#violent delights fic

[lokigodofsex]

June the third. An excellent day-

-to finally post my longfic that’s been in the works for months and months.

These violent delights (have violent ends)

🌸 It’s starts out on June 3rd 1708, the summer of Stede’s upcoming 20th birthday, when he has a chance meeting with Edward in a flower clearing, and their lives are changed forever. 🌸

I am so proud of this one and I hope some of you might want to go along for the journey. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but it will all be okay in the end. And at the start, it’s very fluffy. Let me know if you like it, comments and kudos feed my soul!

#these violent delights #these violent delights (have violent ends) #TVD #violent delights fic #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fanfiction #our flag means death #our flag means fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #our flag means death fanfiction #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fic #gentlebeard fanfiction #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fic #blackbonnet fanfiction

[ohlawsons]

08.13 fairy realm | vala/octavia/regongar set during the house at the edge of time

The First Realm is hardly Vala’s favorite place. There’s times when the very essence of her magic feels like it could leap from beneath her skin, and times when she isn’t sure she can muster the effort it takes to summon her druidic powers.

Here, though, in Nyrissa’s twisted house outside of time, all alone, with only the twisted tricks and magics of the fae to keep her company, Vala really rather thinks that the First Realm is designed to be her own personal hell. And really, knowing Nyrissa, this damned house just might be.

She watches Linzi fall, and once she’s shed as much blood as she’s able she picks up the journal and grips it, white-knuckled, as if she could tear some answers out of it by force. She watches Jaethal cut down Tristian in front of her, and as much as she’s glad to have her back and as much as she waves off his death by insisting she really should have done the same, back in the tombs beneath Varnhold, she almost can’t tear her eyes from his too-still body.

Slowly, the rest of their party joins them once more — with the exception of Octavia and Regongar, and with every step further into the nightmarish manor, Vala feels her pulse quicken and rage slip white-hot into her blood.

She loves them fiercely, as she knows they love her, and she thinks some of their group is just now realizing just how deeply and entirely she cares for the pair.

They talk. Everyone does. Vala knows this, knows that there’s gossip throughout the capital and amongst her friends that there’s something shallow about the love the three of them have for each other — that Vala only cares for having a pair of attractive arm-pieces, and desires a powerful, beautiful entourage more than she does lovers to dote upon; that Octavia wants multiple partners only to test and push them, to dip her toes across the boundaries of what’s good and proper; that Regongar’s only interest is in what happens between them in the bedroom, rather than any interest in a real, stable relationship.

And perhaps there’s truth in all that, Vala thinks, feeling rather bare without them at her side. But there’s truth, too, in the moments they’d stolen for themselves, meant only for the three of them and not for all the others who seem to have such a self-important view of their queen’s private affairs.

There’s truth in the quiet mornings she’d spent with Regongar, holding him and slowly quieting his doubts, assuring him that he’s loved, so entirely and so deeply and so passionately, and that no matter which of his flaws he’s fixated on she won’t ever let him, even for a moment, think they’re the cause of any regrets or reservations she has towards him. There’s truth in the loud, lighthearted evenings shared with Octavia, talking and laughing and kissing and baring themselves in ways unfamiliar to them both, as they learn each others’ boundaries and earn each others’ trust, each too lost in the other for the moment to be anything but whole and real. There’s truth, too, in the warm afternoons spent with all three of them lounging together, talking about whatever futures they could have — will have, one day — and Vala decides that as soon as she finds them and they’re all back together, she’s going to marry them both in the most delightfully lavish ceremony the Shrike Hills have ever seen.

It’s enough to keep her going, trudging slow but sure footed through the house of mist and magic and mischief, the trek long enough that Vala knows exactly how she’s going to kill Nyrissa when she finds her. 

But first, she has to find Octavia and Regongar. And then she’s going to tear this entire house down, brick by fucking brick.

#pathfinder kingmaker #pfkm #vala tag #octavia #regongar #ot3: chaos crew #(i'm NOT gonna call them ot3: everyone needs therapy) #brooke writes things #fic: vala #violent delights fic

[wangxianficrecs]

violent delights by justdoityoufucker

violent delights

by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account)

T, 4k, Wangxian

Summary: Wen Qing is fairly confident in her own skills. She knows the theory—wrote the theory—and has performed many surgeries before, has worked with broken cores and devoted her life to the study of it. But there’s something different about this. - Or, the one where the Golden Core transfer goes...sideways. Kay's comments: This story explores an idea that I find super interesting, what if the Golden Core Transfer just didn't work? The odds weren't in their favour after all and here it just doesn't work, Wei Wuxian's core says nope and returns to Wei Wuxian, no matter what Wen Qing attempts. It changes things and for the better, at least for Wei Wuxian and the Wens and I love that and love their relationship especially. You know I'm so weak for Wei-Wen found family vibes. Ah, and now I'm sad again that justdoityoufucker left the fandom. I adore their fics so much. Excerpt: Except, a half shichen later, it disappears. It disappears. The core disappears out of Jiang Wanyin’s body. It’s an instantaneous happening—one second it’s there, channeling the remnants of Jiang Wanyin’s spiritual energy along with Wei Wuxian’s, and then there’s an abrupt, gaping emptiness that is familiar only because it’s how his dantian felt before the transfer. “J-jie?” a-Ning asks at the same moment that Wei Wuxian makes a rough noise of abject confusion, an emotion that is mirrored on her didi’s face. “What’s h-happening?” She forces some of her spiritual energy to remain in Jiang Wanyin’s meridians, cycling to ensure nothing goes wrong, and rushes over to Wei Wuxian, who has suddenly regained some color in his face. It’s hard to focus on splitting her energy, cycling it in two other bodies, but immediately she can tell what’s wrong. Wei Wuxian’s golden core is back in Wei Wuxian, like she never took it out. His meridians are perfectly reconnected, spiritual energy cycling as if it had never been stripped out.

pov wen qing, pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, no golden core transfer, jiang cheng has no golden core, not jiang cheng friendly, pre-sunshot campaign, sunshot campaign, post-sunshot campaign, wei wuxian lives, wen remnants live, families of choice, hurt/comfort, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, angst with a happy ending, everybody lives, wei wuxian leaves the yunmeng jiang sect

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#April 2024 #Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #short fic <15k #teen #violent delights #justdoityoufucker #pov wen qing #pov wei wuxian #canon divergence #no golden core transfer #jiang cheng has no golden core #not jiang cheng friendly #pre-sunshot campaign #sunshot campaign #post-sunshot campaign #wei wuxian lives #wen remnants live #families of choice #hurt/comfort #rogue cultivator wei wuxian #angst with a happy ending #everybody lives #wei wuxian leaves the yunmeng jiang sect

[binvibin]

my ideal weekend is rereading that titanic au and sobbing hysterically on a park bench

#these violent delighs have violent ends #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #these violent delights #titanic au #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #james potter #james fleamont poter #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #jegulus fic #jegulus au

[tadaxii-i]

I’ve been absolutely devastated by this fic all day so I took 30 minutes of my time to make it because the image burns in my head.

@imdamagecontrol

#fic: these violent delights (have violent ends) by damagecontrol #marauders #regulus black #jegulus #marauders headcanon #james potter #harry potter headcanon #I had to #i’m sorry #and sobbing too #I’m really hoping I’ve done him justice #he’s never more beautify than when you write him

[navigateme]

“A sky full of stars and the sun that chased them for a lifetime.”

These Violent Delights (Have Violent Ends) by damagecontrol had me trying to stifle sobs in my office so my coworkers wouldn’t hear me cry during the first time I read it and I remember being so surprised that I was surprised about a MCD in a fucking marauders/titanic!AU… like obviously someone’s gonna die 🙄 and tbh tbh that made me love it even more so all hail @imdamagecontrol bc their writing ALWAYS HITS 🫡

I’m still trying to learn how to make my own typesets but THIS incredible typeset was made by @vellichorbindery 💕💕💕

Definitely made some improvements with my second bind, my stitching got a lot cleaner, but also made some more mistakes 🙃 it’s fine tho, I’m still learning and growing and whatever

Still at a standstill with my cover designs for various reasons so I’m making do with the materials that I have for now. This glittery fabric I used for the cover was giving me Night Sky Over A Freezing Shipwreck vibes 🥶

For personal use only, no commissions 🚢✨

#I would read a damn grocery list if damage control wrote it #bookbinding #fic binding #tvd(hve) #damagecontrol #these violent delights #these violent delights have violent ends #wolfstar #jegulus #marauders #titanic!au #mine #fanfiction

[therealvinelle]

Do you think any vampires use dating apps? Like if twilight was set today

Violent Delights Have Violent Ends by myself and @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin

#violent delights have violends ends #my fic #the carnivorous muffin fic #the carnivorous muffin

[peachesofteal]

🪐 Rewatched The Force Awakens so I guess it’s time to re read this.

#this was the love of my life circa 2017 #this and these violent delights but that fic is MIA now?

[mythicalltea]

“I will always find my way to you.”

Regulus inhales a shaky breath. “Not this time, James. I don’t think—Not in this lifetime.”

“In every lifetime, Regulus. I will find you in every single one.”

GOD.

#enjoy me falling apart as I read the end of this fic #these violent delights #these violent delights have violent ends #marauders era #harry potter #marauders #james potter #regulus black #jegulus

[ohlawsons]

08.05 heart | elena/maegar

The inn is… lively.

It holds the same charming atmosphere as the rest of the capital, but Elena doesn’t think she’s really in any position to pass judgment, not when the baroness – equally lively and charming – is the one responsible for rescuing both her and Maegar. They’re both deeply indebted to Vala, a twisted turn of events that Elena is hardly fond of.

Still, as much as she dislikes being a cleric of Pharasma at the mercy of a woman known for her fascination with necromancy, she trusts Maegar when he says he’s satisfied with the way things have played out.

Well, she mostly trusts him. She isn’t sure just how a man so driven by the whims of his heart managed to survive a day without her logically-minded self to cool him down; they’d spent decades on the road together, and even though he claims that age has evened his temperament, Elena knows firsthand that he’s still prone to the occasional rash decision.

Like handing over their barony to a woman like Baroness Erevar.

“You’re still upset with me.”

Elena looks up at the familiar voice, searching for Maegar as he interrupts her lonely lookout by the hearth. “It’s been a permanent state of mind for the last thirty years, I’m afraid.” She does her best to give him a warm smile; there’s a heaviness that she hasn’t quite been able to shake, a cold fatigue from her time in Lostlarn keep that’s permeated deep into her bones. “But I’m not upset by… all of this,” she adds, quietly, well aware of the crowded tavern around them. “I’d like a chance to talk about it, is all.”

Maegar sighs, and there’s such a sudden weariness to him that Elena almost regrets saying anything. “I know.” He holds out a hand to Elena, pulling her to her feet. “When I offered to take over as the barony’s treasurer, I never imagined it would be quite this taxing. But you’re right – we’re overdue for a conversation, if you’re feeling up to it.”

There’s a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she gives in to the fatigue and simply nods, letting Maegar lead her out of the inn and down the sparsely cobbled streets leading towards the main square. Neither of them say much as they walk, making quiet smalltalk as they meander through the capital – is she feeling any better, has he had a chance to eat this evening – until they reach a small, scenic overlook, a quiet cliffside staring out into the vast Shrike Hills.

“I know you have… reservations about Vala,” Maegar finally says, staring out over the forest beneath them and giving Elena’s hand a soft squeeze.

“I’ve spent my life hunting down people like her,” Elena amends, feeling her jaw clench at Maegar’s oversimplification of a subject they’d discussed, in detail, prior to everything that had happened at Lostlarn Keep. “She’s known to dabble in darker magics, she counts a member of the undead amongst her advisors–”

“Elena–”

“--there’s a temple of Urgathoa in the capital,” she continues, ignoring Maegar’s attempts to interrupt her, “and she’s all but declared war on Pharasma herself. So, yes, I do have a few reservations about allowing her to take control of Varnhold.” The rant – though relatively brief – leaves her winded, and Elena struggles to catch her breath as she waits for Maegar’s response; she knows he’s aware of all of this already, but she herself is still trying to wrap her head around their situation.

He’s silent for a moment before answering. “Varnhold was… in tatters,” he says finally, the words heavy and slow. “Our people were ruined and desperate. Vala is ambitious, to say the least, and was clearly set on claiming what was left of our lands.” Maegar pauses, and Elena’s heart drops at the ragged, pained edge to his voice; they hadn’t talked, not fully, about the state of things while she was lost, and not for the first time she wonders just what horrors Maegar had seen after disappearing through that portal. “I did what I thought was best for our people, and for you. I convinced her to allow Varnhold to maintain its ban on necromancy, and the temple of Pharasma still has a place within the capital. It was the best I could do.”

Elena takes a moment to mull over his words, pushing back the nagging thought that she should’ve been there when he was forced to make such an impossible call; she allows herself to take comfort in the warmth of his presence beside her and the weight of his hand, still joined with hers. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear,” he says, shaking his head as he chastises her softly.

She gives a little hum in disagreement. “Your heart was in the right place. I shouldn’t have doubted you for that.”

“I seem to recall you being rather fond of doubting my heart.”

“Well, perhaps I’ve just grown soft in my retirement.”

#brooke writes things #elena kheld tag #maegar varn #pfkm #pathfinder kingmaker #fic: elena #violent delights fic #otp: elena/maegar

[supermassivebutthole]

hey remember how sometimes i publish chapters of a midnight sun rewrite? violent delights, it's called? butch edith cullen etc? if theres anyone still alive who wants to read it, heres a new chapter

#violent delights #this isn't like wahh wahh read my fic #i just never publish so yall might not be reading anymore idc #but the love ive gotten will sustain me forever so don't even worry abt it

[alwaysmicado]

Hi lovely 💕 I’d love to hear about Violent Delights

Heyhey 🤍 thanks for asking!

Violent Delights is a Joel Miller x f!reader series. It's dark, violent and kind of fucked up.

Reader tries to survive the living hell that is the Boston QZ by numbing her pain with alcohol, pills and sex. But in the aftermath of a deal gone bad she realizes she's even more alone than she thought.

Snippets:

That’s why you have sex. To escape your dreadful life for the time you're able to concentrate on your body only. No thoughts, just pain and pleasure. You only fuck guys that give you what they want, who hurt you and make you forget for a little while. You’ve had guys apologize after because of the bruises, saying they don’t usually do this – but you know better.

They’re all animals pretending to be more. 

---

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you murmur, his cum leaking down the curve of your ass. 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he growls, stuffing his cock back into his jeans. 

When you don’t bite back like you usually do and just silently pull up your pants, Joel roughly grabs you by your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin, spinning you around to face him.

The cold intensity in his eyes meets yours as he looks at your face for the first time tonight. His eyes dart between the injuries on your face, and a rare moment of vulnerability flickers across his features.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and anger surges within him, anger at your recklessness, anger at himself for not noticing sooner.

#fic: violent delights #tw violence #wip #joel miller x f!reader #joel is mean

[sapphirehearteyes]

Made in honor of Our Violent Delights by bikado on Ao3-

“Take it all” he pleads, biting at her jaw. “Take my sword. Take my heart. Take it all.”

The way this fic has me (and many others) in an absolute chokehold 👁👄👁

The writing is OUTSTANDING!! If you haven’t read it, it’s my #1 recommendation

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #OC #Aemond x oc #aemma velaryon #our violent delights #bikado #hotd fic #Aemond fic #Aemond fic rec #Aemond x aemma

[tadaxii-i]

I'm crying so much and I need to share this.

These violent delights (have violent ends) :

It's a Titanic AU starchaser and wolfstar fic, and you need to read it. I'll never recommend a fic this hard.

(I almost want to gatekeep it because it's that good)

#marauders #regulus black #jegulus #marauders headcanon #james potter #harry potter headcanon #sirius black #starchaser #wolfstar #remus lupin #fic: these violent delights (have violent ends) by damagecontrol

[incaseofwriting]

A Dragon Scorned

Things are finally settling down in Tempest. An unexpected visitor shows up and somehow Diablo is involved?!

word count: 2.9k

content warning: none?

#tensura oc #velvoid #violent delights have beautiful ends #fic #diablo x oc

[sprnklersplashes]

these violent delights (2/?) (ao3)

Someone is calling his name, the sound just about audible over the late-night ruckus in the Six. Jesper looks up immediately, expecting to see Wylan coming back in. His grin falters when he doesn’t make an appearance and grows steadily smaller when he hears the alarm in whoever’s voice it is. His shuffling hands slow down, uneasiness replacing the giddiness the cards had given him. Then, Annika skids to a halt at his table, her eyes wide, her chest heaving, and dread settles like a stone in Jesper’s stomach.

“It’s Wylan,” she gasps, leaning heavily against the table. “He’s hurt.”

Jesper shoots from the seat, the cards falling like dust from the table.

He throws himself through the front doors and out onto the street, turning wildly in circles as he searches for Wylan. He’s vaguely aware of Kaz’s presence, but for once the infamous Bastard is just another face. The streets are full to the brim; Barrel rats looking for a good con, tourists looking for good fun, kids looking for a good opportunity. Boys, girls, tall, short, young old, they all blur into one thing around him. One large, terrible thing surrounds them, flooding the streets. Terrible because none of them is Wylan, and because they’re stopping him from getting to him. Annika’s words play over and over again, in time to the beat of his heart.

Wylan’s hurt. 

Despite his religious scepticism, he says a small prayer every time he looks around. That was a misunderstanding. That it was just a boy who looks like Wylan. That it’s a different Wylan. It’s awful, and he’ll do his penance ten times over, but right now he just needs, he needs Wylan to be okay.

“Jesper.” Someone-Kaz- tugs sharply on his coat, yanking Jesper around so that he faces the front of the Silver Six. There, as the crowd begins to part, Kaz points with his cane, and Jesper’s heart freezes. “I found him.”

He’s sunk to his knees beside one of the outdoor tables. His head is bent over and his hands are buried in his hair. It only takes one look to see the tightness in his body, and as they get closer they see how badly he’s trembling. It might be cold out, but this shaking is beyond that. It’s more like he’s fighting to hold on to something, and whatever he’s fighting is far stronger than him.

Jesper is already beyond scared by the sight. But then Wylan crumples and gives a weak cry as his shoulder strikes the ground, and he can’t breathe.

Saints, please let this be a dream.

“Wylan!”

A cough wracks his body as Jesper and Kaz kneel next to him, and blood trickles from his lips to the pavement. His skin is almost translucent, his hair starkly dark against it. The blood covers his lips now, oozing like oil from an engine. His body twitches, his face contorted in pain. He almost looks unrecognisable. He almost doesn’t look human. 

“Wylan?” he says again. He touches his cheek, wincing at how cold the skin is beneath his hand. “Wylan, can you hear me?” He pushes his hair away from his scrunched-up eyes. But then Wylan bucks, his breathing frantic and jagged, and he pulls his hand away. He does something, a groan or a grunt or some attempt at speech, and blood leaks from his nose and runs down his pale face.

“What’s happening to him?” he asks. Kaz’s gaze is as dark and stormy as ever; thunderclouds rolling behind his pupils. Wylan thrashes again and a helpless cry is wrenched from him. His head hits the cobblestones with an audible, horrible thunk.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” is all Kaz says.

Jesper slides his hands under Wylan’s shoulders and lifts him. This he can do. His touch is careful as though he’s cradling lit grenades. Gently, he rests Wylan’s head on his lap. It doesn’t stop the seizing, but at least his head isn’t hitting the ground any more. 

At some point, Nina and Matthias came running out after them, and both of them kneel on either side of Wylan. Jesper looks at Nina, not trusting himself to speak. Find out what’s wrong, and fix this, he asks her silently. Nina just looks back at him, tears glinting in her eyes, and Jesper’s shoulders shake. 

She’s not the same as she used to be, and whatever this is, it’s beyond her.

He wishes he could tell her it’s okay, but all he can think about is Wylan convulsing in his lap.

“Jesper.” Kaz’s voice is sharp, pulling him back to the moment. His dark eyes are trained on something above them, his jaw tight. Jesper has only seen this expression a handful of times before; in the depths of the Ice Court, on Vallegulk, when Van Eck took Inej. It ignites something in him, and he follows Kaz’s gaze above. 

At first, he sees nothing, just the outlines of rooftops. But then the lights grow brighter, and it’s there, silhouetted against the night sky. A hooded figure stands atop the roof of the Silver Six. He can’t see them that well, just that their hands are moving in controlled jerks, and they’re staring down directly at Wylan.

“Jesper,” Kaz says again, but he doesn’t need to. The gun is in his hand and pointing up at the roof before he even realises it. His shooting arm is the only part of him that isn’t shaking and locks his aim at the figure above. If they notice, they don’t do anything, but Jesper suspects they don’t. Wylan cries out again, like an animal caught in a trap and he clicks the off the safety.

“We need them alive,” Kaz says. Jesper hears it, and it must click with him because when he sends off the bullet, he feels it fly a little lower than its initial trajectory. It’ll lodge in their hip, rather than their chest. He’s not particularly happy about it, but at least some part of him is thinking past this moment.

The figure on the roof falls soundlessly, and the next second, Wylan goes slack. The tension that had held wrought through his slight frame flees and he sinks into Jesper’s lap, taking heavy gulps of air. Carefully, Jesper runs his fingers across his face, brushing away a smudge on his cheekbone.

“Jes?” His voice is broken, strained, barely a whisper. Wylan is beside him, but he sounds like he’s coming from miles away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, afraid to hurt him again. He takes Wylan’s hand in his and squeezes it to warm it up. “I’m here, darling, everything’s going to be okay.”

Before he realises, he’s cupping Wylan’s cold cheek with his hand. He waits for the signal to pull away, that his touch is hurting him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Wylan leans into his touch, and for a heart-stopping moment, Jesper thinks it’s over. 

“Jes,” he says again. Droplets of blood trickle down to his chin. He takes a deep, uneven, desperate breath.

Then his eyes close, and he doesn’t say anything. 

It’s Kaz who moves first. Of course, it’s Kaz. Jesper is busy not feeling anything and is still trying to process Wylan’s limp body laying against his legs. Jesper, for all the bravado he puts up, feels like his limbs are disconnecting and floating away from his body, but Kaz is the one pulling them together again. Or, pushing them aggressively until they pop back into place.

“We need to get him back to the Slat,” is his first command. “Keeping him out in the open is an invitation for trouble.” His dark eyes snap up. “Matthias, stay with Wylan and Jesper. If you can, find a Healer. Nina, you’re with me. If Jesper made the shot right, they’ll still be alive.”

If Jesper made the shot right. He looks down at Wylan again and brushes his hair away from his face. Their best (and maybe only) chance to find out what happened rests on whether he made the shot.

He bites his tongue and swallows the bile in his throat. 

Nina brushes his shoulder before she goes, a whispered “It’s okay” in his ear. It’s both sweet and wrong because no part of this is okay. Those words have rarely felt as hollow as they do now. 

Matthias appears in front of him, his eyes firm and his sleeves rolled up. He presses two fingers to Wylan’s neck, then his wrist. He exhales softly as he does, the worry not leaving his face. But his shoulders drop, and he gives a single, steady nod.

“His pulse is okay,” he says. “And he’s still breathing.” The Fjerdan grabs Jesper’s shoulder then, and his grip is so tight it sends a jolt through Jesper’s body. If Kaz pushed him back together, then Matthis pulls him firmly back to the present. “Jesper,” Matthias says. “Kaz was right. We need to get him back to the Slat. I’ll follow behind and try to grab a Healer. All right?”

“Right,” he hears himself say. He gathers Wylan into his arms and stands up. His head rests against Jesper’s shoulder, and he’s reminded of a few nights ago when Wylan fell asleep in his study and Jesper had carried him to bed. He’d woken up halfway there, but a soft murmur from Jesper and his head on his shoulder and fall back to sleep.

That was when Jesper started thinking Wylan needed a night off.

If he’d known-

“Matthias,” he says. “Try to be subtle. If word gets to the wrong person that Kaz Brekker’s demolition man got hurt-”

“I understand,” he says. He looks at Wylan, his blue eyes torn. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Jesper chokes out. He turns, keeping Wylan pressed against his chest, and holds him as tightly as he can all the way back to the Slat.

There’s a visible change when Jesper kicks the door open, his arms still firmly wrapped around Wylan. Those Dregs who haven’t gone out tonight spring into action the instant they see him; one closes the door behind him, several ask him what happened. One even has the foresight to run up ahead of him and use Jesper’s key to open their room. Another lights the lamps, bathing the room in a dull orange hue. 

He carries him to the bed and lays him out, making sure to brace the back of his head. The sound of his skull hitting the pavement still ricochets through Jesper’s head. Wylan doesn’t react as Jesper sets him down; not even when he tucks a blanket around his cold body. He just lies there, and if it weren’t for his faint breaths, he’d be forgiven for thinking he was-

No, he thinks. No.

Matthias rushes in before he can go any further. Jesper has never been happier to see him, especially when he sees the girl standing at his side, whose brown eyes are trained on Wylan and whose hands are already poised to work.  

“Healer?” he asks. Matthias looks half-apologetic, and the girl clears her throat.

“Heartrender,” she corrects. “But I can heal.”

“She’s a friend of Nina’s,” Matthias explains. “A sort of friend. It’s- I couldn’t find anyone-”

“It’s okay,” Jesper cuts off. Matthias nods at that. He looks over at the Heartrender, his own heart beating so loudly he can hardly hear himself ask, “Can you fix him?”

The girl rolls up her sleeves. “I can try.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and holds her hands over Wylan. Jesper hovers back, Matthias standing solidly at his shoulder. The other boy’s hands are clasped in front of his face in a way that vaguely looks like a prayer. Jesper almost envies him. He had never properly prayed before and instead relied on luck until it ran out. Now he watches this girl he barely knows move her hand over Wylan’s prone body and he realises he’s pinning all of his hopes on her.

He wouldn’t call it a prayer exactly, but he swears his allegiance to the first god or saint that saves him.

The girl holds her hand over Wylan’s heart, her fingers moving slowly before travelling up his chest. Unlike Nina and the slow, carefully controlled way she used to move, this girl almost forces her hand up Wylan’s body, her arm so stiff it looks like it could crack. He wants to believe it doesn’t mean anything, what would he know about the best way to be a Grisha?

Wylan moves, finally, when her hand hovers over his head. His face tightens and a pained gasp breaks the silence in the room. It’s nowhere near the agonised screaming they’d heard from him earlier, the one that floods Jesper’s head now. 

“Careful,” he hears himself say. The Heartrender turns to look at him, her eyebrow raised. The expression is irritated at best and offended at worst, and Jesper clears his throat. “When I-When I touched his head earlier, it hurt him.” He pulls at his waistcoat. “Just… be careful.”

“How is he?” Matthias asks. “Can you heal him?”

“It’s hard to say,” she replies. “I’m not a trained Healer and even if I was… head injuries are tricky. Especially ones this severe.”

Jesper’s heart drops.

“How severe is it?” he asks. The Heartrender looks at him again, her hand still hovering over his head. Wylan groans again, this time with a little more force behind it, and shifts against the mattress. “I don’t know. I’ve fixed some of the surface-level damage, but…” She shakes her head. “There’s not much else I can do.”

“Will he wake?” Matthias asks. The stiffens, and the look on her face strikes Jesper’s heart. He knows that look. He’s spent the better part of his life trying to forget that look, that mix of pity and sorrow and not-knowing-what-to-say.

He turns, his shaking hands pressed to his mouth. Behind him, Matthias speaks to the Heartrender, their voices low and hushed. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in his ears. He forces himself to breathe out, to flex his fingers, to run his hands over his revolvers. None of it helps, his veins still spark like lit fuses around his body. The cracked plaster feels like it’s clawing at him, scratching down his skin. He needs to get out of here, to run up and down the streets and fire his guns until he runs out of bullets. Some deep, buried part of him wants to use whoever the fuck did this as target practice. The thought brings something, not relief but something close. Maybe it would help, but he’s not doing it. Kaz kept that person alive for a reason and he’s not leaving this room until Wylan’s awake.

A hand grazes his shoulder, and after he flinches he sees Matthias walking the Heartrender girl outside. He mumbles a “thank you” to the girl before she leaves. Colm Fahey raised a liar and a thief, but a polite one.  

With nowhere else to go, he pulls the chair beside the bed and sits down. 

It doesn’t feel right; seeing Wylan so still. Everyone thinks he’s the bouncy one out of the two of them, but they don’t see Wylan the way he does. At his workshop, he’ll wriggle his nose when he’s concentrating, or his shoulders when he’s on the verge of a breakthrough. At Merchant Council meetings, he’ll tug on his hair when he’s growing overwhelmed, or tap his nails together when he’s thinking. And when they’re in bed together, drifting slowly into sleep, he’ll trace patterns on Jesper’s arms, tattoos that exist only in his mind.

How can all of that be gone now, and how can he be so still?

Blood still stains his face, scarlet against paper-white skin. Slowly, Jesper stands and fetches the towel from the hook on the door, then runs it under the faucet in the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off Wylan, walking backwards when he needs to. When he sits back down, he dabs the towel carefully against the bloodstains. 

The last time Jesper cleaned something off Wylan, it was flour from a baking attempt gone wrong. Wylan had wriggled in his grasp, his eyes glittering, his laughter filling the kitchen like the sweetest music Jesper had ever heard. Now, he doesn’t even flinch.

He throws the stained towel over the bedpost.

“There you go, darling,” he whispers. “That’s better isn’t it?” He breathes out slowly. Purple bags. have appeared under Wylan’s eyes, or maybe they were always there. It’s been such a heavy week for him, long hours at the Council and late nights in his office. There were so many demands to meet in such little time. His side of the bed had been so cold, with him waking at the crack of dawn to work and not getting in until late. 

All Jesper had wanted was for him to blow off some steam. To go someplace where he was just Wylan, and leave the burden of the Van Eck name in his office. 

Wylan was reluctant, but Jesper had insisted. Of course, he did, because he’s like a freaking dog with a bone sometimes and maybe he wanted a night out too and now… now they’re here. Wylan is cold and unmoving in the bed they planned to share tonight.

“Wylan, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He reaches over and slides his fingers between his. The heat from his hand bleeds into Wylan’s, and he hopes he feels it. “We should’ve just stayed in tonight like you wanted. And I promise as soon as you’re better, I’m spending my life making it up to you.” He kisses the back of Wylan’s hand. He hadn’t realised he was crying until the tears wet Wylan’s skin. “Get all those fantasies ready, merchling, because nothing is off-limits.”

The door creaks open then. He doesn’t turn around but the rhythmic thumping behind him means he doesn’t need to. A flash of black appears in his peripheral vision, hands folded over a crow’s head cane.

Neither speaks for a few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesper sees his gloved fingers curl.

“It was a Heartrender,” he finally says. “Using parem.”

“Parem?” Jesper echoes. He does look up at Kaz, just for a second, to make sure he heard him right. He nods once, slowly, and Jesper sinks into his chair. “Saints. Do we know anything else?”

“Not yet,” he replies. “After you shot her, she wasn’t in a very talkative mood. Nina’s taking care of her. ” He turns toward Jesper. “Lodged it right in her hip. Good shot.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, though he forgets what he’s thanking for. His mind is too focused on the words Heartrender and parem, and all the implications that has. Who sent her? Why did they send her? Where did they get parem from?

“How is he?” Kaz asks. He steps forward and lowers himself onto the bed. Something flashes across his face, and for once Jesper can’t be bothered to try to work it out. The question is hard enough; he can’t answer and try to fathom Kaz’s carefully guarded emotions.

“Matthias found a Heartrender. She said it was a head injury.” His chest tightens and his voice falls to a croak as he continues. “A bad one.” He holds Wylan tighter, pushing away the grief looming over him. He won’t mourn Wylan while he’s still breathing. 

Kaz says nothing. His hand tightens on the head of his cane, and his hair falls in front of his unreadable eyes.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “Get some rest. I can take over for a while.”

“No.” Kaz blinks in surprise. Jesper honestly hadn’t expected it to sound so forceful, but he means it. He’s not leaving Wylan’s side. He’s not even taking his eyes off him.

He took his eyes off Ma. He spent all night with her hand on his cheek and his face in the mattress. When he woke up, it was too late. 

He’s not making that mistake again and Kaz will have to knock him out himself if he has to.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he gives a simple “All right” and pulls the spare chair up beside him. Up close, Jesper catches the dark blue blanket folded in Kaz’s lap. He waits for him to cover Wylan with it, but it stays folded beneath his hands.

They sit in silence. Jesper’s breathing slows to match Kaz’s, and with it, the events of the past hour fall over him like dust over a shelf. A Heartrender. Using parem. Wylan’s head injury. The expression on the girl’s face when she looked at him.

The grief resurfaces, swirling like dark cloud over the prairie. He remembers how helpless those storm clouds made him feel as a kid. He feels that now, magnified tenfold. This time they’re pressing down on him, and no-one will pet his hair and tell him that it will pass.

“He’s not dying,” Kaz says suddenly. Jesper looks at him, wild hope flickering inside him. If there was ever a person who could fix the unfixable, it would be Kaz. He’s dragged himself back from death once or twice, surely he could for someone else.

Kaz leans forward, just a little, and Jesper holds his breath. He waits for Kaz to pull something out of his sleeve, or for Wylan to sit up and say it was all part of Kaz’s master plan. Neither happen. Kaz only bows his head and trains his eyes on Wylan’s sleeping form.

“He isn’t mean to die like this,” he says roughly. Jesper swallows. Even on a good day, Wylan dying is the last thing he’d want to think about. Not when the unspoken truth of their relationship is that Wylan might go before Jesper does. But Kaz is right. Whatever way Wylan is meant to die, it’s not here in this broken bed in the Slat, just turned twenty-three. 

“No,” Jesper replies. “He’s not.” He squeezes Wylan’s hand. “There’s not even a bomb around.”

It’s a horrible joke, but they laugh. anyway 

The night goes on. Wylan doesn’t move at all, bar the slow rise and fall of his chest. Nina puts her head around the door and asks about him. She puts a plate of bread and cheese in front of them and squeezes Jesper’s shoulder. 

Kaz gets up and catches her just as she reaches the door. He hears Kaz’s hushed voice as he speaks to her, inaudible over the late-night rumblings of the Barrel. Presumably, it’s about the Heartrender they have in custody; Jesper is sure he hears the words ‘parem’ and ‘Heartrender’ used somewhere. He should probably ask Nina what’s going on. He’s also a Crow and he should be on the same page as everyone else. 

The thought crosses his mind, but he doesn’t act on it. Kaz will catch him up if he needs to. He just focuses on holding Wylan’s hand, and dimly questions why the room is getting darker. 

Morning brightness pokes at his eyelids, dragging him out of his sleep. He’s reminded of being back on the farm; his Ma used to pull the curtains open to wake him up, pestering him as he groaned and asked for five more minutes. The memory lingers for a few seconds, lulling him into the sweet lie that he’s back home, and that nothing has gone wrong yet.

Unfortunately, he’s not back home. He’s not greeted by endless blue skies when he opens his eyes. Instead, he sees Wylan, just as he was before, now bathed in a weak Ketterdam sunlight and Kaz rolling his cane between his hands. The blanket he had last night is nowhere to be seen, and Jesper realises blearily that it was draped over his shoulders.

“There’s been no change,” he says roughly. The crow on his cane spins. “His pulse and his breathing are still fine.”

“How long’s it been?” Jesper asks.

“About six hours.” Jesper bites his tongue, his shoulders shaking beneath the wool. Six hours he spent not with Wylan. Anything could have happened in that time. He shoves the blanket off and balls it between his fists. He wants to drop it to the floor and kick it under the bed, the feel of it makes his skin crawl. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps pressing it, as if the pressure he pours will turn it into a diamond. 

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” is all he says. Kaz doesn’t respond. Jesper shifts to the edge of his seat and waits for him to press on it. Or maybe he will. Maybe he’ll start a stupid fight just so the blaze in his chest can go somewhere-

Then Wylan gasps.

He frowns, delicate features scrunching like he’s waking from a long sleep. Quiet murmurs drift through the air, reminiscent of late weekend mornings spent in their bed. His slender pianist’s fingers curl and uncurl on the sheets, bitten nails scratching the coarse fabric.

“Wylan?” Slowly, Jesper rises from the chair and perches on the edge of the bed. His palm is cold as he lays it atop Wylan’s blanket. His breath comes in short, anxious puffs, his heartbeat echoing in his empty chest. “Wylan, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Mm?” comes Wylan’s reply. His weight shifts, another sight familiar from their bed. He breathes out heavily, his long-lashed eyes fluttering. Jesper’s heart does a similar motion, and before he knows what he’s doing his hand comes up to cup Wylan’s face. Wylan leans into his touch, his cheek not nearly as cold as it was last night, and Jesper could collapse there and then.

He sighs, his nose scrunches, and Jesper holds so tightly to his patience. It could be seconds or hours, Jesper doesn’t know, but he waits and whispers and finally, Wylan’s eyes flutter open, and relief sweeps through Jesper like a spring wind over the fields. 

“Hi.” The words squeeze out from his tight throat. The tears flow down his cheeks, but he’ll wipe them away later. He just wants to hold Wylan’s face and never let him go. “Welcome back, darling.”

Wylan frowns, his brown eyes still glazed, unfocused. Jesper nods encouragingly, his thumb rubbing circles beneath his eye. It’s okay, he wants to say. I’m here, everything’s going to be okay. 

Before he can, Wylan jerks out of his grasp. He scrambles across the mattress and leaves Jesper’s cold hands hovering in the air. Jesper swallows down his panic as Wylan presses himself into the wall, his eyes widening and darting around the room.

“Where am I?” he stammers. Jesper notices the rapid rise and fall of Wylan’s chest then and shares an uneasy look with Kaz. The Heartrender’s words come back to him, “severe” and “tricky” breaking through his relief.

“You’re in the Slat, Wylan,” Jesper tells him. Wylan shakes his head, his hair falling in front of his face. 

“The-the Slat?” he asks. His voice trembles and Jesper eases himself closer to him, his hand slightly raised. He’s found Wylan in dysregulated states before and brought him back, but something about this feels off.

“In the Barrel,” he says, his voice like an autumn breeze. 

“The Barrel?” His voice is so high it scratches Jesper’s ear, and panic seeped deep into the two words. He shakes his head again, wilder this time, and he’s going to hurt himself if he keeps going. 

“Yes,” he says again. He reaches for Wylan’s hand, only to grasp at thin air. He looks up and sees Wylan’s hand curled against his chest. Then he looks again and sees the feral look in his boyfriend’s eye. Behind him, Kaz stiffens, and a lump forms in Jesper’s throat. “Last night. Remember we went out, we went to the Barrel-”

“No!” he cries.

Wyaln falls from the bed, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor. He pulls himself hastily to his feet, runs a hand through his hair, and steps back, the bed acting as a barrier between them and him. Jesper tries not to scream. He’s never seen Wylan like this, not even at the Ice Court. Hell, not even his father struck such fear in him. One trembling hand is raised, half curled into a fist, and his panic-stricken eyes dart from Jesper to Kaz. He looks ready to either start a fight or hurl himself through the far window. Jesper feels he should be ready to grab him, whichever he does.

Kaz steps out from behind Jesper, exuding a coolness that he wishes he felt. His cane touches the floor once, twice, and Jesper waits for the miracle. 

“Wylan-”

“How do you know my name?”

Jesper freezes. Kaz freezes. They turn and look at each other. Their movements are slow like old doors on rusted hinges. As one, they look back at Wylan, his quick gasps filling the air, his whole body shaking. Jesper reaches out to him, but Kaz’s cane blocks his path. 

“Who the hell are you?” Wylan asks. “And where have you taken me?”

The storm clouds return and when they open, Jesper lets them drown him. 

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #wesper #wesper fanfic #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #fic: these violent delights