#this is what happens when you hear your millenia-long crush is going to take you to a pub and you feel the need to serve your c*ntiest fit

[starcatching]

DAVID TENNANT as CROWLEY GOOD OMENS 2x02

#good omens #good omens 2 #goodomensedit #good omens 2x02 #goodomenssource #tvedit #filmtvdaily #crowley #david tennant #myedit #ik..crowley..not technically a man. but YOU GET MY POINT #this is what happens when you hear your millenia-long crush is going to take you to a pub and you feel the need to serve your c*ntiest fit

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

Ah, your work is so cute and it puts me in a good mood! You also have the characters personalities perfected! I was wondering if you could do a fic where maybe Mammon and MC are hanging out and MC comes out as trans (Ftm), but on accident (like Mammon sneaks a peak at his phone and noticed pride stuff and asks). Recently figured out I was and it’s been a bumpy ride and I just need a fic to cheer me up. Thank you if you do

You sir have been Most Patient, and for that I cannot thank you enough! This is super late, but I hope all is going well with you and your journey. ^-^ I also hope you still get some enjoyment out of this fic, even if it’s oh so very late.

Like… a year late. Maybe more. Probably more.

Sidebar, the setup for this feels kinda long but I also personally think it’s funny so I’m leaving it. I don’t have an editor to tell me no sooooooo :p

Content warnings: Accidental outing as trans, the mortifying ordeal of coming out, but otherwise this is gonna be pretty fluffy. 

Also, this isn’t a warning, but since I usually do gn stuff, I’m gonna be extra clear and say this fic is about a transgender male MC who uses he/him pronouns. Ladies and theydies, if you’d like your time, please wait until I’ve opened requests again and I’ll be happy to write ‘ya something.

Cis people who want to be transphobic? Why are you even here lmao

MC Comes Out as FTM By Accident (feat. Mammon)

It’s a (relatively) quiet day at the House of Lamentation. Satan is still firmly in the scheming phase of his latest prank; Lucifer is in some parlour somewhere, sipping Demonus and listening to a record that would “somberly vibrate the flesh off of your mortal bones, MC”; and Levi and the twins are livestreaming a bet about how many of the otaku third born’s figurines Beel can bench press (the latter two are under threat of 1000 years of torture if any of the merchandise is damaged).

This leaves Mammon and MC chilling on one of the House’s many frighteningly expensive couches, sometimes chatting, sometimes just silently sharing Devilgram memes with each other. 

(Asmo had been with them, but left after declaring that the sexual tension Mammon constantly radiated while around MC had become more pathetic than amusing. MC had just rolled his eyes and laughed, but judging by how many pillows Mammon had thrown his brother’s way and the dark blush on his face, he was taking the teasing more seriously.)

Personally, MC didn’t get why Mammon’s brothers gave him such a hard time. Sure he can be abrasive and his refusal to be honest despite how terrible he is at lying could get… frustrating, to say the least, but all in all he isn’t a bad person. Maybe demons are just bad at expressing genuine fondness for each other. Or maybe it just runs in the family, so to speak.

“H-hey, what are ‘ya staring at?!” Oops. MC didn’t even realize he’d been eyeing Mammon for that long. Not that he minds getting an extra eyeful of Mammon...

“Sorry, just spaced out for a minute there,” he says. 

Neither break eye contact for a long moment.

Shit, this is awkward. Think, MC, say something!

“So did you see this video of a hellhound on a trampoline—”

A glass-shattering shriek echoes through the House of Lamentation, followed by — oh that is actual glass shattering — and the plip-plap footsteps of someone running with bare, wet feet. Seconds later, a furious and appropriately damp Asmodeus comes flying down the stairs, with a weird orange and white towel on his head… Aaaaand nothing else on. MC doesn’t get to process any more than that before Mammon pounces on him, straddling him and covering his eyes with a hand.

“Asmo! What the hell are you doing, running around naked and screaming?!”

“I think you know why, you stupid scumbag!” Asmo retorts with an affronted flip of his hair. Or at least MC thinks it was his hair, all he knows is he just got lightly splashed. Why does he smell citrus?

“What are you even talking about?”

“I was going to take a nice, relaxing bath to scrub off your desperation for MC’s affections—”

“I am NOT desperate!”

“— but when I washed my hair, you know what happened?”

“...You confused orange juice for shampoo?” Mammon drawls. MC doesn’t need his vision to picture the smirk on Mammon’s face.

“How dare you,” Asmo hisses at much lower volume than before, “I would never confuse any of my bathing products.” His voice immediately returns to its regular cadence. “No, someone snuck dye into it, or replaced it, or cursed it or something! Because now,” a towel smacks wetly against the floor, “my hair looks like this!”

Mammon howls with laughter, prompting Asmo to make several sounds MC semi-confidently determines to be swears in Infernal… or whatever the native language of the Devildom is called.

He paws at Mammon’s hand obscuring his vision. If Asmo’s hair has been turned into a creamsicle by some prank gone wrong, he very much wants to see the damage. Unfortunately, Mammon doesn’t budge.

“Not that this isn’t extremely hilarious, but what does it have to do with me?”

Asmo squawks indignantly. “What does it— It was obviously you, you idiot!”

Finally, Mammon removes his hand from MC’s eyes to point an accusatory finger at Asmo and proclaim, “No way!”

The brothers’ petty argument fades into white noise as MC beholds Asmo’s hair. It truly is something else. The demon’s curls have gone from a peachy pink to a swirled mess of neon orange, with pieces of the original colour peaking through here and there. It cannot be played off as intentional or good in any way. There are even patches of his skin that are dyed orange as well. It’s pretty hilarious.

MC is starting to lose feeling in his legs.

“Uh, Mammon? You mind getting off of me?”

Eyes enormous, the Avatar of Greed does just that, and instead presses himself into the other side of the couch like a startled cat. Asmo rolls his eyes and turns his attention to MC.

“You’re not overwhelmed with the most poorly hidden crush of the millenia, right? Would you mind helping me sort this mess out?” he asks. “Think about it. It’ll just be you and me, all glistening and—”

“Not helping your case,” MC retorts, carefully keeping his eyes above Asmo’s waist, “but yeah, whatever cursed soda got into your hair stuff is probably close enough to normal stains that my tricks will help get them out. But! You need to put on some clothes first.”

“Spoilsport~ But if you insist…” Asmo smiles beatifically and saunters back to his room, making absolutely no effort to cover himself as he goes.

I’d kill for his confidence, MC thinks. He promises Mammon he’ll be back as soon as possible and takes his leave, following the trail of watery footprints.

~~~

Mammon remains folded into the corner of the couch, pouting. Of course Asmo had to come and steal MC away from him, he can’t have any time alone with him ever! There’s always some stupid shenanigans that interrupt it— 

MC left his phone. 

It’s sitting innocuously on the couch, face down. Unguarded.

Vulnerable.

He shouldn’t. He won’t! That’s MC’s phone. Mammon may be a demon, but he’s a demon with standards. He will totally respect MC’s privacy. He’s not even tempted. Who cares about some human’s phone anyway?

...What if it’s unlocked?

“Oh screw it.” 

The phone’s in his hand before the indent it left in the couch cushion can spring back in full. It is, in fact, unlocked, and open on the photos app for some reason. The photos are organized in time based folders. Mammon scrolls through the more recent ones, which consist mostly of pictures of the brothers, some with MC, some not — hey, when did MC take that picture of him?! — until he comes across a folder simply labelled “Pride”.

“Tch, they have a whole folder dedicated to Lucifer? Gross!” Mammon remarks as he opens it.

Jealous as he may not be of MC dedicating a folder to Lucifer instead of him anyone else, new pictures of Lucifer could sell for a pretty penny on the Devildom black market…

Oh. Oh. These are not photos of Lucifer. 

Mammon’s not the most knowledgeable about the human world, but he knows a Pride parade when he sees one. It looks like MC had a really nice time, smiling and laughing with a group of people in brightly coloured clothes. The album ends with a wide shot of MC and his friends in a line doing various corny poses. Each one has a distinctly coloured flag draped across their shoulders like a cape. MC’s is a 5 striped design of bright blue, pink, and white bars. The wrinkles on the flag/cape suggest it was recently unpackaged.

Something about those colours pings at Mammon’s memory, and with a bit of effort it comes to him: when MC first came to the Devildom, his phone background involved those colours! Asmo had seen it and asked him about the colour choice, to which he’d responded with some blustering nonanswer and then promptly changed the background.

Did MC… think that any of them would judge him for being trans?

“Okay,” MC declares as he re-enters the room, “Asmo’s given up and is bleaching his hair, apparently magic demon pranks go way harder...than…” 

Mammon freezes. The pair stare each other down for a few interminable seconds.

“...That’s my phone.”

“So it is…!”

“You saw the pictures, didn’t you.”

“Piiiiiiiicturrrrreessssss?” Mammon extends the word into several more syllables than is necessary. “What pictures?”

MC’s mouth does not say “Dude.” But the expression on his face very much conveys the sentiment nonetheless.

“Okay okay, I might have taken a little peek at your phone while you were gone. But it was just to make sure you didn’t leave it on! I locked it right away, I swear!”

“You’re still holding it.”

“Kuh-K-Keeping it warm! Cold phones lose battery faster!”

“...”

“Ugggggghhhhh okay! I looked a lot and saw everything! That what you wanna hear?!”

MC braces himself. “So…?”

“So what?”

“You don’t have any… questions?” he asks with a gesture towards himself.

“Uhhh, no?” Mammon pauses. “Oh wait, yeah, I have one.” Here we go. “ ‘MC’ and he/him pronouns are the right junk to call you by, yeah?”

MC blinks owlishly. “Yup— Uh, yeah, they are. Been that way for a while now… You really don’t—”

“MC,” Mammon says with a sharp toothed grin, “you really think humans are the only ones who get unsatisfied with what meat vessel or titles they’re assigned by the big man upstairs?”

Understanding bonks MC on the head with the same delicacy that Mammon carelessly tosses his phone back with. “Wait, r—”

“Let me show you how cool the Devildom trans flag is.”

#mrsketchydude #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me imagines #obey me trans mc #mine #my writing #mammon #happy pride month everyone #except where i live the parade is in august so it's more like pride summer #hot demon summer indeed lol #all the brothers are trans and/or nb bc i said so #but especially mammon #PS: i do not have a design for the devildom trans pride flag in mind #but if someone else does I Would Like To See It

[kylorengarbagedump]

Not a Scratch (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder. It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. Ben Solo was back.

Words: 6800 (fucking... why)

Warnings: Just a lot of feelings.

Characters: Ben Solo/Kylo RenxReader 

A/N: A long overdue gift for one of my closest, enduring friends, @faestae​. There are few words I can say that illustrate what our friendship has meant to me, so I hope that this, a try-hard attempt at a love letter, says enough.

That being said, I desperately needed to save Ben Solo, as I've needed to do since 2015. So, here's the actual canon ending to TROS--isn't it weird how that works?

I hope that y'all enjoyed this. I really enjoyed writing Ben's conflict and confusion. I love him, no matter his name. And I love y'all, too. Thank you! <3

“Promise me.”

Ben Solo’s hands cover the kyber crystal in yours as a plea, his eyes clouded with restrained terror. His bottom lip, pillowy and pink, quivers, and he shakes his head, anxiety rolling from him in waves. Weaving your fingers through his own, you tug him close, seeking out his gaze. He avoids you, jaw straining.

“It’s going to be okay, Ben.”

“How do you know that?” he replies. “You don’t understand. I’ve heard what they say.” Tension builds again in his shoulders, and like a dog, he wags it away. “Promise me you won’t wait for me.”

“Your family loves you,” you say, and he stands, ripping his grip from yours. You follow, reaching for his arm. “Nothing is going to happen. It’s going to be okay!”

“Stop saying that!” he snaps, fire flickering in his pupils. He’s heaving, his sight glossy. You always forget how massive he is. He holds you in his stare, chest filling with air. There’s a pause--you think he might apologize--but he turns away, releasing a sigh. “Go. Go home. Forget about me.”

Heart cracking, you fold your arms. Your throat is tight. “You know I could never do that.”

“Well,” he says, “start trying.” He stands there a moment, mind churning with something you’re not sure you want to know. “Go.”

“Ben--”

Ben murmurs your name. It’s disarming. “Please.”

Chewing your lip to keep it from trembling, you leave, gripping the crystal. You don’t look back.

The memory was worn from use, now, muddled in places, exact details blurred to approximations, sentences rounded to paraphrases. Sleepless nights, you would caress its frayed edges, holding it like gauze over the wound in your heart, waiting for the ache to cease--yet each morning, like stitches popping, the wound would bleed anew, redder with each reminder of his presence.

If you had been smart, you would have made that promise and kept it. If you had been smart, you would have stayed away from the Resistance and Leia Organa. If you had been smart, you would have done as he had asked--banished his existence to a corner of your brain where recollections went to rot, let it wither into decay.

But you’d done none of those things. Desperate to keep a connection, you’d maintained a relationship with his mother, in the hopes that one day, he’d come back to you, that you’d prove to him that you hadn’t been foolish to wait for him as he’d believed.

Then came the news of the Jedi Academy.

Then came the news of Kylo Ren.

You followed Leia Organa into war. You became a part of the Resistance. You were one of the few breathing members left. And even as you witnessed him crumble the movement to its knees, you shielded that memory from bitterness, clutching at its most poignant wrinkles, coiled around the strongest, clearest tether to that night.

The kyber crystal.

No matter how desperate with hatred Ben had become, that tether grounded you to what you knew of Ben Solo--a boy on the precipice of his manhood, a boy consumed with expectations and swallowed like sunlight by the black, wretched shadow of fear. It had chased him, you knew, for years. Even after it had snagged him with its claws, drawn him deep into the mire of resignation, you nurtured a seedling of hope, sustained almost entirely on the nourishment of the feeling of the crystal in your hands.

You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder.

It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

Scrambling, you charged into action, shouting out to your comrades, “Hey! Rey’s coming back! Injured parties on board!” You careened through the base, calling out to whoever would listen, leaping over supplies, tripping over wires, tumbling into groups trying to sneak a meal. “Injured parties en route! All medics on deck! Rey’s coming!”

Your blood flew through your veins at lightspeed, the possibilities spinning like roulette in your mind. Ben was coming back--Ben. Not Kylo Ren, but Ben Solo, your Ben, and you would be able to see him, touch him, hold him again after 8 long, awful years. Your hidden memory burbled to life with renewed color--you could see the line of his nose, the waves of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders as if they were in front of you, now.

The excitement was tempered by the realization of Rey’s request--medics. Fear and joy fought for dominance when you pictured his body torn with wounds, soaked with blood, heavy with pain. Breath shuddering in your lungs, you searched for a place to sit, to wait. Your desire was to be the first to see him off the ship, to leap into his arms, to grasp at his face and smother it with your affection. But you knew that this was his mother’s place, not yours. If Ben was gravely injured, then to try to be with him would only complicate the issue. This was to say nothing about the impact of his choices--what everyone else on the base might think.

An interesting man you’d chosen to love.

Despite your resolve to sequester yourself in your tent during his arrival, the noise of Rey’s ship landing was too difficult to resist. You poked out your head, watching a swarm of Resistance fighters surround the vessel. The reality of his arrival sent your heart into your throat, hands fidgeting as you scanned every new movement for evidence of his presence, willing your eyes to believe what they were about to see. The hatch opened, and out stepped Rey--bloody, dirty, but still bearing a gleaming grin. She fell into the arms of her cheering friends, and you grew more impatient, craning your neck to see him appear behind her.

Silence cast over the celebratory din before you saw him, as if his presence destroyed the idea of joy on base--his hair was long and dark, curls blown out from sweat. He looked even larger than you had remembered, his wide frame padded with the muscle of an experienced warrior, and his face… It was just as beautiful as you remembered--full lips under hazel eyes, a long nose--but so tired. And nervous.

The urge rose to call out to him.

“Ben…”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, horrified--until you realized it hadn’t been you who had spoken.

The crowd parted for Leia Organa as she strode to the front, meeting her son at the threshold, where he stood transfixed, an effigy crafted from terror. Your tongue dried when you observed Ben take one step forward, and another, before crumbling to his knees, face buried in his fists, shoulders swelling with emotion you were too far to hear. Leia crossed to her son, pressing his head to her chest, stroking his hair. Quiet words passed her lips, and his body wracked, trembling in her embrace.

Pulse pounding, you retreated to your tent. Quakes rumbled through you, your palms slick with perspiration, breath rattling as if your ribs had come loose. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could identify them, tears welling and slipping over your cheeks. You laughed, despite yourself, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. The moment you’d spent the past 8 years preparing for had arrived--and you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him. Being a spectator to his icy reception, his collapse into his mother’s arms, had been more sobering than you’d anticipated. You realized that after all he’d been through, who was to say he’d even still care about you?

Who was to say he even remembered your name?

The mask you’d so carefully carved over the past near-decade shattered, and you sobbed, a long, broken gasp of air pulled into your lungs. It was cold in your throat, pins poking you from the inside as you wept, years of denial wilting, parting for torrents of doubt. Your last conversation with Ben had ended with him begging for you to forget him--he’d gone on to renounce his name, become Supreme Leader of the First Order. He’d murdered his own father. How, after any of this, could you think his mind hadn’t oh-so-ceremoniously murdered you, too?

Whining, you fell into your bed and tugged a blanket over your shoulders, concealing your necklace with a fist, as if you could will it to disappear. You’d been stupid, so stupid. You’d loved Ben, but the man that exited that ship was not the same Ben you’d loved. And he might not ever be. A chill settled over your stomach while you pulled the cover tighter, like it was a barrier protecting you from reality, like you could stave off falling into a canyon of despair.

You remained there, the crushing awakening of foolishness ceding to an empty rot, eyes boring through the far flap of your tent. Outside, restless chattering bloomed as time moved forward, groups of your relieved comrades downing spirits for the first time in what seemed like millenia. Raucous peals of laughter erupted from positions near and far, a group in the distance taking to singing after a few hours of drinks had passed. You heard it all, trapped in your fetal position, cursing yourself for your ignorance.

At least you had the manners not to invite anyone to your pity party.

Daylight dimmed, and your legs grew restless, your chest bubbling with anxiety. You sighed, rolling out of your bed, dragging your fingers over your face. It felt swollen, tight, your cheeks sticky with the remnants of your tears. As much as you wanted it, to remain like a statue in the tent, an observer to the victory of the Resistance, would be impossible. You’d fought for this, too--to hide out of, what, embarrassment? Shame? It didn’t seem right. At some point, you would have to face him. Might as well get it over with now.

It was likely Ben had been taken to the medic tent, but you couldn’t imagine where he’d gone after that, if he had been all right. Maybe he’d gone to stay with his mother. Quelling the tremor in your lungs with a deep breath, you trudged out into the camp, wandering along to Leia Organa’s tent. Gaggles of Resistance members cheered with raised spirits when you passed, but your brain was numb to their joy, still shackled to the memory of Ben Solo. Freedom hadn’t been awarded to you, yet.

Celebration on base had reached a loud, rolling plateau, and as you moved deeper into base, you spotted unfamiliar ships littered across the landscape, the doors open, the lights on. News was spreading, apparently, and everyone was invited to the party. Another claw of anxiety tugged at your heart--perhaps Leia and Ben would be too flocked with visitors to entertain you. Perhaps you’d arrive and appear even more foolish than you’d felt when you’d seen him walk off the ship. Perhaps there were dozens of people he’d wanted to see, names foreign and unknown to you, and perhaps you should’ve just stayed in your tent like you’d had the inclination to do instead of getting up and walking through this fucking crowd to get to another fucking crowd and--

Leia’s tent was marked by two lanterns outside the entrance--but not a soul in sight outside its boundaries. In fact, it looked as if there’d been a deliberate effort to leave a radius of empty space around her encampment, like an invisible barricade of solitude had been erected. In the cacophony, Leia Organa’s space was unblemished refuge, an oasis of peace that you desperately craved. Yet it stalled you--to break this unofficial blessing seemed wrong. You didn’t want to be the weird girl hanging outside the General’s tent. But the crystal was heavy around your neck. Weirdness be damned.

You crept through the encroaching shadows, hoping to avoid curious eyes while you drew closer to the entrance flap. Before you could push it open, your ears caught the rumbled hush of speech, and your pulse quickened. It was wrong to eavesdrop. And yet…

“It will take time. You knew that when you stepped off that ship.”

That was Leia’s voice--soft, warm. A long pause hung in the air.

“I don’t know why I did. They’re right to hate me.” The next words were pushed between teeth. “I am a monster.”

Your stomach constricted, a punch to your gut. Ben. Hearing him speak had you doubled over, sweat staining your neck, muscles locked in shock. Now, even if you’d wanted to move, you couldn’t.

“I know my son,” Leia said. “And he is no monster.”

“Your son murdered his own father.”

“I know.”

“Your husband.”

“I know.”

“Then how can you…” A hitch of breath, a crackle of noise, like a cry caught in his throat. “How can I…”

Rustling inside the tent, the sound of stifled sobs. Shushing. “This won’t be easy, Ben. It won’t. But you’ve made it this far.” More rustling. “And you’re not alone.”

A snort of dismissal. “Aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” Leia said. “And I won’t let you think you are. You have me. Rey.” She didn’t say your name. Your heart thumped. “The first steps of any journey are the most difficult.”

There was a long, resigned sigh. A stuttered breath. Another pause.  “Yes,” Ben croaked. “You’re right.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” said Leia. “Now come on. I haven’t seen you eat a thing.”

Shuffling inside the tent, and you choked on your own spit as your insides flipped. Leia hadn’t mentioned you. Maybe she already knew he didn’t remember you. Relief and horror flooded you at once, your fingers twisting around your necklace. More than anything, you wanted to rush into the tent, throw your arms around him, show him he truly wasn’t alone--but instead you stood there, a shell, paralyzed by what you’d heard.

It was true that he was not the same man you had loved. Before, when Ben had spoken, you’d felt his dread, his unease, it had gripped you with its claws. Now, even through his pain, you sensed resolve, a tide of confidence splashing in his mind.

“Do you…” It was Ben again, voice like a quiet ocean. “There was a girl. Before I left.” He sniffled again, and your lids widened. A girl. “I gave her a kyber crystal. Do you...” He sighed. Your breathing stopped, fist sheathing the crystal. “Do you know what happened to her?”

Leia spat out your name, incredulous. “Of course I know what happened to her. She’s here.”

Heat flashed through you. Your neck was drenched, for sure. You hoped against hope your armpits had been spared. Ben remembered you. He remembered.

“Here?”

“On base,” she said. “She joined the Resistance.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Meanwhile, your throat was drier than the sands of Jakku. Given a few more minutes of this, your body might turn to sand, too--just disintegrate right there, a pile of dust at the perimeter of Leia’s tent. Silence settled for a moment.

“She’s here.” It was a statement of disbelief.

She chuckled. “Did you really think she would just forget you?”

“Mom…” Noise inside the tent again. “I…”

The tent flap opened, and you yelped, leaping back. There, light shimmering like an aura around his massive silhouette, stood Ben Solo.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. His dark, amber eyes were still wet, already full mouth swollen from weeping. He met your stare, jaw dropped. Air had been stolen from both of you, if the lack of breathing on either side was an indicator. Inside your ribs, something fluttered, and you hoped it wasn’t an oncoming heart attack--but if it was, you’d die happy. Ben’s gaze searched you, drawing over every centimeter of your figure, mapping you to the image in his memory, that, seeing him now, you’d known he’d kept. Just like you’d kept yours.

“Uhm…” Finally, you inhaled. “Hey.”

A long, slow breath spread in Ben’s chest. His eyes refused to leave yours. “Tell me where you’re staying.”

You swallowed. “What?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “I--... No, sorry.” Looking over his shoulder, he shrugged, gesturing to you. “I’m going to--”

“Just get out of here, already!” Leia chided. You could hear the mirth in her tone.

Ben nodded, and you turned, leading him with quick strides to your own tent. He stayed on your heels, perhaps hoping that his attachment to you would serve as camouflage. It worked, mostly--between the waxing excitement in the camp, the setting of the sun, and the effort to hide your faces, only few lingering stares caught you escaping through the crowds with the former Kylo Ren.

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. You felt Ben behind you now as if he’d never left, his presence fitting into the ache you’d dug your fingers into, wrenched open, kept gaping. In this moment of rediscovery, wordlessness filled the space between you, not out of emptiness, but out of fullness--too much, too many words; they coalesced into a fog that surrounded you, dizzied you, excited you. Ben Solo was back.

Ben Solo was back.

Lips pinched together, you peeled back the entrance to your tent, and he ducked in. Heat branded you, like he was fire, scorching you when you drew too near. Ben sat on your bed--afraid to burn, you took the chair across from him, feeling ten times tinier when you sank into the seat, shoulders curling over your torso, hands hiding between your knees. Both of you stared in silence.

His gaze was more intense than you remembered--there was an urgency within the depths of his irises, like a panther, crouched in the darkness, ready to pounce. His body was wound with that same urgency, coiled within him, even as he sat on your bed, looking entirely familiar. It was as if Ben was trapped beyond water’s surface, the death throes of Kylo Ren echoing across his skin, shattering his image with each ripple. Fingers biting your knees, you remembered to breathe.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “You��” His lips twitched. “It’s good. To see you.”

A sniffle escaped, the tears already welling. Internally, you cursed. Shouldn’t you be a little harder to impress? “I just…” You smiled, despite yourself. “I’m so glad you’re back, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s…” He met your stare, glanced away. “Yeah.”

You watched his attention wander across the floor of your room, drawn to the ceiling by the hosts of doodles, notes, Resistance memorabilia you’d pinned in artistic menageries, a feeble attempt to make it feel like home. You’d never been successful in that venture. No matter how many trinkets you’d collected over the years, nothing had done the trick to make your bed feel more familiar. Ben’s eyes rested on you again.

Nothing until now, anyway.

“You came to the Resistance.” His head tilted. “When?”

“Well…” Your expression tightened. “Not long after you, uh, told me to go home and forget about you.”

Ben huffed. “You were never very good at listening to me.”

You offered him a little shrug. “Isn’t that what you liked about me, Solo?”

He peered at you, a hint of intrigue at the corners of his eyes. “It is.” A pause while he considered you. “What do you know about what I’ve--”

“Everything,” you replied quickly. You knew it all, and wanted to discuss none of it. Not now. He was here, he was within your reach. You wanted to relish this moment. “I know all of it.”

A sigh left him. “All right,” he said. “You know all of it.”

“I do.” You raised your hands in submission. “And none of it scares me.”

“None of it.”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

His brow twitched. He looked to his feet, quiet.

For years, you’d imagined his return, pictured this moment in varied shades. In your daydreams, you’d always wrapped him up in an embrace, pulled him into a deep kiss, ran your fingers through his hair, like years hadn’t elapsed between the last time you’d even linked hands. That seemed wrong, now--but you didn’t want it to be. How bold you could be in your mind. You nearly slapped yourself in frustration. Almost a decade of pretending, and you were just going to sit and watch him guess how to talk to you? No. Hell no.

“Ben,” you said, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

He tensed, then relaxed in another long sigh. He whispered your name. “You’ve… To see you here…” A tiny smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, too.”

You smiled, wiping away more unbidden tears. Warmth glowed between you, now, cutting through like shears to the well-worn path that time had overgrown. Shifting, you inched forward in your chair.

“Are you okay?” You gestured toward him, waving your hand around. “I know they called for medics when you arrived.”

He cocked his head again, and sat up, wagging his shirt, as if to demonstrate he was free of serious injury. “I seem to be in one piece.”

You spied a hole in his shirt, and you frowned. “What’s that?”

Ben glanced at you, thoughtful. Then he dropped the shirt, and it fell against his body, framing a peep of his naked torso. “You’ve never seen a lightsaber wound before?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Rey stabbed me,” he said matter-of-factly, like this was what you’d expected him to blurt out. “It’s fine, though. She healed it.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry…” You shook your head. “What?”

“It still burns. It’s eating me from the inside.” A pause, Ben’s gaze leveling you with violent severity, your stomach sinking into your gut--and then he grinned. “I’m kidding.” He poked himself through the hole. “You never know what the Force is truly capable of until your own lightsaber is sticking out of your stomach.”

“Stars, Ben!” You smirked against your will, fighting the laugh that wanted to burst through. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugged, a sly look still pulling at his face. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “See for yourself.”

Raising a brow, you went to stand, anxiety strapping your limbs to the seat. “Oh, um, I don’t know,” you replied. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was lower, harsher. “You could never be rude to me.”

Blush eked over your cheeks. “If you say so, Solo.”

You stood and crossed to him, breath shallow, and sat gingerly next to him, scanning his figure. Never had you imagined Ben could be even bigger than he’d been in your memories--yet here he was, looming over you without standing, crowding your bed and your clarity with equal effectiveness. You looked between his face and the hole in his top, and he nodded. Jaw clenched, you reached out and poked it.

Two thoughts flashed through your mind when your flesh connected. The first was surprise--he was right, the alleged wound was completely healed; there wasn’t even a scar. The second, almost immediately after, came paired with a rabid streak of desire. Holy--he’s… firm. Swallowing, you met his eyes. They were dark.

“Ben,” you breathed. “That’s… incredible.”

Your finger hadn’t left his torso. Staying linked to his stare, you shifted closer, pressing your entire hand against his abdomen, palm splaying over the wall of tight muscle, skimming it like water over rocks. When you met the hem of his top, your digits crept underneath, brushing across his skin. His stomach twitched, but his eyes remained trained on yours--breathing now optional. Electricity sparked at your fingertips, stealing your rationality, and you caressed him, tumbling into the warmth, the solid strength of his body, your blood racing, urging you to discover more. Your hand snaked up to his chest, grazing the smooth expanse of flesh, catching the hammering of his heart beneath his sternum, his hardened nipples, and back down, resting on his lean belly. He stiffened when your digits kissed the trail of hair that led lower. He was hot. Or you were hot. You couldn’t tell, anymore.

Ben’s chin quivered. “Not a scratch on me.”

“No…” You couldn’t stop staring at his fucking mouth. “Not a single one…”

Trapped in hesitation, both of your eyes locked again--and you saw it there, misty in his gaze, his ache, his desire, his agony--and you both snapped, crashing like gravity into the other.

Ben seized your face, his plush lips working over yours, forcing a groan from you when his fingers threaded through your hair. He cradled you, binding you to him, tugging your closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a moan following. You melted like wax in his grip, molding to him as if you’d been carved from his memory, one hand traveling along the lines of his abdomen, the other plunging into his own hair. The waves whispered like silk over your skin, and you shivered, mewling into him, your tongue swirling around his. Bolder, now, your hand skated across his frame to feel his powerful shoulders, and he tensed again, another moan leaving him.

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you eased closer, until your thighs touched, and in the motion, your palm drifted low, sweeping over the insistent, hard bulge in his pants. Ben gasped, folding over, lids wide with shock, cheeks flushed. You blinked, frozen, and he glanced at his erection, then at you. The knot in his throat bobbed.

“Ben...”

Exhaling, he nodded.

You reached down, working at his pants, monitoring the anticipation rising in his face. After a moment of rustling, it sprang free--long, thick, and heavy, just as you’d remembered. Lust flooded you, your thighs pressing together, your cunt throbbing while you stared. It had been years since you’d done this, and judging by his anxious lip-bite, it had been just as long for Ben, too. Throat tight, you held his gaze, ghosting the tips of your digits along his shaft.

He choked, cock bobbing with yearning--his lid twitched while he observed you observing him, his hands curling in and out of fists. A shaky breath exited your lungs, and you teased him again, toying your fingers along the head, smearing drops of his pre-cum, and back down, memorizing the tiny veins. Ben’s own breath quaked, lids fluttering, and your core thrummed again. You wrapped your hand around his dick, feeling how hard, how needy he was, and stroked him.

Like molasses, he collapsed, sinking into his seat, body yielding to the pleasure pulsating through his nerves. He watched you, jaw slack, as you pumped his cock, thumb collecting pre-cum and glazing his length with it. Breath rolled through him, steady, his legs spreading, fists finally unwinding, hands resting at his sides. Ben was hot--his heat ached in your fist, his pulse jumped through your digits, the heartbeat of his cock echoing to your pussy.

You jerked him faster, squeezing his shaft, and he shuddered with a moan, hips bucking to fuck into your grip. More pre-cum leaked from his tip, coating your hand, and you worked it along his dick, earning another moan, another tremble of pleasure. His eyes fought to stay on you. You twisted your wrist, changing pace, heart leaping when his head fell back, hair tumbling onto his brow.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “fuck…”

He was throbbing hard, now, writhing, breath coming faster, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Despite how badly you wanted to fuck him, you just as badly wanted to watch him cum, wanted to see him cover himself with his seed, wanted to watch him lose himself in the ecstasy only you could provide him.

Your name spilled from his mouth in a gasp, and he spasmed, snatching your wrist. His cock twitched in fury, ripped like thread from its release, and he sucked in a deep breath, pushing up on his palms and pulling you into another kiss. Humming in delight, you kissed him back, returning your hands to his hair--but he pulled them away, pinning them to your sides, growling as he dragged his teeth along your jaw.

Ben then busied himself with your clothes, nibbling lower, to your neck, while he peeled your jacket from your shoulders and tore your shirt toward your head. His touch was a match, embers exploding over your skin, stoking your appetite to strip for him. You wriggled free of your top, and Ben went to kiss you again, pausing when he saw the pendant around your neck, exposed now. Wonder glittered in his gaze, large fingers tilting it in fascination.

“You still have this.” He studied it, appraising each facet.

You nodded. “It’s never left my neck.”

He said nothing, rotating it between his thumb and forefinger. His level of focus brought fresh blood to your cheeks; you thought to move, but didn’t, suspended under his scrutiny. Longing, need, fervor, all paused as Ben wrestled with the concept of your devotion.

“I…” His stare fell, over your breasts, to your stomach, raking over your legs, and back up, greed growling behind his pupils. “I want you.”

You grinned. “You have me.” Your hand covered his as it fiddled with your crystal. “I... I want to keep this on.”

“Of course you do,” he replied, smirking. “No reason to break your streak, now.”

Giggling, you kissed him again--his hands slid behind your back, fussing with your bra before tossing it aside. He pawed at your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh, mouth falling to suckle at your throat. When you whimpered in pleasure, he groaned, easing you onto your back, thumbs flicking at your nipples before smoothing over your stomach and grappling with your bottoms. His hair tickled your jaw while he nipped at your neck, and you wrestled with his top, hands gliding over the strong planes of his back as you yanked it toward you. Ben grumbled, reluctant to release you, but seemed to agree that his clothing was impeding your mutual goal. His shirt came free, tossed aside, followed by your shoes and panties. The vulnerability made you squirm--not just yours, but his, too.

Ben’s body was even more perfect than you’d pictured when you’d traced it with your fingers. Every part of him was weaponized, down to the bits of exposed thigh you caught from his half-shucked pants. You swallowed, realizing the extent, the breadth of his power--how easily he could crush you, how effortlessly he’d done it to others--the vestiges of Kylo Ren evident in the taut landscape of his torso, the veins in his forearms, the cobwebs of white scars on his flesh.

But in his eyes, you saw only Ben Solo, a man possessed by your naked figure flushed with passion for him. Your pussy clenched--you became aware of how wet you were, and your face burned.

Silent, he guided a large hand up the side of your hip, his tender touch earning another throb of your cunt. Digits sketched around your nipples before he squeezed your tits again, reveling in your gratified response.

“You like that,” he murmured.

Nodding, your thighs ground together, the longing between your legs becoming too furious to silence. Ben smirked. Without a word, five fingers skimmed over your belly, brushing over your mound, and you cracked, moaning. In response, his dick pulsed, almost hitting his stomach with its demand. As if to invite him, you spread your legs, allowing him a full view of your wet, swollen pussy--and Ben’s breath hitched, hand gripping his length and jerking it slowly.

Being so close to him again was simultaneously familiar and bizarre, like you were getting intimate with a stranger who just happened to know all the quirks and triggers of your body, like a person you’d known only from your dreams had rolled into your bed, ready to enact your fantasies. But Ben Solo was not only real, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

“Ben,” you breathed. “Please…”

Shushing you, he lowered himself on top of you, skin swathing skin, warmth encompassing you, and he guided his cock between your folds, slicking it on your juices before positioning himself at your core. You circled your arms around him, holding back tears when he pushed in, breaking you open with slow, gentle thrusts, his face falling into the crook of your neck, air sucking through his teeth. Muscles from your toes to your head vibrated with ecstasy, nerves singing with joy.

Ben groaned into you when he slipped fully into you, then pulling back out, relishing the drag of your walls on his throbbing length. Grunting, he wrapped you in an embrace, tugging you against him while he slid in again, a choked moan of disbelief caught in his throat. He kissed your neck once, then twice, hips pumping out and in, his pace powerful and gradual, as if he couldn’t help basking in the tight heat of your cunt. Tremors still quaked in your bones, and you wrapped your legs around him, needing him nearer, your lids closing, allowing the tears to slide down your hot cheeks.

He whispered your name in your ear, kissing your throat again, plunging steadily into you. “You feel so good,” he said, “so wet for me…”

If he was intent on liquifying you, it was working. Your limbs were gelatin, without motion, no purpose except to stay curled around this man. Ben’s cock fucked you open, sank deep into your pussy, his tempo quickening. You sniffled, nuzzling against him, content to stay like this forever, maybe die like this, if need be--you couldn’t ever remember feeling this whole, this safe. And as you thought it, another sniffle. But not from you. From Ben.

Whimpering, he rammed into you, speed erratic, like he was trying to drive his entire body into yours, pulling you into his chest, the kyber crystal cutting into your sternum. Your nails rasped across his back, clinging to him when he slid out. Another frantic thrust, and you squeaked, cunt clamping down on his dick, more tears spilling. He echoed you, silencing a sob in your neck, shuddering as he fucked you harder, faster.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, “I’m so sorry…”

You hushed him, hands diving into his hair, fruitlessly trying to turn his face toward you. He was unyielding, wound around you like wire.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of it--”

“Ben, it’s okay--”

“It’s not!” He gasped, catching his breath, littering your throat and cheek with kisses. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this--”

You squealed when he speared a spot deep inside you. “I forgive you,” you said, “it’s okay--”

“Stop saying that…” he mumbled. “You don’t--you don’t understand…”

“Shh…”

He had slowed by this point, long, languid thrusts pushing into you. “You don’t understand what I want,” he whispered. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart skipped. “You can tell me, Ben…”

Ben hid his nose in the crook of your neck, face wet, breath like smoke. He hadn’t stopped fucking you through his cries, only clutched you tighter, keeping you real in his hands.

“I want...” He sniffled. And then, into your ear, barely escaping his throat: “Let me choke you.”

It was so abrupt, you laughed. “What?” you said, more as a statement than a question. “Is that all?”

He trembled in your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing his temple. “I know that, Ben,” you said. “I know you would never hurt me.”  

He paused, seated inside of you, and pried himself from your shoulder, examining you in doubt. His chin still quivered.

“I mean it,” you said, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want all of you. Then, and now.” You kissed his nose. “I know Ben Solo. He is not a monster.”

The doubt fell from his face, followed by the anguish, the shame--and filtering in its place was pure, voracious hunger.

“You mean it.”

“I do,” you said. “I want it.”

He pushed up on his palms, hovering over you like a predator. Heart thrashing, you bit your lip, resisting the urge to clench around him. Before his fall, Ben had been passionate, desperate, even rough--but never like this. Never feral. Never animalistic. Never…  

Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth over your ear.

“We’ll see how you feel when I’m done with you, princess.”

Never so hot.

Fire flooded your veins, and you whined, the noise cut by his hand pressing down on your throat, squeezing with enough pressure to make you gasp. He smirked, rocking his hips to remind you of the thick length still inside you.

“I’m going to make you cum hard on this cock,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, grasping at his wrist.

“Good…”

Ben growled, and slammed into you, forcing a wail from your lungs, silenced by the grip on your neck. He rammed you with his dick again, and again, jolting your bones, until he was pounding you, hips smacking into yours, a snarl of pleasure escaping him.

“You feel incredible,” he said. “There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about fucking your little pussy…” He moved faster, throwing his head back in bliss. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about cumming inside you…”

“Ben,” you wheezed, overwhelmed with lust. “Ben, please…”

He returned to your ear, nipping it. “You need to cum, princess?”

A deluge of lust, now, drenching you, drowning you. “Yes,” you squeaked out, “yes, please!”

Both hands crushed your throat, Ben’s eyes wild, his hair mussed, and he kept his pace, pumping deep into your slick, hot cunt with ease. His digits twitched--there it was, whirling around your clit, the Force, how you’d missed it--and you were flying, euphoria engulfing you, so fucking close, limbs jerking with pleasure, ready to cinch around his cock.

“Ben…” The pressure on your neck was snug. “Ben, fuck--”

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, spitting out your name, “fuck, yes--” He growled, the Force spinning like a buzzer around your nub, and you snapped, falling apart under him. “That’s right, cum--cum for me, princess…”

White rapture blinded you when you came, straining against the choke, pulsing and milking his cock. Ben squeezed your throat with his climax, keening as his orgasm ravaged him, his hips stuttering, dick spilling jets of cum inside your cunt. He fucked you through it, frenzied in his release, until it slowed, the only sounds left the sloppy noise of his final thrusts.

A low, long groan left him, and he released you, toppling at your side, chasing his breath. You rolled over, staring at him, trying to catch up with your lungs, too. A sheen of sweat encased you both, sticking your skin together, grazing like raw nerves--but you cared little. Next to you was the man you’d loved for almost a decade, the man for whom you’d waited through war, the man who had held your heart and kept it safe, even in the depths of his darkness.

“I love you, Ben,” you said, cupping his cheek. “All of you.”

Ben stared at the ceiling of your tent, chest still heaving. He said nothing, then glanced at your kyber crystal, fogged with sex. “I know.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around you, pressing you flush against his frame. Lethargy hung on your lids, and you struggled to stay conscious, the murky noises of the Resistance’s victory celebration leaking into your tent. Seconds lingered into minutes, his eyes still fixed on the crystal, memorizing its reflections of your flesh. A wriggle of his fingers, and it rose from your neck, twisting in the air.

He laid there with your head nestled into his shoulder, twirling it with the Force. Back and forth, back and forth, a twinkling lullaby. Back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, you fell asleep.

#kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #kylo ren #ben solo #not a scratch #nerd whinings #fanfiction problems #another fix-it fic #because I'll never stop salting #EVER

[handmaiden-of-varda]

Home

Pairing: Fingon x fem! reader

Summary: When Sauron was defeated, you sailed West to be reunited with your family

Warning: Slight angst, brief mention of character deaths (canon)

A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you for your support on my last fic. Fingon is another favourite character of mine, after Éomer, and again there aren't enough fics of him. I originally planned to make this as a series but I haven't got the time, so I decided to cut things short and focus on the happier side (the series was supposed to be angsty and this was supposed to be the epilogue). Hope you enjoy!

Elenwen was what they called you. Star-Maiden. A maiar of Varda, warden of the stars and guardian of the light.

You were one the first maiar to journey to Middle Earth, along with Melian. Given your powers, you were tasked to keep the growing darkness at bay. But just like her, you had met and fallen in love with an elven king.

Fingon was your husband, and you ruled beside him in Hithlum as High Queen of the Noldor. Eldarian, Elven-Queen, was how your people adressed you. Together you had a child, Ereinion or Gil-Galad, who succeeded his father after his death.

You loved them both dearly, and the grief of losing your husband and son pained you so that you almost faded, but you couldn't go. Not yet. There was a task needed to be done, what you were sent here for in the first place. You knew they were waiting for you in Valinor, and it gave you strength. So you vowed to protect the free people of Middle Earth and to see the dark forces destroyed before you rest. Thus you became a living legend known as the Swift Blade, a formidable warrior of mysterious origin who brought terrors upon the enemy with each stroke of your blade.

Regardless, not many in Middle Earth were aware of your existence nor did they possess the knowledge that you were one, same person. Only people like Gandalf, Cirdan, Elrond and Galadriel were counted amongst the few. You had assisted the company of Thorin Oakenshield in their quest to reclaim their homeland, you were even a part of the Fellowship of the Ring, but none knew who you truly were. To your companions, you were simply (Y/N). It wasn't until the ring was destroyed and Sauron was defeated that the fellowship learned of your identity, of your wish to sail West.

To say they were surprised is an understatement, but they understood why you did so. During the quest, you had grown close with each member, even with your mysterious nature, and they saw you as a mentor or motherly figure. They valued your strength, your wisdom, and most importantly your compassion. Nevertheless, some still tried to convince you to stay longer, particularly Merry and Pippin, but your heart was set. It was time, and you had been waiting for too long.

And so your time in Middle Earth came to an end. Your companions, your friends, all came to bid you farewell. You were sad to leave, but you knew that they would lead a happy and fulfilling life, which gave you comfort. With one last look at your friends, you boarded the ship that would take you home.

. . .

Valinor was almost exactly the same as you remembered. The same beauty and joy radiated off the land, despite what happened thousands of years back. You watched as elves got off the ship and be reunited with their loved ones, a small smile plastered on your face. You could feel your heart beat faster as you scanned the crowd, trying to look for certain dark-haired ellons. In the distance, you spotted Celebrian, who immediately ran to Elrond and Galadriel as soon as they were in her sight, and you felt happy for them. Galadriel was your husband's cousin and one of your closest friends in Middle Earth, and Elrond was like a son to you.

As the crowd began to disperse, your heart sank. Where are they? You didn't want to think about the possibility that they might've forgotten you, or worse, that they were never reborn. No, that wouldn't happen.

"Ammë!"

You whirled your head towards the direction of the voice and saw your son standing there, beaming at you.

"Ammë," he said again, running towards you and hugged you tightly. "Ammë, how we miss you terribly so!"

You returned the hug equally as strong. All of your worries from earlier melted away and the two of you stayed that way for a while before you pulled away to take a good look of his face. He had not changed since the last time you saw him. You had imagined this moment over and over again, yet now everything felt so surreal to you.

"Oh Ereinion, my son! You are here, you are real," you said while cupping his face. "Have you been well? I have missed you and your father as well. Tell me, where is he?"

Gil-Galad grinned wider and took your hands.

"I have never been better now that you are here, Ammë. Come with me."

He led you to a flower-covered meadow, and you saw a figure clad in deep blue and golden robes in the middle. Even with his back to you, even after all these years, you could easily tell who he was. Fingon. Your husband.

"I shall leave you two be."

You nodded to your son before slowly walking towards your husband. Upon hearing your footsteps, Fingon turned to you, eyes widened before closing the distance between you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, wrapping you in his strong arms.

"My love, my light, my star," he whispered to your hair. You could feel your hair dampen as he weep, and you tightened your grip as you felt your own tears rolled down your face. The two of you stayed in that position for a long while, each reluctant to let go as you both feared the other would disappear if you did.

When you finally pulled away, you barely had a moment to breathe before he pressed his lips to yours, pouring a millenia's worth of longing and despair into the kiss.

"You are here," he whispered, breaking the kiss. "You are real."

You smiled, remembering that you had said the exact same words to your son earlier. "I am here, my love. I am back," you reassured.

"We waited for you. Here. Everyday." He gestured at the surroundings. "We waited for your return, and here you are."

You gazed around, and only then did it register to you that the meadow looked incredibly familiar. Fingon took notice as you dawned in realization and smiled.

"This is a reminder of our home in Hithlum. Lady Varda gifted me this land, and with the help of Lady Yavanna we made it to look like our meadow, the one we had in Hithlum. Do you remember?"

"I remember," you said gently. Of course you did. Back in Hithlum, the meadow was your favourite spot. It was where Fingon had asked for your hand, and it was where Gil-Galad learned to walk for the first time, among many other fond memories.

"I am sorry."

"Whatever for, my love?"

He looked down and closed his eyes. "I am sorry for leaving you and our son behind, for bringing you such grief. I am sorry that you had to endure everything alone, and that I could not be there for you. I am sorry."

Your expression soften as you caressed his face.

"It is not your fault, my love. We are together now, aren't we? That's all that matters. We have an eternity to make up for the lost time."

"That we do."

He kissed your forehead and extended his arm to you.

"Come my love, I believe our son is waiting for us."

There were still many things to be said, many things to be done, but you would have time for those. Now, you wanted nothing more than to spend time with your family.

You were finally home.

Masterlist

#silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #fingon #fingon x reader #tolkien #tolkien reader insert #middle earth #middle earth x reader #fingon x you #gil galad #valinor #lotr x reader #lotr oneshot #lotr reader insert #lotr fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #lotr fanfiction

[thehouseoflamentation]

Could I request an angsty scenario where Satan and mc get into a very heated argument which leads to him being unable to control his anger, and almost killing mc? Ending in one of the other demons stopping him and bringing him back, of course, and Satan trying to make it up to mc after she recovers from her injuries.

Done and done!! This was a really good scenario to explore Satan’s character more and I hope you like it ^u^

(Spoilers if you haven’t read chapter 9 also tw: violence)

A single piece of paper. That’s all it took for the two of you to end up in this mess. For the past month, Satan had been compiling his endless collection of books and documents hoping to finally get somewhere in cleaning his room. Wanting to avoid any more body switching mishaps, Lucifer forbid him from bringing home another book until he finished organizing the avalanche of manuscripts that cluttered his chamber. After long nights of sorting and resorting his books he was close to done when you entered his room carrying a teapot and two cups. It was well past midnight but you felt that a cup of warm tea might help him relax and take his mind off things for a bit before continuing his work. Big mistake.

As you strode towards Satan you held the tray out, a gentle smile plastered across your face. Unfortunately that smile didn’t last long as your foot landed on a stray paper causing you to fall forward, spilling the teapot and the rest of its contents...directly onto a pile of documents labeled “Extremely Important - DO NOT DISCARD.” The tea pooled in a puddle beneath the papers, their ink slowly seeped down with it making the text incomprensible aside from the blurry, smudged markings that managed to stay.

Satan was quick to turn on his heel and rush to the stack of papers cautiously rifling through them to see if any of them remained intact. None of them did. As you slowly stood back up clutching your arm from the fall, you could hear Satan murmur something under his breath. Unable to catch what he said you asked him to repeat his words. Satan gritted his teeth and clenched his fists before repeating himself, “you...yOU DID THIS!!!!” And just like that your world blurred and shifted in the blink of an eye as you found yourself back on the ground. Satan hovered on top of you, his fury emanating off of him as his horns and tail manifested.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO FIND THOSE!!! IRREPLACEABLE DOCUMENTS THAT DATE BACK CENTURIES AND NOW THEY'RE ALL GONE!!!!!”

You were terrified but opened your mouth to defend yourself. “Satan I know you’re mad but it was an accident! I didn’t mean to ruin them and I’m sorry they got damaged but you need to calm down!”

Calm down? He was the Avatar of Wrath and you were telling him to “calm down”? Well there was no way that was going to happen. Not after your little accident destroyed some of the most precious spell manuscripts in his collection. If anything your words only seemed to make things worse. His hands were gripping your elbows but soon found their way up to your shoulders then around your neck.

“YOU’RE JUST A HUMAN!!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE AND YOU CERTAINLY HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME TO ‘CALM DOWN’!!!!!” his voice resonated through the room as you felt his fingertips dig into the soft flesh around your throat. Using all your strength you pushed your hands against his chest futilely hoping to push him off of you. Your resistance was only met with aggression as his hands gripped you tighter and tighter. Out of air and with no more strength to fight, your arms dropped to your sides as your vision blurred and darkened. You heard a loud bang followed by a thud and for a brief instant you could feel Satan’s fingers loosen from your neck; however the gesture was a moment too late as you had already shut your eyes, the side of your face rested on the floor as you lay there unconscious.

When you woke up you were back in your room. You could hear voices just outside the door making your head throb from all the noise. As you turned to get up you felt a hand gently nudge you to stay in bed. It was Beelzebub. He flashed you a look of concern as he silently shook his head and tucked you back in. It turns out that when Beel went on his usual fridge raid last night he heard screaming coming from Satan’s room. As he stopped to see what was going on he saw you on the floor with Satan wringing your neck. In that moment his body seemed to move on its own, grabbing a random book and slamming it against the side of Satan’s head leaving the two of you temporarily unconscious. Once Beel finished explaining what happened you heard the door open and close as Lucifer and Mammon entered the room.

Lucifer offered a formal apology for his brother’s actions promising that he would be punished appropriately for harming you. Having an exchange student die during the program would tarnish Diavolo’s reputation and there’s no way he would have that happen. After looking over your injuries one more time he excused himself and left Beel and Mammon to attend to you until you healed. Neither of them would let you near Satan or vice versa until you both had a chance to recover and settle down. Aside from Mammon interjecting now and then, it was quiet between the three of you for the next few days. Being a demon there was no doubt that Satan had already recovered from the blow Beel gave him but you still felt guilty that he had to go through the pain. Meanwhile Satan was under lock down until further notice. Lucifer had confiscated all the books he had in his room while he stayed there left to his own thoughts and forced to reflect on the damage he caused. It was as lenient as Lucifer would allow after hearing you beg not to hurt him.

Satan sat on the edge of his bed, his head hung low as he stared at the floor picturing your form still lying there. His gaze shifted to his hands and that's when he felt it. As he stared into his palms and fingers, tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. The hands he used to play with your hair, to pull you close to him, to caress your face whenever you smiled, were the same hands he used to wring the life out of you. He buried his face in his arms and laid down on his side as he felt his chest tighten harsher than anything he’s felt before, the weight of his guilt made it hard for him to even move. The next few days were rough to say the least.

After a week of recovery, Lucifer finally let you see Satan to settle your argument and make amends. The injuries around your neck had healed and you no longer needed to wear bandages albeit some of the marks were still visible on your skin but you didn’t really care about that right now. You stood in front of Satan’s room with Lucifer and Beel who chose to wait outside, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. You knocked on the door and heard no response. You tried one more time, announcing that you wanted to talk. Lucifer was ready to say a few choice words to get his brother’s attention but he quickly stopped himself once the door slowly cracked open. He was pale and his hair was a mess but it didn’t seem to bother him. He let you in then sat by his bedside unable to look you in the eyes after what he did.

“I-I...I’m sorry...” Satan was the first to speak. “I couldn’t control my anger and because of that...because of me...you got hurt. You could have died and I...I..” His body started shaking, his nervousness made him struggle to find what to say to you next. What would he even do to make it up to you? To apologize for flying into a rage and almost taking your life? As he sat there thoughts clouding his mind, you placed your hand over his instantly pulling him back to reality. Your touch was the same as it had always been. Warm, gentle, and forgiving. For the first time since the incident he looked you in the eyes. They bore no fear or hatred just an overwhelming amount of love. And that crushed him more than anything.

“I’m sorry...” he started again, leaning his head down out of guilt. His apology didn’t get far though as you pressed your forehead softly against his before whispering back “I know… and I forgive you.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and glanced back at you to see if you were comfortable with being held before pulling you into his warm embrace. With his head rested on your shoulder he got a view of your neck, the bruises and red marks where his fingernails dug in were still very apparent against your smooth skin. When he felt your hands on his back as you returned the hug, his emotions shifted from guilt to determination to help you fully recover. To him it wasn’t enough to undo the harm he caused you but it was a start.

From that day on he helped with your remaining injuries until the marks were entirely gone. It took some time for both of you to feel completely comfortable around each other again. He wasn’t entirely sure if you still wanted to be around him as much after what happened but based on your reaction he sensed that you didn’t have any intention of distancing yourself from him. He made sure to treasure each second you were with him, pampering you with treats, cuddles, or anything else that he knew would cheer you up. Since your voice was still weak he often made you tea to help sooth your throat and even read your favorite books aloud when you were together.

Despite being a demon with a lifespan that would last over a millenia, he realized that life was too short, too precious, to be furious over trivial things when he had you by his side. As important as those documents were he came to understand how irreplaceable you were to him, far beyond that of any spellbook he could ever get his hands on and he never failed to show it every moment he spent with you.

#obey me! #shall we date #shall we date? #obey me! satan #ask #obey me! scenario #scenario #tw: violence

[aahhhhhhauniverse]

hooooooo boy this is scary

this is probably my first time posting but i think that it’s time to do so, i have a proper account wow! 

this is a small thing i did a few months ago based on a prompt that Death has a crush on Life. 

The first time Death sees life, it is not the ’person’, it is a small flower at the edge of a clearing. Death has just crawled out of the ground, and it is the first thing it sees. It is beautiful, pulsating with a glowing blue aura. Death goes to touch it, and for a moment, It glows brighter. Death is glad to see what it does to this little flower. Soon after it dies. Death is distraught, but accepts it, and wonders if there is another like it. So it starts to wander around. Soon, it reaches a small clearing, and in it, there is another one of those blue lights. Death is instantly drawn to it, and goes to touch it. It soon materialises into a being, another one just like it. 

“Hello. I seem to be Life. And you are?”

“Death. I am Death.”

It is a language that no one will ever understand, for this was when the language of love was born. The first time death and life meet, a love is born. They know that whatever happens, they will always work together, always know each other.

Soon after, plants emerge. giant sequoias dwarf any other living thing, but still Life finds them all beautiful. All the tiny blades of grass, all the delicate petals, all the shades of leaf. Death is close behind, cradling the wilting flowers and treading on the dead grass. It accepts that it will always follow Life, and it will, gladly. For Death has never met anything like Life.

There is simply nothing like it.

Animals come and go. Life breathes energy and being into small ideas that soon dominate the world. Death touches their skulls and brings them to rest. Dinosaurs rise and fall. Yet the plants still grow and the trees get bigger and Life carries on, getting stronger with each living thing that it creates.

One day, Life was relaxing in a meadow, when it feels the presence of another being, but not one created by it. 

“Hello Death. We have not spoken in a while. How are you?”

“Cleaning up after you.” It jokes. “I have been putting things to rest. Just like you make things live, I help them die. It is all a cycle. But it would help if you could slow down.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Life replied sheepishly. “But I was wondering, how about we talk. Find out about one another. Don’t you ever wonder what we think of each other?”

Death sighed and stepped out of the shadows.

“Very well. Let's talk.”

And so they did. For aeons. And more of that beautiful melody, the music of love, came pouring out of that clearing. It went into every heart, and a select group of animals got a little bit more, and soon they started to evolve. And all the while Death was slowly slipping into the sway of the music.

“Death, look! Those are new.” 

On the palm of Life’s hand, there now crept what seemed to be monkeys, but they had much less fur and were standing on 2 legs.

“Homosapiens and homoneanderthals. One of these will live, whereas the other will burn out and cease to exist.”

“Do you want to hold one?” Life asked, fully aware of the consequences. So Death picked up one of each, and marveled at how they stumbled and groped around. The neanderthal started to slow down, whereas the homosapien kept on going. Death had decided which one it would take for its own.

“You may have the homosapiens. They are stronger and will blossom with you. I can take care of the neanderthals.”

And flourish they did. Death and Life could no longer stay in their true forms, as the humans were slowly learning and developing their own ideas. Their roles changed. Life still breathed energy into all the beings, and Death still touched every decaying skull. However, they were only aids now, when before they were creators. Yet they were both ok with that. They knew that this era of humans would soon be forgotten. After all, Life and Death will always exist, long after humans are gone.

Skip forward to 2018. Death has taken the form of a university student. Death chose to study art, for it was something it never understood.  The concept of capturing life in a single image was fascinating to it. It also enjoyed looking back on the past, and enjoyed listening to stories from those who were closer to it than Life. 

Life chose Biology. It enjoys looking at the fundamental aspects of what humans call life. It is fascinated at what humans are able to do with life, and wants to help. It likes to keep itself healthy, as an inspiration to humans. Life has many friends, and it likes integrating into human life.

Death, on the other hand, feels as if it is not wanted. In most parts of the world, death is avoided and shunned. This is reflected in it's friendship. However, in a few places, death is celebrated and not seen as a negative thing. Therefore Death has a few friends and enjoys their company. 

Ever since the talk with Life some millenia ago, Death has been hearing a soothing melody that repeats itself over and over again, and crescendos whenever Death and Life are near each other. They are mutually friends, as they coincidentally reside in the same city. Seems like fate. (Or carefully planned plot? Who knows.)

One day, during class, Death is painting. It's mindless painting, but when it is finished, it is an exact replica of when it first saw Life. A blue, glowing figure in the middle of a lush, untrodden clearing. Life seemed to be playing with small flying things, like the modern butterflies, but brighter and with bigger wings. Death’s art instructor came round and marvelled at the work. 

‘This is truly an amazing capture of life. You should be proud of that. You know what? I’ll let you take it home, if you like.’

Death was ecstatic at this opportunity. And so it did. It walked all the way home, instead of the usual modes of transport. It then went to the store and bought nails for paintings. By the end of the day, the painting had made a home on the far wall, secluded enough that you could only see it if you were snooping, but public enough to be noticed daily by Death. 

For the first time in it's existence, Death had created something that would last.

A few weeks later, Life was wandering the halls afterschool of this art uni that it knew Death was ‘studying’ at. It is to be noted that although Life was not consciously seeking out Death, it was already forming an excuse for when they inevitably bumped into each other in the hallway.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, it walked into a seemingly empty classroom and collided head on with Death.

‘Oh, hey! Long time no see. How’ve you been?’

By being caught off guard, Death's shape was fluid. One moment, it was a young art student with chestnut hair and big, round glasses. Another was a lanky young adult with black jeans speckled with blue. Eventually, it settled into a form which resembled it's true form, but smaller.

‘I, I study here.’ Death said, red sliding over it's skin.

‘You do? What a coincidence, my friend studies here. I was just trying to find her. You know, pop around after school.’

‘It's 7:30 in the evening.’ Death quipped with a thin eyebrow arching up and a smile tugging at the corners of it's lips.

‘Well, it's time for dinner. Do you wanna go get some? I heard it's what humans do when they want to spend time with someone.’

‘Like you want to spend time with me. People don’t really like me. It might ruin your reputation.’

Life looked taken aback. 

‘They will be gone in a few millennia. My friends will cease to exist in less than a blink of an eye. You, however, will be here forever. And I would like to get to know you better. Dinner?’

For Death, Life was finally starting to make sense. Life heard the music too. And at this point in time, their melodies were combining to create a beautiful harmony. For Death, Life was starting to make sense. 

‘Yes. Yes. Lets go have dinner.’

Epilogue:

Millions of years later, when mankind have disappeared off the face of the earth, after the world became a molten hell, then grew back again. Millions of years later, the earth was the same as when it started. And Life and Death were there. 

They liked to look back on the days when they had power. Walking along the earth like kings and queens. They enjoyed remembering all the dates they went on, how humans were single handedly the most powerful race of animals they had ever encountered. They were swayed by that constant, lulling music that reminded them of the days when they were strong and so full of energy, of life. They remembered for the last time.  

And now, on the last day of eternity, they lie, hand in hand, in the green clearing they first met, and slowly, they die.  

#writing #death #life #prompt #writing prompt #death has a crush on life #modern au? #its a work in progress #writeblr

[crazyrandomfucker]

Adrien Augreste: Tropical Island

"You're going to what!?" she screamed.

"We're going on holidays to the Agreste's island and we want to take you all with us" explained Adrien.

"Dude, your dad has an island?" asked Nino.

"Technically it's our mother's island, he bought it for her" said Adrienne.

"Man, that's so awesome. We're going to a private island" said Alen daydreaming.

"We've already been there" said Chloe and Cleón at unison.

"People, focus" said Alya. "Why have we only heard about it now sunshines?"

"Because since mom and uncle... You know... Since then, father hasn't let anyone set a feet on the island" explained the blond model.

"But after a lot of begging, he sold the island to us!" said Adrienne excited.

"Gurl, you're telling me that you own an island?" said Nina.

"More like half of it, Adrien has the other half" she explained.

"Well then, when are we going?" said Marin.

"Frankly, we could fly there tomorrow, but probably you'll need time to prepare, so we decided to go next week" said Adrien.

"Most importantly, is there going to be a responsible adult?" asked Mari.

"Girl, you're an adult and a responsible one" teased Alya. "Thought our kwamis have like a few millenias".

"I'd never count Plagg as a responsible adult" said Adrien. "But yes, there will be the staff and our bodyguards to keep an eye on us".

"What a shame, guess we'll have to behave then" joked Nina.

"We still can surprise our boys with some nice tropical views" said Alya with a wink.

"One day of us you're going to kill us" said Nino deadpanned.

"Oh, but wouldn't it be a very pleasurable death?" teased Alya, making Nino blush.

"I'm feeling like a ninth wheel right now" said Cleón.

"Oh but you shouldn't, your boyfriend is invited to come too and so is your girlfriend Chlo" said Adrienne with a hint of mischief on her voice.

"Yeah, wouldn't it be nice? Taking your Sabrina and Sebastian to the beach, stargazing while cuddling, ..." said Adrien with a Chesire grin.

"Okay, we get it! We will invite them but please stop with the teasing!" said a very flustered Chloe.

Everybody burst into laughs, it was very recently that the bees had discovered their secret crush in their life long friends, but everything had gone smooth for them since Raincomprix twins seemed to feel more than simple friendship and admiration for them. So now, the miraculous gang used to tease them a lot, specially because Sabrina and Sebastian had become temporarily the users of the Dog's miraculous back when Hawk Moth and Monarch were still on a rampage. Even with all the teasing, the heroes couldn't help it but to feel happy for them. The bees had surely been throught a lot and become rotten because of it, but they had made the effort to change themselves and improve their behaviour towards others, so everyone knew that they deserved that bit of happiness.

____________________

A week later, Adrien and Adrienne were saying goodbye to their father before they entered the limousine. Their bodyguards/chofers drove them to the Dupain-Cheng bakery to pick up Mar and Mari. While they were going to the airport Adrienne and Marinette were discussing something in a very low voice while the boys, who prefered to ignore what their girlfriends were planning, talked about all the things they could do in the beach, like surfing, snorkeling or paddle surf.

Some moments later, the cats and the bugs were in the airport waiting for their friends. Tue bees arrived moments later with their couples in a helicopter. Sabrina thanked Adrien and Adrienne for the invitation and Sebastian implied a thanks in a weird head gesture. Then, Nina and Alya arrived with their hands pretty empty, but minutes later Nino and Alen appeared carrying a lot of luggage and excusing themselves for being late explaining that some ladies left them to find a parking slot and carry all the luggage. Marin and Adrien laughed at that and helped them to carry some of the bags while Adrienne took the lead and guided them to the private jet.

After some remarks to the cats money and some teasing to the bugs for getting such catches, everybody entered to the plane and made themselves comfy in their seats. The flight wasn't particulary special and nothing happened, but most of them used their very comfortable seats to take a good nap (*cough cough* Mari). They had to make a couple of stops to make sure the plane had enough fuel, so the whole thing dured about 12 hours, but none of them was bored for a single minute. The plane landed around six pm and the group was greeted by the beautyful sight of crystaline water, white sand and a very lovely blue sky. There was a gentle breeze that brought the smell of seawater and palm trees, making the young adults feel as if they we're in the paradise.

They arrived to the summer house that was built there and everybody let their things at the reception, since they still had to organize themselves, make plans and last, but certainly not least, they had to decide how and where would they sleep. It had just recently came to them that they didn't know how were they going to be divided to sleep or if it would even be a necessity for them to divide. But the cats looked at eachother with a particulary mischievous Chesire-like grin.

"It's a pity isn't it brother?" said Adrienne after faking a phone call.

"It certainly is sister, what are we possibly going to do?" agreed Adrien grinning.

"What happens?" asked Marinette suspicious.

"Ah princess, you see there is a problem with the rooms" said Adrien dramatically.

"What happens with the rooms?" asked Marin already predicting the outcome.

"There only are six rooms unoccupied by the staff. What are we going to do?" said Adrienne.

 Everybody looked at each other, flustering as they understood exactly what the models were implying. Marin, however was a bit calm about everything. "We all know what you two are trying to say and I'm pretty sure how we're going to organize the rooms, so how about we get ourselves installed in the rooms and then we meet here" he said.

"As expected of my Lord, so cool, calm and collected" joked Adrien.

"I think it's a great idea sweetheart" said Adrien. Suddenly she grinned. "Ah, but please be careful, all the rooms are insonoritzated and if you fall or get hurt we couldn't hear you even if you were screamingat the top of your lungs" everybody, including Marin, instantly blushed, getting the message.

They split up and were guided to their respective rooms by the staff, who couldn't help but all smile at the sight of the happy group. Adrien, with a very Chat like demaneour, offered to carry some of Marinette's luggage, flexing to prove his point just like he had done all those years ago when Devillustrator had attacked. Mari giggled, amused by her silly cat, and booped his nose, reminding him that she was strong enough to carry her bags and had spare strength to carry him too. Adrien smiled lovestruck by his amazing girlfriend. He really loved teasing her and seeing her blush, stutter or mumble, but he couldn't helpto fall more in love with her each time she returned his teasing or made a move on him.

They entered their room and discovered that, aside from being huge and well equiped, they had a couple sized bed and two normal beds, so the option to share a bed orsleep separatedly was purely for them to make. Flustered, the young model and his designer began to unpack their things and place their clothes in the two separate closets. Marinette sended a text to her parents to reassure that they had arrived safe and sound just in case Marin hadn't already done it.

After gathering again, the miraculous gang (plus the Raincomprix) went to explore the island. It wasn't really big, just around 12 hectares, but there was a small lake in the center of the island, so it wasn't that much of land. They observed the sunset in the beach, watching the sun dissapear as if it was engulfed by the sea. Then, they returned to the summer house and had dinner before returning to their respective rooms.

Honestly speaking, Adrien would never even think of doing to Mari anything she didn't wanted him to do, the whooe tuing about the rooms was just a bit of teasing, but he had tor ecognise that, despite how tired he was, he wouldn't mind to stay awake for a bit if it meant snuggling with his lady and kissing her. But that would only happened if she ever asked for it, so Adrien simply sighed and changed to his pajama while Mari changed in the bathroom. It has to be said, that because of the weather and the constat corporal heat produced by his body, his pajama consisted only of his pijama shorts, which he feared that would scare Mari or misunderstand it for him wanting to do something.

Unbeknownst to him, Marinette was regretting hearing to Alya as she was undressing her self before putting on her pajama, which coincidentally was a pair of lime green loose pajama pants with black paw prints and a very big black jumper with an acid green paw print on the front and two cat ears on the hoodie. She was sure Adrien would be uncomfortable with it and she was going to kill Alya for it, but then she went out of the bathroom and saw Adrien's bare back, with all the muscles he had gained over the years of superheroing, and her face turned crimson red.

"A-Adrien? Are you g-going to sleep l-l-like that?" said Marinette nervous.

"I'm sorry princess, but this cat is too hot to put on a shirt" said Adrien half teasingly.

Marinette suddenly felt less sorry for him and gained some confidence. "Is that so kitty? Why don't you turn around with your eyes closed?" asked Mari.

He did as she said and grinned. "Like what you see Bugaboo?"

"Oh totally~" said Mari. "Why don't you see mine and see if you like it?" said as sue put on the hoodie.

"But m'Lady everything you wea-" begun Adrien but stopped when he saw her, immediately blushing.

"Like what you see Hot Stuff?" teased Mari as she scratched under his chin, melting him into pleasure.

"A lot" said Adrien with a dreamy voice as he couldn't take his eyes of her.

"Good, because this bug is sleepy and will soon cover in the bed sheets, so enjoy whioe you can~"

"Wait Mari" said Adrien snapping out of his dreams. "I'll take one of the mini beds, so take the biggest bed".

"No way, this is your summer house and you won't sleep on a worst bed than me" replied the designer.

"Then how about we take turns for it? You sleep there today, I'll do it tomorrow" said Adrien.

"Hmm... Okay, just for today because I'm too tired to discuss about it" said Mari and she slipped into the bed and fell asleep almost instantly, ingoring how Adrien smiled as he couldn't take his gaze off her.

The next morning, Adrien woke up exactly as he had fallen asleep just four hours ago: laying on his left side (which he could no longer feel) and facing Marinette. He hadn't slept much due to the high temperatures, but he was able to at least dream all night long with a possible future in which he could sleep all night long with Mari, hugging her and waking up with her (preferably with her kiss, but she would probably sleep far more than he). When he woke up, Mari had kicked off the blanket and she was spreading her arms and legs on the bed, her hair was a mess and it was going out of her hoodie, but Adrien thought how cute she was with that adorable face and that messy hair of her.

She woke up and, still half asleep, stared at Adrien for a long time, until she finally acknowledged his presence (and his shirtlessness) and blushed as she rushed to fix her hair, giving him a sheepy and shy smile. Adrien laughed at that and went to her bed to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek, making her blush turn from a light pink to a crimson red. She gently punched him and told him to dress up to go and meet the others.

Surprisingly thought, they were the first to woke up, which made the super duo burst into laugh and then blush as they realized why could have their friends done last night to make them sleep more than Marinette, which made them blush once again and feel embarrassed. However, Nino came later complaining about how Alya kicks and punches in her sleep as he caressed his leftside and his left cheek. The bees and their lovers came few minutes later, not precisely in a lovey-dovey mood, but acting quite shy. Then Adrienne came and begged Marinette to go to help her waking Marin. Once Marin came, Nina appeared with a somewhat annoyed expression and Alen followed her asking for forgiveness. Apparently, Alen hugs in his sleep and he doesn't precisely let's go which, as Nina said, it was sweet but also claustrophobic.

Once Alya woke up and appologised to Nino, the gang went to have breakfast and then to prepare themselves for the day. The girls decided to go to the beach to sunbath and the boys decided to go fishing at the lake, making a competition to see who was the one to catch the biggest fish. Hours later, after not having caught even a single fish, they decided to put on the swimsuit and go to the beach with the girls. When they got to the beach Nino, Alen, Marin and Adrien were speechless. None of them could take their eyes off their beautyful girlfriends or stop blushing because of their bikinis and the girls surely knew, since all of them suddenly grinned.

Adrien went and occupied the chair next to Mari. Her bikini was ligh pink with white polka dots and it certainly brought up her skin tone. She looked sassier than usual due to her sunglasses and also the mischievous green she had since Adrien appeared. When he sat down, Marinette turned her head and looked at Adrien for a short time, inspecting her swimming trunks and his blue Hawaiian shirt.

"Looking good Hot Stuff" said Marinette teasingly.

"Thanks, y-you too" said Adrien a bit nervous.

"Do you like my looks?" said the designer as she smiled smugly.

"Q-Quite a lot" answered the model.

"Good Kitten" said Marinette and scratched him under his chin.

"Crap, this woman is going to be the death of me" thought Adrien as he gulped and blushed.

"You have it bad kid" whispered Plagg from inside Adrien's shirt.

"Shut up" replied Adrien blushing.

"Well then minou, will my brave knight swim for a bit with his lady?" said Mari as she put down her sunglasses and stood up.

"It will be my honor Princess" said Adrien bowing.

"Let's race then kitty-cat, the winner can give a single order to the loser" said Mari winking as she began to run.

"Oh it's on Maribug" said Adrien as he chased her.

#miraculous au #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #twins!au #adrien augreste

[pabotofus]

Nothing’s changed in the past millenia.
For the first time, Hades considers that maybe it should.


(A retelling of canon events from Hades’ POV, focusing on his relationship with Persephone.)


Notes: This was based off of the plot/lyrics from the NYTW run and only includes Hades/Persephone songs on the live album (I’m sorry @How Long).


Fic also under cut

Persephone’s voice carries loudly in the empty halls. She’s angry.

At him, presumably.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask my husband?”

Hades knows the term is supposed to be far more endearing than she makes it out to be. Persephone wields the word like a weapon, pinning it to him with sharp glares and a derisive scoff.

Maybe her voice carries because she wants him to hear it, Hades thinks. But then again, she’s always been particularly loud.

Hades wonders who she’s talking to. He wonders what he’s done for the term to roll off her tongue the way one would say the name of an enemy.

He keeps walking, almost relishing in her expression of shock as she turns the corner and nearly slams into him.

“Wife,” he greets. There is no emotion in his voice.

Persephone’s nostrils flare, and her lips twist into a frown before she stalks past him. Hades sighs through his nose, almost inaudible, and continues walking.

He builds his armor thicker against her words. What else can he do?

That night, another factory springs up.

That night, the pale lily on his desk wilts.

-

The workers in Hadestown call him “my lord”, bowing their heads and barely veiling their contempt with respect.

Persephone does not bother with pretending.

Hades walks around his factories, watching his workers’ shoulders stiffen and the clacking of machinery quicken as he nears.

“My lord,” they say as he passes, their voices blending into a low murmur.

He opens the door and sees Persephone about to enter, a suspiciously wrapped bundle tucked under her arm.

“What, refreshments for me?” Hades’ lips stretch into a thin imitation of a smile. “How thoughtful.”

Persephone narrows her eyes.

“Of course, my lord,” she grits out, and shoves the bundle into his chest.

Before he can even open his mouth, she disappears, leaving behind the faint smell of strawberries.

Hades carries the bundle with him as he completes his rounds. The further along the wall he walks, the more that the sweet smell sours into the familiar tang of decay.

When he finally opens the bundle, the fruit is rotten, apples spotted and soft to the touch.

Useless things, not really meant for him anyway. Maybe Persephone is right to stop pretending. There is no warmth to be wrung out of forced gestures.

He throws them out.

The next morning, the apples are gone from the trash bin.

The next morning, Hades sees the cores badly hidden among the machinery. A single apple sits on the doorstep where he had bumped into her the day before, mockingly ripe.

-

Hades is familiar with the things that his workers call him behind his back.

They’re neither bold enough nor stupid enough to say it to his face, but Persephone is, and she makes up for it in spades.

“This place is a rotten fucking dump and I can’t wait to see the day it crashes down on you,” she screams. “To hell with your goddamn factories and power grids. Unnatural, shitty excuses for the harbor you claim them to be!”

He knows he shouldn’t, and in another world he might not have, but this time—and like every time before—he responds in kind.

“Ungrateful woman,” he snarls. “I give you all I have to offer and you throw it all away?”

Persephone laughs and the sound grates into his soul.

“If you call this ‘trying’ you have hell of a lot to work on.”

“You want warmth, I give it to you. You complain about the atmosphere, I put stars in the sky for you and-”

“You say warmth and set enough fires to burn this place alive,” she sneered. “The so called stars are bright enough to blind, and don’t even try pretending you give a shit about anyone.”

Hades is slipping under her rage and they both know it.

Persephone huffs and crosses her arms around her waist. “Things used to be better, you know. Before you built this hellhole and that damned wall.”

“Things are just fine and you would see it if you bothered getting off of that high horse of yours. Don’t you see I’m doing all of this for you, because I care-”

“Ooh, does the big powerful king of the Underworld have emotions?” She mocks. “Could’ve had me fooled, you know. I’m sure the workers would agree.”

“You’re the only one who complains about this,” he deflects, grasping at straws and half-truths. She was the only one who made a fuss—as well as the only one who knew she could do so without retribution. “What, do you have higher standards because you’re an almighty goddess of pollen and hay fever? If the workers are fine with it-”

“If the workers are fine with it,” Persephone spits, “then you can drag another one of them down into this dump!”

“Maybe I will!”

“Maybe you should find a better wife while you’re at it, if you think I’m so horrible!”

“Oh, I don’t believe that’ll be too difficult,” Hades snaps.

Persephone levels a glare at him and bursts into rose petals and sharp briars that crumble into ash not even seconds after she disappears.

Any way he looks at it, Hades is trapped between not doing anything and doing what she says, and neither of those are good options.

Hades is a man of habit.

The next day, Hades tells the Fates to keep everyone in line and goes up to the human world.

The next day, Persephone slams open the doors just in time to see the life flicker out of the eyes of a young girl.

-

Persephone does not speak to him for the next few days.

Somehow, no names are worse than horrible ones.

The first time she deigns to look at him after their fight, she smiles too sweetly and tells him, “You fucked up.”

Hades scoffs, breezing past her.

“Don’t believe me? See for yourself.”

He turns around and sighs. Persephone has draped herself over her throne, feet dangling onto his.

“You-”

“We can have our little chat later,” she says, and he tries not to roll his eyes at her nonchalant tone. “It’s incredibly rude of you to ignore your visitor.”

The throne room doors behind Persephone creak open, and he tears his eyes away from her to glance at the mortal boy standing there.

“Who is he?” Hades demands.

Persephone smirks at him and repeats her previous words, stretching her feet further onto his throne.

“You fucked up, darling.”

Hades hates the way the word is tacked on to the end, like she put it there just to rile him up. Hades hates the way he knows it’s only there to annoy him.

Suddenly, he isn’t so sure he likes being addressed again.

That night, he sneaks out to the factories.

That night, he finds his newest recruit and the mortal boy kissing underneath the electric stars and smoky clouds, and doesn’t understand why they would risk so much for something as fickle as love. Persephone, spotting him as she leaves, doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t.

-

Sometimes Hades feels like he and Persephone are going around in circles.

She doesn’t talk to him or mention him at all, not since the “darling” incident. But she speaks, and when she speaks, he listens, and as he listens, he understands.

He hears her speak to the mortal girl, just as he’s been talking to the boy. He hears her talk to the mortal girl and only hears Hades, Hades, Hades.

Like Hades, I wish to the gods that you were dead.

Hades, don’t you remember; why did you have to change?

And Hades… do you still love me?

But Hades is a man of habit, and his habits have the unfortunate effect of ruining things for everyone. His old rhetoric is the one that sits the most comfortably on his tongue, and it’s the one that leaves his lips, sickly sweet and rotting.

His words are directed at the boy, but the meaning for the woman he calls his wife. He punctuates his sentences with the shrieks of metal on metal, attacking her with every way he knows how.

That day, he wins the battle.

That day, he realizes he’s not even sure what war he’s fighting.

-

Hades doesn’t know what he expected.

He owns the workers’ souls but Persephone holds their hearts, and it’s all too clear which one really matters. Now, the boy threatens to take even what little Hades clings on to.

Hades is desperate, and he’s spiteful. He’s the lord of the underworld, king of the dead, and yet Persephone sympathizes with the mortal and his stupid emotions. Worst of all, he doesn’t even understand why.

He finds himself not understanding a lot of things these millenia. He doesn’t understand Persephone, he doesn’t understand the boy, doesn’t understand love.

Hades is an old god, and he is a tired god. Tired of fighting too much and trying too hard and doing everything just to fail in the end. Tired of the same things that happen every spring and every fall, tired of dancing around in circles. Tired of being stuck.

Because on one hand, he’s the king of the Hadestown, the man of habit, who would crush the boy with an iron fist and send him back up to the world above with a broken guitar and a broken heart.

On the other hand, he’s also an old soul; an old, old soul hopelessly in love with a woman doomed to leave him again and again and again, who would give the boy the chance that he himself never got.

But the name of Hades has a reputation to protect and an empire to build, and Hades cannot afford to be either of the two.

The Fates sing in his ear, a cackling cacophony of fear and doubt and he knows he has a choice to make.

That night, listening to the boy pour his heart out, Hades makes a choice that could save them.

That night, listening to the echoes of his own heart, Hades makes a choice that could save himself.

-

“You think they’ll make it?”

Hades answers truthfully. “I don’t know.”

Persephone keeps her voice surprisingly neutral. Forcefully neutral.

“Hades, you let them go.”

He hasn’t heard her say his name in a long, long time. He sighs, staring at their retreating forms.

“I let them try,” he corrects.

“And how about you and I?” Persephone challenges. “Are we going to try again?”

It is in that moment that he realizes what she wants.

“It’s almost spring.”

Persephone’s expression shutters and twists into a scowl. His hand, growing ever closer to hers, is met with the cold chill of absence as she snatches hers away.

Hades does something he hasn’t done in centuries. He reaches out to her.

“We’ll try again next fall?”

Persephone’s expression softens, and lets her fingers slip between his.

“Wait for me?”

In this moment, Hades hears an answer.

In this moment, Hades hears the softest whisper of a question.

Hades remembers when they were younger gods, when they danced in the sun and snuck behind Demeter’s back. He remembers when she came down and the factories were not factories but fields of gemstone flowers that bloomed the whole winter through. He remembers when she let him call her Kore, when she wove him flower crowns that did not wilt until the next spring. He remembers when they loved each other.

He remembers when they tried.

Hades looks over at Persephone and squeezes her hand.

“I will.” 
____________________________________________________________________
Special big big thank you to my bff and just generally amazing human being, Inara!! Thank you so much for putting up with my bs and helping me with a bunch of stuff related to this fic (go follow her at biorpheus.tumblr.com you wont regret it)
Also- title is from Just Give Me a Reason by P!nk

#hadestown #hades/persephone #hades #persephone #my writing #aahflks #it's been so long since i posted fic #hope u guys like it! #hhhhhhhhhh #emma scribbles

[crystallized-shadow]

Day 13 Pairing: Indra/Madara Rating: E Word count: 2263 Prompt:  “You own my heart.”

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

“You’re late Madara.” The dark-haired man freezes in the hallway, he should have been the first one back, so what was Indra doing home already? He debates hanging out in the hallway for a little longer, but quickly decides against it. Madara isn’t surprised to see Indra sitting on the couch, clearly waiting for him. “Where have you been?”

“Completing the chores you left for me,” Madara says with a frown, standing before Indra, his eyes on the ground; he knew better than to try and do anything before the human was done with his spiel.

“You sound unpleased with your work,” Indra comments, idling playing the with bright red jewel on his necklace.

“I am!” Madara snaps, his anger making him ignore the subtle threat. “All you do is send me out to kill scum! I haven’t felt challenged–” A sudden throbbing in his chest has Madara collapsing to his knees, gasping for breath.

“I could free you from this contract,” Indra muses as the pressure around Madara’s heart increases, “would you like me to?”

“N-no,” Madara manages to gasp out, one hand keeping him from falling face first onto the floor while the other clutches uselessly at fabric over his chest.

Indra watches Madara whither for another minute before he releases his grip on the red jewel, releasing the pressure in Madara’s chest. The older man remains kneeling, shudders racking his body as he struggles to get his breathing under control. Indra gets up from the couch then and walks over to Madara, running his hand through those silky black locks. “Are you sure? I would hate to keep you here if you are so unhappy.”

“I’m sure,” Madara pants, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, “I forgot my place and spoke in anger, I’m sorry.”

“And where is your place?” Indra asks with a grin, he always found Madara’s reluctance to admit his place cute and enjoyed every chance he had to see Madara like this.

“At your feet,” Madara growls, hating that the human forces him to admit it.

“Why is that?” When Madara doesn’t immediately answer, Indra grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head up so their eyes meet. “Say it.”

“You own my heart,” Madara says, eyes dropping to the jewel. Millenia ago, when Madara was a much angrier demon, a much younger and dumber one too, he’d thought casting off his heart had been a good idea. Nothing could hurt him any longer, not the loss of his brothers or the betrayal of his closest friend. It wasn’t until the humans had found his heart that Madara realized his mistake, with the fragile organ outside his body even a lowly human could kill him with ease.

“That’s right,” Indra praises as he resumes petting Madara, “and as long as you’re good I won’t crush it.”

Madara remains silent, knowing he doesn’t have anything to say that Indra wants to hear. The human continues to pet him for a little bit, before he returns to the couch, beckoning for Madara once he’s comfortable. The demon makes his way over and doesn’t put up a struggle when he is pulled into Indra’s lap, his back to Indra’s chest. It would be a lie if Madara said he hated this, Indra was one of his better captors and being allowed to actually touch his own heart was always a relief, let him confirm that it was still there.

“Would you even know what to do with your heart?” Indra asks awhile later, startling Madara out of the light doze he’d fallen into. Leaning his chin on Madara’s shoulder, Indra notes just how tired the demon looks and wonders when the last time he’d seen Madara look relaxed was.

Madara silently ponders the question for a long time, it wasn’t first time he’d been asked that question. His previous captors took great joy in asking Madara questions like that, it was their way of reminding him didn’t have his heart. He doesn’t sense any ill intent behind Indra’s question, the human just seemed curious. “I don’t know,” Madara admits quietly, deciding to be honest; Indra rarely hurt him and usually seemed to care about his wellbeing. In fact, he only asserted himself as Madara’s master when Madara stepped too far out of line.

“What do you mean?” Indra asks in a quiet tone, wanting to know more about the demon. He’d only become Madara’s master a few years ago, his father passing on Madara’s heart to him when he’d become an adult.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt my heart beat in my chest,” Madara mutters, placing a hand over his chest where his heart should beat, but feels nothing.

“Why did you get rid of it?” Indra doesn’t miss the way Madara tenses at the question and he hopes he won’t have to remind Madara who’s boss again, he’s never liked hurting the demon.

“Why does it matter?” Madara asks in a flat tone, “I got rid of it and your family found it, that’s all that really matters.”

“It matters to me,” Indra presses and Madara stands up abruptly, glancing over his shoulder to looks down on the human with dead eyes. He only meets Indra’s gaze for a moment, too many years of conditioning to make that mistake again and turns his head back to face the wall.

“I am your servant, nothing more,” Madara states, having recited these words a million times already, “you already know everything you need to.”

“Do you truly feel that way Madara?”

“I feel nothing,” the demon states and it’s true for the most part. Even the anger he’d felt earlier came less and less frequently; the longer he stayed detached from his heart the less he felt anything. “If that is all, I wish to retire for the night.”

Knowing the demon can’t leave until he dismisses him, Indra can’t help but stare at Madara’s back. He knew that deep scars littered the muscular flesh, he’d seen his father and grandfather whip Madara before to keep him in line. “You can feel pain.”

“Do you intend to whip me now?” Madara asks in the same bland tone, “beat me bloody to remind me I’m beneath you?”

Instead of responding, Indra brings the jewel to his lips, muttering a soft spell against the smooth surface. The jewel glows brighter, burning hotter than Indra’s ever felt it before, and he waits, watching Madara to see what effect the spell has on him.

Madara continues to stand with his back to Indra, waiting for the first strike to come. Instead of being struck, he feels his body heating up, something foreign settling in the pit of his stomach. Ignoring whatever is going on, Madara refuses to turn around, waiting to either be struck or dismissed. He’s uncomfortably warm now, even his cheeks feel warm, and it’s getting harder to think clearly; what had Indra even asked him?

Indra has to give Madara credit for remaining still for so long, his spell was a rather potent one and it was impressive that the demon wasn’t begging yet. When he hears Madara start to pant, Indra smirks and slowly walks over to the demon, hugging him front behind. “Are you feeling okay Madara?” Indra purrs, his lips brushing against the shell of Madara’s pointed ear and the demon moans.

“W-what did…” Another moan cuts off Madara’s words as Indra trails kisses down to his neck. “…you do…?”

“Just a simple spell,” Indra says, his chuckle washing over the sensitive patch of skin at the base of Madara’s neck, “to show you that you can feel more than just pain.”

“M-make it stop…” Madara whimpers, unsure what to even do with all these new feelings, “t-too much!”

“Do you really want me to stop?” Indra questions, lightly biting down on that patch of skin as he skims a hand down Madara’s chest to the bulge in his pants.

A loud moan is torn from Madara’s throat and his knees buckles under him at that simple touch; if it weren’t for Indra’s arm around his waist, Madara was sure he’d be on the floor. Before he can even try and come up with an answer, Indra grips him through his pants and slowly starts to move his hand. “Ah!” Madara tries to squirm out of Indra’s grasp, not understanding what is happening to him and wanting to get away.

“Are you enjoying yourself Madara?” Indra purrs, kissing back up the demon’s ear so he can tug on the other’s earlobe. He doesn’t miss the hitch in Madara’s breathing or the way he’s started thrusting into the hand still slowly stroking him. Indra is a little surprised by just how sensitive Madara is and a sudden thought has him smirking. “Madara, have you done this before?”

Madara hears the dark pleasure in Indra’s voice and he bites back a whimper as he shakes his head. He’d never been interested in anyone before he’d cast off his heart and after he’d become a servant anything like that was out of the question. Indra’s hand instantly stops and Madara has half a second to think he’s done something wrong before he’s spun around and pulled into possessive kiss. Having no idea what to do, Madara lets the human lead the kiss, a breathless whine leaving him when Indra pulls back much too soon. “P-please…” Madara mutters, he’s not sure what he wants but everything is hot and he knows Indra will help him.

“Of course,” Indra grins, sweeping Madara off his feet and taking the demon to his bed. He wastes no time depositing Madara on the bed and stripping off their clothes. As much as Indra would have loved to tease Madara some more, the demon was just too cute when he blushed, finding out he was going to be Madara’s first left him feeling very impatient. Grabbing the lube, Indra joins Madara on the bed, sliding between the demon’s spread legs. Spreading a generous amount of lube on his fingers, Indra gently presses one into Madara’s entrance.

Madara watches Indra through a haze of his own lust, unsure what the lube is for, until he feels a finger slip inside him, drawing a loud keen from him. Without even realizing he’s doing it, Madara thrusts back against Indra, panting harshly when a second finger joins the first. Just when Madara thinks his body can’t possibly burn any hotter, Indra brushes something inside him that has him howling in pleasure.

“So vocal,” the human chuckles, grazing the bundle of nerves again. Two fingers quickly become three and then four before Indra decides Madara is ready for something bigger. The needy whimper when he leaves Madara empty nearly derails Indra’s thoughts, but he focuses just long enough to slick his cock with more lube before he sheaths himself deeply in Madara’s almost unbearably hot channel.

Madara’s scream is wordless as his entire world narrows down to the feel of Indra thrusting into him. The human’s pace is erratic and if Madara wasn’t so far gone he’d be proud of having such an effect on the man. Madara gives up on trying to hide his whimpers and moans, feeling too good to care how he must sound. Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, Indra shifts Madara’s thighs to over his shoulders and bends him over just enough that the next thrust nails his prostate so soundly Madara comes with a garbled shout of Indra’s name.

Indra claims Madara’s lips in an almost vicious kiss as he fucks the demon through his orgasm, he wasn’t anywhere near done with Madara yet. He’d wanted Madara like this since he’d hit puberty and Indra intended to ruin the demon for anyone else. Indra presses forward, nearly bending Madara in half as he continues to batter the demon’s prostate with brutal thrusts. “Swear I own your heart,” Indra mutters against Madara’s lips, the jewel in question falling onto Madara’s chest due to the angle. “Swear it!”

Madara tries to fight the words, which is hard enough to do with the waves of pleasure crashing over him already, but then Indra strokes his still painfully hard cock and they come tumbling out. “You own my heart!” Madara exclaims, “I swear it!” He feels the smirk against his lips before he comes a second time, and everything goes white. Madara feels something warm coating his insides before everything becomes too much and he passes out.

Madara slowly comes to some time later, feeling fingers carding through his hair. He feels warm and content for the first time in a long time and doesn’t want to move, but there is a distracting thudding in chest. It takes Madara an embarrassingly long moment to realize just what that thudding is, but he jerks awake instantly, a hand flying to his chest.

“Welcome back,” Indra chuckles, watching Madara try to process what’s happened. The demon stares dumbly down at his hand for a long time before he slowly meets Indra’s eyes.

“Y-you…” Madara mutters, nearly numb with shock, “why?”

“I don’t want to be your master Madara,” Indra explains softly, placing his hand over Madara’s so he too can feel the heart beating in Madara’s chest.

“Then what do you want?”

“I love you Madara,” Indra says, pulling the demon into a gentle kiss, “and I want you to be able to love me back one day if that’s what you choose.”

Too overcome with emotions, Madara just kisses Indra back.

#indramada #indra otsutsuki #madara uchiha #modern AU #Madara is a demon #I took this prompt very literally #mentions of past abuse #Madara doesn't know how to emotion #drabble a day #my writing #Crystal writes #ruby #creative use of spells