gives him a kiss on the cheek and strokes his hair. "Kili. Talk to me. What ails you?"

Kili is quiet for a little bit longer, putting his hand over hers, before letting out a long sigh. “They want me to get married,” He says.

“Who is ‘they’?” She asks gently. 

“The Council.”

“All of them?"

“No, not all of them, but those that do are quite loud.” He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. “They want me to produce an heir.”

“What about your brother? He’s already married!”

“They think his child won’t be ‘pure’ enough.” He puts quotations with his fingers around the word ‘pure’. “First they tried to get him to annul his marriage, then they tried to get him to take a mistress, but he’d rather die than disrespect his wife like that, so they gave up and focused on me.” He clenches his fist. “It makes me so angry! Arranged marriages go against everything I’ve ever been taught about how dwarrow love. All of this does! It goes against our nature!”

Tauriel moves so she’s no longer sitting behind him, but beside him, taking his hand. 

“What do you mean by that, meleth nin?”

“I mean dwarrow don’t arrange marriages! We only love once, and only one person. Mahal, most of us don’t even experience sexual desires until we meet our One!”

“What if you don’t find the One? Or what if they don’t feel the same?”

“Then we don’t marry. We dedicate our lives to our crafts!”

“Is that what you would have done if I hadn’t come back?”

“Yes. Of course I would have.” He notices the sadness on her face and squeezes her hand. “Don’t look like that, amrâlimê, it’s not so bad. You don’t need love to be happy.”

She leans forward and kisses him. “There’s something awful romantic about that, loving only one person your entire life.”

“Aye, it is.” Kili frowns. “But now they want me to go against that and marry some lass from Rhun. She’s nice enough, I suppose, her name is Mhaite, but—”

“But you don’t love her.”

“But she’s not you.”

Tauriel smiles gently at him. 

“I don’t want to marry anyone but you,” Kili says, flopping down into her lap. She strokes her hand through his hair. 

“And I don’t want you to marry anybody but me.”

He sighs melancholically, taking her hand and kissing her wrist. She continues stroking his hair with her free hand when suddenly she is struck by an idea. 

“What if we eloped?”

Kili sits right up and stares at her. “What?”

“What if,” she repeats, “we eloped. If we got married, they couldn’t make you marry her, right?”

“They could try to get me to divorce you.”

“But you can refuse them, correct?”

“Well, yes. They cannot force an annulment if both parties refuse. Especially if Fili doesn’t approve, since only a king or queen can annul marriages.”

"So your brother is behind us, who else?"

"I'm sure I could get Dwalin to represent you," Kili says, excitement leaking into his voice and gestures, "he likes you, though he won't admit it. Ori can draft up marriage documents, Dori can make us wedding clothes, and Bombur and Cassia can cook and—"

She stops him with a finger over his lips, laughing softly. "This is becoming less of a secret elopement and more of a wedding the longer you talk," she teases. 

Kili shrugs and kisses her fingers. "I can't help that I want to get my friends involved."

"Too many people and the secret will leak," she cautions. "The Council will put a stop to it before it can even begin."

He sighs. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

.

In the end, they limit it to just Kili's family, Balin, and Dwalin. The sons of Fundin agree to represent Tauriel's family surprisingly easily, and Kili's mother and younger sister will represent him. Fili will officiate and his wife will be a witness. The wedding will take place in the council chamber of Erebor in two months time, long enough that the wedding beads can be made, but soon enough that the council members who are against the union do not have the time to put a stop to it. 

.

King Fili is looking over a trade agreement in King Bard’s office, the end of his quill in his mouth and his face all scrunched up with concentration in a way that makes him look unnervingly like his younger brother. Tauriel sidles up to him and taps him on the shoulder. She really shouldn't be distracting him, but she needs his advice. Fili scratches out some letters and looks up at her, dipping his quill back in ink. "Hullo, Tauriel," he says with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I need help," she declares and the smile vanishes for a worried frown. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Not in the way you think," she says. Fili gives her a baffled look and Tauriel twiddles her thumbs awkwardly. "Dwalin mentioned I was meant to make beads for when I marry Kili," she explains, "only… I've not the slightest idea how!"

"Is that all?" Fili asks with relief.

"...Yes."

The king slides the paper he's been looking at out of his way. "Well, you came to the right dwarf. Do you have a material you're planning on using?" 

She shakes her head.

"Do you have a design?"

Another shake of the head. Fili sighs. "Oh dear."

"I don't even know where to begin! I've no idea how to craft jewelry!"

"Well, don't panic, there's no rule saying you have to make them. You just have to design them. It's common enough for a dwarf to commission a close friend to help create their wedding beads." 

Tauriel lets out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good." Then she frowns. “Kili will be making mine, though, won’t he?”

“Aye, most likely. His craft is jeweling after all.”

“Then I want to make his,” She declares.

“It won’t be easy,” Fili cautions.

“I don’t care. I want to try.”

"If you do, then far be it from me to try and stop you. Now, let's talk about materials. The most common are stone or metal, but wood or some sort of gemstone isn't unheard of. Any of those catch your attention?" 

Tauriel shakes her head. "I feel as if I need to hold the materials to see what I think."

Fili nods. "Next time I visit Dale, I'll bring you some examples."

She grins. "Oh, good! Oh, thank you!"

"Think nothing of it."

.

The next day, Fili arrives at her home as promised with the materials. He's brought some silver and gold and jewels, but what really catches Taurile’s eye is a beautiful piece of wood. She picks it up and turns it over in her hands. Fili sees her interest.

“That’s walnut wood,” he says. 

“It’s lovely.”

“Is that what you want to use?”

Tauriel turns the wood over in her hands. “Yes.”

“Good choice.”

“Only…” she frowns. “I can see why a material like metal or stone would be used, that can last for centuries, but wood? How do you keep the beads from wearing out?”

“We have charms for that,” Fili says, “to make them last. Don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, good.”

He begins to tie his hair back, pulling out tools from his bag, along with a sketchbook. “All right, let’s get to work.” He flips through his sketchbook to a fresh page and picks up a charcoal stick to draw with. “Any design ideas?”

Tauriel frowns, tapping thoughtfully on the wood. “Well… no.”

“Well, what makes you think about him? When I was designing beads for my wife, I thought of all the things that made me think of her and used those for my design. So, what makes you think of Kili?”

Tauriel thinks. “Uh, stars, and the moon, and mountains, mostly.”

“That’s a good start!” Fili says, passing the sketchbook and drawing stick to Tauriel. “Just… start drawing.”

She frowns and takes them gingerly. “I’m not much of an artist.”

“We can clean up the sketch later, just put down some ideas,” he says reassuringly.

.

In the end, she decides on an image of the Mountain with the moon rising behind it and a star above the moon. It’s simple and pretty, and Fili gives his stamp of approval. Then, the carving lessons begin. Woodworking is not something Tauriel has ever done and it’s not Fili’s craft, but he's a patient teacher and she’s a quick learner. She doesn’t expect to become such close friends with her future brother in law, but she and Fili end up having much more in common than they initially think, including but not limited to their affections for knives and Kili.

It takes time, and lots of practice, but by the day of the wedding, the final beads are done. They’re wide and flat beads with the pattern she came up with carved on one side and their names on the other. 

“Just promise me something?” Fili asks as he looks over the beads one final time. 

“What is it?” She queries. He looks up at her. 

“Please don’t leave him again. I don’t think he could bear it.”

Tauriel wants to tell him she hasn’t the slightest intention of doing that, that she came back for Kili and only for Kili, that not even wild horses could keep her away from him… but she doesn’t. “I won’t. I promise.”

.

There’s no fancy decorations or clothes for the wedding, no festive lights or stars or firemoons, just the dim torches illuminating the council chamber, and Kili’s smile illuminating her heart as they walk to stand together before Fili to be wed.

Tauriel takes Kili’s hand and he smiles up at her. “You look like a dream, amrâlimê,” he murmurs. 

“A good dream?”

“Yes. A fantastic dream.” He turns her hand over and kisses the inside of her wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Together, they turn towards Fili and the wedding begins.

Their vows are in Khuzdul, the traditional words, so no dwarf can say the wedding is invalid. The words are foreign on her tongue, but she knows them and their meaning even in her sleep. 

Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, we are two bodies but one soul and my heart is tied to yours. I vow to walk with you and treasure you like the finest of jewels, through this life and the next. 

With those words, they weave the braids and beads into each other’s hair, Tauriel bites her lip as she does so, worried her wooden beads look shabby and silly next to the fine diamond-flecked beads he’s made her. But then, he smiles up at her, and looks at the beads like they’re pure mithril, and she knows he thinks they’re beyond precious. Fili says a few more words in Khuzdul, declaring the marriage complete and valid and handing them each a quill to sign the marriage document. As soon as that is over, Kili swings Tauriel into his arms and kisses her like she's water in the desert and she kisses back just as passionately. She can hear the family, no, her family now, laughing around them. She cups his face in her hands and nuzzles her nose to his. “I love you,” she whispers. 

“I love you, too,” he responds, wrapping his arms around her waist. “My wife.”

“My hus—"

Before she can fully respond, the door to the council chamber slams open. Lord Khar is standing in the doorway. "What is the meaning of this?!" He shouts, "why is that elf in the mountain?!"

"This," Fili says, picking up his quill and signing the marriage document, sealing the wedding as complete, "is a wedding."

"A wedding?! What?! Between who?!"

"Between my brother, Prince Kili, and Captain Tauriel of Dale, formerly of Mirkwood."

"No! Never! I will not accept it!"

"You don't have to accept it, you simply have to be quiet," Fili says. "I wear the crown, not you. And I have signed this document and officiated this marriage. It is done."

Khar looks positively apoplectic, his face turning an impressive shade of red. Kili squeezes Tauriel's hand reassuringly and looks up at her. She knows he won't let anything tear them apart, and she feels the same, responding to his look with a soft smile. 

Lord Khar lets out a wordless, angry noise at the sight of their joined hands and storms toward them, arms outstretched as if he will try to force them apart with pure physical strength alone. Tauriel acts on instinct, swinging Kili behind her (as if a warrior prince of the Line of Durin would need protection) and halting Khar with a harsh blow to the shoulder. "Do not lay your hands on us," she spits. 

The dwarf lord goes purple, holding his shoulder. "You cannot—"

"I suggest you listen to her, Khar," Kili says smugly, "my wife is rather deadly when she is angry." He says the words ‘my wife’ with utter relish, rubbing it in the older dwarf’s face, who snarls angrily and steps away from the two of them. "My Lord King," he turns to Fili, attempting a different tactic, "surely you cannot condone this! This elf has bewitched you, can you not see it?"

"I have bewitched no one!" Tauriel cries indignantly. "I'm no wizard, I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

Cassia, peeking around Fili, lets out a little titter of laughter. Kili laughs as well, but the dwarf is well warned away from him. He turns his blazing eyes on the Hobbit Queen. "Don't think you are any better, halfling! You who would put weak, sickly halfbreeds on the Throne of Erebor, if you could only manage to carry one long enough for it to live."

The uproar is instantaneous. Cassia makes a soft, pained little whimper, placing her hand over her abdomen, Dwalin reaches for a weapon, Balin exclaims condemningly, Dis and the princess cry out in indignation, Kili and Tauriel both step forward, either to protect their friend or hurt the dwarf lord, they don't know. They don't make it far enough to find out. 

Fili punches Khar in the nose, knocking him to the ground. Khar howls with pain, holding his face.

"You've said enough," Fili spits, his eyes blazing with something feral and unhinged. It's an expression Tauriel has never seen on any face, especially not kind, gentle Fili. "Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently."

Cassia gently takes his arm and he takes a deep, steadying breath. “Khar, son of Zodar, as King of Erebor, I am relieving you of your position on the council of Erebor!"

"On what grounds?!"

"Disrespect of your queen, constant undermining of your king, and," Fili crouches down and reaches into the dwarf's pocket, pulling out a golden seal, "unlawful possession and use of the council seal." 

“You cannot just---!”

“I can, actually.” Fili turns to Kili, "I believe you two have a wedding night to get to. I can handle this here."

“Are you sure?” Kili asks. His brother nods. “All right.” He takes Tauriel’s hand and draws her toward the door. “Yasith, let’s go.”

She looks down at him. “Will they be---”

“Fili can handle it.”

They leave the mountain together, returning to Dale, to Tauriel’s home on the outskirts of the city. No one stops them in Erebor at Kili’s command, and no one stops them in Dale at hers. “I have something to show you,” she says, shutting the door behind them. Kili takes her waist and draws her near him. 

“Is it you?” he asks cheekily, standing up on his toes to kiss her. She kisses back, laughing a little. 

“No,” she says, and then hums, “well, yes, but not yet, just… come with me.” She gives him one last kiss and draws away, taking his hand. He weaves his fingers through hers and lets her lead him through the house to the very top floor, and from there, up another flight of stairs and through a door into the open air. 

“You lead me around all secretly to show me the roof?” Kili asks, “Amrâlimê, I’ve been here before.”

She laughs and pulls him forward. Set up in the center of the open space is a mattress and a huge pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded by many candles and lanterns (as yet unlit), a basket of food, and several bottles of wine. “It’s tradition for the marriage to be consummated under the stars,” she says softly, looking down at him. “We don’t have to, but---”

Kili swings her into his arms for a kiss. “This wedding has been all about my traditions,” he murmurs when they come up for air, “I would be honored to partake in some of yours.” And, hand in hand, he leads her toward the bed.

.

The next morning as Tauriel awakens to birdsong, wrapped in Kili’s arms beneath the open sky, she knows this is where she is supposed to be, and she will fight for it with everything she has.

#kiliel week #kiliel #kilielweek #kilielweek2021 #kiliel week 2021 #kili #tauriel #my writing #the hobbit #fanfic #the hobbit fanfic #fili #hobbit oc #cassia baggins #fili x oc #fili x cassia #kili x tauriel

[thefandomsinhalor]

Title: What the Heart Misses

Author: thefandomsinhalor

Written for: @destielsecretsanta2020​ 

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Word count: 5K

Rated G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Canon Divergent | Dean Winchester Loves Castiel | Gift Exchange | Sam Knows | S15E14 - Last Holiday | Fluff | Christmas | No Empty Deal |

Summary: 

After learning that the Winchesters and Jack celebrated Christmas with Mrs. Butters, Castiel takes the opportunity to give Dean a Christmas present. Which then prompts Dean to reflect on the nature of their bond.

Merry Christmas to @castielsbeeslippers​​  😊💜💙 (surprise!!) who wanted a fluffy fic with Cas and bees! I hope you like it!!

Read on AO3

----

“What the hell is this?”

“It’s a gift. For you.”

Dean, sipping on his morning coffee in the bunker’s kitchen, shot a suspicious glance at Castiel when his friend placed a flashy green box with a big red bow on it in front of him.

“Yeah, I got that, Cas. I mean, why are you giving me a present? It’s not Christmas or my birthday.”

“That’s true. But Jack mentioned that you celebrated the holiday the other day with Mrs. Butters. We were discussing the concept of Christmas and that got me thinking. I realized that I had never taken part in the tradition before. So, I thought of changing that even if I missed the celebration the other day.”

“That’s, um, nice.” And then, Dean immediately felt the need to add, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“And yet, I did,” he said calmly.

Unsure what to say, Dean simply nodded at him, and after gently putting down his cup, he began undoing the bow. He had to admit that he was partially curious to see what Castiel, of all people, could have possibly thought of giving him as a Christmas present.

Almost nervous about it, he was surprised, however, by the actual contents of the box.

Ties.

Three of them.

Made of soft woven silk.

And all three of them had bees depicted on them.

A golden yellow one, with honeycomb print at the bottom and a few bees near the top.

Another one that was a charcoal color, with tiny bees serving as pattern all over the tie. So small, in fact, they barely seemed like bees, which rendered the tie surprisingly classic-looking.

And one blue tie, with a few doodled bees on it.

Which was instantly Dean’s favourite.

Smiling at the corner of his mouth, after eyeing Castiel briefly, he picked up that last one to examine it closer.

It was far from being something he would have selected for himself. After all, flannel and jeans were more his style over suits to begin with, even less so the overly fashioned ties.

And yet, the fact that Castiel had apparently taken the time to choose these specifically for him could not do anything short of bringing a smile to his lips.

“Bees, huh?”

“I tried to find ones with patterns of pies, but I didn’t succeed. I thought—you don’t have to wear them if you feel they will clash with your suit. I simply wished to offer you an alternative.”

Keeping his eyes on the tie, Dean said, “I like them, Cas. Thank you. Can’t wait to try it on.”

And Dean had meant every word. Just over a week later, when he and Sam were sharing a quick lunch with Donna, while reviewing a possible case involving a wraith down in Rochester, Dean had made sure to tuck a napkin into his collar to not soil his blue tie with bees. Once he was done with his bacon cheese burger, which had been delicious, and wanted to study more properly the files Donna had brought them, he pushed his plate aside and freed himself of his napkin.

“Oooh, that’s a neat tie you got there, Dean,” said Donna.

Mildly grinning, he said, “I know.” He lifted his eyes from the document and added, “Cas gave it to me. I know it’s not super ‘professional-looking’ but I thought, what the hell? Why not?”

“He also kind of really likes it,” said Sam, harboring his most serious expression that Dean and everyone else knew was fake. “Like, really likes it. He wore it every day this week.”

Smirking, Donna nodded. “Gotcha.”

Suddenly feeling somewhat exposed, Dean cleared his throat. “I—so? What if I did?” Then, as he fixed his tie, he added, more to himself than to the others, “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that, Dean. I wasn’t suggesting there was. Quite the opposite, actually.” Seemingly about to elaborate further on his viewpoint, Sam then turned quiet and stabbed his salad with his fork, adopting a casual attitude.

Dean frowned at his brother. His patent change of behaviour hadn’t fooled him. It was clear that Sam had more to say on the subject and Dean was now curious to hear his opinion. He let the matter go, however, when Donna received a phone call informing her that another body had been found, thus prompting the trio to abruptly end their lunch and return to work.

He came back to the topic by the evening though. With the case closed and behind them, they warmly said goodbye to Donna, and soon after they hit the road to return to the bunker, Dean asked, “Why were you giving me crap about liking my tie?”

“I wasn’t. I’m honestly glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Good. Because I am. It was really thoughtful of him to do this.”

“No argument there. I don’t want to say I’m surprised, but…yeah, I really like the book he gave me too.”

“What?” Dean glanced at him, while also carefully keeping an eye on the road. “What do you mean? What book?”

“For Christmas,” said Sam as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“He—he gave you a present too?”

“Yeah. And Jack.” Sam observed him for a moment and then, assessing Dean’s mild confusion, he asked, “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His eyes back on the road, he fell silent for as long as he could, until he blurted out, “What kind of book? And what did he give Jack?”

“Um, he—he gave Jack a Star Wars movie collection. He’s been going through them again all week long in—”

“—in the Dean Cave,” said Dean, now understanding where the kid disappeared to in the evenings. “Good thing Mrs. B. fixed the TV.”

“Yeah.”

“And what was yours?”

“I got a book about the most notorious serial killers of the past decade.”

Dean blinked. “Wow. That’s—yeah. That’s…tell the truth: had you read it before?”

“No. It just came out a few weeks ago. And it’s really cool. I’m on the chapter about H. H. Holmes, and I gotta say, considering our insight about the guy, it’s riveting.”

Amused at his brother’s weird interest, Dean shook his head. And while he had other questions regarding Sam’s opinion on Castiel’s presents, his train of thought took a turn when something else occurred to Dean.

Particularly once he compared the gifts.

“You okay?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Just—it’s been a long day and I can’t wait to be home, that’s all.”

On the following morning, after a few not-so-restful hours of sleep, Dean got frustrated from all the tossing and turning, so he left his warm bed and hurried to the kitchen in order to get the day started.

The room was spotless, and just as he had predicted, he found Mrs. Butters already waiting for him.

“Good Morning, Dean.”

Wishing her the same, he took a seat at the table. She quickly put down a plate with a western omelette and fruits on the side, as well as a cup of freshly brewed coffee for him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. But despite being famished, Dean froze, utensils in hands, and simply stared at his plate.

“Not hungry this morning?”

“No. I am. I—I don’t know.” He put down his fork and knife and let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, dear. Would you like a grilled cheese instead?” she asked and seemingly manifested another plate out of thin air.

“For breakfast?” he said, trying to contain his glee (and failing at it).

“Why not?” She delicately dropped the plate in front of him. “You look like you could do with some cheering up.”

“Is this your way of telling me I look like crap?” he asked her, already chewing on his sandwich, which prompted Mrs. Butters to squint at him about manners.

“I feel like a few additional hours of sleep would have done you good, yes.” She returned to the stove where a few pots and pans were sizzling and boiling. But she kept her stare on him. “Anything the matter?”

That was the question.

He didn’t want to admit it, but his conversation with Sam had bothered him. While he was delighted at the thought that Castiel had been generous with Sam and Jack as well, something that didn’t surprise Dean that profoundly, this revelation had forced him to re-evaluate his own present.

And the more he thought about it, the more it left him with a pit in his stomach.

What Castiel had chosen for Sam and Jack had been perfect for them. If he was honest, Dean wasn’t sure he could have done better himself. Jack had been geeking out about Star Wars since basically his fourth day on this earth, and Sam had his odd fascination about serial killers. Perfect.

And then, there was his present.

Ties with bees on it.

Not exactly something that “screamed” Dean.

And yet, for some reason, Dean had genuinely enjoyed the ties. He had been touched by his kindness and attention. And while ties and bees weren’t things Dean held a deep fascination for, he knew that it was, in some ways, an interest to Castiel.

And that had meant something to him.

Until, that was, he learned of Sam and Jack’s presents.

Now, he felt like his gift was impersonal. Like Castiel hadn’t know what to give him, so he had picked the first thing he had thought of.

And that, above all, bothered Dean. It saddened him, even. Not that he believed himself superior to the others, but Dean, for quite some time now, had been under the impression that he might be something else to Castiel.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

“Oh, um, no—nothing.” He took another bite of his tasty grilled cheese.

Mrs. Butters left her pots once more and joined him at the table, sensing his hesitation.

“Now, now. Something is troubling you. What is it?”

Shifting on his seat, he said, “Not important.”

Unsatisfied with his lie, she took his plate and the second half of the grilled cheese with it.

“Hey!”

“You will get it back as soon as you answer truthfully.” She gave him a menacing look.

Annoyed, Dean momentarily considered abandoning the rest of his grilled cheese to save himself from an awkward conversation.

But his stomach growled and he knew it was a lost battle.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. Can I have my sandwich back though? Please?”

She held her severe stare for a little longer, assessing his words, and once she judged his tone to be honest, she nodded and returned his plate to him.

“So, I have this—you know who Cas is, right?”

She nodded. “Your friendly angel. Jack’s third adoptive father.”

“Um. Yeah. I—I—him.”

“What about him?”

“Well, he—after you made Christmas happen, Cas gave me—us—Christmas presents.”

“How kind!” she said joyfully.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed hard.

“It wasn’t?”

“It’s just…I’m—I loved the gift—I’m just confused as to why he gave me this.”

“May I ask what it was?”

Dean told her.

Mrs. Butters studied him for a moment and then said, “Were you hoping for something else? Something specific in mind?”

She had said it in such a playful tone it had almost made Dean feel uncomfortable.

Transparent, one might have said.

“I wasn’t expecting anything at all. So, no. No—nothing specific.”

“But you are disappointed.”

“I—I don’t know. No. I’m just…I was happy about it because I—I thought it might have meant—but now I feel like I may have misunderstood.”

“Hmm.”

Desperate to avoid her stare, Dean returned to his grilled cheese, feeling embarrassed by the nature of the discussion.

It was too early in the morning for this.

He remained with his eyes glued to the table for a short time. Once his plate was empty, however, he had no choice but to glance at her.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” she finally asked him.

“What?”

“You say that your friend gave you a present, which you really loved, but that you are now questioning the original intent of the gift. Correct?”

He nodded, determined to not lower his eyes.

“It seems to me that you need to shed light on the situation. So, how do you suggest to go about it?”

This question brought Dean a worrisome thought. Exciting, in parts, but worrisome.

“I—I was thinking that, um, maybe—” he started saying, but the rest of his sentence died in his throat.

“Maybe what?”

“I—I was just thinking that maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should get him something.” He cleared his throat and awkwardly looked to his left, even though nothing remotely interesting was happening there. “Maybe that will, um, help clarify a few things that I—yeah.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

Dean let out a short laugh, feeling embarrassed more than ever, as he was deeply praying that Sam—or anyone else, really—would never hear of this conversation.

“What kind of gift were you thinking of?” she asked, utterly invested.

“I—I have no idea.”

“Do you intend to give him something practical? Something he may need?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Not really. It’s not like he really needs anything…he’s an angel.”

“I see. Then, something he enjoys, perhaps? Does he have any type of hobbies?”

“Not…that I know of. He likes bees. And emoticons. And…yeah.”

After a short pause, she then said, “If Castiel doesn’t need anything material, perhaps you can offer him something else, then?”

Swallowing, Dean said, “Like what?”

“I don’t know, dear. He’s your friend. You should know what would please him. As they say, it’s the thought that counts. You are worried that you might have misunderstood something. Perhaps you didn’t. So, think back on the present he gave you and how you felt about it. A nice gesture to symbolize how you feel? That might be a step towards the right direction.”

Following Mrs. Butters’ advice, Dean took time to reflect greatly on the matter at hand. Gifts. Feelings. Meanings.

Which made him even more confused than before.

The fact was that he had previously given Castiel presents. He had even done so on a few occasions, actually. Just never on Christmas. He had done so randomly and simply because he had felt like it at that moment.

Like when he had gotten him a cowboy hat in Dodge City.

And the mixtape.

Of course.

Which Dean didn’t want to dwell on too much. Even if he had meant it. And had certainly not regretted it.

But now, in this context, remembering what Mrs. Butters had told him about his intentions, Dean found the task rather pressuring.

The main problem was that most of everything that came to Dean’s mind that could qualify as “a nice gesture” were things that he would have no problem doing under any circumstances. Which, in his opinion, lessened the effect.

Well, almost everything.

There were certain ideas that could potentially work. They would definitely make some things clear. Be that as it may, Dean wasn’t entirely sure that was the way he wanted to go at this. Mainly because he wasn’t convinced that Castiel would necessarily find it charming—for the lack of a better word—nor did Dean, for the time being, want to get ahead of himself.

One problem at a time.

From the moment the darn ideas had set into his head, however, it had been difficult to get rid of them, to the point that it had rendered him distressed.

Which was why he decided, quite beside himself, to ask Sam for help.

“So, I was thinking,” said Dean, attempting to sound casual, but inevitably failing at it, “since Cas’s been through the trouble of getting us something, maybe we should do the same.”

Sam, not lifting his eyes from his book, nodded. “Cool.”

In the hope that his brother would share a little more insight on the matter, Dean remained still, waiting for Sam to start his usual brainstorming session.

But nothing.

He simply turned the page of his book. He continued reading, sitting across the table. He didn’t say anything.

Annoyed, Dean said, “Any ideas?”

“What do you want to get him?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m talking to you right now.”

Finally looking at him, Sam said, sighing, “Dean, I’m sure Cas will be happy no matter what you give him.” When it was evident to Sam that Dean hadn’t liked his answer, he added, “You know that you don’t have to get him anything, right? It’s not an obligation.”

Shifting in his seat, Dean said, “Maybe…. maybe I want to. Maybe I—I’ve been meaning to for a while.”

Diverting his eyes, as he knew full well Sam was most undoubtedly staring at him, he waited for him to comment, perhaps tease him, even. But to Dean’s surprise—and relief—Sam did no such thing.

“Dean, if you’re getting at what I think you are—and about freaking time, by the way—I’ll help you. But I really think it ought to come from you. You know?”

Dean nodded shyly, agreeing with Sam’s point.

They remained silent for a brief moment, until Sam, taking pity on his brother, shut his book and said, “How about we go into town? You can check out a few of the local shops on Main Street? I was gonna go later this afternoon for a bit of groceries anyway. Browsing might give you some ideas.”

Dean let out a massive sigh of relief and thanked his brother.

Even though he had difficulty believing that he could find something worthy of an angel of the Lord at a local gift shop.

And his assumption turned out to be correct.

Clothing stores. Bakeries. Electronics. And so on.

None were offering him good ideas.

Some options? Yes.

But again, not the best ones. Not what Dean wanted to convey, at the very least.

Getting slightly discouraged, he was about to leave a quirky coffee shop he had stopped by for refueling, when something on display caught his eye next to the cash register.

A tiny object. An ornament. It wasn’t jewelry. Not exactly. Nor was it flashy. It was simple and effective.

And, more importantly to Dean, it held a sort of statement. Perhaps in an old kind of way. And yet, Dean liked it.

It was perfect.

And then, he spotted another item, which he believed could be complimentary. And Dean knew this was what he needed to get Castiel.

The only aspect left to figure out was when to execute the gift exchange.

Of course, Dean could have simply waited until the next time they saw each other or simply called him on his way back to the bunker.

And while that was what he ultimately did, Dean was then blessed with another idea that could make the exchange far better and less random.

But for that he needed the help of Sam, Jack and Mrs. Butters.

And so, a few hours later, after the others had agreed with his plan, he dressed up—wearing his tie, of course—called Castiel and invited him to the bunker.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Nothing’s wrong. We just—come by. We have something planned.”

Puzzled at the mystery, but nonetheless inclined to oblige, Castiel joined them a few hours following Dean’s call.

And witnessing Castiel’s surprised expression when he entered the bunker had been worth the effort and the wait of the first part of his plan, Dean thought.

“What’s all this?” said Castiel, pointing at the garlands on the ramp. And the Christmas lights around the ceiling. And the large tree in the middle of the war room.

“Mrs. Butters was about to move on to the next holiday, but, um, I—I was hoping we could get a redo before that. So you could enjoy it with us this time around, I mean.”

“That’s…very considerate and inclusive, as it was unnecessary,” said Castiel, nearly apologetic.

“Dean’s right,” said Sam. “Although we hadn’t planned to celebrate, it was kind of a bummer that you weren’t there when we did.”

“And then you were nice enough to offer us presents, which you really didn’t have to. So, I—we thought we could have another go at it. With you this time.”

Castiel, now at the bottom of the stairs, was staring at Dean with a warm expression. His eyes fell on his tie, and he smiled shyly.

“It won’t be an exact replica of how we celebrated the first time around—”

“Mainly because we didn’t want to seem either ungrateful and too capricious to Mrs. Butters,” said Sam, cutting his brother off.

“I would have done it properly, Samuel!” she exclaimed, sounding offended.

“Though she keeps insisting she would have done it,” said Dean under his breath.

“But close enough,” said Sam firmly over his brother’s voice, wanting to put the matter to rest.

After taking another look around the room, with a genuine grin on his face, Castiel thanked them. “That’s very kind of the both of you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Sam. And as he offered him an eggnog, he added, “Just also want to let you know that, while this,” to which he gestured to the room, “was also Jack’s and Mrs. Butter’s doing, as much as mine and Dean’s, it was primarily Dean’s idea though.” And then he added in the most awkward way, “I’m gonna go check on Jack now.”

And made himself scarce.

Mrs. Butters along with him.

Thus, leaving Castiel and Dean alone.

“Is what Sam said true?” asked Castiel, taking a step towards him. “You did this?”

“It was about time we had Christmas together, no?”

Taking a deep breath, Castiel stared at him for a long time. “Again, thank you.”

“No problem. But this is just the beginning.”

“What else have you planned?”

Smiling mischievously, Dean said, “You’ll see.”

The next few hours were filled with jubilation. Mrs. Butters had them carolling, they nearly fell into a sugar coma, and participated to a gingerbread house contest, dutifully orchestrated by Mrs. Butters.

Everyone had a great time. Beaming at one another, they shared a sumptuous meal, which had been prepared by the Winchesters and Jack—not just Mrs. Butters.

They also played games afterwards. Mrs. Butters beat all of them at cards. Sam dominated in Trivia. And while Castiel and Jack failed to understand the concept of Mad Libs, they had both somehow managed to create the most hilarious and nonsensical stories Sam and Dean had ever had the pleasure to hear.

Enjoying himself as much as he was though, Dean felt jitters multiplying within his chest as the evening progressed. He caught himself staring at Castiel more times than would be deemed acceptable, and when they exchanged looks, Dean wasn’t able to do anything but beam at him.

He eagerly awaited an opportunity to give Castiel his present in private.

He almost had done so when everyone had busied themselves by bringing back the dishes to the kitchen. Pulling Castiel aside for a brief moment would have been plausible.

But not ideal.

He seriously contemplated the option to do the same when Sam went to help Jack find some additional board games that they had stashed in one of the storage rooms, but he doubted that they would be gone for very long. And sure enough, Dean had barely had the time to pour himself and everyone else another eggnog before Jack burst into the room, carrying an impressive number of boxes.

But at last, Dean got his chance during Monopoly. Despite everyone’s investment into the game, the general vibe surrounding them was of a mellow mood. So, after retiring from the game because of bankruptcy, and noting that Castiel was soon going to suffer the same fate, Dean momentarily left the room to fetch his present.

He had carefully left it on his bedroom’s desk.

Biting his bottom lip, he stared at the small red box. He pondered one last time on his choice.  

It was a common enough item, like the ties.

And like the ties, to him, it meant something.

And more than anything, Dean couldn’t wait to see what Castiel would think of it.

The anxiety rose within him.

He was satisfied with his choice.

And there was now only one thing left to do.

Dean needed not venture too far though. Just as he exited his room, Castiel turned the corner in the hallway.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Sam and Jack got the better of you too, huh?”

Castiel came to a halt once he had reached him.

“It appears that I lack financial skills.”

“It happens to the best of us,” said Dean, smirking. But after noticing a hint of uneasiness in Castiel’s eyes, he said calmly, “Everything okay?”

“More than okay. I really enjoyed the evening, thank you.”

“Awesome. I’m glad, Cas.”

“I simply wanted to let you know before you decided to turn in.”

“Oh,” said Dean, glancing behind him. “I wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.” And then at Castiel’s mild perplexity, he added, “I—I actually came to get this.”

He retrieved the little box from his pocket where he had stashed it moments ago, took a look in the hallway, wanting to be sure no one else was seemingly listening, and presented it to Castiel.

“It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”

As his eyes fell on the present, Castiel seemed genuinely surprised by this.

“You didn’t have to do this. The evening was wonderful, I told you.”

“You got me something. I wanted to do the same.” He slightly lifted his hand to incite Castiel to take possession of it.

Which he did, right after returning a warm smile at Dean.

He observed the box for a second, almost as though he was trying to guess what was in it, and began pulling on the thin string.

“Oh, just—before you open it, can I ask a question?”

Castiel stopped and nodded.

“Why did you give me ties? I love them,” he added promptly. “I just—why?”

“Why do you ask?”

After a short hesitation, but determined to be honest, he said, “I heard about what you gave Sam and Jack. I was just curious how you came to decide on that.”

Castiel nodded once more, now understanding Dean’s question.

“Well, the truth is that it was very difficult to find something for you.”

“How so?”

“There are many things that you enjoy, such as alcohol, food, car related items, pornographic magazines,” to which Dean lowered his eyes for a moment, “firearms and so on, that I could have given you. But I deduced that it was…too practical? Or—most definitions of ‘gift’ in dictionaries suggest that it is simply the act of giving something willingly and freely. Almost none speak of the emotional intent of said act, which I thought was unfortunate. I was under the impression that the intention behind a gift mattered more than the gift itself or the very action of giving.”

Shifting on his feet, Dean said in an even voice, as much as he could master, “So, why the ties?”

“I—I was trying to mirror the cassette tape you had given me.”

This was not the answer Dean had expected.

But he liked the way it was going.

“How do you figure that?”

“Rock music is something you adore. You had wanted me to have something you enjoyed. I saw it as something you wanted to share. And it always reminded me of you when I listened to it.”

And with that, Dean knew he had picked the right present.

“Was I wrong in my assessment?” asked Castiel.

And Dean shook his head, feeling his chest swell with fuzzy feelings.

“I know it isn’t the same,” continued Castiel, “but it was more or less what I was trying to convey with the ties. I cannot always be hunting with you as much as I’d wish, but I figured, that way, the ties might remind you of me.”

Dean swallowed hard before saying, “I don’t need the ties for that. You know that, right?”

After exchanging a deep, lingering look, Castiel gave him a shy nod. Feeling the awkwardness rising between them, despite being appeased by Dean’s words, he then finally took it upon himself to open his present.

He momentarily froze, staring at it after the reveal.

It was two small, delicate pins.

A tiny golden bee.

And a colorful piece of pie.

Castiel stared at Dean, stunned, which rendered the task of holding down his grin very difficult for Dean.

“So, the idea was that this one was intended for you, and I—may I?” asked Dean, as he stepped closer.

Castiel nodded.

Taking hold of the golden bee pin, he said, “I didn’t exactly mean to go all fifties with this, but I—I don’t know, I liked it and thought you might as well.”

“I do like it,” he said earnestly.

Glad, Dean took a deep breath and with a short nod at his upper chest, he silently asked Castiel if he wished to wear it now.

Castiel stepped forward.

As Dean delicately pinned the golden bee on Castiel’s jacket collar lapel, he heard him say softly, “Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“When you say ‘going all fifties,’ are you referring to courtsh—what did you mean?”

Done with his task, Dean gently pressed on the pin to make sure it was safely attached, and stepped back. And met Castiel’s eyes.

“It’s as you thought. That’s why I got another one. That one is for me.”

He processed what Dean had just told him, and as he was reaching out for him, Castiel began saying, “Dean, I—I want—”

Unfortunately, something interrupted him. A loud horn was heard, making them both jump. Unfamiliar with the new alarm, Castiel questioningly frowned at Dean. Amused at his confusion, Dean explained, as loudly as he could over the horn, “Mrs. B.” and “Monster radar.”

Which only brought Castiel additional questions.

The moment the racket was over, before Dean even had time to utter another word, Sam, coming from down the hall, called for them with a sense of urgency in his voice. Castiel turned himself in that direction, while remaining at Dean’s side.

With their shoulders touching.

When Sam finally appeared before them, he said, “So—sorry, I’m sorry. I hope I—I didn’t mean to barge in—”

“It’s fine,” Dean told him. “What’s up?”

“Rugarus. Almost half a dozen of them in Concordia according to the radar.”

“Awesome.”

“I know it’s late and that you—but I don’t think we can wait any longer. And I—I’d go with Jack, but he has to stay hidden because—”

But Dean cut him off. “It’s okay, Sam. No worries. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Sam gave them both an apologetic nod and turned on his heels, eager to leave them be.

Once he was sure that his brother was out of earshot, Dean refocused his attention to Castiel. “What were you going to say?”

“It can wait. Duty calls.” His tone hadn’t been grim. Or even with a hint of disappointment. Simply as a matter of fact.

But he stayed put, facing Dean, with no effort to leave.

“You’re right,” said Dean. “It can wait. There’s just one—a couple of things—I’d like to cover before we join Sam though.” He lowered his eyes to the box Castiel was still holding.

Letting out a faint laugh, Castiel said, “I’ll put it on you right now if that’s what you want. But considering where we are heading, shouldn’t we wait? I don’t want you to lose it. Maybe I should even keep this one safe.”

He lifted his hand to reach for his pin, but Dean stopped him. Holding his hand, he said, “Don’t worry about that, it will stay on.”

“Aren’t these fragile? I told you, I don’t want to break it or lose it.”

“You won’t. I took care of that. I—Mrs. B. helped me. She—just trust me, the only way this is getting off your coat is because you, and no one else, wills it.”

There was a short pause. “Then you are right. It will stay on.”

He lifted the box and installed Dean’s pin in turn.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

“Dean, will you let me know when you will celebrate the next holiday? I’d like to be there.”

Giving his hand a squeeze, he said, “No way we are doing this without you. I’m looking forward to experiencing the rest of them with you.” And knowing that Sam was waiting, he said, “Just one last little thing before we end this one though.”

“What’s that?”

And Dean, slowly leaning in, breathed, “A kiss.”

And he was granted his wish.

                                                        THE END

#destiel fic #destiel fluff #SPN xmas #destiel secret santa #my fanfic #Dean Winchester #castiel #castiel and his bees #Dean Winchester loves Castiel